The Long Road to Baghdad (2011) Read online

  ‘Could you possibly get him to wash my robes as well?’ Harry asked.

  It was midday before Harry cleaned himself up and reported to the CO. Preoccupied by the CO’s briefing of an imminent punitive expedition against the local tribes, he headed for John’s tent. The sun was high, the air stifling. John was stretched out on his cot, a bottle of brandy and a bowl of water beside him.

  ‘Crabbe’s on duty. That’s your bed. I see you found my spare shirt and shorts.’

  ‘Yes, thanks.’ The thin mattress was luxurious after a week of riding and sleeping in the desert. Harry pulled out the waistband of the shorts. ‘They could be smaller.’

  ‘I order my clothes to fit me, not you.’

  ‘I saw Dorset when I checked on Norfolk. Thank you for taking care of her.’

  ‘I suppose you want her back?’

  ‘Not immediately; I’ll be with the column until Amara.’

  John tossed a packet of cigarettes to Harry and held out the brandy bottle.

  Harry lit a cigarette but shook his head at the brandy. ‘I saw Maud in Basra. She’s missing you.’

  ‘War’s made bachelors of us all.’

  ‘Knight mentioned you’d tossed a coin for the privilege of returning to base. Did you know Maud was in Basra when you used the sovereign I gave you?’

  ‘If I did?’

  ‘She’s only in Basra because of you. You know how much she hates this country.’

  ‘Then she should have stayed away.’

  ‘Dear God, if my wife was in Basra and I had a chance of being posted there, I’d put in for a transfer.’

  ‘Your wife’s on the Karun, there’s a station at Tembi.’

  ‘I’m divorced. I know it’s none of my business …’

  ‘That’s right.’ John lit a fresh cigarette on his stub. ‘It’s none of your business.’

  ‘We’re not the only ones having a hard time. After reading Georgiana’s letters I’ve realised it’s easier to fight than stay at home waiting for news that might come in the next hour, next day, or never. We spend 90 per cent of our time bored out of our skulls and the other 10 per cent scared witless, but at least we’re not waiting for a bereavement that could shatter our lives.’

  ‘Neither do we go to garden parties and have affairs.’

  ‘No.’ Harry was uncertain if he’d heard John correctly. ‘Instead we get drunk, and pick up whores in Abdul’s.’

  John reached for the brandy and drank deeply from the bottle. He was obviously used to drinking that way. It made Harry cringe.

  ‘Is Maud very upset by Brooke’s death?’ John asked.

  ‘She knew him?’

  ‘She had an affair with him in India. He wanted her to leave me, which is a joke considering I haven’t lived with her for months.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘How I know is not important, your reaction is. If you didn’t realise I was talking about Brooke, who did you think I was talking about?’

  ‘I wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Come off it, Harry. What’s Maud been up to?’

  Harry had never seen his cousin in this mood before. Drunk and ugly.

  ‘Damn it all, Harry, if it was Furja you’d go after her with a gun.’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Are you telling me you’d do nothing if you knew she was opening her legs for any man who crooked his finger at her?’ John demanded.

  ‘All I know is Charles dragged Maud away from India. I don’t know why. I didn’t ask him.’

  ‘But you suspected it was because she was sleeping with someone.’

  ‘If it makes you feel better. Yes.’

  ‘And? Come on, Harry, there’s more.’

  ‘I saw her flirting with an officer in Basra. It was nothing more than an exchange of words and it wouldn’t have happened if you’d been there. Now will you leave me alone,’ Harry pleaded. ‘I don’t know any more, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s Maud who should be apologising. Who was the officer?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘Who, Harry?’

  ‘I never saw the man before. He was a naval officer. Sub-lieutenant.’

  John rolled the empty brandy bottle into a corner and reached for a replacement.

  ‘If you went to Basra and saw Maud, I’m sure you could work something out,’ Harry suggested.

  ‘Would you forgive Furja if she had an affair?’

  ‘I wouldn’t give a damn what she’d done if she took me back.’ Harry recalled the night they’d shared. There wasn’t an hour he didn’t think of her and their daughters. ‘Without her, nothing makes any sense.’

  ‘You’re a bigger fool than I thought.’ John pulled the cork on the fresh bottle.

