by Albert Cohen
The telephone. He picked up the receiver, held it to his head like a revolver, and then put it to his ear.
'Hello, Elizabeth. Come dancing with you? Why not, Elizabeth! Wait for me at the Donon. No, I'm not alone. The one I told you about, the one you knew at Oxford. Of course not, you know you are the only woman in my life. See you soon.'
He replaced the receiver and turned to face her.
'Note well, dear coz, that tactic number ten is the element of competition. Waste no time. Set the pace at your very first meeting and she will follow like a sheep. You must find a way of letting her know (a) that you are loved by another woman who is awesomely attractive and (b) that you were on the verge of falling in love with this other woman but now you've met her and she is the only one, supreme wonder of all her gullible kind, and this may of course be quite true. When you've got this far, you're well on the way to success with the little ninny, for she is a kleptomaniac like all her kind.
'And now she is ready for the final gambit: the declaration of love. Use all the stale old cliches you like, but attend to your voice and its fire. A grave tone is recommended. Naturally, you must make her feel that she is ruining her life with her awful lawful spiderman, that life with him is unworthy of her, at which point you will observe her yield a martyr-style sigh. This is a special kind of sigh, produced through the nose, and it means: "Oh, if only you knew what I've had to put up with from that man, but I shall say nothing, for I am a person of refinement and infinite discretion." Naturally, you will tell her that she is the only one, that she is unique, for they insist on this too, that her eyes are windows which offer a glimpse of the godhead. She won't understand this but will find the thought so beautiful that she will close the aforementioned windows and feel that with you life would be one perpetual round of extramarital bliss. For good measure, mention that she is the fragrance of lilac and the softness of night and the song of rain falling on a garden. Keep it cheap and cheerful and you will observe her far more deeply moved than if she heard the same words sincerely spoken by an old man. They'll swallow the whole bag of tricks as long as there is a deep and throaty throb in your voice. Go to it with all guns blazing so that she feels that life with you would be a paradise of eternal carnimalities, which they call living intensely. And don't forget to talk about setting off to the sea off your heads, they love it. Off to sea off your heads: remember these six words. Say them and the effect is miraculous. You'll see the poor wretch quiver. Choose a hot place, sumptuous surroundings, lots of sun, that is, ensure association of ideas with joyous physical congress and the high life. Off is the crucial word, for their vice is wanting to be off. The minute you mention going off, she shuts her eyes and opens her mouth. She's firmly on the hook, and you can gobble her up and wash her down with a cup of sadness. It's over. Here are the papers containing your husband's promotion. Love him and give him fine children. Goodbye.'
'Goodbye,' she said softly, but did not stir.
'Do you remember the poor words the old man spoke? Oh the wonder of it, the snatches of song in the car which will carry me to her, to she who waits for me, towards her long star-spangled lashes, and the soon look, the look in her eyes when I stand before her, she waiting at her door, tall and slender and dressed all in white, ready and beautiful for me, ready and fearful lest she mar her beauty if I should delay, and darting to her mirror to view her beauty, to see if her beauty is still there, still intact, and then returning to the door and waiting for me in a cloud of love, heart-stoppingly standing at her door under the roses, oh tender night! oh youth that is mine once more! oh the wonder when I stand before her! the look in her eyes! the love we share! and she shall lower her head to my extended hand, and oh the wonder of her kiss upon my hand! and she shall look up at me and our eyes shall light up with love and we shall smile at loving so, you and I, and glory be to God.'
'Glory be to God,' she said.
And then she bowed her head and her lips alighted on the hand of her lord, and she raised her head, looked at him, to virginity restored, holily gazed upon his face of gold and night, as upon a sun. With a bewildered smile on his trembling lips, he stared at the hand which she had kissed and raised it close to his eyes. What proof could he give her? Take Michael's dagger, pierce his flesh, and swear by the blood which coursed out of him? But that would make a mess of his dinner-jacket, it was his best, and he should have to leave her while he got changed! Heigh-ho, forget the dagger, stay with her for ever and ever, and Glory be to God, Glory be to God.
