For Kingdom and Country Read Free Page A

bread on top. A cloud of fruit flies hovered above the food. A number of liquor bottles littered the floor.
    Strewn across a deep, leather armchair, which was pushed up against the dressing table, was Lock’s uniform. The sweat-stained slouch hat and the tunic with the bullet hole were unmistakable, as was the prized Beholla 7.65 automatic that Lock had taken from the dead Turk officer in the trench at Barjisiyah Woods. Away from the window, beside a large hearth that, despite the heat outside, burnt gentle warmth into the room,was a tin bathtub full of milky water. Rose petals floated on its surface.
    Opposite the door, taking up much of the room, was a large four-poster bed. It was enshrouded in mosquito nets that hung loosely open, like the curtains to a stage. On the bed were three bodies, entwined in an unconscious, drunken, post-coital stupor, such was their heady perfume of sweat, sex and alcohol. Singh moved forward and pulled the nets aside. Lock lay, head slumped on his chest, naked in the middle of the bed with a nude woman either side of him. One was milky-white, freckled and had long curled red hair; the other was a brunette with silky olive skin. Singh could not help but smile as he looked down on the slumbering trio.
    After a moment’s hesitation, he took hold of Lock’s foot and shook it.
    ‘Sahib! Wake up, sahib! It is I, Singh.’ He shook Lock’s foot again.
    The redhead stirred and flopped over onto her back. Despite his best efforts, Singh felt his eyes magnetically drawn to her body.
    ‘Sahib!’ Singh called again, louder this time, and with a touch of embarrassed irritation.
    Lock groaned.
    ‘Sahib?’
    With an immense effort Lock lifted his chin. He opened his eyes blearily and tried to focus.
    ‘Sahib. It is I, Singh.’
    Lock frowned and put the half-empty bottle of arrack he still held in his hand to his lips. He drank heavily and blinked back at Singh. ‘Sid?’ he slurred.
    ‘Yes, sahib.’
    ‘You wanna girl, Sid? Here …’ He lifted the arm of the olive-skinned brunette. ‘She’s a bit of a minx though, I warn you.’ He grinned stupidly and took another swig of arrack, belched loudly, and grimaced.
    ‘No, sahib. I was sent to fetch you.’
    Lock looked up hopefully. ‘Amy?’ he slurred.
    Singh shook his head.
    Lock’s face fell again and he waved Singh away.
    ‘Bloody Ross. Well, bugger him!’ he said, and threw the bottle of arrack at the wall.
    The bottle smashed, spraying glass and liquid over the floor, and both girls woke with a start. The redhead let out a yelp and pulled the sheets over her nakedness when she saw Singh towering over the bed. Her olive-skinned colleague merely groaned and turned over onto her belly. Lock pulled the redhead back down and put his arm protectively around her. She relaxed and let the sheet slip from her shoulders.
    ‘Go away, Sid. Leave me be,’ Lock whispered, and turned his gaze to the window.
    ‘Sahib, if I may be permitted to saying so, this is not the way. You must get up now and come with me,’ Singh said. ‘The men need you, your men. They have a great respect for you, sahib, I have a great respect for you. I am proud you are my captain. But I am not proud to see you like this. You must take control of your heart, sahib, you must not let it ruin you. All is not lost, not yet. Perhaps Memsahib Amy will not marry that fool – forgive my bluntness, sahib, but a fool is what he is, this Sahib Bing Ham Smith. It is not over yet, sahib, not unless you wish it to be.
    ‘You are a good man and a good officer, sahib,’ he added. ‘Do not throw all that away. Not like this, sahib. Not like this.’
    Lock turned his bloodshot eyes back to Singh. He sat up and pushed the redhead away. ‘But it is too late, Sid. She’s gone, she said so herself, gone to that … slimy … pompous … buggering bastard, Bingham Bloody Smith.’
    Lock’s face was twisted with anger and hurt, and spittle was running down his chin as he spoke. He shook