Mrs Harris Goes To Paris And Mrs Harris Goes To New York Part 9

'You mean the Countess Touraine?' asked the Captain, whose business of course it was to study the pa.s.senger list. 'Yes, she is enormously talented, though if I might suggest, a trifle- '

'No, no,' said the Marquis, 'I am referring to a London scrubwoman - a char, as they call them - who all day long is on her knees scrubbing the floors of her clients in Belgravia, or having her hands in dirty dishwater was.h.i.+ng-up after them - but if you looked into her wardrobe you would find hanging there the most exquisite creation from the house of Christian Dior, a dress to the value of four hundred and fifty pounds, which she purchased for herself.'

The Captain was truly intrigued. 'What is that you say? But that is utterly astounding. You say this person is aboard my s.h.i.+p? But what is she doing? Where could she be going?'

'Goodness only knows,' replied the Marquis, 'what she is after now in America, what it has come into her head to possess. I can only tell you that when a woman such as this makes up her mind to something, nothing can stop her.' And thereupon he recounted to the Captain the story of Mrs Harris coming to Paris to buy herself a Dior dress, and how no one with whom she had come into contact had quite been the same thereafter.

When the Marquis had finished his tale the Captain, even more intrigued, and his curiosity aroused, had said, 'And this woman is aboard and you say is a friend of yours? Well then, we shall have her up for a drink. I should be honoured to meet her.'

And thus it was that Mrs Harris had received exactly the same kind of engraved invitation as had gone out to the Schreibers, except that on the card had been written: 'A steward will come for you to your cabin and lead you to the Captain's quarters.'

Before Mrs Schreiber was separated from her husband he found time to whisper to her, 'Looks like you can stop worrying about Mrs Harris, don't it?'

That composed and self-a.s.sured lady was now chattering away happily and unconcernedly with the Captain. It seemed that during her visit to Paris she had been taken to a little restaurant on the Seine which was also a favourite of the Captain's when he was ash.o.r.e, and they were comparing notes.

Henrietta's next seated neighbour said to her, 'Are you enjoying the voyage, Mrs Schreiber?' and was somewhat astonished to receive the reply, 'Oh goodness gracious me! Why, it's one that I gave her!' He had, of course, no way of knowing that the dress encasing Mrs Harris was one that Mrs Schreiber had made her a present of several years ago after it had outlived its usefulness, and that she had just recognised it.

EVERYTHING went smoothly on the voyage, lulling Mrs Harris into self-congratulation and a false sense of security. Optimist though she was, life had taught her that frequently when things seem to be going too well, trouble lurked just around the corner. But the routine of the great s.h.i.+p was so wonderful, the food, the company, the entertainments so luxurious, that even Mrs b.u.t.terfield had begun to relax in this ambiance and concede that death and destruction might not be quite as imminent as she had imagined. went smoothly on the voyage, lulling Mrs Harris into self-congratulation and a false sense of security. Optimist though she was, life had taught her that frequently when things seem to be going too well, trouble lurked just around the corner. But the routine of the great s.h.i.+p was so wonderful, the food, the company, the entertainments so luxurious, that even Mrs b.u.t.terfield had begun to relax in this ambiance and concede that death and destruction might not be quite as imminent as she had imagined.

Three days of all the good things to eat he could stuff into himself, plus suns.h.i.+ne and the love and spoiling lavished on him by the two women, had already begun to work a change in little Henry, filling him out and somewhat relieving the pinched, pale look.

The s.s. Ville de Paris Ville de Paris ploughed steadily without a tremor of motion through flat calm seas, and as Mrs Harris said to herself, everything was tickety-boo - yet disaster was no more than forty-eight hours away, and when she became aware of it, it loomed up as so appalling that she did not even take Mrs b.u.t.terfield into her confidence, for fear that in an excess of terror her friend might be tempted to leap overboard. ploughed steadily without a tremor of motion through flat calm seas, and as Mrs Harris said to herself, everything was tickety-boo - yet disaster was no more than forty-eight hours away, and when she became aware of it, it loomed up as so appalling that she did not even take Mrs b.u.t.terfield into her confidence, for fear that in an excess of terror her friend might be tempted to leap overboard.

