I was startled. ‘Good Lord, Hil. What on earth makes you think that?’
‘I don’t know. Nothing I suppose. It’s just that—’ She stopped and sighed.
‘Where would he find more than he has now?’ I asked softly, and she took my hand and squeezed it.
‘My dear Ben. What would we do without you?’
When I went to tuck Bobby up and kiss her goodnight, I told her what I thought of her behaviour at lunch and she snuffled a bit and said she was sorry. Then we kissed and hugged and agreed that we still loved each other. She was asleep before I had switched out the light, and with dread in my heart I went across to the common room for a repeat of the midday performance.
At the threshold I blinked with surprise. Louren, Eldridge and Sally were in a friendly and animated huddle over the typed pile of translation sheets, while Ral and Leslie were eagerly discussing their marriage plans with Hilary. The transformation was miraculous. I made my way with relief towards the Glen Grant bottle, and poured a medium-sized one.
‘One for me also.’ Sally came across to me. I could see no evidence of headache. Her mouth was a hectic slash of bright lipstick, and the silk dress she wore was draped to expose her strong brown back and shoulders. She had piled her hair up on her head, and I thought I had seldom seen her look so lovely.
I poured her a drink, and we went to join the discussion of the scrolls. In contrast to his earlier mood, Louren was at his most charming, and even Eldridge could not resist him.
‘Professor Hamilton has done a most remarkable job here, Ben,’ he greeted me. ‘I can only congratulate you on your choice of a colleague.’ Eldridge preened modestly.
‘There is something we cannot put off much longer, Ben,’ Louren went on. ‘We are going to have to make an announcement soon. We can’t keep this a secret much longer.’
‘I know,’ I agreed.
‘Have you had any thoughts on it, yet?’
‘Well, as a matter of fact—’ I hesitated. I hate having to ask Louren to spend money, ‘I was thinking of something on a rather grand scale.’
‘Yes?’ Louren encouraged me.
‘Well, I thought if we could have the Royal Geographical Society convene a special symposium on African prehistory. Eldridge is a member of the Council, I’m sure he could arrange it.’
We looked at him, and he nodded.
‘Then perhaps Sturvesant International could play host to the delegates, fly them to London and pay their expenses to make sure they all attend, or at least some of them.’
Louren threw back his head and laughed delightedly. ‘You are a scheming son-of-a-gun, Ben. I see your plan exactly. You are going to gather all your critics and enemies together in one bunch within the hallowed precincts of the RGS, and you are going to play the Al Capone of archaeology in a scientific St. Valentine’s day massacre. In the jargon, you are going to murder da bums. That’s right, isn’t it?’
I blushed at having my plans so readily exposed.
‘Well,’ and then I grinned sheepishly and nodded, ‘I guess that’s about it, Lo.’
‘I love it.’ Sally clapped her hands with delight. ‘We will draw up a guest list.’
‘We will do this in style,’Louren promised. ‘We’ll fly them in first class and we’ll put them at the Dorchester. We’ll give a champagne lunch to lull them and then we’ll turn Ben and Eldridge loose amongst them like a pack of ravening wolves.’ He had entered fully into the spirit of the thing and he turned to Eldridge.
‘How long would it take to arrange?’
‘Well, it would have to go before the Council for approval. We would have to give them some idea of the agenda, but of course your offer to pay the expenses would make it a lot easier. I will lobby a couple of the other Council members.’ Eldridge was enjoying it also. There is a rather perverse thrill to be had out of planning and executing the professional assassination of one’s enemies. ‘I think we could arrange it for April.’
‘April the first,’ I suggested.
‘Lovely,’ laughed Louren.
‘We must have Wilfred Snell,’ Sally pleaded.
‘He’s top of the list,’ I assured her.
‘And that slimy little Rogers.’
‘And De Vallos.’
We were still gloating and scheming when we sat down to eat the fiery curry of wild pheasant that I hoped would make the sultry night air seem cool by comparison. There were pitchers of cold draught beer to go with it, and the meal developed into a festive occasion. We were still gloating on the discomfort of our scientific enemies and planning the confrontation in detail, when Sally turned suddenly to Hilary who had been sitting quietly beside me.
‘You must forgive us, Mrs Sturvesant. This must be terribly boring for you. I don’t suppose a word of it makes sense to you.’ Sally’s tone was honeyed and solicitous. I was as surprised as Hilary, for I understand enough of the secret language of women to recognize this as an open declaration of war. I hoped that I was mistaken, but five minutes later Sally attacked again.
‘You must find the heat and primitive conditions here most trying, Mrs Sturvesant. Not the sort of weather for your tennis parties, is it?’
The way she said it made tennis seem the pastime of a spoiled and ineffectual butterfly. But this time Hilary was ready for her, and with a face like an angel and tones every bit as sugary as Sally’s, she ripped back in a devastating counterattack.
