The Levant Trilogy (60 page)

Dobson said at breakfast: 'The navy's been
bombarding Pantellaria. I think we can guess what that means.'

As Guy and Edwina had never heard of
Pantellaria, he told them: 'It's an inoffensive little island shaped like a
sperm whale. I suppose the Wops have it fortified.'

'So you think we're preparing to cross the Med?'
Guy asked.

'My guess is as good as yours, but we're
certainly preparing for something. The gen is that Axis troops have folded up
in North Africa. Not a squeak out of them. So we're due for the next move which
would be northwards. It could all be over quicker than anyone thinks. Home for
Christmas, eh?'

'Not this Christmas, I shouldn't think.' Remembering
the wet, empty streets of London at Christmas, Guy knew he had no home there.
On his last Christmas in London, on his way to an evening party, he had passed
men standing at street corners, waiting for the pubs to open. Lonely men, men
without homes. But he would not be like that. He would always have friends. He
had friends wherever he went, but the truth was: friends had lives of their own
and were liable to disappear. Castlebar had gone off with the mad woman Angela
Hooper and Jackman had been sent to Bizerta under arrest. And perhaps even
Simon would not need him much longer. He was beginning to feel that the only
permanent relationship was the relationship of marriage, if death or divorce
did not end it. He sighed, thinking that his had been as good as any yet he had
not known it at the time.

Baalbek was the end of the line. Though the
little train still went hopefully to its destination, tourists were few and
Harriet was the only passenger. When she descended at the empty station, it
seemed that even the engine driver and the guard had disappeared. There were
no porters. The platforms were empty. She was alone. She dragged her case out
to the road then stopped, unable to take it farther. She hoped to find a taxi
but there were no taxis.

At one side of the station entrance there was a
primitive café with an outdoor table and bench. Pushing the case in front of
her, she reached the bench and sat down in the late afternoon sunlight. Though
the whole place looked unpopulated, she felt pleasure in being there.

A wide road ran from the station into the
distance where rust-coloured hills rose from among green foliage. The road was
light-coloured, dusty, and on either side stood trees, very tall and slender,
drooping towards each other. There were a few old buildings here and there and
neglected fields. Beyond the fields there were the remains of ancient ramparts.
At one side of the road a clear and brilliant stream ran into a pool. The place,
what there was of it, conveyed a sense of tranquillity and broken-down
grandeur.

Tired, not knowing where to go, she let herself
drift into the pleasing languor of the spirit that the Arabs called
khayf
and
was startled when a man came out of the café and stood looking at her. He was
short and though still young, stout. His dress, white shirt and black trousers,
told her that he was a Christian. He asked in French what he could do for her.
When she said she was looking for somewhere to stay, his plump, brown face
became troubled.

'I bring you
mon frère
George.'

George, a large, red-haired, fair-skinned
fellow, came from the café. From his appearance, he might have been an English
yeoman and, as was fitting, he spoke some English. Harriet, deciding that the
brothers were descended from a red-haired Crusader, was delighted with them for
proving the Mendelian theory and tried to explain heredity, pointing out that
while one brother was a brown-skinned Arab, the other was a copy of his English
forebear. They did not know what she was talking about and she realized she
was being absurd. Her situation was now so hopeless, she was almost
light-headed.

She said to George: 'Where can I find an hotel?'

George stared at her for some moments before
reaching the point of speech: 'Not any more hotel. Before war, two, but now all
two are close-ed.'

'Is there a train to Beirut?'

'Tonight no train. Train tomorrow.'

A third brother, very like the first, appeared
now and the three of them, speaking in Arabic, discussed her situation with
expressions of concern. It did not occur to them to abandon her. Here was a
young woman alone, in need of a bed for the night, and something must be done
for her. They appeared to reach a conclusion and the red-haired brother,
saying 'Come with me', beckoned her into the white-washed interior of the
café. She was led upstairs to a landing that had the smell of an unaired
sleeping place. He opened a door and showed her a small room with a bunk, a
broken-backed chair and some hooks for clothing. There were no sheets but a
grimy, padded cover thrown to one side showed that this was a bedroom. One of
the brothers had given up his room to her.

