Garvin understood the point in a flash.
“Distracts from the struggle, does it?”
“It’s the circus that goes with the bread,” said Mahmoud.
“McPhee would disagree with you,” said Owen. “He believes that the sugar sweetens the tensions.”
“That’s the same point,” said Garvin.
“And dissolves them.”
“Well-”
Garvin and Mahmoud looked at each other and laughed and walked on beside each other for a little while. Owen got held up by a camel. When he caught up with them they were deep in conversation.
“The second time he’s done it,” said Garvin. “Twice in a year!”
“Well, yes. I suppose with all the preparation-”
“Exactly. But it knocks on all the way back. Government offices-”
“The Courts-”
“Firms.”
“Business.”
“He just doesn’t realize.”
“It’s the time!”
“The inefficiency!”
“Yes,” said Mahmoud, slightly surprised, “the inefficiency.”
Chapter 12
Owen, who had long ago learned that the only way of being sure, in Egypt, especially in hot weather, that a thing had been done was to go yourself and see it had been done, paid a visit to the household of Sayeed Abdullah. It was in a tiny street below the Citadel, right on the edge of the city. The houses here were single-storey, simple blocks with flat roofs. Some of them had tiny yards, in which the people did their cooking and as Owen went past he caught the wafts of fried onions. It was about the time of the evening meal, when it was still light enough to see but darkness was beginning to take the heat out of the air.
He found the house and knocked on the door. Somebody moved on the roof above him. Perhaps the family was already up there, where later they would spread the beds and sleep, trying to catch a breath of evening air. After a moment, as no one came, he stepped back to call up.
And then someone came round the side of the building, out of the shadows and put him in an expert neck-lock.
He immediately raised both his feet off the ground and then drove the heels of his shoes hard down the front of the bare shins of his assailant. The man gasped and involuntarily released the lock just enough to allow Owen to drive back with his elbow. He twisted round and broke loose enough to free the other arm. He brought his fist in hard but it was partially blocked and thudded into the shoulder, rather than against the neck as he had intended.
He didn’t get a second chance but was at once enveloped in an enormous bear hug. His feet were lifted right off the ground and he was swung round and crashed against the wall.
Every bit of breath was jolted out of him. His attacker prepared to swing again. Owen couldn’t stop him and had to take the blow. This time, though, he was able to raise his feet behind him, put them against the wall, and push off. His attacker, still holding him fast, staggered back across the street. They came out into some lamplight.
“Why, effendi!” said the surprised voice of Selim.
The mighty grip loosened.
“Jesus!” said Owen. “What’s going on?”
“You told me, effendi!”
“I just said, guard him!”
“You said no one was to get at him!”
“Yes, but I didn’t say kill anyone who approached!”
He was able to speak now and his head had not been torn off as at first he supposed. He was even able to reflect that at least Selim was obeying instructions effectively.
“Sorry, effendi,” said Selim contritely.
“It’s OK. You were quite right,” said Owen grudgingly. “Best to be on the safe side.”
“Sayeed has told me they are bad men, effendi,” Selim explained, “so I thought it best to strike first and caution afterwards.”
“In this instance,” said Owen, “you are probably right.”
“Nasty bastards,” said Selim, leading Owen into the house. “Did you see what they did to his leg? I’ve promised him that if I get the chance, I’ll do the same to them. You needn’t worry though, effendi, they’ll still be able to talk afterwards. Just.”
Selim, it transpired, was already a great favourite of the family. He and Abdul covered the guard duty in shifts. Since, when they were not assaulting astonished visitors, the duty entailed staying indoors in the shade, drinking innumerable cups of tea and spending most of the time chatting to Sayeed, they embraced their responsibilities with relish.
“We are beloved of the family,” Selim assured him.
Not too beloved, Owen hoped, and had a private word with Selim about this before he left.
“Effendi,” swore Selim, “I will not lay a finger upon her. You can rely on me. Especially as she is old enough to be my grandmother.”
Even so, Owen had his doubts. As to Selim’s discharge of the rest of his duties, he was, on reflection, rather more satisfied. A little over-enthusiastic, perhaps, but on the whole Owen thought it best not to complicate matters by urging moderation in other things as well.
The expected newspaper attacks appeared. They were aimed this time, however, chiefly at Owen. “Why me?” he complained to Paul.
“They must think you’re getting somewhere,” suggested Paul. “Of course, they’re not very well informed.”
Owen had gone to the lengths of calling on Paul in his office at the Consulate-General.
“Not because you’re bothered about newspaper attacks,” said Paul.
“Them? Oh no, it’s something else.” He hesitated. “Actually, I do feel I might be getting somewhere. Only I’m not going to do it in time. Before Wainwright gets here. Or, at least, before he leaves England in order to get here. In which case it will be too late to stop him.”
“He will be leaving England the day after tomorrow,” said Paul.
“You don’t think-if he could just be delayed a little?”
“Tried that,” said Paul, “but he wants to get out in time for the Flower Show.”
He was, however, thinking. Suddenly, he squared his shoulders.
“I have a duty,” he said. “A duty to obstruct anyone who goes to a Flower Show other than by accident. I will try again. This time I will raise my game.”
He took a pad of Governmental telegram forms from a drawer in his desk and picked up a pen. A few minutes later he stopped and rang his bell. A worried middle-aged man appeared.
“Wilson, what do gardeners do in the garden in England at this time of the year?”
“Not much.”
“They must do something. My mother is always out there.”
“Dig?”
“Something technical.”
“Water dahlias?”
“That will do nicely. Thank you, Wilson.”
When he had finished, he passed the result to Owen. “How’s that?”
Consul General to Wainwright deeply grieve to inform you Flower Show cancelled.
“Paul,” said Owen, “it’s not been cancelled!”
“Think he’ll check?”
He picked up the pen and made an alteration.
Flower Show likely postponed.
“Paul,” said Owen, “won’t he check that too?”
“Ah, yes, but I’ll get the Old Man to ask the Committee if it ought to be postponed. In view of the heat. They’ll argue about it for days and by the time they’ve made up their minds it’ll be too late to do anything other than postpone it.”
“He may wonder why it’s postponed.”
“The heat. I’ll put that in.”
Postponed due to extreme heat. Likewise judicial investigation.
“Paul, do you think that’ll convince him? I mean, he’s been out here, he knows about the heat.”
“Should I make it stronger? Perhaps: Due to extreme heat and political unrest.”
“ The Flower Show? Postponed because of political unrest?”
“Certainly. There’s always political unrest about Flower Shows. My mother-”
“Paul, that’s in the Cotswolds. In England.”
“All right. I’ll make it clear that it’s the inquiry that might be affected by political unrest. How about this?”