‘But what is the point of these islands?’ I asked as Alfred was about to leave for the Quai d’Orsay.
‘Islands are always rather desirable – the Royal Yacht Squadron would like them to be English; our fishermen could use them, I suppose. The Foreign Secretary says the question must be settled now in the interests of Western solidarity. I must say, I’m not delighted to have to make a nuisance of myself at such a time.’
The President of the Republic, M. Béguin the outgoing Prime Minister, and the heads of the parties, one of whom was M. Bouche-Bontemps, had been up for several nights trying to resolve the crisis; tempers were beginning to be frayed. The English newspapers were pointing out the impossibility of relying on an ally who never seems to have a government. In decidedly gloating tones they inquired: will France be represented at the Foreign Ministers’ Conference next week or shall we, as usual, see an empty seat? Can the Western Alliance afford these continual tergiversations? The people of England look on with dismay; they have but one desire, to see our French friends strong, prosperous and united.
The French papers urged the political parties to settle their differences with the least possible delay since ‘nos amis britanniques’ were clearly about to make use of the situation to further their own sinister schemes. The two old neighbours are not always displeased by each other’s misfortunes, nor do they trust each other not to take advantage of them.
‘And you will notice when you have lived here for a bit,’ said Grace de Valhubert, ‘that it is the English who are the more annoying. The French never sent arms to the Mau-Mau, that I heard of.’
Grace counted herself as a sort of supernumerary English ambassadress; like most people who have been accredited for years to a foreign country she could only see one side of every question and that not the side of her own, her native land. Everything French was considered by her superior to its English equivalent. She was inclined to talk a sort of pidgin English, larded with French words; she slightly rolled her r’s; at the same time her compatriots in Paris noted with glee that her French was by no means perfect. She was a bit of a goose, but so good-natured, pretty and elegant that one could not help liking her. It was the fashion to say that she had a terrible time with her husband but when I saw them together they always seemed to be on very comfortable terms. She was evidently quite uninterested in Philip.
She had come to call on me, sweet and affectionate, bringing me flowers. ‘So sorry not to have been here when you arrived but I always stay at Bellandargues as long as I can. It’s what I like best in the world. Anyway, who knows that I would have resisted the entresol? Too awful if you hadn’t been able to ask me when next there is a Visit!’
‘Oh Grace, the rules would be quite different for you!’
I took her to my room to see the fashionable dress I hated so much. She transformed it instantly by putting a belt on it, after which it became the prettiest I had ever had. ‘Never believe that we have seen the last of the waist – the English have been saying it ever since the New Look went out – wishful thinking I suppose. An Englishwoman’s one idea is to get into something perfectly shapeless and leave it at that.’
I thought of the Chinese robe.
‘As a matter of fact,’ she went on, ‘if you’re like me and get fond of your clothes and want to wear them for years the first rule is to stick to the female form. Everything that doesn’t is dated after one season. Perhaps I’d better take you to my dressmaker – he’s in the Faubourg – very nice and convenient for you – his clothes are more ordinary and far more wearable. I always think Dolcevita really wants to make one look a figure of fun.’
I thanked her for this advice, on all of which I acted. ‘Come back to the Salon Vert and we’ll have some tea.’
‘You’ve moved the furniture about – it’s better like this,’ said Grace, looking round the room. ‘It never seemed very much lived in. Pauline used that gloomy bedroom more.’
I poured out the tea and said I hoped the boys had behaved themselves at Bellandargues.
‘We never saw them except at meals. They were very polite. Do you know about Yanky Fonzy?’
‘I don’t think so – is he at school with them?’
‘He’s a jazz biggy,’ said Grace, ‘he sends them. All that lovely weather they were shut up with a gramophone in Sigi’s room being sent by Yanky. Haven’t you seen their shirts with Yank’s the Boy for Me printed on them? It’s a transfer from Disc.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I don’t know, I’m quoting.’
‘How did your husband take it?’
‘Don’t ask,’ said Grace, shutting her eyes. ‘However, it’s entirely Charles-Edouard’s own fault for