It all came about through a conversation which took place with the coterie of friends with whom Mrs Harris had surrounded herself, and at which, fortunately, Mrs b.u.t.terfield happened not to be present.

As usually occurred on these voyages, Mrs Harris soon found herself a member of a tight little British island which formed itself in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean aboard this floating hotel. It consisted of an elderly and elegant chauffeur, two mechanics from a British firm sent to America to study missile a.s.sembly, and a couple from Wolverhampton going over to visit their daughter who had married a GI, and their grandchild. Mrs Harris and Mrs b.u.t.terfield made up the set. They were all at the same table, and soon had their deck chairs next to one another. Basically they all spoke the same language and liked and understood one another.

If Mrs Harris was the life of this party - which indeed she was - the chauffeur, Mr John Bayswater 'of Bayswater', as he himself would say, 'and no finer district in London,' was the unquestioned leader of the coterie, and looked up to by all. Bayswater', as he himself would say, 'and no finer district in London,' was the unquestioned leader of the coterie, and looked up to by all.

To begin with, he was not only a chauffeur of long experience - thirty-five years - a small, sixtyish, grey-haired man whose clothes were well cut and in impeccable taste, but he was also a Rolls chauffeur. In all of his life he had never sat in or driven a car of any other make, he had not even so much as ever looked under the bonnet of one. They simply did not exist for him. There was only one car manufactured, and that was the Rolls. A bachelor, he had had a succession of these motor cars instead of wives or mistresses, and they took up his entire time and attention.

But if this were not sufficient cachet cachet, he was also now going out to America as the chauffeur of the Marquis Hypolite de Cha.s.sagne, newly appointed Amba.s.sador for France in the United States.

He was a happy and contented man, was Mr John Bayswater, for in the hold of the Ville de Paris Ville de Paris there travelled the newest, the finest, the most modern and most gleaming Rolls-Royce in two tones of sky and smoke blue, body by Hooper, that he had ever driven. To celebrate the crowning of his diplomatic career by his appointment as Amba.s.sador to the United States, the Marquis, who had been educated in England and had never got over his fondness for British cars, had treated himself to the finest Rolls that his independent wealth could buy. there travelled the newest, the finest, the most modern and most gleaming Rolls-Royce in two tones of sky and smoke blue, body by Hooper, that he had ever driven. To celebrate the crowning of his diplomatic career by his appointment as Amba.s.sador to the United States, the Marquis, who had been educated in England and had never got over his fondness for British cars, had treated himself to the finest Rolls that his independent wealth could buy.

When it came to the question of a chauffeur, the Rolls people had been able to secure for him the services of John Bayswater, who had once accompanied the British Amba.s.sador to the United States on the same kind of job, one of the most respected and trusted of Rolls-trained drivers.

Mr Bayswater's estimate of a good or bad job was based not on the employer for whom he worked, but the nature, kind, and quality of the Rolls-Royce entrusted to his care. If the Marquis's appointment was the cap to his career, so was the new job to Mr Bayswater, since he had been commissioned by the Rolls-Royce Company to go into their factory and himself select the cha.s.sis and engine. That the Marquis had likewise turned out to be an all right chap and an understanding man as an employer was just so much money for jam.

But there was yet another reason why Mr Bayswater could a.s.sume and hold the leaders.h.i.+p in his little group, and that was that of all of them he was the only one who had ever been out to America before. In fact he had made the trip twice - once with a '47 Silver Wraith, a sweet job he had loved dearly, and again with a '53 Silver Cloud, of which he was not quite so enamoured, but which he knew needed him, and all the more in the strange country.

And it was precisely this knowledge of Mr Bayswater's of the procedural ceremony upon entering the free and democratic United States of America which put the windup Mrs Harris and indicated to her the extent of the trap into which she had led little Henry, Mrs b.u.t.terfield, and herself.