She gazed on, not daring to speak for fear of tarnishing the majesty of the moment, and besides perhaps her voice would break. Piously believing, devoutly young, she gazed gravely upon her lord, gazed upon him wildly, hardly breathing, icy-cold, trembling with fear and love, with the ache of happiness on her lips.
From the ballroom rose a summons, Hawaiian guitars reluctantly releasing their long, pure lamentation, a lament from the heart, a long-drawn, sweet lament, liquid to liquidate the soul, an infinite keening of farewell. Then he took her by the hand and they left the room. Slowly they descended. Solemnly did they go.
CHAPTER 36
Solemnly gyrating among the loveless couples, with eyes only for each other they danced, with eyes feasting on the other, solicitous, intense, engrossed. Blissful in his arms, happy to follow his lead, oblivious to her surroundings, she listened to the happiness coursing through her veins, glanced up at intervals to admire herself in the tall mirrors on the walls, was elegant, heart-stopping, exceptional, a woman loved, who now and then drew back her head the better to see him as he whispered wondrous words which she did not always understand, for she was too busy drinking him with her eyes, but invariably greeted with all her soul and an approving nod, as he whispered that they were in love, which prompted a faint, tremulous laugh, but of course! that was it! in love! as he whispered that he was dying to kiss and bless her long curved lashes, but not here, later, when they were alone, and then she said they had all their lives before them, and suddenly she was afraid she had displeased him, that she was too sure of herself, but no, oh joy! he smiled and held her close and whispered that every evening, yes, every evening they would be together. Jolted in his sleeper, he reproved himself for behaving like a brute, for being a brute and calling her horrible. After all, if she didn't like the chief, there wasn't much she could do about it, it was hardly her fault, was it? She had her good points. Just the other day, at the tailor's, she had been sweet enough to help him choose the material for his suit and had taken the whole thing very seriously. Most likely she would be sleeping soundly now, she looked so pretty when she was asleep. 'Sweet dreams, darling,' he said in his swaying bunk, and he smiled just for her, and closed his eyes so that he would fall asleep with her. The gypsy band stopped and they paused without releasing each other while the rest of the unexceptional dancers, who let their partners go the moment the music died away, clapped their hands for more but clapped them in vain. But at a look from Solal, Imre, the pock-marked first violinist, winked back with a smile of complicity, mopped his glistening brow, and struck up majestically while, watched by the seated spectators, the odd couple resumed their dance with the gravity of love, and were soon attended by Imre fiddling wildly in a flurry of flapping sleeves and holding in his teeth the banknote Solal had given him. Leaving in her wake a trail of floating streamers which waved like slow multicoloured kelp, she let go his hand at intervals to smooth down her hair but to no avail, oh never mind, and perhaps her nose was shiny too, oh who cared, for she was his lovely, he told her so. Fair and her lord's beloved, she whispered to herself, and she smiled a beatific smile. But he couldn't get off to sleep and he wondered if she'd remembered to turn off the gas. It worried him her being in the house all by herself, with no one coming in except the daily who could only manage mornings, because Mariette wouldn't be back to work for almost another month, and it wasn't just the gas, there was also bolting the front door, most likely she wouldn't remember to do it last thing before going up to
bed, and then the vitamins she took in the morning, she'd probably forget them too, oh worry, worry. Cheek to cheek, she and he, secretly, slowly turning. Oh but she, he murmured, is made of delights, a Himalayan climber in a Scots tam, queen of her porcelain zoo, the half-baked smile on her face when she was alone, the way she walked round her bedroom with toes turned inwards to make herself look silly, revelling like him in her absurd antics, pulling divinely funny faces, her own court jester, day-dreaming in her bath, friend to the sparrow-owl and protector of toads, she, his mad sister. Laying her cheek against the shoulder of her lord, she closed her eyes and asked him to tell her again, blessed in the knowledge that she was