‘Suppose you get a gold cigar-cutter?’
‘Impossible. These presents have been chosen to suit everyone equally.’
‘What is there in the world which can possibly suit everyone? ‘
‘Just wait and see. He’ll tell us. Trust him. At bottom, you know, he’s a very sensitive sort of person.’
We sat down at the table. I found myself seated this time between Mrs Montgomery and Richard Deane, and opposite me were Belmont and Mr Kips. The Divisionnaire was at the end of the table facing our host. The array of glasses was impressive and the menu informed me that there would be a 1971 Meursault, a 1969 Mouton Rothschild, and I can’t remember the date of the Cockburn port. At least, I thought, I can drink myself stupid without the help of aspirin. The bottle of Finnish vodka, served with the Caviare (this time the Caviare was handed to all of us), was enclosed in a solid block of ice in which the petals of hothouse flowers had been frozen. I took off my overcoat and hung it on the back of my chair to guard me from the heat of the bonfire behind. Two gardeners like sentries moved to and fro, their steps unheard on the deep white carpet of the snow, feeding the flames with logs of wood. It was a curiously unnatural scene - so much heat and so much snow, and the snow beneath our chairs was already beginning to melt from the warmth of the bonfires. Soon, I thought, we shall be sitting with our feet in slush.
The Caviare in a great bowl was served to us twice, and everyone but myself and Doctor Fischer took a second helping. ‘It’s so healthy,’ Mrs Montgomery explained. ‘Full of vitamin c.’
‘I can drink Finnish vodka with a good conscience,’ Belmont told us, accepting a third glass.
‘They fought a remarkable campaign in the winter of1939,’ the Divisionnaire said. ‘If the French had done as well in ‘40…’
Richard Deane asked me, ‘Did you by any chance see me in The Beaches of Dunkirk?’
‘No. I wasn’t at Dunkirk.’
‘It’s the film I meant.’
‘No. I’m afraid I never saw it. Why?’
‘I just wondered. I think it was quite the best film I ever made.’
With the Mouton Rothschild there was a roti de boeuf. It had been cooked in a very light pastry which preserved all the juice of the meat. A magnificent dish, of course, but for a moment the sight of the red blood sickened me - I was back at the foot of the ski-lift.
‘Albert,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘you must cut up Mr Jones’s meat for him. He has a deformed hand.’
‘Poor Mr Jones, ‘ Mrs Montgomery said. ‘Let me do it. Do you like the pieces cut small?’
‘Pity, always pity,’ the Doctor said. ‘You ought to rewrite the Bible… Pity your neighbour as you pity yourself.” Women have such an exaggerated sense of pity. My daughter took after her mother in that. Perhaps she married you out of pity, Jones. I’m sure Mrs Montgomery would marry you if you asked her. But pity wears off quickly, when the pitied one is out of sight.’
‘What emotion doesn’t wear off?’ Deane asked.
‘Love,’ Mrs Montgomery replied promptly.
‘I’ve never been able to sleep with the same woman for more than three months,’ Deane said. ‘It becomes a chore. ‘
‘Then that isn’t real love.’
‘How long were you married, Mrs Montgomery?’
‘Twenty years.’
‘I must explain to you, Deane,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘that Mr Montgomery was a very rich man. A big bank balance helps real love to last longer. But you aren’t eating, Jones. Don’t you find the beef tender enough or perhaps Mrs Montgomery hasn’t cut it up in small enough pieces?’
‘The meat is excellent, but I have no appetite.’ I helped myself to another glass of Mouton Rothschild; it wasn’t for the flavour of the wine that I drank it, for my palate seemed dead, it was for the distant promise of a sort of oblivion.
‘In the normal course, Jones,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘you would have lost your prize by not eating, but at this last party of ours no one will forfeit a prize except by his own express wish.’
‘Who could possibly refuse one of your presents, Doctor Fischer?’ Mrs Montgomery asked.
‘That is what in a few minutes I shall be very interested to discover.’
‘You know it could never happen, you generous man.’
‘Never is a big word. I’m not so sure that tonight… Albert, you are neglecting the glasses. Mr Deane’s is almost empty, and so is Monsieur Belmont’s. ‘
It was not until we had begun to drink the port (at the end of the meal in the English manner served with Stilton) that he explained his meaning. As usual it was Mrs Montgomery who set him off.
‘My fingers are itching,’ she said, ‘to get at that bran pie.’
‘Just a lot of crackers,’ Doctor Fischer said. ‘Mr Kips, you really mustn’t fall asleep until you pull your cracker. You are blocking the port, Deane. No. Not that way. Where were you educated? Clockwise.’
‘Just crackers,’ Mrs Montgomery said. ‘You silly man. We know better. It’s what’s in the crackers that counts. ‘
‘Six crackers,’ Doctor Fischer said, ‘and five contain the same pieces of paper.’
‘Pieces of paper?’ Belmont exclaimed and Mr Kips tried to swivel his head in Doctor Fischer’s direction.
‘Mottoes,’ Mrs Montgomery explained. ‘All good crackers contain mottoes.’
‘But what else?’ Belmont demanded.
‘There are no mottoes,’ Doctor Fischer said. ‘These pieces of paper are printed with a certain name and address - Credit Suisse, Berne.’
‘Surely not cheques?’ Mr Kips asked.
‘Cheques, Mr Kips, and each one made out for the same sum, so that nobody need feel jealous.’
‘I don’t much like the idea of cheques between friends,’ Belmont said. ‘Oh, I know you mean to be kind, Doctor Fischer, and we’ve all appreciated the little presents you have often given us at the end of a party, but cheques - it’s not - well - not very dignified, is it, apart from any fiscal problems?’
‘I’m paying you all off - that’s what it amounts to.’
‘We are not your employees, damn it,’ Richard Deane said.
‘Are you so sure of that? Haven’t you all played your parts for my amusement and your profit? Deane, you for one must have felt quite at home taking my orders. I’ve been just another director, who lends you a talent you don’t possess yourself.’
‘I don’t have to accept your bloody cheque.’
‘You don’t have to, Deane, but you will. Why, you’d play Mr Darling in Peter Pan shut up in a dog kennel if the cheque was large enough.’
‘We’ve had an excellent dinner,’ Belmont said, ‘which we’ll always remember with appreciation. We mustn’t get over-excited. I can understand Deane’s point, but I do think he exaggerates.’
‘Of course you are quite at liberty to refuse my little farewell presents if you wish. I will tell Albert to take away the bran tub. Albert, did you hear me? Take the bran tub to the kitchen - no, wait one moment. Before you decide I think you ought to know what is written on those scraps of paper. Two million francs on each.’
‘Two million!’ Belmont exclaimed.
‘The name is left blank on all the cheques. You can fill in what name you wish. Perhaps Mr Kips would like to donate his cheque to some medical research on curing curvature of the spine. Mrs Montgomery may even want to buy a lover. Deane can partly finance a film. He is in danger of becoming what I believe in his world is called unbankable.’
‘It doesn’t seem quite proper,’ Mrs Montgomery said. ‘It sort of suggests that you think us mercenary friends. ‘
‘Didn’t your emerald suggest that?’
‘Jewels from a man one loves are quite different. You don’t realize, Doctor Fischer, how much we love you. Platonic perhaps, but is platonic less real than, well… you know what I mean.’