The conversation came about as indicated during the absence of Mrs b.u.t.terfield from the deck chairs, and the couple from Wolverhampton, Mr and Mrs Tidder, were expounding on the trials they had had to endure at the hands of American officials before a visitors' visa was granted them to set foot in America. Mrs Harris listened sympathetically, for she had been through the same routine: injections, fingerprints, names of references, financial situation, endless forms to be filled in, and seemingly equally endless interrogations.

'Goodness me,' said Mrs Tidder, whose husband was a retired Civil Servant, 'you would have thought we were going over to burgle a piece of the country.' Then she sighed, 'Oh well, I suppose one musn't complain. They gave us our visas, and it's all over now.'

Mr Bayswater put down a copy of the Rolls-Royce monthly bulletin he had been studying, but with half an ear c.o.c.ked to the conversation, and snorted, 'Ho-ho, is that what you think? Wait until you come up against the American Immigration Inspectors - they'll put you through it. I'll never forget the first time I came over. It was after the war. They had me sweating. You ever heard of Ellis Island? It's a kind of a gaol where they can pop you if they don't like the look of your face. Wait till you sit down to have a chat with those lads. If there's so much as a bit of a blur on your pa.s.sport, or a comma misplaced, you're for it.'

Mrs Tidder gave a little cry of dismay. 'Oh dear, is that really so?'

At the pit of Mrs Harris's stomach a small, cold stone was forming which she tried to ignore. She said to Mrs Tidder, 'Garn - I don't believe it. It's just people talking. It's a free country, ain't it?'

'Not when you're trying to get into it,' Mr Bayswater observed. 'Proper Spanish Inquisition, that's what it is. "Who are you? Where are you from? How much have you got? Who are you with? Where are you going? When? Why? For how long? Have you ever committed a crime? Are you a Communist? If not, then what are you? Why? Haven't you got a home in England - what are you coming over here for?" Then they start in on your papers. Heaven 'elp you if there's anything wrong with them. You can cool your heels behind bars on their ruddy Island until someone comes and fetches you out.'

The stone at the pit of Mrs Harris's tum grew a little larger, colder, and harder to ignore. She asked, trying to make her question sound casual, 'Are they like that with kids too? The Americans I knew in London were always good to kids.'

'Ha!' snorted Mr Bayswater again, 'not these chaps.' And then with another of his rare cultural lapses he said, 'They eats kids. A baby in arms is like a bomb to them. If they don't see the name and birth certificate and proper papers for them they don't get through. When the time comes they herd you into the main lounge, and there you are. Queue up until you sit at a desk with a chap in uniform like a prison warder on the other side, with eyes that look right through you, and you'd better give the right answers. I see one family held up for three hours because some clerk on the other side had made a mistake in one kid's papers. That's the kind of thing they love love to catch you out on. And after that the Customs - they're almost as bad. Phew! I'll tell you.' to catch you out on. And after that the Customs - they're almost as bad. Phew! I'll tell you.'

The stone was now as large as a melon and as cold as a lump of ice. 'Excuse me,' said Mrs Harris, 'I don't think I'm feeling quite well. I think I'll go down to my cabin for a bit of a lie-down.'

And so there it was. For twelve unhappy hours Mrs Harris kept the ghastly news and problem bottled up inside her, during which time she also managed to increase its scope and embroider its dangers. And Mr Bayswater's erudite reference to the Spanish Inquisition, which to Mrs Harris brought up pictures of dungeons, the rack, and tortures with hot pincers, did nothing to alleviate her uneasiness.

Anything British or even French she would have felt herself, as a London char, equipped to cope with, but Mr Bayswater had revealed an implacability about the American Immigration Service and the red tape surrounding entry into the country which, while it might have been somewhat exaggerated, nevertheless left her with a feeling of complete helplessness. There would be no hurly-burly such as had obtained on the station platform at Waterloo and the embarkation pier at Southampton, no friendly, easy-going British Immigration Officers with sympathy for a hara.s.sed family man, no attaching of himself by little Henry to the brood of pleasant and absent-minded Professor Wagstaff, no little tricks, no concealments. The fact was that little Henry, having no papers of any kind whatsoever, was going to be nabbed.

