Suddenly the daylight burst upon us. ‘Voilà!’ cried Yasar, looking at his watch. ‘How was that? Five minutes flat!’
The rest of the ride, down the track of the old Staircase, seemed an anti-climax. Yasar relaxed, and slowed down. However, I hadn’t freed myself of those peculiar sensations in the Tunnel. It was as though I had emerged from an anaesthetic, with snatches of a dream lingering in my head.
‘Tell me something, Yasar,’ I said. ‘What was it you wanted me to remember, when we went to that séance of the Cathars?’
There was a long silence, until we came to the bottom of the track and joined the smooth road back to the city. Then he stopped the car.
‘That’s the end of the rally route,’ he said emotionlessly, as though he had suddenly lost interest. ‘And what’s that you asked me?’
‘I asked what it was you wanted me to remember, when you took me to the séance with George that time.’
‘I don’t know any George, and believe me, Jan, I never took you to any séance. You must believe that. Whatever you say about it, I will deny. No George, no séance. You’re talking about twenty years ago, and your memory must be at fault. And I’d be much obliged if you didn’t raise the matter with Fatima, either. Okay? Okay?’
‘Okay of course. Just as you say. I won’t ask any more — and thanks very much for the rally ride — it was marvellous.’
‘Thank you, Jan. I’m sorry the matter arose. If you feel you want to know more about such things, I suggest you talk to the Caliph. I believe you know him, don’t you? He’s your best bet. Mention me if you like.’
So it was with slightly awkward politesse that we parted at the waterfront, where he dropped me at the Lazaretto buggy stand. Damn Hav, I thought to myself. Damn this two-faced, double-dealing, lying, cheating, deceptive old fox of a place.
The buggy-driver knew me, and greeted me kindly. ‘Welcome home dirleddy,’ he said.
‘Home’, I replied, ‘is where the heart is.’
‘Is that really true?’ he earnestly enquired, as we drove sedately into the lesser tunnel.
SATURDAY
6
‘Welcome home!’ the Ponsonbys cried, when I went to The Salt Trade for my breakfast in the morning. ‘Long time no see!’
‘Yes, Jan dear, what have you been up to? We’ve missed you.’
‘Hush, Vera,’ said Arthur. ‘Remember the Official Secrets Act.’
‘Oh pooh, you old fool. Come on, Jan, tell all.’
So I told them about the Escarpment rally adventure, as I ate my Havflakes, and they were much amused. ‘What a scream,’ thought Vera. ‘Sounds a winner to me,’ Arthur thought, adding that he himself had been down the Cresta Run, when he was a young man, and would do it again at the drop of a hat. ‘Drop of a few hundreds pounds more like,’ Vera suggested.
‘Oh and by the way,’ Arthur said, ‘Biancheri was asking after you last night. He seemed a bit anxious. Wondered if everything was all right with you.’
‘If you ask me, Jan,’ Vera winked, ‘that man’s got a bit of a crush on you. Lucky you, at your age!’
I must have run through half a dozen address books since I was last in Hav, but to the travelling writer they are never altogether outdated. I had brought with me my 1980s version, and when I got back to my room I found the number I wanted, and spoke it into the teledado: Hav 001.
I was not surprised to hear that the number had been changed to 0082321, so I asked for that instead and heard an elderly, exquisite, faintly sacerdotal voice announce: ‘His Holiness the Caliph’s Residence.’
‘May I speak to the Caliph, please?’
‘To his Holiness? His Holiness does not normally accept unsolicited calls. May I enquire who is telephoning?’
I told him, and there was a pause. ‘Then am I not correct in thinking that we have previously made your acquaintance? I am the Caliph’s Wazir. Be so good as to wait for a moment or two, dirleddy, and I will consult His Holiness.’
It seemed to me that the 125th Caliph had acquired extra dignity during my absence. His Holiness indeed: I thought that was only the Pope! But when the Wazir came back on the line he sounded much more informal.
‘The Caliph says yes, of course, he’ll be most interested to see you again — as indeed, dear Ms Morris, so will I. Shall we send the car promptly at about four this afternoon, to pick you up at the Lazaretto buggy station?’
‘That would be fine, Wazir,’ said I, ‘but last time you named a date the car came three days late.’
‘Oh dear oh dear, did it really? — forgive us. As you know, the Caliph’s situation is such that we must keep the tightest security for his protection. But now we know you, dirleddy, and believe me, the car will be there at four o’clock sharp, or I’m not the Caliph’s Wazir — and I shall be in it!’
I spent the day puzzling. I wandered the wayward paths of Lazaretto, and felt myself truly inside a labyrinth. I sat in the shade at the Maze Bar, and tried to reduce my responses to the place into diagrammatic form — one factor linked with another, one experience blending (or more often not blending) with the next. I remembered the stroke-like spasm in Car 7, the confusions of the tunnel. I had lunch on the bar’s terrace, looking towards the Tower and thinking about these mysteries, and in a kind of reverie over my coffee I heard a voice behind my back, and the scrape of a chair being pulled beside mine.
‘I was told I would find you here’, said the British Legate, rather greasily I thought. ‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Delighted’, I lied, and waited.
‘It’s like this’, he said. ‘I feel we somehow got off on the wrong feet, so to speak, when we met the other day. I feel I was abrupt with you — I didn’t quite realize the — well, the position.’
‘Oh not at all’, said I. ‘I can well understand what a nuisance transient Britons must be to you, especially if they happen to be Welsh.’
‘Yes, well, that slipped out. I shouldn’t have said that. But the thing is, I wonder if I could possibly ask a favour of you?’ I waited. He blew his nose.
‘The thing is, I gather that this evening you’re going to see the Caliph. The thing is, the Caliph is absolutely persona non grata with HMG. It’s out of the question for me ever to meet him. I’ve never set eyes on the fellow. We Brits have no contact, although there’s a lot we could learn from him about one thing and another.’
‘So?’
‘So, the thing is, I wondered, entre nous of course — I’m speaking absolutely confidentially — I was wondering, if anything that might be of interest to HM Government emerged from your meeting, would it be too much to ask if you would pass it on to me? In particular anything concerning, well, no doubt you can guess the sort of thing, the sort of person…’
His voice trailed away. I considered the matter. He shifted in his chair.
‘I think not’, said I. ‘I am a private citizen, and it seems to me that if you already know of my appointment with the Caliph this evening you’ve been keeping some sort of surveillance over me. Whatever passed between the Caliph and me is my private business, and I will do with it whatever seems best.’