“Very right and proper,” she soothed, wafting herself with her fan – it was years since Ranklin had seen such natural, expressive use of a fan. They seemed to have died out in England. “Then we should be grateful to your Emperor. He must think we’re jolly important.”
“In Germany we are most proud of the Baghdad Railway. Because, of course,” he explained quickly, “it is so helpful to the Turkish political economy.”
By now the conversation was slipping from German to English and back, each tending to speak their own language and leaving Zurga doing quick gear-changes. Lady Kelso tried once more to involve him: “Tell me, how is your Government progressing with the modernising of your Empire?”
It was a polite question, and Zurga kicked it straight out of bounds. “I am sorry you do not have time to keep informed of Turkish affairs now you have left our country.”
But she didn’t kick quite so easily. The fan fluttered. “Oh dear, how true, how true. I just sit by Lake Maggiore reading week-old copies of The Times. But I do read them. And all I seem to learn is that you’ve spent another loan on new battleships and things.” The fan snapped shut.
“We have enemies,” Zurga protested, unexpectedly on the defensive. “How do you English spend your money if three countries wanted to capture London – as Russia, Greece and Bulgaria all want Constantinople? If the people of London had heard the sound of enemy guns, so close only a year ago?”
Ranklin could imagine the distant rumble spilling over the hills and down through the streets of Pera, and yearned for a Turkish view of that battle. But Snaipe, alas, wouldn’t even have heard of it.
But Lady Kelso had had enough of battles, anyway. “Now someone really must tell me more about this wonderful Railway I’m supposed to be helping. I do recall it was the talk of Constantinople, but that was was over ten years ago.”
There was a pause and Dahlmann thrust himself into it: “The Baghdad Railway,” he announced firmly. “When it was begun, we understood it could be . . . ein Zank’apfel-”
“Bone of contention?” Ranklin offered.
“Yes. For Russia, England, France . . . So we said it should be truly international. But your English financiers were not interested, the French Government did not want to give money to German builders, so it is now almost all financed by money raised on the German bond market.”
“By your Bank?” Lady Kelso asked.
“That is correct.”
“But didn’t I read that the French are giving a new loan to Turkey?”
“That is not certain. I have some business to do with it in Constantinople.” So Dahlmann might be meeting Corinna and her damned French boy-friend. Ranklin was frankly jealous – but of Lady Kelso: in a few minutes she’d got something out of Dahlmann that he hadn’t got in twenty-four hours.
Dahlmann added: “And the loan will not go to help the Railway.”
“Ah, for other things.” She didn’t say “battleships”. Zurga could hear her plain as day not saying “battleships”.
He said: “It is important that the Railway will join up Aleppo, Mosul, Baghdad to Constantinople. It will bring civilisation, and also quick justice to the bandits in the desert – to bandits anywhere. It is a shame it was not built when you were travelling in those provinces, Lady Kelso. You would have found it more comfortable.”
“Really? Of course, I was younger then, but I recall being extremely comfortable in those parts.” The fan moved languidly, like dreamy reminiscence.
10
It was another of those three-in-the-morning times when Ranklin woke to silence. Or nearly so: they had stopped, but there was the distant rattle and hoot of other trains moving. He tried to decide if he were going to get to sleep again and realised he was too dry-mouthed. He should have allowed for the heating and, like a Decent Englishman, slept with the window part open.
Anyway, the effort of deciding had woken him thoroughly so he got up, lit a cigarette and put on his dressing-gown. Then, to spread the smoke more fairly, he went out into the corridor. He was surprised to see light under the door of the saloon and, when he investigated, Lady Kelso.
At first glance, he thought she’d changed into another, blue, evening gown. It certainly had all the frills, lace and fuzzy bits, though was less likely to give her a chest cold, but finally he decided it was a species of dressing-gown. Her fair hair hung loose, well past her shoulders, and she had been puzzling through a German newspaper with a lorgnette.
“Good morning. No, please go on smoking, I don’t mind.” And as Ranklin reached to twitch aside the window curtains: “I think we’ve got to Munich. And here, I imagine, we stay until the Orient Express comes through at about midday.”
The view from the window was, in its way, familiar. “Get to travel on the Kaiser’s train and see the marshalling yards of South Germany.” He turned back. “I was looking for something to drink – just bottled water. Can I try and find you anything?”
“Go ahead and ring the bell,” she said firmly. “I’ve spent too much of my life not getting what I want because it’ll inconvenience the servants or the horses. Camels,” she reflected, “are just perfect. They hate you so much already, you don’t mind making them do some work.”
What they got was one of the waiters, already half-dressed so he must have been on duty but hadn’t expected to do any. Ranklin asked for Mineralwasser, and Lady Kelso suddenly decided she’d have a cognac – “Maybe that’ll help me sleep.”
While they waited, he asked casually: “Have you been in Constantinople recently?”
“Not for over ten years, since before the Young Turks (I’m supposed to call them The Committee, aren’t I?) took over.” She sighed. “I expect I’ll find it changed . . . The old Sultan’s court was as corrupt as buzzard meat, but they were gentlemen. Now, I suppose it’s all run by people like Zurga Bey.”
“I got the impression that you and he don’t see eye to eye on everything.”
“That’s very perceptive of you, Mr Snaipe.” It was said with a straight face.
“Do you think he feels you’re . . . sort of. . . associated with the past, the old Sultan’s regime?”
Now she let her smile show. “If so, he certainly isn’t very perceptive. No, it’s my past that troubles him. He thinks I’m no better than a whore. Nothing shocks a Turk more than the idea of a woman choosing her own life and not coming to a bad end. And probably worse than that, it’s who my past was with: the Arabs. I bet Zurga Bey’s one of those Turks who names his dog ‘Arab’. A lot of them do, you know.”
The waiter brought in a tray with their drinks. Lady Kelso took a sip of her brandy, then loaded the glass up with water.
Ranklin said: “Zurga seemed . . . sincere enough. About reform, and the Railway . . .”
“I’m sure he is. And the old Sultan was quite as sincere about the Railway and for the same reason: to keep the Arabs under his thumb. The story going the rounds was that he’d talked the Kaiser into building it during the visit of. . . it must have been ’98. As much as one emperor needs to talk another into any daft grand dream. So now Dr Dahlmann and his Bank have to scurry about to make the dream come true.”
“Daft?” Ranklin queried.
“Well, of course. It may be sensible within Turkey itself, linking the north to the south, but then going on down to Mosul and Baghdad, that’s ridiculous. It’s desert. For all the trade they do, they only need a few camel caravans such as they’ve had for thousands of years. I suppose it might help a few pilgrims part way to Mecca, but for the rest . . .”