‘I thought Sfax was always hot.’
‘It’s still hotter during the hot weather. After what you’ve told me I leave again tonight. I’m living on Victoria Station, you know. I sit all day at my window watching the boat trains and wishing myself beneath their wheels.’
‘You mean you still love Geoffrey?’
‘He is my god. I know that now.’
‘Take him with you Lotus.’
‘Please don’t laugh at me.’
‘He’s yours. I don’t want him and nor does Lena. Take him.’
‘You offer to sacrifice your whole life to my great love? You are pure, Griselda. You will go to heaven.’
Coquilles arrived. Two each.
‘Of course, I’m not sure that he’ll go. He’s become a little set in his ways.’
‘What am I now? Tell me, Griselda, where should we go, he and I? If I accept your sacrifice, that is. I feel you know both our hearts. Tell us where we should be happy.’
‘I don’t think Geoffrey’s good at being happy. Men aren’t, do you think?’ The shells were rattling about on Griselda’s plate, making a noise like dead human hopes.
‘Then we’ll be splendidly, radiantly miserable. But where?’
Griselda considered the maps of the continents in her school atlas. Australia, of course, was out of the question.
‘I suggest the Isle of Wight. I’ve never been there, of course; but I believe it’s full of picturesquely wicked people.’
‘An island!’ cried Lotus. ‘Like George Sand. And Geoffrey like Chopin. He could play mazurkas to me. We could throw away our clothes and dance. And aren’t there coloured cliffs?’
‘And a Pier. It’s nearly a mile long.’
‘And great birds flying into the sun.’
‘And palm trees.’
‘There were palm trees at Sfax.’
Before the arrival of the bouillabaisse it was settled.
‘Where is Geoffrey?’ asked Lotus. ‘I must find him immediately. The Grosvenor’s gone and let my room to a parry of nuns.’
‘I’ll take you. He’s still with the Orinocans. There’s a reception this afternoon. The President’s in England.’
Lotus’s eyes were misty and mysterious. ‘No formality, Griselda,’ she said, clutching Griselda’s hand across the table. ‘Geoffrey and I will creep away like children; hand in hand into the dusk.’ Griselda was fascinated by the solid banks of emeralds in her bracelet. They were so nearly the colour of her eyes.
The Liberator’s birth-place was en fкte. All the windows were shut and fastened, and the lower ones additionally protected by closed iron shutters. There were swags and clusters of artificial flowers in the national colours; and a huge entirely new flag swirling in the November breeze which set the teeth of the spectators on edge with the chill foreboding of even worse weather inescapably ahead. Up the steps to the door was a red carpet showing even yet, and despite hard scubbing, marks left by the blood of an earlier notability. Above the line of the cornice could be detected the glint and reassurance of steel helmets. The shivering crowd was laced with detectives, chilled to the bone and waiting for trouble. One or two common constables stood grumbling about their pay and working conditions. They were conscious of being outnumbered and outclassed. Preliminary entertainment was provided by a small brass band which was accompanying His Excellency on his travels. As a compliment to England, they played the same tune again and again, being the only English tune they knew except only ‘The Holy City’, which they had learnt instead of ‘God Save the King.’ It was ‘Poor Wandering One’; and, what is more, no royalty was being paid to Mr D’Oyly Carte.
Lotus and Griselda arrived by taxi four and a half minutes before the climactic moment. Lotus ordered the taxi to wait, despite dissent from a section of the crowd which had been there since dawn and now found its view obstructed. Fortunately, however, the taxi-driver was very old and queer, and fell into a deep sleep every time his vehicle became inanimate. Lotus was shaking all over with nerves. Her face was so thickly veiled as to be quite invisible in the dim taxi; but her sable coat scented the stale cold air with wealth and the anticipation of desire fulfilled. The taximeter was defective and apppeared to be running downwards instead of upwards. Every now and then there was a little crisis, when a spring seemed to go; but each time the invincible machine recovered itself and recorded a sum smaller than ever. The watchers on the pavement went on complaining unpleasantly, but took no further action. Griselda found it impossible to withhold admiration for Lotus’s Johannesburg hat. Griselda herself wore a large black velvet beret, а La Bohиme.