  ‘Possibly.’ Harry closed his eyes. ‘But unlike you, my dreams are based on a living, breathing woman, not the contents of a bottle.’

  ‘That’s what makes you a fool.’

  Basra , Tuesday 11th May 1915

  ‘We’re going to use those flat-bottomed native boats, bellums, again. They require hardly any depth of water. Plate them with any old iron lying around …’

  ‘Lying around?’ Amey enquired of Smythe.

  ‘Anything solid enough to act as a shield,’ Smythe elaborated. ‘They hold ten men apiece. The mine sweeping launches will tow them. The Espiegle, Odin, and Clio will protect the flanks. When we’re close to the sandbanks Johnny Turk’s dug himself into, we’ll break the bellums loose. The sepoys will punt through the reeds. We’ll float up quietly and take Johnny Turk by surprise. Imagine it? Sepoys leaping out and …’ Peter cut across his throat with his finger. ‘Goodbye, Johnny Turk, hello Amara.’

  Charles topped up the glasses on the table. ‘I can understand why they sent you down from Qurna, Smythe. A lecture from you and every sepoy in the force will believe himself invincible.’

  ‘It worked like a dream at Qurna because the Turks are terrified of our gunboats. It’ll be even better at Amara. I’ve mounted some of our guns on double canoes; between those and the guns on the barges we’ll wipe every Turk off the map. Nice town, Amara. Almost European, wide streets, big buildings, plenty of coffee shops.’

  ‘Ladies?’ Amey enquired.

  Peter didn’t reply, preoccupied by thoughts of Angela. Pity his boat hadn’t berthed earlier, but the Reverend Butler kept respectable hours and he needed his support too much to risk disapproval by calling on Angela late at night.

  ‘I understand why you made captain.’ Charles raised his glass. ‘Gentlemen, I give you a well-earned promotion. Captain Smythe.’

  ‘Captain Smythe.’ Grace, Amey, Knight and Bowditch rose and echoed the toast, then sat abruptly. None was sober, but Charles, who’d had a hard time keeping food down since he’d arrived, was the most unsteady. Peter refilled their glasses.

  ‘To General Townshend and his Regatta.’

  ‘Townshend and Smythe’s Regatta.’

  Amey emptied the bottle. ‘Victory.’

  Bowditch produced another bottle. ‘The King.’

  ‘The King.’ The room swayed around Charles.

  ‘Time to pack it in. Can’t meet the Turks with a hangover. Wouldn’t be fair. Whisky fumes would bowl them over.’ Amey dropped his glass.

  ‘It’s been a good night celebrating a good man’s promotion.’ Bowditch tried to slap Peter across the back and missed.

  ‘Good idea, Amey, let’s go to bed.’ Charles laughed as if he’d told a joke.

  ‘Not room for everyone in my bed, old man,’ Amey chortled. ‘And Smythe’s booked my floor.’

  ‘Can you make it down the stairs, Reid?’ Knight slurred.

  ‘Full speed ahead.’ Charles left Amey’s room, and caught hold of a banister that had the consistency and feel of India rubber. It wasn’t only the banister that was wobbling; his legs had developed new joints that sent them sprawling in every direction except the one he wanted to go.

  ‘Captain Reid, sir?’

  ‘Singh?’ Charles squint
ed at the Indian orderly outside his room.

  ‘Can I speak to you, sir?’

  ‘You can, Singh, but I warn you. I’m not at my best.’

  ‘A lady came to see you. She wouldn’t give her name, sir, but insisted on waiting. I showed her into your room. I hope I did the right thing.’

  ‘You did, Singh.’ Charles pulled his key from his pocket and tried to insert it in the lock. He missed the keyhole and swung back, crashing into the wall.

  ‘The door’s open, sir. I thought it unwise to lock the lady in.’

  ‘Good thinking.’ Charles lurched into his room. Singh closed the door behind him. A woman sat with her back to him. She was wearing a silver evening dress, her golden hair piled high on her head.

  ‘Emily,’ he whispered.

  She turned. ‘No, Charles, it’s only me. Maud.’

  The knowledge of Emily’s death sliced through Charles’s stupor, hitting him anew with a force that had lost none of its pain. He stumbled to the bed. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘You’re drunk.’

  ‘Very.’

  ‘I heard most of the force is moving out in the morning.’

