You may stay, Ricky, but if your friend causes trouble, she must go. In any other circumstances you would all be out, immediately.’ She looks frantic. ‘I hate trouble. The ambience is so important. I expect people to behave like ladies and gentlemen. You’ve always been so good, Ricky. But this child!’ She pauses, blocking our path up the stairs. ‘Will you do something?’
‘Princess Poliakoff is an hysterical trouble-maker, dear madame, as you yourself must know.’
‘You’re the man. You must sort it out.’ She is firm. ‘And before this evening, too,’ she adds as we pass.
‘What am I to do?’ I say to Clara. ‘Challenge Princess Poliakoff to a duel?’
‘If you’re to challenge anyone, it should be Lady Cromach,’ Clara is weary of this.
I smile. ‘Unfortunately, it is not Lady Cromach who apes the male. What a difficult situation, my darling Rose.’
‘And one which your darling Rose will have nothing to do with,’ she says. ‘I am entirely on Frau Schmetterling’s side. It is up to you to settle matters quickly and quietly. At times like these, Ricky, the atmosphere of the house is even more important. Your intrigues and squabbles could drive customers away.’
‘I’ll talk to Princess Poliakoff,’ I promise. And I walk directly to the Lesbian’s room at the end of the second landing.
Although it is cold, Princess Poliakoff has opened a window. The room is finished in a sort of Louis XIV style, very much at odds with her own taste. She stands shivering by the gilded fireplace wearing a full set of masculine evening dress. The hat is on the mantelpiece near her hand which rests there, holding a cigarette. Her hair has been pinned and flattened. There is an expression of suppressed agony on her aquiline face. She is genuinely distressed. I have never been impressed by her in this way before. She looks older than her forty or so years. She refuses to appeal to me. ‘What a strange pair of cuckolds we make, Ricky.’ Since I have acquiesed in this adventure, albeit silently, I cannot feel genuine sympathy that sympathy of echoed self-pity. ‘It’s very unexpected,’ I say. Then, because it will suit me, I try to pretend anger. ‘I thought you had your eye on her, but I never guessed… I cross to the window and look down into Rosenstrasse. It is already growing dark. An old woman with a dog on a lead walks slowly towards the archway on the opposite side of the street. ‘Men never notice,’ she says. Women will always say that. What they actually observe is that men frequently do not comment. I am relieved, at least, that she has failed to blame me for the business. I take advantage of her need to see me as a fellow sufferer. ‘What are we to do about them?’ she wants to know. I suggest that perhaps they will see reason. It can all be cleared up in a few minutes if we are careful to reduce the tension. She is horribly distressed. ‘I love Diana deeply. But as for reason, I sometimes think the very word is meaningless to her.’ This suggests she has already tried to persuade her lover to have nothing to do with Alice. ‘She is a cruel and heartless woman. It’s up to you—up to you, Ricky—to remove that little wanton from this house.’ I tell her I have given the idea consideration, but there is nowhere to go. ‘There is Stefanik’s balloon,’ she says. ‘He’s already offered to help Diana escape. You could use it instead.’
‘It’s an offer he makes to every woman he desires. It’s neither a possibility nor a danger.’
‘You didn’t have a nigger at all, did you?’ She knocks the hat, spasmodically, with her hand. ‘Why were you lying to me?’
‘Oh,’ I shrug, ‘for privacy.’
‘Because you thought I’d try to take her away from you? There’s an irony.’ She fits another cigarette into her holder. Her hands continue to shake.
I frown, pretending to consider the problem.
‘Well?’ she says.
Til see if they’ll speak to me. But you must be patient. I’ll come back as soon as I can.’
‘Please,’ she says. ‘This is unbearable. I’m suicidal.’
I leave her and go up to our rooms, knocking softly on the door. ‘It’s me, Alex. Could you let me in? I’d like to change my clothes.’ I keep my voice as light as I can. She—or more likely Lady Cromach—will be suspecting a ploy. Anything I say will seem like an excuse to them. Their curiosity or their tension or their high spirits are all that will decide them. There is some movement from within. Eventually Alexandra opens the door and I enter. She is wearing her Japanese kimono. She kisses me quickly and grins to involve me, to placate me. ‘Have you been all right?’ She smells of some new perfume. The door to the bedroom is closed. ‘Yes, thanks,’ I say. ‘And you?’
‘Wonderful.’ She pushes at her messy hair. ‘I’d have told you, only we couldn’t ruin our chances. We had to act quickly. That witch has been hammering on the door for half the night and most of the morning. What a harpy, eh? Have you seen her?’
‘She’s calmed down.’ I go directly to the bedroom and open the door. Lady Cromach is in bed. She looks offended, then flushes like a travelling salesmen caught with the farmer’s daughter. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Cromach. I’m sorry to disturb you. I thought, since lunch-time has come and gone…’
She recovers herself. I can almost see her controlling her colour. She drops her head a little and looks up at me, half-smiling. ‘Of course. We have been thoughtless.’
‘Understandable, in the circumstances.’ From the wardrobe I pick out a shirt and underclothes.
‘You have been sailing under false colours.’ She is not accusatory. ‘How unkindly you misled the Princess. You know she loves proof of the most extravagantly unlikely gossip. Is she all right, do you know?’
I seat myself heavily on the bed and stare into her glowing face. ‘She says she is suicidal. That she loves you. She seems very distracted.’ The bed reeks of their love-making. I fee’ almost faint.
‘She won’t kill herself.’ Lady Cromach settles back in my pillows. ‘She’d be more likely to kill one of us. The Princess can’t bear to be thwarted.’
‘Neither can I.’
She puts a hand on mine. ‘But you have not been. Have you?’ The sheet falls away from her shoulders. She is lovely, like a young boy. ‘Alice tells me you are a stranger to sexual jealousy.’
‘I am becoming more familiar with it.’
She accepts the flattery. Alice enters to stand looking at us, like a melodrama child which has affected a reconciliation between its parents. She is almost smug. I laugh and ask her to light me a cigarette. She obeys with cheerful alacrity, placing an ashtray beside me. Lady Cromach’s hand has not left mine. ‘Are you trying to mollify me, Lady Cromach? Or do you plan to include me in this seduction?’