known, known better than she knew herself, that she was mocked and lauded by he who was her soul's brother, the only human being in the world who really knew her: this was love in all its glory, to be loved by a man, next to which Varvara was nothing, less than nothing, a heap of unimportance now gone for ever. Tilting back her head, she noticed that his eyes were blue and green with flecks of gold, luminous against the tan of his face, eyes which spoke of sea and sun, and she clung to him in gratitude for those eyes. Official visit, by God, with scale of allowances, by God, including climate allowance, by God, won't be long before it's the George V, by God, on a diplomatic ticket, by God. On arrival in Paris, give her a ring and remind her, gas, bolts, shutters, vitamins, et cetera. No, not on arrival, he might wake her. Leave it until eleven, right? And later on drop her a line confirming reminders. Draw up a list of things she mustn't forget on a separate sheet of paper, number them, underline items in red, a list she can pin on the wall of her room. Or perhaps suggest that she should put up at a first-class hotel until Mariette gets back, the Ritz for example, hang the expense, that way she won't be in the house on her own, so no chance of her forgetting to bolt the door. No, not the Ritz, she might bump into the chief, she didn't seem to have much time for him, she'd be quite capable of walking past him without saying hello. Whispers of their love hung over the dance. Yes, every evening of their lives, she thought happily, and she smiled at the glorious thought of getting ready for his coming every evening, singing as she made herself beautiful for him, oh the wonder of waiting every evening at the door beneath the roses, waiting in an exquisite new dress, and kissing his hand every evening when he came tall and clothed in white. 'You are beautiful,' he said, 'awesome in your beauty,' he said, 'a solar beauty ringed with eyes of mist,' he said, and he held her close and she closed her eyes, slightly ridiculous, full of grace, delighted to be awesome, elated to be thought solar. Blast, I'm not going to get to sleep, it was the gratin, I had too much. So phone at eleven, not before, don't want to go waking her up. Morning, darling. Sleep well? Everything went off swimmingly last night. I'll start with the dinner, caviare and the whole shoot. You want the whole shoot? Well I'll tell you. Caviare, as I said, then lobster au gratin Edward VII, quail conserve, haunch of venison chasseur, stuffed crêpes a la Ritz, the works, nothing but the best. Yieldingly turning in his miraculous arms, she asked him at what time he would come every evening. 'At nine,' he said, bowing his head to breathe the fragrance of her, and she said nine was good but knew not that she was born to die. The wonder of nine o'clock! At nine he would be there, every evening of their lives. So a nice long bath at eight and then get dressed quickly. Oh the enchanting prospect of making herself beautiful for him, elegant for him. But how oh how was it possible, and only a short time ago, she'd hardly got through the door, that she'd said those two dreadful words to him, and yet at this moment no one else but he existed. Ask to be forgiven for saying those two awful words? No, too difficult to manage while dancing, not now, later, and then explain everything. Explain what exactly? Oh forget it, forget it, just look at him, drown in his eyes. I ate a bit too much of the gratin and the quail, and a bit too much of the venison and, let's face it, of the caviare too, but it was only to show my appreciation, just being polite, see, and besides it gave me something to do while he wasn't saying anything, and on top of that he hardly ate anything at all and it made me feel awful to think that the waiters would come and take away all those delicious things only half eaten, and so beautifully presented too, and such generous helpings, you know, heavens, inside the quail there was a stuffing literally coal-black with truffles, if you please, so naturally I rather indulged myself. Solemnly turning in the suddenly blue-tinted semi-dark, she pressed to her lips the hand of this man she did not know, proud to be so bold. Upstairs, when I was ranting on about power and the gorillas, he thought suddenly, it was my power and the gorilla in me that she admired. No matter, we are animals, but I love her and am happy, he thought. 'Oh wonder of loving you,' he said. 'When did you know you loved me?' she dared to ask. 