The Egyptian Mail confirmed the sinking of the Queen of Sparta but in its report there was reason for hope. A correspondent in Dar-es-Salaam had informed the paper that one life-boat, crowded with women and children, had got away. Its steering was faulty and it drifted for ten days before being sighted by fishermen who towed it into Delagoa Bay. By that time the children and some of the adults had died of thirst and exposure.
But not all. Not all. There had been survivors.
Edwina said earnestly to Guy: ‘I’m sure, I’m absolutely sure, that Harriet is alive.’
Guy became as sure as she was and his natural good-humour returned. His nagging fears and anxiety were displaced by the certainty that any day now Harriet would cable him from Dar-es-Salaam.
He said: ‘She’s a born survivor. After all she’s been through since war began, ten days in an open boat would mean nothing to her.’
Dobson agreed: ‘She looked frail but these frail girls are as tough as they come.’
Guy said, ‘Yes,’ before being caught in an accusing memory of why she had been persuaded on to the boat in the first place. But all that was past. When she returned to Cairo, neither he nor anyone else would talk her into going if she did not want to go.
Seeing Guy himself again, Edwina said: ‘Oh, Guy darling, do let’s have an evening out together!’
‘Perhaps, when I have some free time.’
‘Let’s go to the dinner-dance at the Continental-Savoy.’
‘Heavens, no.’ Guy was aghast at the suggestion. He said he would celebrate Harriet’s return, preferably when Harriet was safely back, but nothing would get him to the Continental-Savoy.
‘Oh!’ Edwina sighed sadly: ‘Didn’t you ever go dancing with Harriet?’
‘No, never.’
‘Poor Harriet!’
Not liking that, Guy left her and she set out for Helwan where she expected more cordial entertainment.
Certain of her welcome, she did not enquire for Simon at the office but went straight down the ward to where he lay, hidden behind curtains. Parting the curtains, she said, ‘Hello,’ but there was no reply. Simon gave her one glance, filled with a suffering that disturbed her, then turning away, pulled the cover over his face. She was perplexed by the change in him. He was no longer her ardent admirer but a shrunken figure that seemed to be sinking into a hole in the bed.
‘What is it, Simon?’ She bent over him, trying to rouse him: ‘Don’t you want to see me?’
His silence was answer enough. It occurred to him that his legs were not the only part of him that might never function again. He not only hid under his blanket but turned his face into the pillow. Standing beside him, she said several times: ‘Simon dear, do talk to me. Tell me what’s the matter.’
He at last mumbled, ‘Go away,’ and unable to bear the misery that hung over the gloomy little cubicle, she left him. At the other end of the ward, she went to the sister’s office and asked what had caused this dramatic change in Mr Boulderstone.
The sister said, ‘He’ll get over it. It happens to all of them. First, they’re up in the air, thankful to be alive, then they realize what being alive probably means. It’s not easy to accept that one may never walk again. Still, if he’s worth his salt, he’ll meet the challenge. Next time you come, I expect he’ll be trying to cheer you up.’
‘Cheer me up? But he told me he’d be out of here in no time.’
‘Even if he recovers — and I don’t say there isn’t still a chance — it’ll be a long haul before we get him on his feet again.’
The sister, a homely, vigorous, outspoken woman, gave Edwina a critical stare, weighing her ability to face up to this information, and Edwina could only say, ‘Poor Simon, I didn’t know. I thought . . .’ but she did not say what she thought. She was dismayed to learn of Simon’s condition and dismayed, too, that the sister had summed her up correctly. They both knew she would not come to Helwan again.
Returning to Cairo, she told herself the visit had been too painful and what could she do for a man so lost in misery, he would only say, ‘Go away’? Yet she was hurt by the sister’s judgement and wondered how to discount it. By the time the train reached the station, she had found a way out of her discomposure. She could not go to Helwan again but someone could go in her place. She decided that Guy, so warm, so magnanimous, was the one to take Simon in hand.
When this was put to him next morning, Guy agreed at once. He was always ready to visit people in hospital. Of course he would see the poor boy.
‘I’ll go on my day off.’
Guy’s day off was often a day of work but the following Saturday would be given up to Simon Boulderstone. He was leaving the flat to catch the Helwan train when Dobson came in the front door. Dobson had gone to the office and, for some reason, had come back again.
He said, ‘Guy!’ The unusual solemnity of his tone stopped Guy with a premonition of evil tidings. Dobson put an arm round his shoulder.
‘Guy, I didn’t telephone — I had to come and tell you myself. We’ve had official confirmation that the evacuation ship was sunk by enemy action. Only three people survived in the life-boat. We had their names this morning. Harriet was not among them.’
Guy stared at him: ‘I see, Harriet was not among them,’ then shifting his shoulder from under Dobson’s arm, he hurried from the flat.