  ‘That’s restricted military information.’

  ‘Please don’t behave like a stuffed shirt, Charles. Colonel Hale told me. He said you’re going and you might see John.’

  ‘And if I do?’ Charles was finding it difficult to focus and even harder to remain upright. He kicked his feet on to the bed and fell back on the pillows.

  ‘If you see John could you give him this?’ She removed an envelope from her handbag and laid it on the table.

  ‘John’s moved on to the Kerkha.’ He closed his eyes to stop the room spinning.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘He wrote to me.

  ‘I haven’t heard from him since I’ve been here.’

  ‘You know what the mail is.’

  ‘His letters to you get through. I write to him every day. If he wanted to get in touch with me, he would have. Someone’s told him about India. Was it you?’

  Anger began to clear the alcohol fog from Charles’s brain. ‘I tried to keep it quiet by dragging you here. I warned you then it would only be a matter of time. Officers feel strongly about brother officers’ wives who sleep with men when their husbands are on active duty.’

  ‘But it’s all right for wives to sleep with their husband’s brother officers, as Christina Dumbarton did with Harry. It’s just not done for a wife to make friends outside of military circles.’

  ‘If Miguel D’Arbez had only been your friend I would have left you in India. And you know damn well it wasn’t all right for Harry to carry on with Christina. That’s why he was posted to Basra.’

  ‘He got off lightly. Christina was packed off to England, divorced, disgraced, and penniless.’

  ‘You think she didn’t deserve it? My God!’ Charles swung his legs over the end of the bed and sat up. ‘You want it all, don’t you, Maud? A devoted husband under Turkish fire in the desert and carte blanche to carry on with any man you please.’

  ‘I made one mistake and you want me to pay for that with John’s happiness as well as my own. We were happy before this bloody war. Only last August we were here in Basra, and …’ She burst into tears. Afraid her sobs would rouse the house, Charles pulled her towards him. She fell onto the bed. He handed her a handkerchief.

  Scrunching his handkerchief into a ball, she rubbed her eyes. ‘I can’t bear it without John. I don’t know whether it’s because we honeymooned here but I want him so much. I don’t know what I’m doing.’

  She rested her head against his shoulder. Her skin was smooth and she smelled of magnolias, the same perfume Emily had used. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman. Last August, the Egra. He and Emily –

  His hands slid to Maud’s neck. He turned her face to his and kissed her. She tried to push him away but he persisted, pushing his tongue between her teeth. Aroused by her scent, the silken feel and warmth of her skin, he slipped his hands into her bodice. Reaching for her breasts, he caressed her nipples with his thumbs. She moaned. He thrust her backwards.

  ‘No!’ She tried and failed to sit up.

  Charles caught at the hem of her dress and lifted it to her waist. She was wearing white silk stockings and short, silk drawers. Forcing her legs apart with his knee, he caressed the inside of her thighs. He whispered a name – Emily’s, not hers – but by then his hands had moved upwards and it didn’t matter.

  Lost in a passion Miguel and his Indian friends had honed to an art form, Maud tugged at the flies on Charles’s trousers. Sliding out from under him on to the floor, she kissed his erection through his cotton drawers. She slipped down the shoulder straps on her dress and stepped out of it. Kicking off her shoes, she removed her drawers and climbed back on the bed. Unbuckling Charles’s belt, she pulled down his trousers and underpants.

  Sitting astride him, she cupped her breasts and thrust them into his mouth. Before Charles could formulate a thought, he was inside her and she was pounding him into the mattress with quick, pulsating movements. He climaxed quickly. She lay panting on top of him.

  Overcome by nausea, he pushed her aside and pulled the chamber pot from beneath the bed in time to vomit the last of the whisky in his stomach. Pulling up his drawers and trousers, he staggered to the washstand and splashed his face with cold water. Only then did he turn and look at Maud sprawled on the bed. She had buried her face in the pillow. He thought he heard her sob.

  ‘It’s a bit bloody late for maidenly modesty. It was hardly rape. Not in the position you adopted. Damn you for coming here. I could have had what you’ve just given me from any whore in Abdul’s. Christ, I could kill myself and you when I think of what we’ve done. John’s like a brother to me, and we haven’t even the pitiful excuse of any feeling between us. Is that all that lovemaking means to you, Maud? An itch that can be satisfied by any man willing to provide a scratching post?’