The red-haired man offered this accommodation
with a smile, apparently imagining it was as good as anything to be found in
the world. She returned the smile, saying: 'Thank you, it is very nice.' What
else could she do? Where else could she go? At least she had shelter for the
night and next day there would be a train to Beirut.

The first brother carried up Harriet's suitcase
and, left to herself, she went to look for a washroom. She found only a privy
with a hole in the floor, high smelling and not over clean.

When she went downstairs, the brothers were
waiting for her and George asked: 'You like to eat? We make kebabs.'

'Yes, but later. I must see the temples first.'

George came out to the road with her and waving
at the long avenue of trees, said: 'Baalbek very old.'

She looked at the ruined remnant of
fortifications and asked: 'Roman?'

He shook his head in forceful denial: 'No, no.
Much more old. Cain lived here. He built a fort to hide in after he murdered
Abel. Noah lived here. King Solomon sat beside this water. He built the temples
for his ladies. You know he had many ladies, all many religions.'

Harriet laughed: 'Are you sure Solomon built the
temples?'

'What other could do it? Solomon had them built
by his genii. Not men.'

Harriet laughed again and started down the road.
As she went, she could see columns rising in the distance, dark and ponderous,
looking less like classical monuments than menhirs from a more primitive age.
The sun was beginning to sink, the light was deepening and she hurried to see
what she could before the night came down.

Inside the temple enclosure, she came to the
steps on which the columns stood. Standing below them, she gazed up at them,
overawed by their height and massive girth. Against the dense cerulean of the
evening sky, their hot colour looked almost black.

Although there were walnut trees coming into
leaf and pigeons taking flight and lizards rustling between the stones, there
was a sinister atmosphere about the site. The platform had been a place of
sacrifice: human sacrifice. Terror was imprinted on the atmosphere and Harriet
felt afraid as she climbed up the steps and passed between the pillars on to
the stretch of massive stones that now reflected the orange-gold of the sinking
sun. She contemplated her own solitude and thought of the room in which she
would have to spend the night. The men, however good their intentions, were
strangers and she had seen no sign of a woman about the café.

Tomorrow she could go on to Beirut, but what
would she do there? Without money and without future, she would be no better
off than she had been in Damascus. Unnerved by her own situation, she cried
out: 'Guy, why don't you come to look for me?'

But no one was coming to look for her. No one
knew where she was to be found. For all anyone knew, she might be dead.

She walked to the temple at the other end of the
platform. The interior was dark and, pausing at the entrance, she thought she
heard a car come to a stop. She stood, listening intently, and after a few
minutes heard someone coming up the steps to the platform. She felt the solace
of not being alone, then she realized that she was alone and anything could
happen to her.

She watched apprehensively as a fat man limped
into view. He had on a faded khaki shirt and brown corduroy trousers and only
his cap, worn at a jaunty angle, showed that he was an army officer. She
recognized him and laughed at her own fears. Seeing her, he lifted his stick
and waving it excitedly, shouted: 'What are you doing here?' Astonished by her
presence, he came towards her, moving as quickly as he could, his round, pink
face beaming at this unlikely encounter. She felt too much relief and
thankfulness to say anything.

'You remember me, don't you? Old Lister who used
to take you out to lunch at Groppi's?'

'Of course I remember you. It's just
...
I'm a bit stunned. It seems too good to
be true.'

Delighted at seeing her, Lister scarcely heard
this declaration but chattered on: 'It's amazing, how things happen. Only
yesterday I saw a friend of Guy's, that poet fellow I met in Alex. I didn't
speak to him because he's not alone. He's got a bint with him. Nice-looking,
dark-haired girl, not too young.' Lister's round pink nose and fluff of fair
moustache quivered as he spoke of the girl: 'Lucky chap, eh? Lucky chap!'

'Do you know where they're staying?'

'At my hotel. That's where I saw them.'

Lister, not understanding her wonder at this
news, went on: 'And where's Guy? Not on your own, are you?'

'Yes, on my own. I was trying to get from
Damascus to Beirut and arrived here. There's no train till tomorrow.'

'So you're stranded? Pretty god-forsaken place,
if you ask me. Where are you staying?'

'There's no hotel but I've found a room, not
very nice.'

