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train to Baghdad, Mosul, etc.). In the newspaper that lined her stocking drawer, a few lines of print about students in Baghdad leapt to her eyes. The Thief of Baghdad was on at the local cinema, and in the high-class highbrow bookshop into whose window she always gazed, a New Biography of Haroun el Rashid, Caliph of Baghdad, was prominently displayed.
    The whole world, it seemed to her, had suddenly become Baghdad conscious. And until that afternoon at approximately 1.45 she had, for all intents and purposes never heard of Baghdad, and certainly never thought about it.
    The prospects of getting there were unsatisfactory, but Victoria had no idea of giving up. She had a fertile brain and the optimistic outlook that if you want to do a thing there is always some way of doing it.
    She employed the evening in drawing up a list of possible approaches. It ran:
    Try Foreign Office?
    Insert advertisement?
    Try Iraq Legation?
    What about date firms?
    Ditto shipping firms?
    British Council?
    Selfridge’s Information Bureau?
    Citizen’s Advice Bureau?
    None of them, she was forced to admit, seemed very promising. She added to the list:
    Somehow or other, get hold of a hundred pounds?

They Came to Baghdad
    II
    The intense mental efforts of concentration that Victoria had made overnight, and possibly the subconscious satisfaction at no longer having to be punctually in the office at nine a.m., made Victoria oversleep herself.
    She awoke at five minutes past ten, and immediately jumped out of bed and began to dress. She was just passing a final comb through her rebellious dark hair when the telephone rang.
    Victoria reached for the receiver.
    A positively agitated Miss Spenser was at the other end.
    ‘So glad to have caught you, my dear. Really the most amazing coincidence.’
    ‘Yes?’ cried Victoria.
    ‘As I say, really a startling coincidence. A Mrs Hamilton Clipp – travelling to Baghdad in three days’ time – has broken her arm – needs someone to assist her on journey – I rang you up at once. Of course I don’t know if she has also applied to any other agencies –’
    ‘I’m on my way,’ said Victoria. ‘Where is she?’
    ‘The Savoy.’
    ‘And what’s her silly name? Tripp?’
    ‘Clipp, dear. Like a paper clip, but with two P’s – I can’t think why, but then she’s an American,’ ended Miss Spencer as if that explained everything.
    ‘Mrs Clipp at the Savoy.’
    ‘Mr and Mrs Hamilton Clipp. It was actually the husband who rang up.’
    ‘You’re an angel,’ said Victoria. ‘Goodbye.’
    She hurriedly brushed her suit and wished it were slightly less shabby, recombed her hair so as to make it seem less exuberant and more in keeping with the role of ministering angel and experienced traveller. Then she took out Mr Greenholtz’s recommendation and shook her head over it.
    We must do better than that, said Victoria.
    From a No. 19 bus, Victoria alighted at Green Park, and entered the Ritz Hotel. A quick glance over the shoulder of a woman reading in the bus had proved rewarding. Entering the writing-room Victoria wrote herself some generous lines of praise from Lady Cynthia Bradbury who had been announced as having just left England for East Africa…‘excellent in illness,’ wrote Victoria, ‘and most capable in every way…’
    Leaving the Ritz she crossed the road and walked a short way up Albemarle Street until she came to Balderton’s Hotel, renowned as the haunt of the higher clergy and of old-fashioned dowagers up from the country.
    In less dashing handwriting, and making neat small Greek ‘E’s, she wrote a recommendation from the Bishop of Llangow.
    Thus equipped, Victoria caught a No. 9 bus and proceeded to the Savoy.
    At the reception desk she asked for Mrs Hamilton Clipp and gave her name as coming from St Guildric’s Agency. The clerk was just about to pull the telephone towards him when he paused, looked across, and said:
    ‘That is Mr Hamilton Clipp now.’
    Mr Hamilton Clipp