What appalled Mrs Harris was not so much the picture of Mrs b.u.t.terfield and herself languis.h.i.+ng behind bars in that place of the dread name of Ellis Island, changed, it is true, since Bayswater's day to Staten Island and which appeared to be something in the nature of a German or Russian concentration camp, but rather the far more harrowing thought of little 'Enry being impounded and s.h.i.+pped back to London to the mercies of the Gusset family, while she and Mrs b.u.t.terfield would not be there to protect or comfort the youngster. She fretted herself into a state of near exhaustion trying to think of some way that little 'Enry might avoid the tight immigration net that Mr Bayswater had outlined, but could find none. The way Mr Bayswater had put it, not a mouse could get itself into the United States of America without proper credentials.

For herself she did not care, but it was not only little 'Enry who would be in dire trouble; she had likewise led her good friend, poor, timorous Mrs b.u.t.terfield, into a situation which might well result in her becoming dangerously ill with fright. And then there were likewise the Schreibers. What would Mrs Schreiber do when she, Ada Harris, was carried off to gaol at just the moment when Mrs Schreiber needed her the most?

There was no doubt but Ada Harris was for it, and needed help badly. But to whom to turn? Certainly not Mrs b.u.t.terfield, and she did not wish to alarm the Schreibers until it was absolutely necessary. Her mind then leaped to the one man of experience that she knew - Mr Bayswater - who, although he was the kind of bachelor she knew to be unalterably confirmed, had shown himself slightly partial to her and had already treated her to several ports and lemon in the c.o.c.ktail lounge before dinner.

So that night when dinner was over and they were repairing up to the smoking room for coffee and a cigarette, Mrs Harris whispered, 'Could I 'ave a word with you, Mr Bayswater? You being such a travelled man, I need your advice.'

'Of course, Mrs Harris,' Mr Bayswater replied courteously, 'I should be happy to give you the benefit of my experience. What was it you wished to know?'

'I think we'd better go up on deck, perhaps, where it's quiet and n.o.body's around,' she said.

Mr Bayswater looked a little startled at this, but detached himself from the group and followed Mrs Harris topside to the boat deck of the Ville de Paris Ville de Paris, where in the starlit darkness, with the great s.h.i.+p leaving a phosph.o.r.escent trail behind her, they stood by the rail and looked out over the sea.

They were silent for a moment, and then Mrs Harris said, 'Lumme, now that I've got you 'ere, I don't know how to begin.'

Really alarmed, Mr Bayswater turned to look at the little char and steel himself. He had preserved his bachelorhood from numerous a.s.saults for some forty-odd years, and did not consider surrendering it now. But all he saw on the face of the small, grey-haired woman standing next to him was concern and unhappiness. She said, 'I'm in trouble, Mr Bayswater.'

The chauffeur felt a sudden flood of relief, as well as warm, masculine protectiveness. He found that he was even enjoying being there and having her thus appeal to him. It was a most excellent feeling. He said to her, 'Supposing you tell me all about it, Mrs Harris.'

'You know the boy,' she said, 'little 'Enry, that is?'

Mr Bayswater nodded and replied, 'M - hm, good kid. Keeps his mouth shut.'

'Well,' Mrs Harris blurted, 'he isn't mine. He's not anybody's!' and then in a torrent the whole story came pouring forth from her - the Gusset family, the kindly Schreibers, the kidnapping and stowing-away of little 'Enry, and the plan to deliver him to his long-lost father.

When she had finished there was a silence. Then, 'Blimey,' said Mr Bayswater, lapsing once again, 'that's a nasty one, isn't it?'

'You've been to America before,' pleaded Mrs Harris, 'isn't there something we could do to hide him or get 'im through?'

