Going It Alone (21 page)

‘There are just one or two formalities,’ he said. ‘Of identification chiefly.’ He turned to Gilbert Averell. ‘Would you, sir, happen to have any present means of identifying yourself?’

It was the moment of truth. There was nothing to do but to rise to it. Averell produced from an inner pocket the passport of the Prince de Silistrie and handed it to the inquisitor in front of him. The Inspector opened it, studied it for a moment only, and then handed it back.

‘Thank you, Prince,’ he said politely. It was as if he regarded it as the most natural thing in the world that a well-bred youth such as Mr Barcroft should run to a French uncle of exalted rank. ‘May I ask if you intend to stay long in England?’

‘Only over the next two or three days,’ Averell said firmly. And he added, ‘Might I be required to return for the purpose of giving evidence against those criminals?’

‘Possibly. Yes, possibly.’

‘I could be required to do so?’

‘Dear me, no – and indeed there may be no necessity for your presence. And no English court could require the attendance, simply for the purpose of giving testimony, of any foreign national.’ The Inspector glanced at Averell whimsically. ‘We could hardly start extradition proceedings, could we?’

‘
Merci, Monsieur l’Inspecteur
,’ Gilbert Averell said. And he managed a dignified Gallic bow.

They drove back to London in Dave’s car, and had reached the motorway before Tim spoke.

‘Quite a decent chap,’ Tim said, and paused. ‘But a bit thick, as they all are,’ he added complacently. ‘Couldn’t spot the fact, Uncle Gilbert, that you’re no more a Frog prince than I am.’

‘What you are,’ Dave said cheerfully to his friend, ‘is an all-time silly sod. I say! Where shall we go for dinner?’

‘My dear friend,’ the Prince de Silistrie said, ‘I hope you had an enjoyable vacation?’

‘Yes, indeed. Decidedly.’

‘And I too. I visited the tombs of the Etruscans. Gilbert Averell visited the tombs of the Etruscans, ought I not to say? Melancholy, those
mellone
– but by fortune less extensive than the later catacombs of our own most holy religion.’ The Prince de Silistrie, who was a very devout man, paused becomingly on this. ‘Yet how joyous a people, Gilbert! The little statues –
figurines
, as you also say – dancing, diving, running, and sometimes so shamelessly Priapic, in such readiness, as they pursue, it must be, the nymphs! Your great writer David H Lawrence celebrates this.’

‘I suppose he does,’ Averell said, and glanced a shade uneasily at his friend. The two men were lunching at Poissy, and the Seine sparkled in May sunshine round the little island on which their restaurant lay. Many gentlemen were already in straw hats. It was all very Monet, very Renoir – or Lambinet, Averell thought, recalling his favourite novel by Henry James. They were both silent for a moment: two brothers quietly enjoying one another’s company, as they must appear to any casual regard. ‘And you had no difficulty with the passport?’ Averell asked cautiously.

‘None whatever. And how I acted one of your admired compatriots! At Volterra, in the
Porcellino
– so charming a name for a little hostelry – I breakfast on the bacon and eggs. Think of that, my friend!’

‘And
l’estomac
stood up to it well? Always in France one considers
l’estomac
.’

‘Indeed, yes.’ Georges signalled no disapproval of this pleasantry. ‘Only when I returned to Paris there was an incident.
C’est le curieux de l’affaire
. I received a photograph. “Snapshot” is perhaps the proper term.’

‘A snapshot of just what?’ Averell asked – although he knew perfectly well.

‘Of myself – or such was the suggestion – ravishing an English rose. In a grotto, or some such secluded place. It is a fresh light upon your character, my dear Gilbert. I hope the little
rencontre
went well. English roses are said to be so chilly, are they not? It is as if the dew were upon them always.’

‘That is complete nonsense.’

‘They are, in fact, ardent? It is a calumny?’

‘I’m not talking about that. I mean about what was taking place. I was comforting an innocent girl, little more than a child, who happened to be very much upset.’

‘I am disappointed.’

‘There was a confounded spy. He thought he was on your trail, as a matter of fact.’

‘Quite so. You must forgive the jest. It was Minette who was his paymistress. “Paymistress” is allowed?’

‘I suppose so. But the word is not in common use.’

‘Thank you, Gilbert. I note the fact. But yes, it was
la belle Minette
. So jealous, and so rich as well! It is a dangerous combination, that.’

‘If I have got you into trouble with a mistress – “Pay” or otherwise – I apologize.’

‘N’importe
. Minette and I, we shall laugh over it together yet.’ And the Prince de Silistrie raised a hand in the air.

‘Garcon
,’ he called out,
‘deux fines!’

The brandy arrived, and over raised glasses a solemn attestation of unflawed friendship ensued.

Published by House of Stratus

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