‘I wouldn’t mind so much if it weren’t for Dawnie. I think he’ll kill her, poor little thing.’
‘Oh no he won’t. Women are practically indestructible, you know.’
‘Then think of Alfred and me beginning nurseries all over again. Chinese ones at that.’
‘Very tiring for you,’ said Davey. ‘I must go now or I shall miss the Archers.’ He rang off.
David and Dawn left that afternoon. The Rolls-Royce took them to Bar-le-Duc and only returned the next day. David had borrowed money from every single person in the Embassy; all, pitying the plight of Dawn and probably confident of being paid back by me (as of course they were), had produced as much as they had available. It amounted to quite a tidy sum. Mrs Trott found a solid peasant girl from Brittany to look after ’Chang.
‘Hot news!’ Northey said to Alfred. ‘Faithful Amy has had orders from Lord Grumpy to give you treatment number one.’
‘Oh, indeed?’ Falsetto. ‘And how does this differ from that which I have been receiving?’
‘Differ? So far you have only had number three, watered down at that by precious Amy on account of loving us all so much.’
‘He loves me?’
‘Oh yes – he’s always saying I like that man. He reveres you. It’s very distressing for him to be obliged to write all these horrid and not quite true things about us here when he would give his eyes to be part of the family.’
‘Part of the family? In what capacity, may I ask?’
‘Perhaps you could adopt him?’
‘Thank you. We’ve got ’Chang and the badger, I don’t think we want any more pets.’
‘Poor soul.’
FAILURE
It is no secret that Sir Alfred Wincham has proved a failure in Paris and that Whitehall now wishes to replace him with a more dynamic personality. Sir Alfred’s well-known aptitude for university intrigue has not carried him very far along the twisting paths of French foreign policy. More professional talent, it is felt, is needed at a time when Anglo-French relations have never been worse.
FRIENDSHIP
In view of M. Bouche-Bontemps’ old friendship with Lady Wincham’s mother (first revealed in this column) French political circles feel that the Embassy has an unfortunate preference for his party, the L.U.N.A.I.R. Members of opposition parties are never received there any more. Sir Alfred is out of touch with French public opinion.
RANGOON
Well-informed circles are speculating on Sir Alfred’s future, and rumour has it that he may shortly be posted to Rangoon.
Northey and Philip raced each other to my bedroom the morning these delightful paragraphs appeared. She dumped ’Chang on my bed. I always had him for a bit after breakfast and found him delightful company; a contented, healthy baby, easily amused and anxious to please. I thought, when I was with him, that his generation may be on the way to rejecting the anti-charm which is the fashion now, may even develop a sense of humour and seek to attract rather than repel. If my grandchild turned out to be half as nice as the World Citizen I would not be at all sorry to have the two of them for keeps.
‘At last Mockbar has overreached himself,’ Philip said. ‘I think it’s actionable; Alfred must speak to his lawyer and we might even get rid of him, who knows?’
‘Then the poor little soul will starve,’ said Northey.
‘No matter.’
‘Fanny, you brute. What about his babies?’
‘They’ll survive,’ I said. ‘Are Anglo-French relations really so bad, Philip?’
‘That part I’m afraid is true. Not Alfred’s fault (quite the contrary) but boiling up for a first-class crisis. We are determined to get those bloody islands and to help the Americans re-arm the Germans.’
‘Seems mad, doesn’t it?’
‘Not if we really need them as allies.’
Northey said, ‘I wish I knew why people want the Germans on their side. I have yet to hear of them winning a war.’
‘They’d be all right with French generals.’
‘I wish the whole thing could be settled. The Bourse is strongly disconcerted by all these elements.’
‘You can’t wish it more than I do,’ said Philip.
‘I must dree my weird. Shall I leave ’Chang? I’ve got a lot of work.’
‘Yes, leave him. Your work has been very satisfactory of late; you’re a good girl and I’m pleased with you.’
‘It’s the well-known cure for a broken heart,’ she said with a tragic look at Philip.
‘Go on,’ he said, ‘I like it.’
I asked her, ‘Darling, what are you up to tonight?’
‘Docteur Lecœur.’
‘Lecœur soupire la nuit le jour, qui peut me dire si c’est l’amour?’ said Philip.
‘Yes, it is.’
‘And I suppose,’ he went on, ‘that every time you pass the Palais Bourbon, the statues of Sully and l’Hôpital get up and bow to you?’
‘Yes, they do. It’s the English who don’t appreciate me. Good-bye all.’
We looked at each other when she had gone, laughing. ‘Northey!’
He said, ‘The diplomatic hostesses here are furious with Mees because she has got Tony de Lambesc in tow – yes, Fanny – that small, fair chap one sees everywhere. They regard him and me as the only sortable bachelors in this town – we have to do all their dinner parties. There are hundreds of unattached Frenchmen who would like to be asked, but you know what those women are, too timid to try anybody new. They might have to deal with unexpected dialogue and that would never do. The conversation must run on familiar lines, according to some well-worn old formula. Suppose somebody mentions Prince Pierre – of course the correct move is, he simply worships his daughter-in-law! Now a stranger might say do you mean the explorer? or worse still, Prince Pierre in War and Peace? and the whole
