He jerked his head back, closed one eye, and compared Marcelle with the photograph.
“Perhaps the eyebrows a quarter of a centimetre higher, the mouth just a shade smaller … the nose is fine … the coiffure excellent. Very good, my girl. Your manner must be friendly but at the same time a little aloof, and don’t flirt with Coltor — that might lead to complications — besides, a princess doesn’t do that sort of thing. You will greet him with the rest of us, but must leave before we sit down to discussions. When I say to Coltor, ‘We never doubted it for a moment,’ you must rise and invite the gentlemen to join you upstairs later for a cup of tea, and you can leave the room, attended by our Sandoval.”
Gervaisis gave another of his snorts.
“Quite right, Gervaisis,” said the Count. “This Gervaisis is an invaluable colleague. I almost forgot to say to you gentlemen that in Alturia people greet each other with ‘blessed be the memory of your grandfather’.”
The three Alturians exchanged a look.
“Is that right?” the Major asked. “They certainly did in the middle ages, but not now.”
“How’s that?”
“They say things like ‘good morning’ or ‘your humble servant’.”
“Mr Meyer, you share your countrymen’s habit of always knowing better than everyone else. But I understand, from very reliable sources, that this is how they greet one another. I read it in a Sunday newspaper. So would you all kindly stick to it.”
Marcelle drew the King aside.
“Oscar, you look so beautiful in that costume!”
“You too, my girl, you too,” he replied absent-mindedly. Then a thought suddenly struck him. It occurred to him how, in a very similar situation, he had said exactly the same thing to Princess Ortrud. What was happening? Was it becoming so difficult to distinguish between them?
“You should always go about dressed like that,” she added.
“Would you want me to? Well, take a good look then, Marcelle. Who knows when you’ll have another chance to see me in this coat.”
Coltor stepped into the motorboat, with his two secretaries in tow. He was unusually nervous and talkative.
“If this comes off, it’ll be the biggest deal of my life,” he remarked thoughtfully. “It’ll be difficult; very difficult. I never had a deal collapse so very late in the day as that one did when the Alturian revolution broke out. I must say, the thing didn’t completely surprise me. That morning, after I’d left my house and was going to my office in the car, a huge black cat ran across the road in front of me. I knew at once it would mean trouble.”
The secretaries exchanged glances. His profound superstition was a shared joke between them.
“But the situation is quite different today. When I left my hotel this morning another black cat ran across the road. But immediately a second cat appeared, a tabby. It boxed its ears, and chased it away. So I am quite sure that we’ll have better luck today … unless I’m speaking too soon.”
That thought thoroughly alarmed him and plunged him into a restless silence.
They arrived alongside the Palazzo Pietrasanta.
“You see, gentlemen,” he declared, “the sort of place a real grandee lives in. From a distance the palace may not look much. There’s nothing ostentatious. The only adornment is its noble simplicity, and venerable age.”
At the entrance they were received by Valmier in a wonderful porter’s fur coat and hat; then a uniformed Honoré led them quickly through the main gate into the great hall, where St Germain, Baudrieu and Gervaisis were waiting.
“May the memory of your grandfather be blessed,” they shouted in chorus, as Coltor entered.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked in surprise.
“The usual Alturian greeting,” St Germain explained.
“That’s interesting,” Coltor replied. “I never noticed before. No matter.”
“First, let me introduce you to Monsieur Baudrieu. Monsieur Baudrieu is an expert on international law — renowned throughout Europe — who has travelled here to assist our negotiations. Next to him is the Marquis of Gervaisis, Grand Master of the Order of St Jacob.”
“I knew your dear father,” Gervaisis remarked to Coltor. Coltor was taken aback. No one on the entire planet had ever known his father: including himself.
“Would you gentlemen kindly take a seat while we inform His Highness and Princess Ortrud that you have arrived?”
Marcelle, as Ortrud, attended by Sandoval as the Plantagenet Duchess, made her entrance into the room, and Coltor stepped forward to kiss their hands. St Germain explained that the Princess was maintaining absolute incognito while in Venice.
“The poor things,” he said in a low voice. “They so much wanted to see each other, and the Gracious Empress Hermina could no longer bear to witness her daughter’s unhappiness. Even on royal thrones the hearts that beat are human. But His Highness couldn’t go to Norlandia. It would instantly have become general knowledge and given rise to speculation. Geront I, the present ruler of Alturia, would certainly have condemned it. So that is why they met here, in a neutral country and in the sort of place where you can easily lose yourself in the crowd. So far no one has penetrated His Highness’ incognito, apart from your own sharp-eyed self.”
“Interesting,” said Coltor. “In all my life in Norlandia I never heard of the Plantagenet Duchess.”
“Oh, it’s the collateral line, now quite terminal. But very high-ranking.”
“His Royal Highness King Oliver VII,” announced Valmier, banging his staff three times on the floor.
The King and his aide-de-camp made their entrance. Oliver greeted Coltor warmly.
“Mr Coltor, punctual as ever.”
“Punctuality is the courtesy of Captains of Industry,” St Germain observed.
A polite conversation ensued, and Coltor assured the King that his incognito, like that of Princess Ortrud, would be treated with the greatest respect.
“Then you would maintain silence even if our discussions happened not to produce the desired result?” the King asked.
“Even then, naturally.”
“Mr Coltor, we never doubted it for a moment,” St Germain said in a raised voice.
Marcelle took her cue and made her withdrawal speech:
“My dear Mr Coltor, I would not wish to intrude on your important discussions. I shall return to my rooms on the next floor. I hope you will take a cup of tea with us after your meeting.”
Coltor thanked her for the invitation, and she and Sandoval left. At St Germain’s behest the others seated themselves round the green table, Baudrieu made a show of spreading out his papers, and Gervaisis immediately fell asleep. Then St Germain called on Coltor to outline his proposals.
“I trust,” Coltor began, “we can come to an agreement very swiftly, since there are in effect no grounds of difference between us.”
“Indeed not,” said Honoré, helpfully.
“It is altogether a question,” Coltor continued, “of the original agreement automatically remaining in force, to take effect as soon as His Highness declares his firm intention to return to his ancestral throne and marry Princess Ortrud, which should be considered a sine qua non from the Norlandian side.”
“But my dear Coltor,” the King interrupted with a smile. “That doesn’t depend on me alone.”
“I thought Princess Ortrud … ”
“I’m not thinking of Princess Ortrud, but of my regaining the throne of Alturia … ”
“Oh, excuse me,” Coltor replied, and now he too smiled, with an airy wave of the hand. “That’s something you must be so good as to leave to us. The present ruler sees his position simply as a burden. He would give it all up quite happily in return for a few interesting pictures. Princess Clodia will receive appropriate compensation in Norlandia. She’ll be given the Governor-Generalship of a colony somewhat larger than Alturia.”