He was out. I read the letters, none of them very revealing, that littered his writing table and scrutinized the invitation cards on his chimney-piece – there were no new additions. Then I read Lady into Fox until he returned.

‘I’ve been to mass at the Old Palace,’ he said. ‘I haven’t been all this term, and Monsignor Bell asked me to dinner twice last week, and I know what that means. Mummy’s been writing to him. So I sat bang in front where he couldn’t help seeing me and absolutely shouted the Hail Marys at the end; so that’s over. How was dinner with Antoine? What did you talk about?’

‘Well, he did most of the talking. Tell me, did you know him at Eton?’

‘He was sacked my first half. I remember seeing him about. He always has been a noticeable figure.’

‘Did he go to church with you?’

‘I don’t think so, why?’

‘Has he met any of your family?’

‘Charles, how very peculiar you’re being today. No. I don’t suppose so.’

‘Not your mother at Venice?’

‘I believe she did say something about it. I forget what. I think she was staying with some Italian cousins of ours, the Foglieres, and Anthony turned up with his family at the hotel, and there was some party the Foglieres gave that they weren’t asked to. I know Mummy said something about it when I told her he was a friend of mine. I can’t think why he should want to go to a party at the Foglieres – the princess is so proud of her English blood that she talks of nothing else. Anyway, no one objected to Antoine – much, I gather. It was his mother they thought difficult.’

‘And who is the Duchesse of Vincennes?’

‘Poppy?’

‘Stefanie.’

‘You must ask Antoine that. He claims to have had an affair with her.’

‘Did he?’

‘I dare say. I think it’s more or less compulsory at Cannes. Why all this interest?’

‘I just wanted to find out how much truth there was in what Anthony said last night.’

‘I shouldn’t think a word. That’s his great charm.’

‘You may think it charming. I think it’s devilish. Do you know he spent the whole of yesterday evening trying to turn me against you, and almost succeeded?’

‘Did he? How silly. Aloysius wouldn’t approve of that at all, would you, you pompous old bear?’

And then Boy Mulcaster came into the room.

CHAPTER THREE

I returned home for the Long Vacation without plans and without money. To cover end-of-term expenses I had sold my Omega screen to Collins for ten pounds, of which I now kept four; my last cheque overdrew my account by a few shillings, and I had been told that, without my father’s authority, I must draw no more. My next allowance was not due until October. I was thus faced with a bleak prospect and, turning the matter over in my mind, I felt something not far off remorse for the prodigality of the preceding weeks.