A Buyers Market - Anthony Powell [21]
“The Spaniards are having some sort of a reception there, too,” said Tompsitt, who, having satisfied his immediate hunger, seemed disposed to show himself more genial than earlier. “At their new Embassy.”
“I’m rather glad we don’t have to attend those big official crushes any more as a duty,” said Lady Walpole-Wilson, with a sigh. “We had to turn out in honour of Prince Theodoric the other night, and, really, it was too exhausting. Now that one is rather out of touch with that world one does so much prefer just to see one’s own friends.”
“Is Prince Theodoric over for long?” asked Widmerpool, assuming an air of importance. “I understand he is here largely for economic reasons—I believe Donners-Brebner are considering big expansions in his country.”
“Base metals, for one thing,” said Tompsitt, with at least equal empressement. “There has also been talk of installing a railway to the coast. Am I right, Sir Gavin?”
At the phrase “base metals” there had passed over Archie Gilbert’s face perhaps the most imperceptible flicker of professional interest, that died down almost immediately as he turned once more to speak with Barbara of dance bands.
“No doubt about it,” said Sir Gavin. “I used to see a lot of Theodoric’s father when I was chargé d’affaires there. We often went fishing together.”
“Gavin was a great favourite with the old King,” said Lady Walpole-Wilson, as if it were a matter of mild surprise to her that her husband could be a favourite with anyone. “I am afraid Prince Theodoric’s brother is quite a different sort of person from their father. Do you remember that awkward incident when Janet was staying with us and how nice the King was?”
Sir Gavin glanced across the table at his wife, possibly apprehensive for a moment that she seemed inclined to particularise more precisely than might be desirable at the dinner table this contrast between father and son. Perhaps he did not wish to bring up the episode, whatever it had been, in which “Janet”—his sister—had been involved.
“Theodoric, on the other hand, is a serious young man,” he said. “A pity, really, that he is not King. The party given for him at their Legation was certainly dull enough—though personally I enjoy such jollifications as, for example, the court ball when our own King and Queen visited Berlin in 1913.”
“For the wedding of the Kaiser’s daughter?” Tompsitt asked, briskly.
“Princess Victoria Louise,” said Sir Gavin, nodding with approval at this scoring of a point by his satellite. “I went quite by chance, in place of Saltonstall, who—”
“Though, of course, it makes one feel quite ill to think of dancing with a German now,” said Lady Walpole-Wilson, anxiously.
She had taken the war hard.
“Do you really think so, Lady Walpole-Wilson?” said Widmerpool. “Now, you know, I can feel no prejudice against the Germans. None whatever. French policy, on the other hand, I regard at the moment as very mistaken. Positively disastrous, in fact.”
“They did the Torch Dance,” said Sir Gavin, not to be put off nostalgic reminiscences so easily. “The King and the Tsar danced, with the bride between them. A splendid sight. Ah, well, little we thought…”
“I loved the Swiss Guard when we were in Rome last winter,” said Miss Manasch. “And the Noble Guard were divine, too. We saw them at our audience.”
“But what a demoralising life for a young man,” said Lady Walpole-Wilson. “I am sure many of them must make unsuitable marriages.”
“I can just imagine myself checking a Papal Guardsman’s arms and equipment,” said Pardoe. “Sergeant-Major, this halbert is filthy.”
“I’d love to see you in those red and yellow and blue stripes, Johnny,” said Miss Manasch, with perhaps a touch of unfriendliness. “They’d suit you.”
Discussion as to whether