‘No. They’ve chucked that away too. No bad thing.’

‘Egalitarian. I detest it.’

‘Wasn’t Napoleon a bit for that?’

‘Different thing.’

She sighed, got up and walked across to the white dummy figure. ‘This creature really gives me the shivers. What did Marcus think of it?’

Archie swivelled round in his chair. ‘Ah Marcus. Yes. Last night. Fascinated, I think. Said the eyes were dusty, washed them with spit. They were too. Funny. I explained it was not a portrait, so to speak, of l’Aiglon. Just a shop-dummy.’

‘He’d look rather fabulous dressed in that. Wouldn’t he? Marcus?’

‘Yes. Extraordinary.’

‘And show him to Grottorosso!’

‘This bloody Grottorosso. Who is he anyway?’

‘An Italian director. You know perfectly well, remember we went to see “Donna Infernale” in Paris with the Maltbys.’

‘Oh God! That. A lot of Lesbians in a factory making wireless sets. Arty farty stuff.’ He reached for the ashtray, stubbed out the virgin cigarette. ‘Talking away like this, nearly burned my fingers. Down to the butt. Look?’ He offered the glass dish full of squashed cigarettes. ‘Seven this afternoon. I really must give it up.’

‘You must go and have your bath,’ she collected the tray, ‘and I must go and see the children, they’re down at the pool.’

He looked up blankly. ‘Children?’

‘Oh, you know. Come along now, it’s after seven.’

He got up reluctantly, took out his keys, locked the desk drawers methodically. ‘I really must make a stand. Seven in an afternoon. No will-power. You were right, I’m afraid. No will-power. Water weak. When is this frightful cargo of peacocks arriving, did she say? I can’t remember.’

‘No. She didn’t say: just that they were leaving Elba that day, a week ago, on to Livorno, then La Spezia, Genoa and here … drifting along.’

‘What an exhausting thing to do.’

‘Well, he lives on his yacht, he’s terrified of being kidnapped by the Red Brigade or something, so he keeps on moving about.’

‘They could nab him at sea.’

‘Probably hasn’t occurred to him. Do come and bathe.’

‘Where’s he going to make this ruddy film then?’

She set the tray on a pile of books. ‘Vienna … Schönbrunn … it’s all about l’Aiglon, darling, that’s why he’s coming to see you, I do wish you’d listen.’

‘I do listen, that’s why I’ve been stuck in this room all afternoon, getting things sorted out. I won’t have to go to Vienna, will I?’

‘No, of course not, he’s coming here to get all his facts right, that’s all. For the script.’

‘They never do, so it’s a waste of time. It’s always rubbish. Bend history all the time; history isn’t romantic enough as it stands, they have to tart it up.’