'Not from those blokes,' said Mr Bayswater. 'You'll only make it worse if you do. It's ten times as bad if they catch you trying to evade them. Look here, what about the father? Couldn't we telegraph him to come to the pier, then at least he could stand up for the kid and claim him.'

Despite her worries Mrs Harris was not insensible that Mr Bayswater had used the word 'we' instead of 'you', thus including himself in her dilemma, and it gave her a sudden feeling of returning courage and warmth. 'But it receded almost immediately as she wailed. 'But I don't know 'is address yet. I just fink I know where he is going to live, but I've got to find him first, don't you see? It's a 'orrible mess.'

Now likewise stymied, Mr Bayswater nodded and agreed, 'It is that.'

A tear illuminated by stars.h.i.+ne rolled down Mrs Harris's cheek. 'It's all my fault,' she said, 'I'm a stupid fool'ardy old woman. I should have known better.'

'Don't say that,' said Mr Bayswater, 'you were only trying to do your best for the kid.' He fell silent for a moment, thinking, and then said, 'Look here, Mrs Harris, I know you said you knew my boss, the Marquis - is it true what I heard, that you were invited by him up to the Captain's cabin for a drink?'

Mrs Harris gave the elegant-looking chauffeur an odd look, and wondered if he was going to go sn.o.bby on her. 'Certainly,' she replied, 'and why not? 'E's an old friend of mine from Paris.'

'Well then,' said Mr Bayswater, his idea growing within him to bursting point and the dropping of another aitch, 'if you know him that well, why don't you ask 'IM?'

' 'Im, the Marquis? Why, what good would that do? 'E's a pal of mine, I wouldn't want to get 'im sent off to Ellers Island or whatever it's called.'

'But don't you see,' said Mr Bayswater excitedly, 'he's just the very one who could do it. He's a diplomat.'

Unlike her, for an instant Mrs Harris was obtuse. She said, 'What's that got to do with it?'

'It means he travels on a special pa.s.sport, but no one ever even looks at it, no questions asked - V.I.P. and red carpet. I'm telling you, last time I came over with the '53 Silver Cloud, the one with the weak number three cylinder gasket, it was with Sir Gerald Granby, the British Amba.s.sador. We didn't half breeze through on the pier. No Immigration or Customs for him. It was "How do you do, Sir Gerald?" and "Welcome to the United States, Sir Gerald. Step this way, Sir Gerald," and "Never you mind about those bags, Sir Gerald. Is there anything we can do for you, Sir Gerald? Come right through, your car is waiting, Sir Gerald." That's how it went, smooth as silk when you've got a diplomatic pa.s.sport and a t.i.tle. Americans are awfully impressed by t.i.tles. Now just you think about my boss. He's not only the Amba.s.sador himself, but a genuine French Marquis. Coo, they'll never even notice a kid, and if they do they won't ask any questions. You ask him. I'll bet he'd do it for you. He's a proper gent. Afterwards, when he's got the kid through and on to the pier, you can collect him easy as wink and no trouble to anyone. Well, what do you think?'

Mrs Harris was staring at him now with her mischievous little eyes s.h.i.+ning - no longer from tears. 'Mr Bayswater,' she cried, 'I could kiss you.'

For an instant the hardened bachelor's fears returned to the dignified chauffeur, but in the light of Mrs Harris's relieved and merry countenance they were dispelled and he patted one of her hands on the rail gently and said, 'Save the smacker for later, old girl - until we see whether it's going to come off.'

THUS it was for the second time in twenty-four hours that Mrs Harris found herself narrating the story of little Henry, the missing father, and her escapade, this time into the attentive ear of the Marquis Hypolite de Cha.s.sagne, Amba.s.sador and Plenipotentiary Extraordinary from the Republic of France to the United States of America, in the privacy of his First-Cla.s.s suite aboard the liner. it was for the second time in twenty-four hours that Mrs Harris found herself narrating the story of little Henry, the missing father, and her escapade, this time into the attentive ear of the Marquis Hypolite de Cha.s.sagne, Amba.s.sador and Plenipotentiary Extraordinary from the Republic of France to the United States of America, in the privacy of his First-Cla.s.s suite aboard the liner.

