The Levant Trilogy Read Online Free PDF Page B

said. Bowen begged, 'At least ring
him up first'
    'Ring him up?
Where from? We 'll
get more out of him if we take him unawares.'
    Clifford spoke to
one of the camel drivers and was directed towards the river. The fortress was
soon evident. Larger and more complex than most desert fortresses, it stood up
above the trees, a white-painted, crenellated square of stone behind a
crenellated white wall. The wall enclosed a row of palms from which hung
massive bunches of red dates. A boab, looking out through the wrougbt-iron
gates, seemed doubtful of the party but Clifford's masterful manner impressed
him and he let them in. They drove between extensive, sandy lawns to an
iron-studded main door where three safragis lolled half-asleep. One of them,
rousing himself with an air of long-suffering, came to the first car and
inquired, 'What do you want?'
    'Lady Hooper.'
    'Not here. Layey
Hooper.' The safragi made to walk away but Clifford shouted, 'Sir Desmond,
then.' The safragi had to admit that Sir Desmond was at home.
    Mr Liversage
refused to leave the car but the others - even Bowen's curiosity was stronger
than his discretion - followed the servant into a vast hall where the parquet
was as deep and dark as the waters of a well. The house was air-conditioned.
Enlivened by the drop in temperature, they seemed all to realize suddenly the
enormity of their intrusion into the Hooper household. Harriet had an impulse
to run back to the car but the safragi had opened the door of a living-room
and, feeling it was too late to retreat, she went in with the rest. The room
was as large as a ballroom and made larger by its prevailing whiteness. Walls,
carpets, curtains and furniture were white. The white leather and the
white-painted surfaces had been toned down with some sort of 'antiquing'
mixture which Harriet noted with interest. The only colour in the room came
from half a dozen paintings so startling in quality that she took it for
granted that they were reproductions. Moving to them she saw they were
originals.
    She said to
Clifford in wonder, 'They're real.'
    'I don't like
that modern stuff.'
    'They were painted
before you were born.'
    'I don't like
them any the better for that.'
    Clifford,
disconcerted by his surroundings, was in a bad temper.
    Sir Desmond
entered and looked at his uninvited guests with bewildered diffidence. Deciding
they were friends of his wife, he said, 'I'm afraid Angela's not here. She's
out on a painting expedition.' Then he noticed Bowen, 'Ah, Bowen, I did not
know you were here.'
    Bowen,
identified, blushed and tried to excuse himself, 'I'm sorry. So wrong of us to
interrupt your Sunday peace. It's just ... we ...' Struggling to find an
excuse, he twisted about in anguish.
    'Not at all. Sit
down, do. Won't the ladies sit here!'
    Harriet, Miss
Brownall and the other girl were put into the seat of honour, a vast ottoman so
deep they almost sank out of sight. The men found themselves chairs and Sir
Desmond, placing himself among them, asked if they would take tea.
    Clifford said
they had had tea and his manner left the occasion open for a more stimulating
offer, but Sir Desmond merely said, 'Ah!' He was a tall, narrow man with a
regular, narrow face, dressed in a suit of silver-grey silk. His hair was the
same silver as the silk and his appearance, elegant, desiccated yet
authoritative, was that of an upper-class Englishman prepared to deal with any
situation. He looked over the visitors who, dusty, sweaty, depleted by their
travels, were all uneasy, except Clifford. Clifford's assurance was such that
Sir Desmond dropped Bowen and addressed the younger man: 'Well, major, what
brings you into the Fayoum?'
    Clifford blinked
at the title but did not repudiate it. 'We're just exploring a bit. Voyage of
discovery, you might call it.'
    'Is there anything
left to discover in this much-pillaged country?' As he spoke Sir Desmond
noticed that Clifford had on his shoulder not a crown but a plain gold button
and his voice