Overtime (36 page)

Blondel shrugged. ‘Money in rats, is there?' he said.

‘No,' Richard replied. ‘But so what?'

‘True. Anyway,' Blondel added, ‘that's over at last. Now I can get out of this bloody collar.' He did so, and smiled.

‘What about you?' asked the King, pouring the last of the champagne into a tumbler. ‘Any plans?'

Blondel shook his head. ‘The thing about life ...' he said.

‘Yes?'

‘Is,' Blondel went on after a moment, ‘that there's an awful lot of it, and the last thing I want to do is get involved. I mean, why break the habits of a lifetime?'

Richard sighed. ‘I don't really think you can say you were never involved, Jack,' he said. ‘You of all people.'

‘Ah,' Blondel replied, ‘but that's all over and done with, isn't it? I mean, all that history I mucked about with has been scrubbed. Clean slate. That means I'm a whatsisname, anathema. So long as I'm still around, can things really get back to how they should be? I'm not sure.'

‘How come?' Richard said.

Under the canopy stretched across the village square, under the shade of the twisted old mulberry tree, a small, over-excited child was sick. ‘Think about it,' Blondel said, lying back on the table and contemplating his fingernails. ‘You were just the victim. I was the one who caused all the trouble. I was the one who went around singing
L'Amours Dont
...
L'Amours ...
thingy all the time.'

‘That's the one,' Blondel said. ‘Do you know, I've forgotten how it goes now.
L'Amours
Dont ... Ah well, never mind. I never liked it much anyway.'

‘Didn't you?'

‘No,' Blondel said, frowning. ‘That bit in the third verse. Turn turn tumpty ... How
does
that bit go, can you remember?'

Richard shook his head. ‘Sorry,' he said.

Blondel grinned. ‘The hell with it,' he said, ‘it's only a song, that's all. Some day somebody'll write another one, I expect. Anyway, I always reckoned it wasn't a patch on
Ma Joie
Me... Me...
the other one.'

‘Which one was that, Jack?'

‘Can't remember.'

They sat quietly for a while, Richard remembering, Blondel just staring, while the last few friends and relations wandered away. A wedding guest hurried up, explained that some damn fool of an ecology canvasser had kept him talking for hours with some rigmarole about endangered seabirds, was told that he'd missed the ceremony and the reception, and clumped off in a huff. The sun went down.

‘Anyway,' said Blondel.

‘Anyway,' said Richard. ‘Have you paused to consider that, if you put in a claim for overtime, you'd be the richest man in history?'

‘No,' Blondel replied.

‘Good,' Richard said, and fell asleep.

Blondel lay still for a few minutes more, gazing up at the battlements of the Chateau de Nesle in the far distance. Although he couldn't remember details, he had an idea he'd lived there once, a very long time ago. And, as the thought -crossed his mind, he had the feeling he could hear somebody in one of the turrets singing a song which once he might have recognised.

Blondel sighed, and grinned, and stood up. At the foot of the tower, a low door materialised and opened.

And Blondel strolled through it, hands in pockets, singing.