‘So he’s not going to rescue us?’
‘Not he!’
‘Then who will? What about N.A.T.O?’
‘We only know one thing for certain about N.A.T.O. – it can’t get a force into the field in less than six weeks.’
‘Anyhow,’ said Philip, ‘this is the Supreme Commander’s time for Dr Jore – nobody’s allowed to interrupt them, they’ll be in full flood of Gettysburg at this very minute – can’t you hear it? “Foor-scoor and savan eers ago oor faethers brourt fourth –”’
‘Don’t tell me the Supreme Commander has a Pull to the East?’
‘Of course. All Dr Jore’s patients have.’
Alfred said, ‘You must try and check this latent anti-Americanism, Philip – I’ve already spoken to you about it.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Now I’m going to the Chancery to do some telephoning. You take Northey and Fanny to your flat, will you? The rioters can come through the veranda any minute, those feeble policemen aren’t going to stop them.’
‘Minquiers Français – Minquiers Français –’ rose ever more insistent from the garden.
‘I do wish they would leave off stamping, they are ruining the lawn.’
‘The French government will be obliged to make good any damage.’
‘Come on,’ said Philip. ‘Alfred’s quite right, you’ll be better over there. Besides, I want to see what’s happening in the Faubourg.’
We crossed the courtyard, went into Philip’s flat and looked out of his dining-room window at the street which was jammed as far as the eye could see with young people stamping and shouting ‘Minquiers Français’. I was glad to notice quite a large force of policemen looking, I thought, very much amused, but keeping the crowd away from our gate and exhibiting more authority than those in the garden.
‘Oh do look!’ said Northey. ‘There’s good little Amy – the brave soul.’
‘I don’t see him?’
‘Yes, in the ancient bibelot shop, pretending to be a Dresden figure.’ She leant out of the window and waved at Mockbar who looked sheepish and seemed not to see her. Then she shouted ‘Aimée!’ whereupon he began scribbling in his notebook.
‘He’s ashamed of you,’ said Phillip. ‘Anyway I’m glad to see he’s on the job all right. For once we need all the publicity we can get; it’s the only way to stop this silly bickering – give Bouche-Bontemps and our Foreign Minister a bit of a jolt. They don’t want actual war, one supposes.’
‘Can’t see that it’s B.B.’s fault.’
‘He’d much better let the thing go to The Hague and be settled once for all.’
Suddenly the shouting and stamping and clapping subsided and a rather sinister silence fell on the crowd. Philip said, anxiously, ‘Don’t like this much, I hope they’re not waiting for a signal.’
Almost as he spoke, the crowd came violently, terrifyingly to life. It surged in the narrow street as if it must burst apart the houses; the slogan took on a blood-curdling note. ’Chang began to scream at the top of his voice; the din was deafening. The police now joined hands and forced the rioters away from the entrance to our courtyard; to my horror I saw that the huge wooden gates were slowly opening.
‘Look,’ said Northey, ‘the gates – a traitor – !’
‘Good Lord,’ said Philip and made as though to go downstairs.
‘Don’t leave us –’ I was frightened for the baby who might so easily be hurt if the mob poured in and overwhelmed us. I looked out again. The police seemed to be in control. In the middle of the screaming crowd a London taxi, escorted by policemen, was crawling up the street. It was driven by Payne; Uncle Matthew, deeply interested, craned from the window; on its roof, dressed from head to foot in shiny black plastic material, were our boys, Fabrice and Charlie, with another boy, a stranger to me, dressed in shiny white. This child was waving a guitar at the crowd as though he thought the screams and shrieks were meant for him. The more the people cried Minquiers Français the more he grinned and waved in acknowledgement. With a superhuman effort, the police cleared a passage for the taxi, got it into the courtyard and shut the gates behind it. We all ran downstairs.
Uncle Matthew was being helped out of the cab by Charlie and Fabrice. The other boy was fidgeting about, snapping his fingers. He looked cross and impatient.
‘Excitable lot, these foreigners,’ said my uncle, ‘how are you, Fanny? Here are your spawn, safe and sound thanks to Payne. We found them in the aeroplane or at least they found me, I didn’t know them from Adam of course. They recognized me and hopped into the cab. Do you know, we flew it over – now your stepfather thought of that, very competent fellow.’
‘This is Yanky Fonzy, Mum,’ said Fabrice, indicating the third lad. He was an unprepossessing hobbledehoy, with pasty face, sloppy look about the mouth and hair done like Queen Alexandra’s after the typhoid. ‘Didn’t the kids give him a wonderful reception – you heard them screaming, “Yanky Fonzy, Yanky Fonzy”? It’s never been like this in London.’
‘D’you mean that terrifying riot was all about him?’ I said.
‘It only was a riot of enthusiasm,’ said the youth. ‘The kids are never nasty or out for manslaughter. They buy my discs and support me. Why are they shut away from here? Where can I go and wave to them? Why are the arrangements breaking down? Where’s my French agent?’ He fired these questions at each of us in turn, snapping his fingers. He seemed in a thoroughly bad humour.
This curious new light having been thrown on the situation, Philip burst into a loud laugh and went into the house, no doubt, I supposed, to find Alfred.
‘He’s not much to look at,’ said Uncle Matthew, indicating Mr Fonzy, ‘and his clothes would frighten the birds, but I’m bound to tell you he whacks merry hell out of that guitar. We had tunes the whole way here.’
I took Charles by the arm and
