Michael Pearce - The Fig Tree Murder

‘Disgusting!’ said Zeinab.

‘A bit bizarre!’ Owen conceded.

‘What do you know about it?’ demanded Zeinab.

Owen knew absolutely nothing about women’s fashion, which he imagined was what Zeinab was talking about, so decided to keep his mouth shut.

Among the Pashas was Zeinab’s father, Nuri, who came up to Owen with a worried look.

‘Do you think she’ll do it?’

‘Do what?’

Nuri jerked his head in the direction of the window where Malik was standing with some of his cronies.

‘Kill him, you mean?’ Owen considered. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ he said.

Salah-el-Din brought his daughter up to Owen.

‘You remember Amina?’

‘Charmed!’

‘Do you race, Captain Owen?’ she asked.

‘I ride a bit.’

‘Ah! So do I. You must ride out in this direction one morning.’

‘I haven’t been doing much riding lately,’ he said hastily.

‘You must take it up again. You used to ride in England?’

‘In India.’

‘You have been to India? Oh, I would like to go to India. It must be very romantic. You have seen the Taj Mahal, yes?’

‘Well, no, actually. I was stationed up in the north.’

‘On the Frontier?’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’

‘You were a soldier? You actually fought people?’

‘Well-’

‘And burned villages? And raped the women?’

‘Oh, yes. Every day.’

Amina looked at him wide-eyed.

Across the room Zeinab was talking to Paul. She caught Owen’s eye and ostentatiously turned her back.

Malik came up and Amina moved away.

‘That’s your girlfriend, isn’t it?’ he said, looking at Zeinab.

‘Yes.’

‘She looks a bit Arabic to me. Ever tried a Circassian? I could get you one if you’d like an exchange.’

‘No, thanks,’ said Owen. He made his way over to Paul and Zeinab.

‘Who’s that strange girl you were talking to?’ asked Paul.

‘Salah-el-Din’s daughter. He’s the local mamur.’

‘She seems a bit young,’ said Paul doubtfully.

Zeinab went off in a fury.

Paul looked down at the scanty crowd below.

‘They’ll have to do better than this,’ he said. ‘Of course, it’ll be different when they’ve got the railway finished.’

‘I hadn’t realized how important it was to them.’

‘Oh, it’s important, all right.’

‘How important?’ said Owen.

‘Well, it would make a big difference to their cash flow, which, I understand, is a bit sticky-’

‘Important enough to kill for?’

Paul stared at him.

‘Are you feeling all right? Not been standing out in the sun too long?’

A little later, Owen was talking to one of the undersecretaries when Raoul, the Belgian he had met at Salah-el-Din’s, touched him on the arm.

‘Still on the bubbly? Care for something harder? Oh, and by the way, el-Sayid Ahmad would like a word with you.’

El-Sayid Ahmad was the Minister for Transport. He stretched out his hand.

‘Glad to see you. Impressive, isn’t it? A city arising out of nothing. That’s the modern Egypt for you!’

He took Owen confidentially aside.

‘You know a question has been put down in the Assembly?’

‘By Mr Rabbiki, yes.’

‘Up to his usual tricks. But you don’t have to worry. We’ll fob him off.’

‘He may be calling for a public inquiry.’

‘He won’t get one. We have a safe majority. All the same-’

‘Yes?’

‘He’ll get what he wants. Which is public attention.’

‘There’s not much we can do about that.’

‘Isn’t there? How near an arrest are you?’

Owen hesitated.

‘Faltering?’

‘It’s in the hands of the Parquet.’

‘And they are not pursuing it as zealously as they might? My dear fellow, you don’t have to say a word.’ He took Owen by the arm, as Arabs always did when they wished to move towards intimacy, and drew him close. ‘ Entre nous, the Khedive is most unhappy. Dragging their feet, he said; that’s what they’re doing! And, of course, that’s just what they are doing. Nationalists to a man.’

‘Minister, you’re not suggesting that they could be acting in concert with the Party in the House on this matter?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything. But we do have our suspicions. There have been rumours of a big Nationalist move. And it could involve the railway.’

‘Why would that make it big?’

‘Funds, my boy, it’s all to do with funds. Funds from abroad requiring a return on investment, funds for the government-a budget balance, my dear boy, you can’t believe how important that is, to some people, anyway. Funds for the Khedive, although naturally that is a minor consideration. All put in jeopardy if the railway is delayed. Big? My dear fellow, I can’t say how important it is!’

‘Important enough to kill for?’

‘You don’t need to go that far. Arrest will do. Just something to show that action has been taken.’

‘No, no, I wasn’t thinking-I meant on the Nationalist side. Important enough for them to kill for?’

‘Kill? My dear fellow!’

‘I just wondered-’

‘Kill! What can you be thinking of! Our colleagues, the Nationalists? My dear fellow! We’re not savages, you know. We leave killing to the English.’

El-Sayid Ahmad withdrew his arm and turned away. Raoul appeared with a salver on which were several tumblers of whisky.

‘I’ll have one of those,’ said Garvin, standing nearby. He reached out a hand. ‘What was he on about?’ he said to Owen.

‘The railway; he wants me to hurry it along.’

‘Best keep out of it. That’s my advice. Have nothing to do with business. Not in Egypt. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Cheers!’

‘Cheers! I wish I could. But you can’t keep money out of things.’

Garvin peered out of the window.

‘Hello!’ he said. ‘Isn’t that some of my old friends?’

He was looking at a group of singularly rough, tough, battered and scarred individuals.

‘Where do they come from?’ asked Owen.

‘Helwan. I’ve seen them on the racetrack there!’

Garvin had an unrivalled knowledge of all the gangs.

‘What are they doing here?’

‘I don’t know. I’d better find out.’

They were talking to a man in a suit.

‘Who’s that?’

‘One of the stewards, I think,’ said Owen.

‘Already?’ said Garvin. ‘I’ll have to have a word with the managers.’

‘Don’t do that,’ said Owen. ‘Not just yet.’

Garvin moved away to talk to one of the Ministers. Owen decided he had been neglecting Zeinab.

‘She’s over there,’ said Zeinab.

‘Who is?’

Away in a corner Salah-el-Din’s daughter was surrounded by a ring of Pashas.

‘They’re even older than you are,’ said Zeinab.

Owen at last realized what was bothering her.

‘I prefer experience,’ he said.

‘She’s got plenty of that.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘You’re really stupid,’ said Zeinab.

Malik went up to join the group.

‘He made me an offer to exchange you for a Circassian,’ said Owen.

‘Did you accept?’

Nuri, who had been one of the ring of Pashas, detached himself and came across to them, puffing with pleasure.

‘Charming girl!’ he said. ‘I like them fresh.’

Zeinab went off in a huff. Nuri looked after her in bewilderment, then, as Owen was about to set out in pursuit, laid a hand on his arm.

‘My dear boy,’ he said; ‘a word with you!’

‘Yes?’ said Owen, edging after Zeinab.

‘Don’t do it!’

Owen stopped, surprised.

‘Not even for her! Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. There was a time-I cared just as passionately as you. And there was this other man. Well, I said to her-it was Zeinab’s mother, you know-you can have him. If you like cold meat! I meant it, too, you know. I would have killed him. Or perhaps I did kill him? I can’t remember now, it was so long ago. Anyway, it brought us back together again. Passionate women like passion. You English are too-wait a minute, where was I? No, no, I meant it the other way round! My boy,’ said Nuri impressively, ‘you must not kill him!’