“Let’s follow them.”

29

Fred and Mick are crouching quietly behind a bramble bush, looking at something. And what do they see?

They see the couple of sixty-year-olds up against a tree. Their clothes pushed aside as best they can, the man is penetrating the woman with the vigour of a sex-starved adolescent.

They are going at it like crazy. The man is in a frenzy. The woman is approaching climax. Then they both come together. In unison. The legendary simultaneous orgasm, both of them crying out with pleasure.

In their own way, they have spoken.

Without betraying any emotion, Fred takes out his wallet and hands Mick fifty francs.

30

Fred is walking down a corridor.

Lena is waiting for him at the door to their suite.

She seems agitated, breathless, anxious to speak to her father, and lets him know it immediately. “Where have you been, Pa? A man’s been waiting here for you for an hour. He says he’s an emissary from the Queen.”

Fred snorts, as if the visit is unwelcome.

“I’ve had him wait in the little lounge.”

31

Lena pours the emissary a coffee. The two men sit opposite one another separated by the coffee table, the man on a couch and Fred in a small armchair. Lena then goes to sit in a chair behind her father.

The royal agent drums his fingers nervously on his trouser pocket, the outline of a cigarette packet clearly visible under the fabric. Fred notices.

“You can smoke here, if you like.”

The emissary cannot believe his ears. He is overcome, as if there has just been an earthquake. “How is that possible?”

“The hotel manager is mad about music and for that reason I enjoy a few small privileges.”

The other man gives him a smile of infinite gratitude. “You don’t know what pleasure this gives me.”

“Are you feeling tense?”

“Very tense,” the man says as he inhales a deep restorative drag on the cigarette.

“There’s no ashtray though.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll make do.”

“So, tell me everything, because I don’t have much time. In a short while I have to have a colonic irrigation, cleaning out my intestine.”

Instinctively the emissary pulls a strained face and adds, “Is it a painful operation?”

“No, just embarrassing.”

The man gives a sigh and starts to speak. “I haven’t been able to convince the Queen. I mentioned your reservations about the songs, so I proposed an alternative programme. A different composer. A completely different evening. She wouldn’t hear of it. There was nothing to be done. She wants you and only you and your ‘Simple Songs’. She says Prince Philip won’t countenance anything else.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t wish to appear rude. But this isn’t going to happen.”

“But why?”

“I already explained the last time we met. The reasons are personal.”

“And there’s no way of resolving these personal reasons?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“What I’m actually doing is begging you. My job is not an easy one. I have to return to London with a positive answer.”