The white-haired old diplomat listened to the tale without comment or interruption, occasionally pulling at the end of his moustache or stroking the feathers of his tufted eyebrows with the back of a finger. It was difficult to tell from his extraordinarily young-looking and lively blue eyes, or his mouth, often hidden behind his hand, whether he was amused or annoyed at her plea that he attach to his entourage one stateless and paperless British-American semi-orphan and smuggle him into an alien country as his first act as France's representative.

When Mrs Harris had finished with the tale of her misdeeds, concluding with the advice given her by Mr Bayswater, the Marquis reflected for a moment and then said, 'It was a kind and gallant thing for you to do - but a little fool-hardy, do you not think?'

Mrs Harris, sitting on the edge of a chair mentally as well as physically, clasped her hands together and said, 'Lor' love me, you're telling me! I suppose I ought to 'ave me bottom whacked, but, sir, if you'd heard 'is cries when they hit him, and 'im not getting enough to eat, what would you have done?'

The Marquis reflected and sighed. 'Ah, Madame, you flatter me into responding - the same, I suppose. But we have now all landed ourselves into a pretty pickle.' It was astonis.h.i.+ng how anyone who even for the shortest time became a.s.sociated with Mrs Harris's troubles, immediately took to using the p.r.o.noun 'we' and counting themselves in.

Mrs Harris said eagerly, 'Mr Bayswater said that diplomats like yourself 'ave special privileges. You'll get a special carpet to walk on and it'll be "Yes, Your Excellency. Step this way, Your Excellency. What a nice little boy, Your Excellency," and before you know it there you'll be on the pier with little 'Enry, and no questions asked. Then I'll come and collect the kid, and you'll 'ave 'is grat.i.tude and mine and his father's for ever after.'

'Bayswater seems to know a great deal,' said the Marquis.

'Of course 'e does,' said Mrs Harris, ' 'e's done it before. He said the last time 'e came to America it was with somebody named Sir Gerald Granby, and it was "Yes, Sir Gerald. Step this way, Sir Gerald. Never mind about the pa.s.sport, Sir Gerald- " '

'Yes, yes,' agreed the Marquis hastily, 'I know, I know.'

But the point was that he did not know in actual fact as much as he thought he did about what landing arrangements had been made for him. He was quite well aware that there might be some fuss and ceremony upon his arrival, but not to what extent, though he was also certain that no one would demand to see his credentials until officially and formally he presented them at the White House. The members of his entourage, his secretary, chauffeur, valet, etc., would receive equal consideration, and it was highly improbable that anyone would observe or question a small boy who seemed to be with him, particularly if he were well-behaved, as Mrs Harris had a.s.serted, and given to keeping his mouth shut.

'Would yer?' pleaded Mrs Harris 'Don't you suppose you might? You'd take to little 'Enry once you saw him. 'E's a dear little lad.'

The Marquis made a gesture with his hand and said, 'Shhh - hush for a moment. I want to think.'

Mrs Harris immediately b.u.t.toned up her lips and sat with her hands folded, on the edge of the gilt chair, her feet barely touching the ground, and eyeing the Marquis anxiously out of her little eyes that now had lost their impudence and cunning, and were only anxious and pleading.

The august individual did exactly what he said he was going to do - he sat and thought, but he also felt.

It was a curious thing about Mrs Harris, that she had the power to make people feel the things that she was feeling. In Paris she had let him into the experience of her pa.s.sion for flowers and beautiful things such as a Dior dress, and the excitement of loving and desiring them. Now here in her simple way she had made him feel her love for a lost child, and the distress that is experienced all too little at the thought of a child suffering. There were millions of children hungry, distressed, and abused throughout the world, and heaven forgive one, one never thought about them, and here he he was thinking about a little starveling being cuffed on the side of the head by an individual named Gusset, whom he had never seen and never would see. How did all this concern him? Looking at Mrs Harris sitting opposite him on the anxious seat, seeing the frosted apple cheeks, withered hair, and hands gnarled by toil, he felt that it concerned him very much. was thinking about a little starveling being cuffed on the side of the head by an individual named Gusset, whom he had never seen and never would see. How did all this concern him? Looking at Mrs Harris sitting opposite him on the anxious seat, seeing the frosted apple cheeks, withered hair, and hands gnarled by toil, he felt that it concerned him very much.