'I bet it's not very nice. If you want to get to
Beirut, how about coming back with me? Have a night at my hotel, see your
friend Castlebar and take the bus tomorrow. Have a convivial evening in the bar
with old Lister. What do you say?'

A few hours ago this suggestion would have
seemed to her her salvation, but now she thought of the brothers and their
kindness and said: 'The people who've given me a room - I don't want to hurt
their feelings.'

'Oh, don't worry. I'll explain to them.'

'And then, your hotel - I don't think I could
afford it.'

'If you're short, I can lend you a few quid. Guy
will always pay me back. Now, let's look round. Spooky place, isn't it? But
those columns are pretty impressive. What's this temple?' Lister had a
guide-book and led her from temple to temple, determined to see everything:
'Good lord, look at this - just like the inside of a city church. Wonder where
the oracle had its abode!' Limping and groaning from the pain in his foot,
Lister kept her among the temples till the air became chilly and the sun began
to set. Then in twilight that was beautiful and pleasant now she was not alone,
they went out to the waiting taxi and drove towards the station.

'Where's this pension of yours?'

'It's not exactly a pension. I'm in this café.'

The brothers showed only satisfaction that
Harriet had found someone to look after her. Lister went upstairs to fetch her
suitcase and came down looking blank. George, putting the suitcase into the
taxi, said happily: 'You go Beirut. You like very much.'

Once out of hearing, Lister said in a shocked
tone: 'My dear girl, you couldn't have stayed in a place like that. What do you
think would have happened to you there?'

'What would be likely to happen?'

'God knows. You're too trusting.' Lister gasped
and began to titter: 'A girl alone with three randy A-rabs! No wonder they said
"Come into my parlour
..."'

'Really, Lister! I'm sure they only wanted to
help me.'

'Perhaps, perhaps,' Lister dropped the subject
and said: 'I wish we could have found the oracle. It was much brighter than
that affair at Delphi. Much more - well, what's the word? Snide. The Emperor
Trajan tried to trick it by handing it a blank sheet of paper and in return, he
got another blank sheet of paper. Then he asked about his expedition to conquer
Parthia and the oracle handed him a bundle of sucks wrapped in a piece of
cloth.'

'What did that mean?'

'What indeed! Probably nothing, but he died on
the way and his bones were sent to Rome wrapped in a piece of cloth.'

'Did oracles ever give anyone good news?'

'I doubt it. They were always hinting at
something nasty.'

The road carried them in deepening twilight over
the bare rocky pass between the Anti-Lebanon and the Lebanon. The journey was
not long and there was still a glint on the western horizon as they dropped
down among gardens and orchards, and Lister pointed: 'There! That's the hotel,
The Cedars.'

Seeing the hotel, its windows radiant, set on a
hill spur above Beirut, Harriet said: 'It's much too grand for me.'

'Nonsense. Guy's not badly off. We can't have
you staying in places like that café.' As the taxi stopped, Lister struggled
out, saying: 'I'll see you're properly fixed up. Room and bath, eh?'

He was gone before Harriet could reply and she
stood in the garden, among a scent of orange blossom, and wondered how she
would manage to pay.

She entered the vestibule as Angela Hooper was
corning down the stairs. Angela glanced at Harriet, glanced away then jerked
her head back and gave a scream: 'Harriet Pringle! But you went on that
evacuation ship.'

'No, I didn't go. I came to Syria instead.'

'Good heavens, what a shock you gave me! And
you're staying here?'

'Only for one night
...'

'No, you must stay longer than that. I want to
hear what's been happening in Cairo and a lot of other things.'

'I'll have to find a cheaper place. The truth
is, I'm almost out of cash.'

'Oh, cash. You're always worrying about cash
...'

Angela stopped abruptly as Lister, coming from
the desk, joined them. Stiffening slightly, she looked suspiciously at him then
said to Harriet: 'I thought you were alone.'

Angela did not move but Harriet felt that in her
mind she took a step away and a distance of disapproval had come between them.
Harriet said: 'I was alone but I met Major Lister in Baalbek and he was kind
enough to give me a lift in his taxi. And now I'm here.'

'So you are!' Angela smiled but there was still
uncertainty in her manner: 'And where's Guy?'