'At the Brazilian reception,' he murmured, 'where I saw you for the very first time and loved you at once, noble in the midst of the ignoble did you appear, you and I and no one else in the crowd of smart operators and attention-seekers, we two alone were exiles, you as lonely as I and as heartsick and as disdainful as I and talking to no one, having no friend but yourself, and at the first flutter of your eyes I knew you, knew you as the Unexpected One so long awaited, knew you at once for the Chosen One on that evening decreed by Destiny, proclaimed at the first flutter of your long curved lashes: you! divine Bokhara, favoured Samarkand, an embroidery of intricate pattern, O garden on a distant shore.' 'How beautiful,' she said, 'no one has ever talked to me like that before.' But they were the same words that the old man had spoken to her, he thought, and he smiled at her, and she worshipped his smile. The same words, but the old man had no teeth and you did not hear him, he thought. Oh derision! Oh pity! But she loves me and I love her, so glory be to my thirty-two toothbones, he thought. Anyway, as I was saying, tummy's upset, but what can you expect, it nettled me, especially since bills at the Ritz are pretty steep, oh and you'll not believe this but he signed the bill without even looking at it, because they let special customers sign their bills, he must have a monthly account with them, I didn't actually see how much it came to, he had his elbow in the way, but it must have cost the earth, especially since he'd ordered only the most expensive things on the menu plus a magnum of Moet dry imperial rose, no less, it's the best, a whole magnum, we hardly touched it, and of course the whole lot goes on the bill whether it's been eaten and drunk or not, but the last straw was the hundred-dollar tip he gave the head waiter, naturally they hang on his every whim, a hundred-dollar note, I joke not! I saw it, saw it with my very own eyes, 'One Hundred Dollars', the words were spelled out on it, it fair took my breath away, can you imagine throwing that much money down the drain, though it's true that with his salary, but even so, in any case I'm jolly glad I got through all their gratin a la Edward VII, well nearly all, and I went at it a bit strong with the crêpes too, with the result that it all became rather indigestible, repeated on me, touch of acid, fortunately I'd remembered to pack the bicarb, so my idea works, I mean having filing-cards for the things I want to take with me when I go away, for now I'm sure not to forget anything. Other men take weeks, months before they fall in love, and even then they love but tepidly, nor can they dispense with endless talk, shared tastes and crystallizations. All I needed was one flutter of your eyelashes. Say I am mad, but believe me. A flutter of lashes, and you looked at me but did not see me, and suddenly I beheld the glory of spring and the sun and the warm sea and my youth restored and the world fresh-minted, and I knew that no one before you, not Adrienne nor Aude nor Isolde nor any who peopled my splendour and youth, I knew that they had merely prepared a way for you and were your handmaidens. No one came before you nor will come after you, I swear it on the Scrolls of the Holy Law when in solemn state they pass before me in the synagogue, arrayed in gold and velvet, the Holy Commandments of the God in whom I do not believe but revere, for I am absurdly proud of my God, the God of Israel, and I thrill to my very core when I hear His name and His words. To help the bicarb down, I asked the sleeping-car chappie for a small bottle of "Evian, it's very handy having these sleeping-car chaps around,
they'll get you anything you want at any time of day or night, marvellous isn't it, all you have to do is ring, of course you have to tip them when you get to your destination, but it's worth it. I've taken three lots of bicarb, because as heartburn and acid indigestion go I've had a right old time of it, but that's hardly the point, the point is that it all went off a treat from the word go, you know. Over dinner, lively conversation, I was perfectly at my ease, Proust, Kafka, Picasso, Vermeer, it just turned out like that, sort of without me wanting it to, I don't mind saying I was brilliant on Vermeer: biography, character of the man, main works, plus remarks about technique and museum locations, he must have seen I knew my onions. Sitting at their gently lit table, they smiled at each other and only they existed. She looked at him and ached with a desire to stroke the luxuriant curve of his eyebrows with her finger, to