refused to pay any more?’
‘That’s right.’ Fairclough looked at him incredulously. ‘You’re not saying that old Abdul—!’
‘He might be considered to have a grudge.’
‘Yes, but old Abdul—!’
‘He came for you with a knife.’
‘Yes, but that’s different. Anyway, it had all blown over.’
‘You had just stopped giving him money,’ Mohammed Bishari pointed out.
‘Yes, but—’ Fairclough looked at Mohammed Bishari and shook his head. ‘I just don’t believe it,’ he said.
Neither did Owen. Nor, he suspected, did Bishari. The Parquet man, however, went on with his questions, continuing on the same line. Were there other men who might have a similar grievance? Fairclough thought not. In fact, he was pretty sure. But Ibrahim had been on other errands for him, surely? Well, yes, that was true. But he didn’t think husbands were involved.
As the probing continued, Fairclough became more and more uncomfortable.
‘Doesn’t look too good, does it?’ he said suddenly. ‘All these women. Fact is, I’m not very good with ordinary women. Can’t manage the talk. Need sex, of course, every man does. But can’t manage the patter.’
‘Ordinary women?’ said Mohammed Bishari.
‘That’s right.’
‘Ordinary English women,’ said Bishari.
‘I don’t think we need to go into this, do we?’ Owen interposed. ‘Mr Fairclough has been very frank about a particular form of social inadequacy he suffers from. Surely there is no point in pressing that further?’
‘Would you allow me to be the judge of that, please, Captain Owen?’ said Bishari, looking at him coldly.
He continued with his questions. It was obvious that Ibrahim had provided him with a whole list of women he had procured. He went through them one by one.
Fairclough had turned a permanent brick-red.
Owen could not see what Bishari was playing at. Was he just trying to humiliate Fairclough? Was this some kind of personal Nationalist revenge?
He felt obliged to intercede again.
‘I fail to see the point of these questions, Mr Bishari,’ he said.
The Parquet man looked up, almost, strangely, with relief.
‘Are you questioning my conduct of the case, Captain Owen?’
‘I am questioning the purpose of these questions.’
‘Mr Fairclough has been attacked. They bear on the issue of possible motive.’
‘Surely the motive is clear? This is a terrorist attack.’
‘So you say, Captain Owen. But how can we be so sure? It seems to me that the reasons for the attack could well lie in Mr Fairclough’s private life.’
So that was it! The Parquet had decided that this was potentially a political hot potato and didn’t want to have anything to do with it. They couldn’t refuse to handle it but by handling it in this way, treating it as a purely domestic matter and denying that there was any terrorist connection at all, they hoped to force the British into taking it out of their hands altogether.
And incurring any possible odium.
Mohammed Bishari was watching him.
‘Of course, if you object to my conduct of the case it is always open to the Administration to terminate my connection with it.’
And that, from the point of view of the Parquet, would be even better. If the British could be persuaded, or provoked, into rejecting them publicly then they would not only escape odium, they might even gain credit in the eyes of the Nationalists.
Owen smiled sweetly.
‘Far from objecting to your conduct of the case, I am looking forward to an extended opportunity to study the obvious talent of the Parquet in action. Just for the moment, however, I am sure you will agree that Mr Fairclough has been under very considerable strain recently and would benefit from a recess: quite a long one, I think, will be necessary.’
Paul rang.
‘There’s a perfectly loathsome fellow I would like you to meet.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Owen. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘I know you are saving Cairo. And ordinarily I would not dream of interrupting you. But this abominable creature has been left on my hands and he will insist on seeing the night life of Cairo.’
‘Look—’
‘I am all for letting him go on his own in the hope that he won’t come back. However, the Consul-General and the Khedive take a different view. He’s a member of that delegation that’s visiting us and they think he ought to have an escort. Given the present situation. And the fact that they think they can get some money out of him.’
‘Can’t you escort him?’
‘No. I’m already escorting somebody else. The one I’m escorting is a Temperance Performer and I don’t think she and Roper would mix.’
‘What about young Bowden?’
‘Young Bowden’s too young. I like to think he doesn’t know the sort of places Roper is bent on going to. And he wouldn’t be up to it anyway. Roper’s a hard case—he’s spent some years in the diamond fields down south. Things could get out of hand. We need someone more mature and used to rough-houses.’
‘McPhee?’
McPhee was the Assistant Commandant of the Cairo Police.
‘Used to knocking people around, certainly. But is he mature? He always strikes me as rather prim. Puritanical, too. I don’t think he and Roper would get on.’
‘I don’t think I’d get on with him either from what you say.’
‘Ah, but you have the brains to subdue personal feeling in the call of duty.’
‘I don’t think—’
‘The Old Man does. Owen’s just the chap he said.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘True. He thinks it requires a political touch, you see. And he has a high regard for your political touch.’
‘Why the hell does it require a political touch?’
‘Because Roper has powerful friends. He’s been sent out here by some Syndicate or other who are interested in the Streeter Concession.’
‘Emeralds? I wouldn’t have thought there was enough of them to interest anyone big.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought so either. However, the Khedive does. The prospect of money, any money, is enough to send him into a tizzy. And the Old Man is just playing along. If the Syndicate finds there are more emeralds than Streeter thinks, then that’s good. Good for the Syndicate, certainly, good for Egypt, possibly. If it doesn’t, then at least the subject will have occupied the Khedive’s mind for a time and kept him out of the Old Man’s hair. So that would be good too. I don’t know about the emeralds, but Roper’s certainly valuable property. And has to be guarded.’
‘Oh Christ,’ said Owen resignedly.
‘Please please please please. And if that’s not enough, the Old Man says it’s an order.’
Owen made one last attempt.
‘How about the Army? Surely some young officer—?’
‘Confined to barracks,’ said Paul. ‘You suggested it. Remember?’
So