‘But Dr Wolff isn’t a tall, fair, young German – he’s a tiny little old dark one.’
‘Mockbar never sees things quite like other people, his style is strictly subjective; you’ll have to get used to it.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘There are a lot of things you’ll have to get used to here, but I think he is the worst. What have you done about a social secretary?’
‘I’ve got Jean Mackintosh coming next week. I wanted to settle myself in first and Alfred thought you’d lend me a hand until then, though I know you are far too important.’
‘Certainly I will. It amuses me and I can help you as I know the form. There’s no other work at present – total lull on the international front and all the ministers are away. Bouche-Bontemps is off again tomorrow. So let’s get down to it. First, here’s a list of the people who have sent flowers; you’ll want to thank them yourself. Then Alfred thought you had better see the arrangements for this week – rather hectic, I’m afraid. You have to polish off the colleagues – visit them, you know – and there are eighty embassies here so it takes a bit of doing.’
‘Are there so many countries in the world?’
‘Of course not – the whole thing is great nonsense – but we have to keep up the fiction to please the Americans. There’s nothing the millionaires like so much as being ambassadors; at present there are eighty of them, keenly subscribing to party funds. We have to tag along. In small countries like the Channel Islands practically all the male adults are ambassadors, nowadays.’
I was looking at the list of names he had given me. ‘I only know one of the people who have sent flowers – Grace de Valhubert.’
‘She’s still away,’ said Philip. ‘How do you know her?’
‘Her boy and my two are friends at school. They’ve just been staying down in Provence with her. If they have kindly said they will come here for Christmas it’s chiefly on account of Sigismond.’
‘Sweet Sigi, fascinating child,’ said Philip with a good deal of feeling. ‘I may as well tell you, Fanny, since we are such old friends and anyhow you’re sure to find out, that I’m in love with Grace.’ I felt a small, stupid pang when he said this. No doubt I would selfishly have preferred him to concentrate on me, as he used to when he was at Oxford.
‘With what result?’
He said bitterly, ‘Oh, she keeps me hanging about. She probably rather likes to show her husband, whom she is madly in love with, that somebody is madly in love with her.’
‘Silly old love,’ I said, ‘bother it. Let’s go on with the list. Who is Mrs Jungfleisch?’
‘Mildred Young fleesh. The Americans have begun to copy our tiresome habit of not pronouncing names as they are spelt. She says you know her.’
‘Really? But I never remember –’
‘Nor you do. She’s always going to Oxford so I expect you have met her.’
‘With the Dior dons probably, though I hardly ever see them – not their cup of tea at all.’
‘I suppose not.’
‘There, you see yourself how I’m not. So how shall I manage here where people are twice as frightening?’
‘Now – now!’
‘Mrs Jungfleisch is a femme du monde, I suppose?’
‘Yes, indeed. I’ve known her for years – we went to the same charm school in New York when I was with U.N.O.’
‘You went to a charm school? I always thought you were charm personified!’
‘Thank you. Mildred and I went to see if we couldn’t pick up a little extra warmth of manner, but as you so kindly suggest we found we were too advanced for the course.’
‘The person who needs it is me.’
‘Wouldn’t be any good to you, because of not remembering who people are. A memory for names and faces is the A.B.C. of charm, it’s all built up on the pleased-to-see-you formula, but you must show that you know who it is you’re being pleased to see.’
‘I know so few Americans,’ I said. ‘Do you like them, Philip?’
‘Yes, I’m paid to.’
‘In your heart of hearts?’
‘Oh, poor things, you can’t dislike them. I feel intensely sorry for them, especially the ones in America – they are so mad and ill and frightened.’
‘Shall we see a lot of them here? – I suppose so. Alfred has been told he must collaborate.’
‘You can’t avoid it, the place teems with them.’
‘Any friendly ones?’
‘Friendly? They make you long for an enemy. You’ll like some of them though. They fall into three categories, the ones here. There are the business men trying to make a better position for themselves at home as experts on Yurrup. They are afraid there may be a boom in Yurrup. Of course they don’t want to miss anything if there is. For instance, there’s the art market – all these old antique objects to marry up to the dollar. (Art is booming so they love it, they even call their children it.) There are dollars in music too – Schu and Schu can be quite as profitable as Tel and Tel. Art and music are only to be found in Yurrup; they come over prospecting for them – at the same time they don’t want to be left out of things at home, so they play an uneasy game of musical chairs between Yurrup and the States, hurtling to and fro in rockets, getting iller and madder and more frightened than ever.’
‘Frightened of what?’
‘Oh, somebody else being in on something first; falling down dead; a recession – I don’t know, dreadfully fidgety. Then there are literally thousands of officials who are paid to be here. One never sees them, except for a
