I pounced forward and very crossly dragged Master Yanky back into the room, then I disconnected the microphone and slammed the windows on the afflicting spectacle. He was so much surprised at this unaccustomed behaviour that he put up no resistance; in any case his body felt as if it were made of dough. Sigi opened the windows again, went on to the balcony and shouted, ‘Tous au Vél d’Hiv’: a cry which was taken up by the crowd and had the effect of clearing the garden. Chanting ‘Yanky Fonzy – Yanky Fonzy’ the fans made off in the direction of the river.
‘I’m sorry, Madame l’Ambassadrice,’ ever polite, ‘but it was the best way to get rid of them.’
‘And what next?’ I said. I was almost too angry with Sigismond to be able to speak to him, but it must be said that he was the only one of the boys in control of himself. The others were still rolling and stamping about like poor mad things, well and truly sent.
‘Please don’t worry at all, we are going now. I’ll take Yanky, Charlie and Fabrice to the Club to meet the Duke. After that we’re joining up with the kids at the Vélodrome d’Hiver, where there is the great Yanky Fonzy Pop Session you have no doubt seen advertised on all the kiosks.’
‘The Club? The Duke?’ I had a horrid vision of Yanky in white leather and my boys in black leather bursting in on the Duc de Romanville at the Jockey Club.
‘Le Pop Club de France. We’ve got a rendezvous with Duke Ellington there.’
‘Now listen to me, Sigi, I’m not going to have that boy to stay.’
‘No, no.’ Sigi laughed inwardly, reminding me of his father. ‘He has got the honeymoon suite at the George V. I went there to see that everything was all right, which is why I was a bit late. You can’t imagine what the flowers and chocolates are like. I managed to nick some and gave them to the concierge for you.’
‘Too good of you. And now be off, I beg, and don’t use this house any more for your disreputable activities.’
‘Count on me, Madame l’Ambassadrice,’ he said, with his annoying politeness.
22
As six o’clock struck, a remarkable demonstration of English punctuality occurred in the Salon Vert. Uncle Matthew stood at the ready by the fireplace, while a procession, of a sort very familiar to me by now, came across the Salon Jaune. Few days ever passed without this sort of influx. First there was Brown, the butler. Two fine, upstanding men, older than they looked, as could be seen by grey flecks in the hair, but without a line on their faces or, obviously, a care in the world, marched close on his heels. Conservatives I knew they were, from one or other of the Houses of Parliament. Two elderly wives panted and limped after them in an effort to keep up, one arm weighed down by those heavy bags which Conservative women affect and in which they conserve an extraordinary accumulation of rubbish and an extraordinarily small amount of cash. Two or three boys, of a demeanour already described, which proclaimed that they had but recently left Eton, trailed along behind them, then two or three pretty, cheerful, elegant schoolgirls who seemed to view their relations rather objectively. They were probably about to be confided to ‘families’ and I would be asked to keep an eye on them. They looked, and no doubt were, ready for anything and I only hoped that I should not be held responsible when anything overtook them.
Simultaneously Alfred, whom I had not seen since the riot, came through the door which led to his own room and library. I had just time to say, ‘Alfred, here’s Uncle Matthew who has come for a few days. Imagine, he has brought our two little boys – they all arrived in the middle of the excitement!’ when the Conservative wives, breaking into a rapid hobble, managed to catch up with Brown and precede their husbands through the double doors.
‘We’ve brought the whole family!’ Loud English voices, familiar since all time. ‘Thought you wouldn’t mind! Let me see now, I don’t think you know my sister-in-law, do you?’
I didn’t think I knew any of them, though on the telephone, when they had asked to come, there had been something about having met at Montdore House in the old days; I tried to look welcoming but I was dying for a word with Alfred. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘My dear! Liquid fire if you’ve got it! Vodka – just the very thing! We are utterly, completely, and absolutely whacked! Well, the shops all the morning, only to have a look of course – the prices! Then luncheon, that set us back considerably. Then we went to see Myrtle’s Madarm – now here’s the name (you know, I couldn’t remember it yesterday on the telephone).’ Delving among the alluvial deposits in the bag and bringing out a crumpled piece of paper. ‘Comtesse de Langalluire – that’s a tongue-twister if ever there was one! You’ve never heard of her? I say, I only hope there’s nothing fishy. The flat (Boulevard Haussmann) is none too clean and when we arrived Madarm had gone to the police; one of the girls had escaped.’
‘No, Mum, she hadn’t escaped at all in the end. You know quite well, she’d only gone out to lunch and forgotten to say.’
‘So we saw the Monsewer – a sinister little hunchback.’
‘The concierge was sweet.’ Myrtle was evidently determined to be confided to Madarm whatever happened.
‘There was a son who looked quite idiotic and rather frightening.’
‘Yes, but I shan’t see anything of him as I’ll be out all day at the Sorbonne.’
‘However, when Madarm herself arrived we thought she seemed