‘Where is he?’ asked Lotus in a low voice, further muffled by layers of expensive veiling. ‘When shall I see him?’
‘I expect he’s inside. They may have lighted a fire as the President’s coming.’
‘When he comes out, what do you advise me to do, Griselda? I trust you absolutely.’
‘Wait until the end of the ceremony. Geoffrey usually makes himself some toast before he leaves. You can help him with the sardines.’
‘Will it be long?’ Lotus’s lovely voice was throbbing.
‘We’ll see. Here’s the procession.’
The common constables had been active and were thrusting people back behind invisible lines. Soon Lotus’s taxi was isolated. Griselda found it rather exciting. She supposed that Lotus and she must be taken for persons of privilege. Doubtless Lotus’s veil was responsible. She resolved to acquire a veil herself as soon as Geoffrey was off her hands. The watchers on the pavement could be heard expressing further resentment as they were lined up behind a huge pantechnicon which, having missed the diversion notices, was waiting for the crowd to clear, while the driver looked for a public house. The constables were quipping and appealing obliquely to the crowd’s common humanity in order to reconcile them.
Then from the other direction a scout from New Scotland Yard roared into being on his splendid motor bicycle; and some way behind him came a funeral Daimler, bearing a tiny silk pennant. Without a sound the Daimler ceased to move; the footman opened the door; and, as the crowd cheered half-heartedly, eight men alighted, in various different kinds of overcoat. Simultaneously the front door of the house opened with a deep clanking, as of heavy chains falling on to a deck; and Colonel Costa-Rica in a pale blue uniform and a feather at least two feet tall, descended the steps to greet the First Citizen of his homeland. After a moment’s confusion, the band rushed into ‘Sheep may safely graze’ which had been adopted as the Orinocan national anthem. Their performance would have been better if they had not been so unaccustomd to prolonged damp cold.
Then Lotus gave a suppressed cry. Behind the Colonel, Kynaston had appeared. He wore a frock coat, which Griselda supposed must be retained by the Embassy for such occasions; a discreet rose in his buttonhole; and pale grey spats. He carried a silk hat almost as tall as the Colonel’s feather; but could have done with a suitable overcoat. Griselda was surprised she had not before noticed that he was gathering weight. He looked anxious but determined, as at other turning points in his career at which she had been present Lotus clung to Griselda’s hand. Rapture made her speechless.
Among the men getting out of the car Griselda recognized the Under Secretary for Foreign Affairs, a raw youth whom she had met at the All Party Dance. She remembered him as suffering from a conclusive impediment in his speech. Now he was followed by a tottering figure from his Department, and by the Orinocan Ambassador, who looked as pleased and as unchallengeable as if he had just captured the national meat-packing contract (as was quite possibly the case). The Ambassador was accompanied by a Chargй d’Affaires, indistinguishable from Mr Jack Buchanan, and by the Military Attachй, who, though a small man, based his style on Field-Marshal Gцring, thus being entrusted with as many personal confidences as professional. Behind this brilliant figure, appeared the chef de cabinet and the President’s aide-de-camp, the former somewhat younger than the latter, which was opportune as the two looked so South American as to make distinction between them otherwise difficult. Griselda would have expected the President to appear first, but, in fact, he appeared last: possibly in consequence of having been the first to enter the well filled vehicle. He was a commonplace stocky man, in movement staccato from years of watchfulness, and with a head like a small round cannon-ball. His sharp nasal voice could be clearly heard, carried on the chill moist air as he addressed his entourage. He seemed dissatisfied with something. Griselda knew from Kynaston that he was of Irish extraction, a fact which he concealed under the name of Cassido.