The Mamur Zapt and the Spoils of Egypt. Michael Pearce
quite agree,’ said the man from Finance: an Egyptian. He was an Under-Secretary—which was a sign that someone somewhere was taking the meeting seriously—and his name was Abu Bakir.
Paul raised an eyebrow.
‘Naturally, works of art have an intrinsic value,’ he said smoothly. ‘Once they are on the market, however, they have a market value.’
‘The question is: how do they get on the market?’ said Abu Bakir.
‘It is not their value that I am concerned about,’ said Monsieur Peripoulin, ‘but their location.’
‘That, too, is determined by the market.’
‘But ought it to be? That is what I am asking. It is an issue of principle,’ the Frenchman insisted.
‘Yes,’ said Paul, ‘but which principle? At this stage in Egypt’s development I would have thought the overriding necessity was to ensure Egypt’s economic health. And that is best done by adherence to the principles of Free Trade.’
‘I am afraid,’ said the Egyptian, who was, after all, from the Ministry of Finance, ‘that I have to agree.’
‘What?’ cried Monsieur Peripoulin, throwing up his hands in dismay. ‘You are willing to see Egypt’s treasures disappear?’
‘I did not say that,’ said Abu Bakir. ‘I did not say that.’ He turned to Paul. ‘Can we return for a moment to a distinction Monsieur Peripoulin made earlier?’
‘What distinction?’ said Paul, glancing at his watch.
‘The one between the ordinary tourist and the specialist buyer. As far as the ordinary tourist is concerned, I think I agree with you: we should not interfere in the ordinary processes of trade. With respect to the specialist buyer and the exceptional item, however, I find myself tempted by Monsieur Peripoulin’s licensing proposal.’
‘I don’t think we can take a decision on something as major as that today.’
‘Perhaps not, but I don’t think we ought just to leave it. Perhaps we can ask Customs to look into it and report back?’
‘We could do that,’ assented Paul.
It being past lunch-time, everyone was prepared to agree and the meeting broke up. As they walked out, Monsieur Peripoulin put a hot hand on Owen’s arm.
‘All this is missing the point. Licence, not licence, that is not the point. What happens when the goods don’t come to us at all?’
‘They should all come to you.’
‘But what happens when they don’t?’
‘Ah well,’ said Abu Bakir over Owen’s shoulder, ‘that’s where the Mamur Zapt comes in.’
‘Not the Mamur Zapt; the police,’ said Owen.
‘The police!’ said Monsieur Peripoulin dismissively.
‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ said Carmichael, from Customs. ‘The police can’t do much about it. Half the staff goes out under Capitulatory privilege.’
‘That’s why I said the Mamur Zapt,’ said Abu Bakir.
‘I don’t want to have anything to do with it,’ said Owen.
‘Very sensible of you,’ said Paul.
‘If it’s tied up with the Capitulations we won’t get anywhere.’
The Capitulations were privileges granted to European powers by successive Ottoman rulers in return for organizing international trade.
‘True,’ said Paul.
‘In that case that’s something for the Foreign Office, not me.’
‘Mm,’ said Paul.
‘In fact, I wonder why I was there at all. Who called the meeting?’
‘I did.’
‘You did?’ said Owen, surprised.
They were at a reception that evening in what Old India hands called the Residency and new English ones the Consulate-General. The house was, indeed, in the style of English building in India, designed to protect against the heat rather than against the cold. The floor was tiled, the roof domed, the windows shuttered and the doors arched. Through one of the arches Owen could see Miss Skinner talking to Abu Bakir.
‘Yes. It’s moving up the political agenda.’
‘The export of antiquities?’
‘People are getting interested.’
‘What people? Peripoulin goes on about it, I know, but—’
‘Other people. People outside Egypt.’
‘They’re the ones who are buying the stuff!’
‘Yes. But other ones are asking questions about it.’
‘About us exporting antiquities?’
‘And other things, too. About our stewardship, for instance, of Egyptian treasures.’
‘We’re looking after them all right, aren’t we? Old Peripoulin—’
‘We’re selling them off. At least, that’s how some people see it.’
‘We’re not selling them off. Private individuals are. That’s nothing to do with us.’
‘Isn’t it? Some people think it is. Some people think there ought to be a regulatory framework.’
‘I see. So that’s what the meeting was about.’
‘It’s very important,’ said Paul, ‘that people get the right impression.’
‘Maybe. I still don’t see why I had to be there, though.’
Paul smiled.
Across the room Miss Skinner was now talking to Peripoulin and another Frenchman, L’Espinasse, the Inspector of Antiquities.
‘There’s that damned woman. Why are you spending time on her, Paul?’
‘Her uncle could be the next President of the United States.’
‘Really?’
‘If he wins the election in a year’s time. He’s sent her out here on a fact-finding mission.’
‘You’d better make sure she finds the right facts, then.’
‘I am sticking to her like glue,’ said Paul.
Miss Skinner came towards them.
‘Perhaps you gentlemen can explain to me why it is that all the people in the Antiquities Service are French? No, don’t tell me! Can it be that the English concentrate on the money and leave the culture to the French?’
‘Shame, Miss Skinner! There are eminent English archæologists working in the service, too!’
‘And are there Frenchmen working in the Ministry of Finance?’
‘We work a lot in French,’ said Paul truthfully but evading the point. ‘Egypt’s links with France go back to the time of Napoleon.’
‘The first of the spoilers!’ declared Miss Skinner. She waved a hand at Owen as she moved away. ‘I’m so looking forward to tomorrow!’
‘What’s this?’ said Owen.
Paul looked uncomfortable.
‘I was hoping you’d come round for a drink.’
‘Certainly.’
‘And bring Zeinab.’
‘Certainly. But why particularly bring Zeinab?’
‘Miss