"That’s right." Rechid nodded with a smile, "Mustafa in Istanbul is like John and Charles in London. But rest assured, I’m probably the Mustafa in Istanbul who speaks French and English the best, so there should be no barriers when we chat."
At this point, Rechid’s tone shifted, and the smile on his face diminished sowhat: "Of course, the reason I invited you for coffee today is not just for small talk. Apart from pleasantries, there’s sothing very personal I want to tell you in person. I want to say thank you on behalf of many of my Muslim brothers, especially the Chechens in the Caucasus, to you and Sir David Eckett."
Arthur frowned slightly, not out of surprise, but because it had been a long ti since anyone had directly brought up those old events.
Moreover, he himself was not very keen to ntion it because the events in the Caucasus could almost be counted as part of his dark history.
Perhaps David Eckett would quite like the title of Liberator of the Caucasus, but Arthur couldn’t care less about that title, and even wished he could toss it into a trash can.
"You don’t need to thank ." Arthur "modestly" declined: "The person truly deserving of gratitude is Sir David Eckett. He’s the one who actually fought alongside the Chechens against the Russians in the Caucasus, a complete humanitarian, who wouldn’t tolerate even a speck of sand in his eyes."
"Of course, Sir David and I are old friends. The first thing I did upon taking up my post in London was to visit him."
Not wanting to dwell on this matter, Arthur quickly steered the conversation to another direction before Rechid could start praising him: "That’s good, are you getting used to life in London? After all, the two countries have quite a few differences in climate, diet, and lifestyle habits."
Intrigued, Rechid asked: "Have you been to Istanbul?"
Arthur gently stirred the hot cocoa in his cup and spoke unhurriedly: "I haven’t been to Istanbul, but, how should I put it, having heard so much about it, I feel as if I’ve been there several tis. I rember soone telling that there are more bathhouses than mosques in Istanbul, and normally, you’d go to a bathhouse every week. Most of the bath attendants are Albanians; they would scrub your back with coarse burlap bags, then alternate between hot and cold water rinses. Afterwards, they’d wrap you in a towel, and you’d have a cup of bitter mint tea, perhaps light a water pipe..."
Saying this, Arthur couldn’t help but ask: "By the way, I heard that Istanbul’s water pipes have fruit flavors, is that true?"
Upon hearing this, Rechid raised an eyebrow slightly, smiled, and gently placed his coffee cup back on the saucer: "Indeed, and we have more than just one fruit flavor. Rose, pogranate, dried apricot, cherry, and even so have tried mixing raisins with orange peel, creating sothing they call ’Byzantine Sunset’. Although I’ve always thought it tastes more like the result of trying to salvage fernted sugared grapes that went awry..."
Saying this, Rechid paused, as if he had so reservations, and did not continue.
Arthur, however, nonchalantly waved his hand: "Don’t mind that much, I have no objections to the na ’Byzantine Sunset’, although there are many Greek sympathizers in Britain, I am certainly not one of them, as you know, myself and Sir David Eckett..."
At this point, Arthur found himself at a loss for words, having said what he shouldn’t have.
Sure enough, as soon as Rechid heard the na David Eckett, he opened up: "I almost forgot, you and Sir David Eckett are friends, so you’re indeed unlikely to side with Greece. To be honest, I’m quite interested in erging scientific technology, and after coming to London, I’ve visited almost every factory I could. When I visited Sir David Eckett, we happened to discuss this topic, and Sir David ntioned that you are an expert in science and technology?"
Upon hearing this, Arthur imdiately sensed that sothing was amiss, and quickly waved his hands: "I wouldn’t dare call myself an expert, I rely have seen so novel things in different places, can speak a few scientific terms, and occasionally bluff a few ignorant newspaper reporters."
He said this with a smile, his tone light, but Rechid only took it as modesty.
"But according to Sir David, your achievents in electromagnetism are second to none. Gauss from Gottingen, Faraday from the Royal Society, and Mr. Wheatstone have all highly praised your contributions to Natural Philosophy."
Arthur was unwilling to acknowledge these things, he hadn’t even replied to the letter Gauss sent him last year, and he certainly didn’t want to create unnecessary complications now.
"That’s just normal flattery between friends, you really shouldn’t take it to heart."
But Rechid’s attitude was resolute: "Even so, you do indeed know how those telegraph lines are laid, how the electromagnetic signals travel, right? After all, the telegraph lines in Belgium are operated by your England Electromagnetic Telegraph Company."
"No, that’s just... wait... what did you say?"
Arthur was about to laugh and brush it off, to gently sidestep the topic, as the title of an expert would bring future troubles once solidified.
However, when he heard "England Electromagnetic Telegraph Company" slip from Rechid’s mouth, his previously resistant attitude instantly softened quite a bit.
"Oh? You were actually paying attention to this?" Arthur’s tone even carried a hint of old-friend intimacy: "Mustafa, I didn’t expect you’d be interested in my little company. To be honest, we did lay a telegraph line in Belgium, extending from Antwerp to Brussels. Although the construction progress was a bit slow, at least everything is on track."
"Is that so? Then congratulations to you." Rechid seed genuinely pleased, leaning in slightly: "I said, although Londoners are skeptical about the telegraph system, those who truly understand its value naturally see it as a powerful tool, and this ti, it seems the Belgians have been quick to recognize its worth."
"Indeed." Arthur nodded slightly, saying nonchalantly: "That’s exactly why we believe the telegraph has more prospects in the military and political fields than in comrcial use. Military communication, port scheduling, even communication between foreign envoys... once the lines are connected, many troubleso matters naturally get resolved."
Hearing this, Rechid’s eyes showed a hint of admiration: "Speaking of which, Arthur, I have this quirk where when I encounter sothing of interest, I always want to see it for myself."
He gently tapped the edge of his cup: "I wonder if there’s a possibility of visiting your company? I wouldn’t bring too many people, maybe just one or two secretaries, absolutely no more interruptions, we just wish to see for ourselves how the telegraph line, praised by Belgians, actually operates."
Arthur didn’t imdiately reply, but put down his cup, smiled, and glanced sideways at him: "Are you sure it’s purely out of interest?"
However, before Rechid could respond, he continued, "But, seeing as you’re a friend of Sir David Eckett, alright, since you ask personally, I certainly can’t refuse. Let arrange it, pick a ti, and I’ll personally take you there. I’ll be your guide then."
Upon hearing this, Rechid was overjoyed: "If that’s the case, that would be wonderful."
But before he could finish, there was an untily commotion from the door.
There were quick, hurried footsteps.
The next mont, a rosy little face peeked in.
"Sir!" A familiar voice, tinged with urgency, it was Becky’s.
She had clearly rushed over, her cheeks slightly reddened by the wind and hasty pace, she ignored the store’s etiquette and quickly approached Arthur.
Rechid leaned back slightly in confusion, giving the unexpected young lady so space.
"Hmm?" Arthur looked back in surprise at his maid: "Becky, what are you doing here? Did sothing happen at ho?"
"A stranger ca to the house, claiming... Miss Flora Hastings sent him." Becky caught a slight breath, and continued in a low voice: "He said that since you weren’t there, I should give you a ssage, saying that Miss Hastings wants you to return ho as soon as possible, she has urgent matters to discuss with you face-to-face..."
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