In her own way, during her brief visit to Paris this London char had brought him some happy moments, and even, if one wanted to stretch a point, his amba.s.sadors.h.i.+p might be laid partly at her feet, for she had been instrumental in causing him to aid the husband of a friend she had made in Paris, Monsieur Colbert, into an important post at the Quai d'Orsay, where within a year he had proved to be a sensational success. Credit for his discovery redounded to the Marquis, and might well have played a role in his selection for the coveted and honoured post of Amba.s.sador to the United States. But even more, she had recalled to him the days of his youth, when he had been a student at Oxford and another charlady, one of her breed, had been kind to him in his loneliness.

The Marquis thought to himself, What a good woman is Mrs Harris, and how fortunate I am to know her. What a good woman is Mrs Harris, and how fortunate I am to know her. And he thought again, And he thought again, What an astonis.h.i.+ngly pleasant thing it is to have the power to help someone. How young it makes one feel! What an astonis.h.i.+ngly pleasant thing it is to have the power to help someone. How young it makes one feel! and here his thoughts permitted themselves to digress to the change that had come over him since his promotion to this post. Prior to that he had been an old man, resigned to saying farewell to the world and engaged in re-examining and enjoying its beauties for the last time. Now he felt full of energy and bustle and had no thought of quitting this life. and here his thoughts permitted themselves to digress to the change that had come over him since his promotion to this post. Prior to that he had been an old man, resigned to saying farewell to the world and engaged in re-examining and enjoying its beauties for the last time. Now he felt full of energy and bustle and had no thought of quitting this life.

And he had a final and highly satisfactory thought on the subject of what it means to be so old and dignified - namely, that people were a little afraid of you. It meant, he thought with an inward chuckle, and reverting to his British education, that you could do as you jolly well pleased in almost any situation, and no one would really dare to say anything. Thus he came to the final thought: what was the harm in helping this good person, and what in fact could go wrong with the simplicity of the scheme? He said to Mrs Harris, 'Very well, I will do as you ask.'

This time Mrs Harris did not indulge in any pyrotechnics of effusiveness of grat.i.tude, but instead as her naughty sense of humour returned to her she grinned at him impishly and said, 'I knew you would. It ought to be a lark, what? I'll wash his 'ands and face good, and tell him exactly what 'e's got to do. You can rely on him - 'e's sharp as a new pin. 'E don't say much, but when he does it's right to the point.'

The Marquis had to smile too. 'Ah, you did, did you?' he said. 'Well, we shall see what kind of trouble I land myself in with this sentimental bit of foolishness.' Then he said, 'We are due to dock at ten o'clock in the morning; at nine o'clock there will be some kind of a deputation coming on board to greet me no doubt at Quarantine - the French Consul perhaps - and it would probably be best if the boy were here at that time so that the others became used to seeing him about. I will make arrangements to have you both conducted through to me from Tourist-Cla.s.s at half past seven in the morning. I will advise my secretary and valet to be discreet.'

Mrs Harris got up and moved to the door. 'You're a love,' she said, and gave him the thumbs-up sign.

The Marquis returned it and said, 'You are too. It ought to be quite a lark, what?'

