The 92nd Tiger Read Online Free Page B

for three years and come back. If it’s three years, it’s permanent.’
    ‘Would that be a bad thing?’
    Sam reflected.
    ‘For you, or me, or the great British public?’
    ‘Let’s keep the great British public out of it.’
    ‘For me, certainly it would be bad. You’re a valuable property. For you – I don’t know. That Hayes-Borton woman put her finger on it when she said you were an awkward age. I’d have had you doing all the things that really count. Repertory, and small parts at the Old Vic and Stratford, and maybe a film. As it is, you’re a one-man band, and when the band stops playing—’
    He spread his hands expressively.
    ‘You mean I’m through.’
    ‘No. I don’t mean that. I could name half a dozen people who’ve climbed out of situations like this and are now respectable pillars of the stage. What I’m saying is, it’s a hard climb. Six months away won’t hurt. Particularly if you really are doing a job, not sitting at home waiting for the telephone to ring.’
    ‘Maybe I won’t even last six months. It sounds a rocky sort of berth.’
    ‘You’d better have a word with Jim Lewis. He’ll put you wise to the tax angles.’
    So Hugo had gone off, next, to consult Jim Lewis. In ancient times, he reflected, if a man was starting out on a dangerous journey overseas he would consult the astrologers and the priests. Now he went to see his tax accountant.
    He became aware that someone was standing in front of him. It was a small brown man in a blue suit. The only thing remarkable about him was his tie, which looked like an impressionist’s idea of a sun setting in a stormy sea.
    He said, ‘Mr. Greest? Sayyed Nawaf-al-Elkan, Head of Finance. I am pleased to see you here. I will take you up to his Highness.’
    He spoke excellent English and had an attractive smile. On the way up in the lift he said, in Arabic, ‘The Ruler has with him only his eldest son, Hussein, myself and two secretaries. The visit is quite informal.’
    Hugo said, trying out his Arabic, finding the once familiar words coming awkwardly to his tongue, ‘Should I address his Highness as Mr. Smith?’
    ‘That will not be necessary.’ Nawaf knocked at the door of one of the third-floor suites, which was unlocked after a moment’s delay. A tall man in a gallabiah, whom Hugo took to be one of the secretaries, held the door open for them and ushered them in.
    His Highness, Sheik Ahmed bin Rashid bin Abdulla el Ferini, Ruler of Umran was standing with his back to the window. Hugo’s first impression was of a very big man, with a jutting black beard. A man who entirely filled a light grey suit, who smiled, held out his hand, and said, in English which was good, but not as accentless as Nawaf’s, ‘Nice to see you, Mr. Greest. Please sit down. Nice weather we are having.’
    The secretary, who had vanished, reappeared with three cups of coffee on a tray. It was all very civilised.
    When the secretary had taken himself off again the Ruler said, ‘Mr. Taverner, your Foreign Department, will have explained to you what I require. Will you do it?’
    Until that moment, Hugo would have said that he had not made his mind up. To his surprise he found himself saying, in matter of fact tones, ‘I’ll do my best.’
    ‘Excellent,’ said the Ruler. As though this was a prearranged cue, the bedroom door on the other side of the suite opened and a boy came out.
    ‘Allow me to introduce you to my son, Hussein.’
    Hugo got up and shook hands ceremonially with Hussein. It was difficult to judge his age. Hugo put him down as sixteen and found out later that he had over-guessed by a year.
    The boy was wearing a Norfolk jacket and gaberdine trousers. His black hair was long, but no longer than that of an English boy of his age. He took his jacket off, hung it over the back of a chair, and said, ‘Would you think it great cheek, Mr. Greest, if I asked you to take your coat off?’
    (Could this be some custom of the Trucial Coast?