The Lighthearted Quest by Ann Bridge Read Free Book Online

things you must do in Tangier if you are going to be there, Colin or no Colin,” he said, rather sen-tentiously. “For one, you must go up to the Kasbah, the old Moorish city, on a Friday to see the Mendoub go to the Mosque for his devotions. He has a lovely cavalry guard, all over tassels.”
    â€œWho’s the Mendoub?”
    â€œThe Sultan’s representative in the International Zone—a sort of Viceroy, on the smallest possible scale. The Kasbah’s lovely, anyhow; the Terence Monteiths have a house there which is quite delicious—look out for them too.”
    â€œThe Monteiths have a place next door to Gientoran,” said Julia—“but I don’t suppose I shall meet them.”
    â€œOh, you will—everyone usually meets everyone in Tangier. And don’t on any account miss old Lady Tracy—she’s lived there for a hundred years, and knows everything; in fact she’s quite likely to be able to throw some light on Colin.”
    â€œNot an old lady of a hundred, surely,” said Julia sceptically.
    â€œYou don’t know Lady Tracy,” said Geoffrey Consett with finality.

Chapter 3
    The
Vidago
got off more or less on time the following night. Julia stayed down at the docks till the ship sailed; it occurred to her that there might be the makings of an article for
Ebb and Flow
in dockside life, so she put on a dirty old featherweight silk mackintosh, such as can only be bought in Italy, visited her new friends in the office and chatted with the crane-driver and the stevedores in the shed; she learned all the details of the fight, anxiously listened to over the wireless by everyone she met, though Murphy’s army of backers had not returned—“Oh, they won’t show up now till Monday,” said the red-haired man in the office. She had various drinks; the first was with the crane-driver, who had taken a fancy to her, at lunch-time; with delightful hesitation he asked if she ever fancied a glass of port?—and when she said she did, led her out to a small cheerful pub, where the fight was also being discussed eagerly. Her lunch she ate on board in the small saloon, along with Captain Blyth and the officer with the beard, who proved to be the Mr. Reeder whose soda the chief steward had ‘borrowed’ for her the night before; this meal, as it was to do throughout the voyage, took place at twelve-thirty—Julia was late, and when apologising to the Captain explained that she had been having drinks with the crane-driver. She noticed that the mate eyed her rather curiously on hearing this.
    â€œAt ‘The Prospect of Whitby’ I suppose,” said the Captain.
    â€œOh, no—is that near here?”
    â€œNot far off. You ought to see it, if you don’t know it.”
    It rather surprised Julia that the Captain of the
Vidago
should be so accessible before sailing; liners’ captains, in her experience, kept themselves
incommunicado
except when on the high seas. But she had still a lot to learn about the ways ofcargo-boats: both the hours of meals on board, and the general uncertainty which governs their movements. She was late again for supper, a form of high tea, not having realised that it would be at five-thirty; to repay much hospitality in the little office she had gone over at about five p.m., taking with her a bottle of Bourbon, a farewell offering from an American officer who had fallen under her spell—Julia hated rye whisky, but thought it might go down well in the office, which it did; therefore she was late. But it was over a Scotch with the Captain at nine that she had her real shock. He mentioned casually that they would be putting in at ‘Casa’. (He pronounced it ‘Cahssa’.)
    â€œWhere’s that?”
    â€œCasablanca.”
    â€œGoodness, are we going to Casablanca?”
    Julia had booked to Tangier, understanding that that was the
Vidago’s
first port of call; she