‘You managed to get away from your Chief,’ Sophia said to Olga, her eyes feasting on the snood.
‘He heard of my sorrow and begged me to take some leave,’ said Olga reproachfully.
‘Sorrow?’ said Rudolph. ‘Why, you are looking a bit widowed, come to think of it. What’s up?’
‘My relations in Poland –’
‘Didn’t know you had any,’ said Sophia sceptically.
‘Didn’t you, darling? Yes, indeed, my great-great-great-grandmother was a Paczinska, and I fear my poor cousins must have fallen into Bolshevik hands. You know what that meant in Russia – they were given over to their peasantry to do as they liked with.’ Olga gave a tremendous shudder.
Sophia said there must be something wrong somewhere. If the Duchess of Devonshire, for instance, was handed over to the peasantry to do as they liked with, they would no doubt put her in the best bedroom and get her a cup of tea. ‘If the peasantry are really such demons,’ she said, ‘whose fault is that, pray?’
‘But I saw in the papers that the Bolshies are going in on purpose to protect you White Russians,’ said old Ivor, rather puzzled.
Serge Gogothsky had been brought up in England, and had spent most of his life here. He must, therefore, have been well accustomed to the national ignorance on the subject of foreign affairs, but this was too much even for him. He gave a sort of warbling roar, and jumped about the room like an agonized Petrushka explaining the historical and geographical position of White Russia.
‘All right, keep your hair on,’ said the old singer, taking his off and adjusting a curl. ‘Have another drink.’
This panacea for all ills was accepted, and peace reigned once more until Rudolph tactlessly observed that he was not so enthusiastic about Europe being over-run by the murderous Muscovites as Hitler seemed to be. The Prince once more became very much excited, and said that if the Allies had assisted the White Russians at the end of the last war and enabled them to reinstate the Romanoffs, none of this would have happened.
‘What nonsense. The Romanoffs were just as likely to get imperial ideas as Uncle Joe any day of the week. You Asiatics should be kept out of Europe, that’s what it is.’
‘Keep your hairs on, dears, and let’s have dinner,’ said Sir Ivor, who only enjoyed joking conversations of an esoteric kind.
During dinner Sophia noticed that Olga was drooping her eyelids a good deal at Rudolph who seemed not to be disliking it. She cast about for means of retaliation (upon Rudolph, Olga she could always deal with very easily) but saw none to hand. The old gentleman would hardly bring conviction as a stalking horse, and the trouble with Serge was that the smallest encouragement too often led to rape. A tremendous dip of the offending eyelids stung Sophia into action and she turned to Olga with a sweet smile and asked how Savonarola was getting along. She always reserved this question for very special occasions.
‘Dearest, there is a war on, you know. Sometimes, however, I do manage to do a little scribbling, busy as I am my poetry simply forces its way on to paper. Last night, during a lull, I read some of my sonnets to the Chief. He says they remind him of Elizabeth Browning’s Sonnets to the Portuguese.’
‘From,’ said Rudolph. ‘Who is your Chief?’
Olga gave a great swoop of the eyelids, and said that her job, which was very important, and her Chief, who was very very famous, had to be kept very very secret.
‘Bet Haw-Haw knows them,’ said Rudolph. ‘I suppose you are one of those pin-money lovelies I am always reading about, eh? Come clean now, aren’t you?’
‘By the way, dears, I have a new job,’ said Ivor.
Sophia wrestled with temptation. She longed to take Olga down a peg by being in the know; the old gentleman was just going to tell them himself, so where would be the harm? On the other hand, Fred had begged her to be careful. She decided to wait and see what Ivor said. Meanwhile the conversation flowed on.
Rudolph said, ‘I suppose you are a wonderful old spy in a wonderful new wig. I suppose that’s what Olga is really, a beautiful female spy, worming her way into the hearts of careless young officers like Serge and me.’ Olga, who liked to be taken very seriously, was not pleased. She drooped her eyelids at the Empire dessus de table instead of at Rudolph, and Sophia relaxed once more.
‘Talking of jobs, you should see Sophia’s Post,’ went on Rudolph, who, entirely against her orders, was always popping in and out of it. ‘Serge, old boy, here’s a tip for you – the first thing that strikes the eye is a notice, written out in wobbling capitals by our Sophia, which says, “Never give a drink to a patient marked H.” See the form, you old mujik, the great thing is never by any chance let yourself be marked H. Farther on, however, you come to notices with arrows attached, also written by our little friend, and therefore extremely unprofessional in appearance, saying, “Males remove underclothing here”, “Females remove underclothing here”, and these lead, quite logically, to the midwifery department. I had no idea the Borough Councils were such realists.’
‘It’s called the Labour Ward,’ said Sophia; ‘don’t listen to him, he has no business to come prying round