  She lifted her tear-stained face. ‘You bastard! Lovemaking was the last thing on my mind when I walked through that door. I came here to persuade you to talk to John. I didn’t expect to find you drunk, and …’

  ‘Lonely – aching for the touch of your mother’s hand. You knew what you were doing visiting my room alone after midnight. What the hell did you think would happen? In God’s name, you could have done something to stop me. Slapped me …’

  ‘You bloody hypocrite. Do you think men have a monopoly on passion? When you get an itch, you go to the Rag. Pick yourself out a Hindu whore or a Bedouin gypsy. Don’t look so shocked, Charles. Aren’t officers’ ladies supposed to know what goes on? Well, this lady knows and envies you. I wish there was a Rag that catered for my needs. Somewhere for me to visit at night instead of going half out of my mind from missing John. He’s been gone for nearly ten months, and if I try to relieve myself in the way you take for granted, I leave myself open to gossip. I’m supposed to forget about sex until John comes home, whenever that will be. You’re damned right when you say feeling didn’t come into it. You used me and I used you. What’s the difference between us, Charles?’

  He sobered quickly. The aftermath of sex and whisky had left a bitter, unpalatable taste in his mouth. ‘If you can’t differentiate between acceptable behaviour for a man and a woman …’

  ‘Acceptable behaviour! What do you think women are? Clockwork dolls, who fuck to order? One turn of their husband’s key and they open their legs. Two and they close them until they’re needed to relieve his lust again. And God help them if they should actually like it, and stray into another man’s bed while their husbands are in the Rag. You’re worse than a hypocrite, Charles. You’re a pompous bastard.’

  ‘For taking what you threw at me, Maud?’ His eyes narrowed in contempt.

  The room blazed crimson in the heat of her anger. ‘For not seeing that I love John. I love him and I used you. Is that what you can’t take, Charles? The thought of a woman using you without a shred of fe
eling for your mind or your pitifully inadequate body. Do you want to punish me for sticking a pin in your masculine pride? How many times have you, John, and Harry visited Abdul’s? Ten? Twenty? If I can forgive my husband his whores …’

  ‘Forgive! You forgive John!’ Charles’s face was white beneath his blond hair.

  ‘I don’t know what name you put on what goes on in Abdul’s but in my book it’s the same mindless fornication we’ve just indulged in. My only regret is it’s necessary. I would rather John had sex with me than a whore, just as I’d rather have sex with him than you. But he’s not here – he’s –’ Tears scalded her eyes. She picked up her dress. ‘Don’t try easing your conscience by breathing a word of this to John. If you do, I’ll cry rape loud enough for the military police to hear. A court martial would put an end to your precious career.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare. There are five officers sleeping upstairs who’ll testify I spent the entire evening with them. Even the orderly who showed you in knows you came alone and uninvited in the middle of the night.’

  ‘To deliver this.’ She picked up her letter and waved it in front of him. ‘To one of my husband’s closest friends. But you were drunk. You pounced on me like an animal.’ She tore the front of her dress, ripping the bodice wide, exposing her breasts.

  ‘You bitch!’ He dived towards her, and she lashed out, tearing the skin from the side of his face with her nails.

  ‘Now you have that to explain as well, Charles. You say one word. It won’t matter if it’s tomorrow, next month or next year. Those scratches will be remembered and I’ll produce the dress. I may even wake the Hales to tell them I was attacked. Colonel Hale is a gentleman. He won’t press for names or descriptions when I tell him it will embarrass me to talk about it. But he’ll recall the incident if he has to.’

  ‘You’ve got it all worked out, haven’t you? Of all the cold, calculating …’

  ‘If I had it worked out I’d be with John. I love him. I’ll do anything to save whatever this damned war has left of our marriage.’

  ‘And if John doesn’t want a whore for a wife?’

  ‘That’s his decision, not yours.’

  He watched her wrap her cape around her torn dress. He remembered Emily. The months of torment he’d suffered knowing he’d never see her again. Tonight, for a few drink-sodden, passionate minutes he’d thought no further than the moment and his own pleasure. He sank his head into his hands. Maud was right: how could he condemn her for giving him that, when he was every bit as guilty as her?