Scoop-Evelyn-Waugh [17]
�e" with what he hoped was Gallic scepticism and turning his attention to the dish beside him. It was a great, white fish, cold and garnished; the children had rejected it with cries of distress; it lay on a charger of imitation silver; the two brown thumbs of the coloured steward lay just within the circle of mayonnaise; lozenges and roundels of coloured vegetables spread symmetrically about its glazed back. William looked sadly at this fish. "It is very dangerous," said the administrator. "In the tropics one easily contracts disease of the skin ..." ... Far away the trout were lying among the cool pebbles, nose upstream, meditative, hesitant, in the waters of his home; the barbed fly, unnaturally brilliant overhead; they were lying, blue-brown, scarred by the grill, with white-bead eyes, in chaste silver dishes. "Fresh green of the river bank; faded terra-cotta of the dining-room wallpaper, colours of distant Canaan, of deserted Eden," thought William � "are they still there? Shall I ever revisit those familiar places . . . ?" ... "Il faut manger, il faut vivre," said the Frenchman; "qu'est ce qu'il-y-a comme viande?" And at that moment, suddenly, miasmically, in the fiery wilderness, there came an appariton. A voice said in English, "Anyone mind if I park myself here?" and a stranger stood at the table, as though conjured there by William's unexpressed wish; as though conjured, indeed, by a djinn who had imperfectly understood his instructions. The newcomer was British but, at first sight, unprepossessing. His suit of striped flannel had always, as its tailor proudly remarked, fitted snugly at the waist. The sleeves had been modishly narrow. Now in the midday heat it had resolved into an alternation of wrinkles and damp adherent patches, steaming visibly: The double-breasted waistcoat was unbuttoned and revealed shirt and braces. "Not dressed for this climate," remarked the young man, superfluously. "Left in a hurry." He sat down heavily in the chair next to William's and ran his napkin round the back of his collar. "Phew. What does one drink on this boat?" The Frenchman, who had regarded him with resentment from the moment of his appearance, now leant forward and spoke, acidly. The hot man smiled in an encouraging way and turned to William. "What's old paterfamilias saying?" William translated literally. "He says that you have taken the chair of the Captain's lady." "Too bad. What's she like? Any good?" "Bulky," said William. "There was a whopper upstairs with the Captain. What I call the Continental figure. Would that be her?" "Yes." "Definitely no good, old boy. Not for Corker anyway." The Frenchman leaned towards William. "This is the Captain's table. Your friend must not come here except by invitation." "I do not know him," said William. "It is his business." "The Captain should present him to us. This is a reserved place." "Hope I'm not butting in," said the Englishman. The steward offered him the fish; he examined its still unbroken ornaments and helped himself. "If you ask me," he said cheerfully, his mouth full. "I'd say it was a spot off-colour, but I never do care much for French cooking. Hi, you, Alphonse, comprenez pint of bitter?" The steward gaped at him, then at the fish, then at him again. "No like?" he said at last. "No like one little bit, but that's not the question under discussion. Me like a big tankard of Bass, Worthington, whatever you got. Look, comme �"� he made the motions of drinking, � "I say, what's the French for bitter?" William tried to help. The steward beamed and nodded. "Whisky-soda?" "All right, Alphonse, you win. Whisky-soda it shall be. Beaucoup whisky, beaucoup soda, toute-de-suite. The truth is," he continued, turning to William, "my French is a bit rusty. You're Boot of the Beast, aren't you? Thought I might run into you. I'm Corker of the U.N. Just got on board with an hour to spare. Think of it: I was in Fleet Street on Tuesday; got my marching orders at ten o'clock, caught the plane to Cairo; all night in a car and here I am, all present and, I hope, correct. God, I can't think how you fellows can eat this fish." "We can't," said William. "Found it a bit high?" "Exactly." "That's what I thought," said Corker, "the moment I saw it. Here, Alphonse, mauvais poisson