‘English top policy makers.’
‘What, M.P.s and things?’
‘Ministers, bankers, the Archbishop, Master of the Belvoir, editor of The Times and so on. She likes to think she is seeing history on the boil.’
‘Well, that’s rather splendid. Surely these policy makers must be on our side? Why don’t they lure her to England – luncheon at Downing Street or a place for the big debate on Thursday?’
‘I see you don’t understand the point of Mildred. They worship her in the House – they can hardly bear to have a debate at all until she’s in her place there. She’s the best audience they’ve ever had. As for luncheon at Downing Street, why, she stays there when she’s in London.’
‘Oh, bother – !’
‘And now I come to think of it, she isn’t really the clue to our problem.’
‘You said she brought the food.’
‘I know. Food means nothing to Pauline.’
‘Still, she can’t live without it.’
‘The point is, she can. She’s forever going off to Tring for the starvation cure. It’s a mystery to me, this starving. People on rafts begin eating each other after a week; Pauline and Mildred are sometimes at Tring for a whole month – not a nibble out of each other’s shoulders.’
‘Oh dear, we don’t want her here for another month. Surely the policy makers must stand by their employees, Philip, and lend a hand? Have you spoken to any of them?’
‘They are doing what they can. The P.M. had a word with Sir Louis at Brooks’ last night. No good at all. Sir Louis just sat with his hand over his nose heaving with giggles in that endearing way he has,’ said Philip affectionately. ‘But after all, what can he do? Apart from the fact that it amuses him to death –’
‘Some important person ought to come over and see her – tell her she’s being unpatriotic and so on. She is, too.’
‘We’ve tried that. Moley came between two aeroplanes. He arrived very strict, but he didn’t keep it up. He said she lay there like a beautiful stag dying in the forest, and he hadn’t the heart to be cross.’
‘Why do you think she’s doing it?’
‘Oh, I don’t think there’s any very profound reason – it amuses her – she’s got nothing else to do – and if it teases you she can easily bear that. She thinks Alfred got the job by plotting against Sir Louis.’
‘You know he didn’t.’
‘Didn’t he? In any case, Sir Louis wouldn’t have stayed on – it was time for a change.’
‘I saw Mockbar in the street.’
‘He’ll go to town on it all right.’
‘Has he seen Lady Leone?’
‘Certainly not. Even Pauline draws the line somewhere.’
‘We shall have to tell Alfred before Mockbar’s piece appears.’
‘He knows. It’s he who has been saying don’t tell Fanny.’
Distant, derisive laughter assailed my ear. The evening was drawing on; the entresol was waking up. I felt quite furious.
‘How is the Quai d’Orsay taking it?’
‘Thrilled. Hughie has given out that no wives are to join in, but I’m not sure I didn’t see –’
‘Who is Hughie?’
‘Jacques-Olivier Hué, head of the protocol. Always known as Hughie.’
I was getting more irritated every minute. I have a sense of humour, I hope; this situation was clearly very funny; it was maddening not to be able to join in such a good joke, to be on the stuffy, official side against all these jolly bandits. I said, spitefully, ‘As far as Alfred can make out, your friend Sir Louis simply lived for pleasure when he was here.’
‘Ambassadors always go on like that about each other,’ said Philip. ‘One’s predecessor is idle and one’s successor is an intriguer. It’s a classic of the service. But Sir Louis was an excellent ambassador, make no mistake about it.’
‘Oh all right,’ I said. ‘Let’s try and keep our tempers. If we think it over calmly there must be a solution.’
A long silence fell between us. At last I said, ‘I’m going to speak to Mrs Jungfleisch.’
‘You can now if you want to – she’s sitting in her car in the courtyard, reading the New Deal.’
‘Why isn’t she in there shrieking with the others?’
‘I tell you, she’s a very serious girl – she puts aside certain hours every day for historical study. Besides she says the room is too hot – twenty people in that tiny room on a day like this – it must be the Black Hole of Calcutta.’
‘Then why not go home and read the New Deal there?’
‘She likes to be in on things.’
‘The cheek of it!’ I said.
I stumped out into the courtyard, opened the door of Mrs Jungfleisch’s Buick and boldly got in beside her. She was very fair and pretty with a choir-boy look, accentuated by the big, white, pleated collar she wore and straight hair done with a fringe. She turned her calm, intelligent blue eyes upon me, put down a document she was reading and said, ‘How d’you do? I am Mildred Jungfleisch. We did meet, ages ago, at Oxford.’
I was agreeably surprised by her voice which was not very American, rather more like that of an Englishwoman who has once lived in the United States. Although I knew about the charm school prospectus being too elementary for her and guessed that this was the fully qualified charmer’s voice, specially warm, for soothing an irate ambassadress in the grounds of her own embassy, it worked. Feeling decidedly soothed, I said: ‘Please excuse me for getting into your motor without an invitation.’
‘Please excuse me for sitting in your courtyard without an invitation.’
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘I’m sure you must, Lady Wincham. It’s about Pauline, of course?’
‘Yes – how long do you think she intends to stay?’
‘Pauline is utterly unpredictable. She will leave when she feels inclined to. Knowing her as I do, I guess she’ll still be here at Christmas.’
‘With you still feeding her?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘If my husband were a private person, none of this
