‘Sweet Britons,’ said Northey.
‘Stranded by the railway strike,’ I added. He seemed satisfied with this explanation. ‘How was London?’
‘Worrying. I’ll tell you later – I must go to the Chancery now. Are we lunching in? Oh, thank goodness –’
I told Northey to see that the Britons got off all right, to have some sandwiches made up for them and to say good-bye to Basil for me. My business now was to protect Alfred, tired and preoccupied as he seemed, from the sight of his son in such a garb.
The Britons had a little nap on the grass. Then they began a sing-song. We had ‘Lily Marlene’, ‘Colonel Bogey’ (whistling only) and ‘Nearer my God to Thee’. The noise was not disagreeable, thinly floating on a warm breeze. Just before luncheon-time I heard female voices sounding a cheer in the Avenue Gabriel.
Northey came running, to announce that they had gone, in a car.
‘What, all twenty-five in one motor?’
‘Car is French for charabang. Basil sends his love and he’ll probably be back next week. He seems to think the Embassy can be his Paris H.Q. in future, if you’re lucky. He’s cooking a lot of schemes, I note. Then faithful Amy turned up.’
‘You don’t mean Mockbar?’ I was horrified.
‘Good little soul, indeed I do. But don’t worry. I told Baz you wouldn’t like to have him hanging about in the garden and he got rid of him in a tick.’
‘How did he? That’s a formula worth knowing.’
‘It’s not one you can use very often though. He pretended the Britons were all radioactive. Amy buggered off before you could say canif.’
‘I absolutely forbid you to say that word, Northey. No, not canif, you know quite well. Wherever did you pick it up?’
‘The Captain of the Esmeralda. He was a most unpleasant person, but I rather liked some of his expressions.’
‘Well, I beg you won’t use that one again.’
‘All the same, do you admit it’s perfect for describing the exits of Amy?’
I dreaded the Daily Post after that. Sure enough:
RADIOACTIVE
Some two score radioactive Britons sought the protection of our Embassy in Paris yesterday. Did Sir Alfred Wincham send for scientific aid? Are they now receiving treatment at a clinic?
DUMPED
No British officials went near them. They were hustled into a lorry by our amateur envoy’s son Mr Basil Wincham and dumped at the coast. All efforts to get in touch with them subsequently have been fruitless. Where is this dangerous lorry-load now? Have the sanitary authorities been informed? If they went home on a British ship were the necessary precautions taken to see that their fellow-travellers were not contaminated? This whole incident seems to typify the slack and unprofessional outlook which permeates our Paris mission today.
I was quite terrified, envisaging awful developments. After a consultation with Philip we decided not to tell Alfred until something happened, knowing that he would never look at the Daily Post of his own accord. Nothing happened at all. The powers that be in England knew better than to believe an unsupported statement by Mockbar; the French were unaware of his existence and of that of the Daily Post. Philip said that even if their sanitary authorities should raise the question he could easily deal with them. ‘You know what the French are, they don’t quite believe in modern magic. They all go to fortune-tellers (M. de Saint-Germain is booked up for months), they read the stars every day and make full use of spells. But they don’t get into a state about things like radioactivity.’
Old Grumpy, having failed to make any mischief for us, had to drop the story because Basil and his Britons, merged among thousands struggling home on Channel steamers, were never identified and therefore could not be interviewed.
In London, Alfred had submitted his own views on the likelihood of the French ever accepting the European Army; they were in direct contradiction to those of his American colleague. The Cabinet would naturally have preferred to be told what they wanted to hear and Alfred’s prognostications were not well received. He was merely instructed to stiffen his attitude and informed that London regarded the C.E.D. as inevitable and essential. He was also informed that our government were going full steam ahead over the Minquiers and that he must make this perfectly clear in Paris. The Foreign Secretary announced that he would be coming over to see his opposite number, as soon as he had one. I believe that Alfred heartily wished himself back in Oxford, though he did not say so to me.
10
M. Moch, M. Pléven and M. Bidault all tried to form governments and all duly failed. Then Bouche-Bontemps tried again and was accepted by the Chambre the very day before our dinner party. Alfred and I were delighted. For one thing, he had become a friend and it was most fortunate for us to have him to help and even sometimes guide us while we were still finding our feet; besides which our dinner was, we thought, saved. Bouche-Bontemps was taking the direction of foreign affairs himself, anyhow for a while, so that the government was virtually the same as that which had been in power before this long crisis. M. Béguin was now Vice-Président instead of Président du Conseil, and one or two minor ministries were given to new men, belonging to groups hitherto in opposition. This procedure, known as dosage and frequently resorted to during the Fourth Republic, had ensured the extra votes necessary to put Bouche-Bontemps in.
I told Northey and requested Philip to come to my bedroom early on the morning of the dinner in order to talk over dispositions. Philip appeared, punctual as always. ‘Isn’t this a mercy!’ I said. The morning papers hailed the end of the crisis, giving Bouche-Bontemps a friendly reception. In fact a naïf and optimistic reader, like myself, would suppose that a