reach out and circle his wrist with her hand and feel its slimness, but not here, not in front of these people. She looked at him and admired the imperious gesture with which he summoned the head waiter, who came running, obese but twinkle-toed, listened with an approving expression on his face, took the magnum out of the ice-bucket, swaddled it as though it were a baby, popped the cork, filled the two glasses with episcopal unction, then retired in a cloud of benign discretion, hands clasped behind his back, watchful and hundred-eyed, while in the meantime Imre and his band, jerking their heads triumphantly, broke into a ghastly tango and couples followed each other on to the floor, there to take ship under respectful sail upon the beautiful blue stream of dreams. She looked at him and admired the way he barely acknowledged the nod of the principal Japanese delegate, who wheeled ceremoniously and warily by, carefully pressing first his knee and then his sharp-edged femur against the thigh of his secretary, who was flattered and smiled poetically. She admired everything about him, even down to the heavy silk of his cuffs. Babooneries, he thought, but he did not mind, for he was happy. 'Your hand,' he said. In noble subjection she held it out, and suddenly observed that it was beautiful. 'Move your hand,' he said. She obeyed, and he smiled with pleasure. Oh wonder, she was exquisite, she was alive! 'Ariane,' he said, and she shut her eyes. Ah, they were in perfect harmony now. You'll hardly credit it, but Waddell was also at the Ritz, having dinner with someone who looked awfully important, I couldn't tell you who it was, tall chap with red hair, somebody from the British delegation I imagine, when I get back I'll ask Kanakis. Very well-connected is friend Waddell, he's a special adviser you know, never actually does anything of course, a bit special on the personal habits front too if you see what I mean. Waddell's a horrible snob, it must have set him right back on his heels to see me there having dinner with the Under-Secretary-General, chatting away like old pals. Take it from me, that tongue of his will ensure that everybody but everybody at the Palais will be in the know tomorrow. His highness the VV will go green at the gills! There are a lot of people who won't like it, of course, but it'll give me a very definite edge! From now on, I shall be someone with clout, get it? He stood up and said he was going to fetch presents to give her. She frowned tenderly, pursing and thrusting out her closed lips, her first show of female petulance. 'Come back soon,' she said, and she watched as he walked away while from the orchestra, like a human voice, rose the despairing complaint of a musical saw, like the sobbing of a serene madwoman or a siren abandoned, watched as he walked away, he who from this time henceforth was her portion of earthly happiness. 'Chosen at the first flutter of your long curved lashes,' he had said. 'It's true, I do have beautiful eyelashes,' she murmured. Suddenly she frowned. Which dress had she worn to the Brazilian reception? Oh yes, the long black one. She breathed in relief. Thank God, it was one of her best Paris numbers. She pictured herself wearing the dress which suited her so well and smiled. Like I was saying, lively chat over dinner, Waddell couldn't take his eyes off us, just couldn't get over it, knocked the stuffing right out of him. Must have been hard for him to take, not half! Anyway, the chief, ever so smartly turned out, awfully grand, but very polite, consulting me about the menu and so forth, he's unbelievably charming, I love watching him fiddling with his beads, it's a Middle Eastern custom, apparently. You know, when I get back I'm going to get myself a white dinner-jacket like him, white dinner-jackets in summer are very much the thing nowadays, you can take it as read that he's well up on the sartorial front. He set down her presents before her: his emerald necklace, his rings and the little teddy-bear with the sombrero. 'For you,' he said earnestly, and so pleased did he seem that she felt a maternal pang of pity. She opened her handbag and held out the handsome solid-gold and platinum cigarette-case which had been a present from her husband. 