‘Yes, but to whom?’
‘Who is there? Bouche-Bontemps is a bit old – that Chef de Cabinet (always forget his name) is too ugly – Cruas is said to be poor –’
‘Would that matter?’
‘With Mees? She would ruin a poor man in no time.’
‘Does Cruas exist? I’ve still never seen him, have you?’
‘Somebody has taught her French; she rattles away at a hundred miles an hour. Then Lecoeur is too busy – Charles-Edouard too much married (worse luck) – the Ambassador to the Channel Islands has a fort des balles he adores – Amyas now, what about him? An eligible widower –’
‘I’m against,’ I said, ‘though I may be prejudiced.’
‘Then there’s Lambesc, but he has his scutcheon to gild.’
I said boldly, ‘Why don’t you marry her?’
‘Well, you know, I might. In spite of the carry-on, I can’t imagine life without Mees, now I’m used to her. I suppose she is the last of the charmers. The horsetail girls don’t seem to be interested in any of the things I like, least of all sex. They join up with the Teds and the Beats and wander about Europe with them, sharing beds if it happens to suit; three in a bed if it’s cheaper like that (shades of Sir Charles Dilke) and probably nothing happens! Sex is quite accidental. Is there a baby on the way or isn’t there? They hardly seem to notice. Now Northey is a wicked little thing but at least she is out to please and my word how she succeeds!’
‘She’s not wicked at all. I even think she is virtuous.’
‘Anyway, she’s a human being. Very likely I shall end by proposing to her.’
‘Only, Philip, don’t leave it too long or she’ll fall in love with somebody else, you know!’
20
Sir Harald Hardrada now came to give his lecture. It was very brilliant and a great success, Sir Harald being one of the few living Englishmen who, even the French allow, has a perfect mastery of their language. As they detest hearing it massacred and really do not like listening to any other, foreign lecturers are more often flattered than praised at the end of their performance (not that they know the difference). We all went to the Sorbonne where the lecture took place and then Mildred Jungfleisch gave a dinner party. The company was: Sir Harald, M. Bouche-Bontemps, the Valhuberts, the Hector Dexters, an American couple called Jorgmann, Philip and Northey, Alfred, and me. The Dexters had been given a clean bill by the State Department, to the enormous relief of their compatriots in Paris. Having had enough, it seemed, of political activities, Mr Dexter was now acting as liaison between leading French and American art dealers.
Mrs Jungfleisch lived in a cheery modernish (1920) house near the Bois de Boulogne. Its drawing-room, painted shiny white and without ornament of any sort, had an unnaturally high ceiling and stairs leading to a gallery; the effect was that of a swimming-bath. One felt that somebody might dive in at any moment, the Prime Minister of England, perhaps, or some smiling young candidate for the American throne. Almost the only piece of furniture was an enormous pouf in the middle of the room on which people had to sit with their backs to each other. As Americans do, she left a good hour between the arrival of the guests and the announcement of dinner, during which time Bourbon (a kind of whisky) could be imbibed.
Bouche-Bontemps had come to the lecture. He and Sir Harald were old friends. They now sat on the pouf, craning round to talk to each other.
‘Excellent, my dear Harald! Nothing could have been more fiendishly clever than your account of Fashoda – you haven’t got the K.C.V.O. for nothing! I very much liked the meeting between Kitchener and Marchand on the Argonne front – some time you must read the page from Kipling where he describes the naïf joy of the French poilus as they witnessed it. They thought the hatchet had been buried for ever and that if we won the war, les Anglais would become real friends and leave us our few remaining possessions. Never mind –’
‘Like all the French,’ Sir Harald said urbanely, to the company at large, who were twisting their necks to be in on this conversation. ‘M. le Président has the work of our great Imperial protagonist by heart.’
‘We defend ourselves as best we can,’ said Bouche-Bontemps, ‘poor Marchand, I knew him well.’
‘Were you already living at Fashoda with the Bolter when he arrived?’
‘No. Precocious as I may have been, at six months old I was still living with my parents.’
‘You can’t imagine how fascinated we all were to learn that the famous Frenchman in her life was none other than yourself. I had always pictured an old douanier with a beard and a wooden leg.’
‘Not at all. A jolly young ethnographer. Dorothée – tellement gentille –’
‘I’d no idea you had this African past, Jules. Whatever were you doing there?’
‘In those days I was passionately fond of ethnography. I managed to get on to the Djibouti-Dakar mission.’
‘Oh! You rogue! Everything is becoming as clear as daylight. So it was you who took away the Harar frescoes?’
‘Took away? We exchanged them.’
‘Yes. Kindly tell Mrs Jungfleisch here and her guests what it was you exchanged