SOMEONE should have warned the Marquis about the American press, which was aware that the Marquis was the first new Amba.s.sador appointed to the U.S. since de Gaulle came into power; someone likewise should have advised him of and prepared him for the landing arrangements that had been set up for his arrival. The former, however, was completely forgotten, and the latter, through one of those State Department muddles - surely-so-and-so-will-have-notified-the-Amba.s.sador - totally neglected. Everyone thought the other fellow had done it, and n.o.body had. should have warned the Marquis about the American press, which was aware that the Marquis was the first new Amba.s.sador appointed to the U.S. since de Gaulle came into power; someone likewise should have advised him of and prepared him for the landing arrangements that had been set up for his arrival. The former, however, was completely forgotten, and the latter, through one of those State Department muddles - surely-so-and-so-will-have-notified-the-Amba.s.sador - totally neglected. Everyone thought the other fellow had done it, and n.o.body had.

The Marquis himself, a man of innate modesty, had never considered his own person of importance, and while he antic.i.p.ated an official welcome and a facilitating of entry, he expected no more than that, and upon arriving in the morning meant to have Bayswater drive him to Was.h.i.+ngton as soon as his car was disembarked.

Thus he was wholly unprepared for the jostling horde of s.h.i.+p newsmen, feature writers, reporters, newspaper photographers, newsreel cameramen, radio and television interviewers, technical men, and operators of batteries of portable television equipment, who came streaming on board from a grimy tug that drew alongside in Quarantine, and came stamping down the companionways and pelting into his suite to demand his presence for an interview in the press conference room on the sun deck.

An equal surprise was the trim white Government cutter which also leeched itself to the side of the Ville de Paris Ville de Paris, disgorging the official greeter of the City of New York and his henchmen, all wearing red, white, and blue rosettes in their b.u.t.tonholes, the leaders of both political parties of that same city, along with the Deputy Mayor, the French Consuls of both New York and Was.h.i.+ngton, members of the permanent staff of the French Legation, half a dozen officials from the State Department, headed by an Under-Secretary of proper rank and protocol to receive an Amba.s.sador, plus a member of the White House staff sent as a personal emissary to welcome him by President Eisenhower.

Most of these somehow managed to crowd into the suite, while a band on the cutter rendered the Ma.r.s.eillaise, and before little Henry could flee into the 'barfroom' where he had been warned by Mrs Harris to retire should anything untoward happen before the actual going ash.o.r.e should take place.

He had been scrubbed and polished for the occasion, thrust into a clean s.h.i.+rt and shorts, which Mrs Harris had provided for him from Marks and Sparks before departure, and sitting on the edge of a chair with his feet likewise encased in new socks and shoes, he looked like quite a nice little boy, and one not out of place in his surroundings.

Before either the Marquis or little Henry knew what was what, or how it happened, they found themselves swept out of the cabin, up the grand staircase, and into the press conference room crowded to suffocation with inquisitors and facing an absolutely appalling battery of microphones, camera lenses - still, animated, and television - and barrages of questions flung at them like confetti.

'What about the Russians? Do you think there'll be peace? What is your opinion of American women? How about de Gaulle? What are you going to do about NATO? Do you wear the bottoms of your pyjamas when you sleep? Do the French want another loan? How old are you? Did you ever meet Khrushchev? Is your wife with you? What about the war in Algeria? What did you get the Legion of Honour for? What do you think about the hydrogen bomb? Is it true that Frenchmen are better lovers than Americans? Is France going to resign from the Monetary Fund? Do you know Maurice Chevalier? Is it true that the Communists are gaining ground in France? What do you think of Gigi Gigi?'

And amongst those questions shouted by male and female reporters and feature writers yet another: 'Who's the kid?'

Now it sometimes happens when a press conference is as unruly as this one was, chiefly because most of the press corps had had to get up very early in the morning to go down the Bay in a choppy sea to meet the s.h.i.+p, and many of them had hangovers, that in a barrage of shouted questions, none of which can be heard or answered, one of them will take place in a momentary lull, and thus stick out and, anxious to get some some question answered, the reporters will temporarily abandon their own and pick up that particular one. question answered, the reporters will temporarily abandon their own and pick up that particular one.

Thus it became: 'Who's the kid? Who's the kid? That's right - who's the kid, Your Excellency? Who's the boy, Mr Amba.s.sador?' and then everybody quieted down to await the answer.