'This I give to you,' she said. He pressed it against his cheek and smiled at her. They were happy, they had exchanged gifts. After pudding, we went up to his suite, wow! you should have seen it, a superb drawing-room, period furniture, coffee served by his man who doubles as his chauffeur, or so Kanakis says. Then he got interested in a literary venture I've been mulling over, a novel about Don Juan, I've got a few ideas on the subject, I'll tell you all about it some time, I've come up with some terrific angles on Don Juan, primordial contempt and why he's so obsessed with seduction, won't go into it now, I'll explain later, it's rather complicated but I think it's new stuff, you know, original. So he started paying attention to what I was saying, asking questions, I mean pally as anything, elective affinities and all that, calling me by my Christian name, saying old man, honestly, I was firing on all pistons. He doesn't say old man to VV but he says it to Lord Adrien Deume! And you won't credit this but he even went so far as to tell me in confidence that he's in love with the wife of the leader of the Indian delegation! not in so many words, mark you, but I could read between the lines, put two and two together from clues he dropped, you see how chummy things were between us. Between you and me, things started to get a bit weird, he said he didn't want to make a play for this gorgeous Indian piece but I egged him on because I don't give a toss for the Indian delegate, see, he can play footsie with his wife as much as he likes. Whispered echoes of their love in the sickly-sweet waltz now unfurling its slow, drawling refrain. Head reaching down to her, breathing the scent of her, he asked her to say something, said he needed to hear her voice. Waking from the torpor in which the fusion of souls had left her, she looked up at him like a gentle-eyed dog, looked up at him so wondrously tall, looked up and saw his adorably white teeth above her. 'Say something extraordinary,' he asked. 'We two,' she said, lost in the wonder of canines and incisors. 'Say more,' he asked. 'My eyes in doe-like ecstasy,' she smiled, and she held this stranger close. And in the middle of everything the porter phones to ask if this gorgeous Indian bint can come up. At this I put the wheel hard over, I don't mess about, I suggest I should take myself off to the office and immediately start preparing a summary of the British Memorandum, you know, the famous Memo, I told you about it, a great wodge of stuff I didn't have time to finish off given all the extra work there's been, but he said no need, said he didn't want to chase me away to the Palais, said I could stay, just being polite of course, so I said bluntly: 'I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not going to obey your order.' This answer seemed to go down pretty well. 'More,' he asked. 'Let's go away, we two,' she said, and she leaned her head on the shoulder of her slowly swirling partner. 'Go where?' he asked. 'Far away,' she sighed. 'Perhaps to the land where I was born?' 'Where he was born,' she smiled, filled with a beatific vision, 'oh yes, I'm so glad you were born. And when shall we go, we two?' 'This morning,' he said, 'in a plane all to ourselves, and this afternoon we shall be in Cephalonia, you and I.' Eyes aflutter, she looked at him, looked at the miracle of him. This afternoon, she and he, standing at the sea's edge, hand in hand. She inhaled, and caught the tang of the sea and its smell of life. 'Off our heads, off to the sea,' she smiled, and she swirled in time to the dance, with her head lovingly sanctuaried against him. Well, I left by the back stairs so I wouldn't bump into her, because it's a luxury suite, you know, with a separate service entrance, anyhow off I shot in a taxi to the P
alais where I concocted a minor masterpiece for him, a super-duper summary, complete with super-duper personal comments, just came to me in the heat of inspiration, I was going at it hammer and tongs, felt I was carving out my future, highly political comments, repercussions, nuances, allusions and so forth, made the most of the opportunity, in short, snatched victory from the jaws of defeat: One, because my comments are very neatly turned so he'll see I've got it upstairs, Two, because I did him a personal favour by leaving him alone with his sultry siren, thereby generating gratitude and friendship, and Three and not least, because doing a piece of work for one of the top brass without going through the usual channels sets you up, you know, gives you a direct line to the establishment, and VV can't do a thing about it, that's the beauty of it, this kid Adrien's a smart operator all right! Responding to a signal from the big spender, Imre headed towards their table, not hurrying himself unduly but stopping off here and there on the way like a free man. When he got to them, he doffed his bow in greeting then resumed his playing, improvising for his personal and private pleasure, shaping cadences of furioso which unexpectedly faded into regal passages of lusingandos and lush expanses of piangevole as he reached out for an absolute of tenderness, his cheek nestling lovingly into his fiddle which yielded an aching, dying fall to which he listened with orgasmically closed eyes. 