Then, suddenly, her manner changed. She smiled—a warm sunny smile—and she said, very sweetly, that she was very glad I had come and that she was sure I was going to be a comfort to her.
She got up from the bed and said: ‘Would you like to come up to the roof and see the sunset? It’s usually very lovely about this time.’
I agreed willingly.
As we went out of the room she asked: ‘Were there many other people on the train from Baghdad? Any men?’
I said that I hadn’t noticed anybody in particular. There had been two Frenchmen in the restaurant-car the night before. And a party of three men whom I gathered from their conversation had to do with the Pipe line.
She nodded and a faint sound escaped her. It sounded like a small sigh of relief.
We went up to the roof together.
Mrs Mercado was there, sitting on the parapet, and Dr Leidner was bending over looking at a lot of stones and broken pottery that were laid in rows. There were big things he called querns, and pestles and celts and stone axes, and more broken bits of pottery with queer patterns on them than I’ve ever seen all at once.
‘Come over here,’ called out Mrs Mercado. ‘Isn’t it too too beautiful?’
It certainly was a beautiful sunset. Hassanieh in the distance looked quite fairy-like with the setting sun behind it, and the River Tigris flowing between its wide banks looked like a dream river rather than a real one.
‘Isn’t it lovely, Eric?’ said Mrs Leidner.
The doctor looked up with abstracted eyes, murmured, ‘Lovely, lovely,’ perfunctorily and went on sorting potsherds.
Mrs Leidner smiled and said: ‘Archaeologists only look at what lies beneath their feet. The sky and the heavens don’t exist for them.’
Mrs Mercado giggled.
‘Oh, they’re very queer people—you’ll soon find that out, nurse,’ she said.
She paused and then added: ‘We are all so glad you’ve come. We’ve been so very worried about dear Mrs Leidner, haven’t we, Louise?’
‘Have you?’
Her voice was not encouraging.
‘Oh, yes. She really has been very bad, nurse. All sorts of alarms and excursions. You know when anybody says to me of someone, “It’s just nerves,” I always say: but what could be worse? Nerves are the core and centre of one’s being, aren’t they?’
‘Puss, puss,’ I thought to myself.
Mrs Leidner said dryly: ‘Well, you needn’t be worried about me any more, Marie. Nurse is going to look after me.’
‘Certainly I am,’ I said cheerfully.
‘I’m sure that will make all the difference,’ said Mrs Mercado. ‘We’ve all felt that she ought to see a doctor or do something. Her nerves have really been all to pieces, haven’t they, Louise dear?’
‘So much so that I seem to have got on your nerves with them,’ said Mrs Leidner. ‘Shall we talk about something more interesting than my wretched ailments?’
I understood then that Mrs Leidner was the sort of woman who could easily make enemies. There was a cool rudeness in her tone (not that I blamed her for it) which brought a flush to Mrs Mercado’s rather sallow cheeks. She stammered out something, but Mrs Leidner had risen and had joined her husband at the other end of the roof. I doubt if he heard her coming till she laid her hand on his shoulder, then he looked up quickly. There was affection and a kind of eager questioning in his face.
Mrs Leidner nodded her head gently. Presently, her arm through his, they wandered to the far parapet and finally down the steps together.
‘He’s devoted to her, isn’t he?’ said Mrs Mercado.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘It’s very nice to see.’
She was looking at me with a queer, rather eager sidelong glance.
‘What do you think is really the matter with her, nurse?’ she asked, lowering her voice a little.
‘Oh, I don’t suppose it’s much,’ I said cheerfully.
‘Just a bit run-down, I expect.’
Her eyes still bored into me as they had done at tea. She said abruptly: ‘Are you a mental nurse?’
‘Oh, dear, no!’ I said. ‘What made you think that?’