'Wake up, Imre, that's enough,' said Solal. He obeyed, though he could not quite stop his fingers from gently strumming the strings. 'Imre, you're a good fellow. I want you to know that I am about to run away with Madame.' The gypsy fiddler greeted the good news by letting his bow glide slowly and deliberately across the strings, then inclined his head to the fascinating lady. With his fiddle supported only by his clenched chin, he poked the ends of his iron-curled moustache with his bow and asked what was the noble lady's pleasure. 'Your most ravishing waltz,' said Solal. 'Your wish is my command!' said Imre. The fly in the ointment was that I couldn't hand over my little masterpiece to him personally at the Ritz, which is a pity, it would have cemented relations, but I could hardly disturb him, not when he was with his sultry lady, so I put. the summary and my comments in an internal envelope, wrote his name on the front, and sealed it with a gummed label marked 'Confidential', but just to be on the extra-safe side I didn't leave it in my out-tray, because VV sticks his nose into everything and would be quite capable of opening it to see what I was sending to the super-chief, 'Confidential' or not, or rather because of the 'Confidential', and equally capable of keeping it to himself, the swine, he's so jealous, anyway I'm not stupid, so I trotted along, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in my mouth, and quietly popped it into the chief's personal messenger's in-tray, chap named Saulnier, that way no one's the wiser and it's a cert that it won't be intercepted by his high and mightiness VV, I plead self-defence, m'lud. Impelled by the gravity of their desire, they orbited like stars. What kinds of trees were there on Cephalonia, asked this daughter of wealth, this consumer of nature's beauties. With a faraway look in his eye he reeled off the names of the trees he had so often recited to others, ran through the list of them: cypress-trees, orange-trees, lemon-trees, olive-trees, pomegranate-trees, citron-trees, myrtle-trees, mastic-trees. Reaching the limit of his knowledge, he went on, inventing lemonella-trees, tuba-trees, circass-trees, prune-trees and even puple-trees. Wonderingly she inhaled the vanilla-sweet fragrance of his miraculous forest. So tomorrow morning, phone to tell her to be sure to be nice to the chief if she ever bumps into him. 'Listen, darling, if the Kanakises ask you round to their place, which is more than likely since they now owe us an invite, and the chief happens to be there, because Kanakis told me he was intending to ask him and the Greek ambassador, old Kanak's got his head screwed on the right way, don't you act grouchy with the chief, mind, talk to him a bit, talk to him a lot if you want, but for heaven's sake be nice, you can be very nice if you choose, because he treated me very decently, you know, I guarantee that this time next year I'll be an adviser.' The luck of the Irish, he smiled, and he peered benevolently at the mole just above his navel, then rolled himself into a ball on his narrow bunk, burying his face in his pillow, enjoying its smell and relishing the expense-account first-class sleeper now whisking him off towards official delights. On the dais, Imre was perspiring and pining with a will, while the second fiddle lobbed brief, servile, mechanical phrases which his leader proceeded to amplify gaudily, lifting his chin when he got to the thrilling moments. As she turned and whirled, she whispered that she'd have no time to buy summer dresses in Geneva, though on his island it would be very warm and, to be seen with a lord such as he, she'd have to change her dress at least twice a day. 'The dresses worn by peasant girls on Cephalonia will look just right on you,' he said. She gazed at him in admiration. This man knew everything, ironed out all problems with such ease. 'We shall buy three dozen,' he said. Thirty-six dresses, glory be! this man was surely great! 'What will our house be like?' she asked. 'White, by a purple sea,' he said, 'with an old Greek serving-woman to attend to everything.' 'To everything,' she said approvingly, and she clung to him.