What? Whose villa? His own villa? He, the master’s? He, who’s spending a fortune? His own personal villa, just the way he wants it? Just as he ordered it? How could we? On what basis? How dare he? This messing about has to stop! Enough of this nonsense! Enough! Really enough! He’ll take measures! He’ll demolish the lot! Rebuild the lot!

I let him talk, knowing he’d tire – and that’s what happened. For two days he didn’t come around here. I saw him at the wells and he mumbled a reply to my greeting. Next week, when the master comes, there’ll be a burst of indignation, and then it’ll pass.

*

This evening, a reception in honour of old Ralph T. Rice. A gala reception in Uioara, in Prahova! So many dinner jackets and long silk dresses – almost unreal in this place of oil and plum trees. Of all the master has built there, I like the club most. There’s something both solemn and cordial about it. It’s British and local in equal measure. The ballroom and the billiard room are linear and sober; the verandas and reading rooms have the air of small interior gardens. Almost every evening, before dinner, I meet there with Phillip Dunton to play a game of chess.

I’m not going to Rice’s reception. I’m still en froid after Thursday’s scene, and then I don’t have the required dinner jacket. I’m happy to stay at the cabin and listen to records borrowed from Marjorie. I’d have liked to convince Dronţu not to go either, but there was no way.

‘What? Me, afraid of an American, three Germans and five Englishwomen? You tell me I’ve no dinner jacket? Don’t you worry, sir, I know all about being elegant.’

He powdered and perfumed himself and very carefully constructed a triumphant look: a bright blue suit, a coffee-coloured pullover, a stiff collar, a polka-dot bow-tie and white spats. For a moment I wondered if Marin was not a comedian, engaged in gratuitous outrages against convention. Seen this way, his entry in the club would be a master-stroke.

Dear fellow! He left happy, twirling his gnarled walking stick, and I envied him his iron constitution, his absolute imperviousness.

*

I worked flat out all day. The master is coming the day after tomorrow and I want everything to be in order. Marin Dronţu arrived very late at the oilfield, tired after a sleepless night and, on arriving, told me there was something he wanted to talk to me about.

‘At lunch, Marin! I’ve no time now.’

But I stayed and ate lunch at the site, quickly, as I’d convinced everybody to take a break of only half an hour, and Marin was unable to talk to me. I knew it had to be very serious, judging by his worried air. Whatever job he had at hand, I found him always at my side, fretting over some secret he wished to unburden himself of.

‘Marin, go to bed! You must be sick.’

He stayed until late in the evening, when the third shift sounded, down at the oil wells. As I too was very tired, we went straight to the cabin, to eat what we could find.

‘Well,’ he finally said with a deep sigh, ‘I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll do anything, but I don’t touch my friends’ women. Anything but that.’

I didn’t understand a thing and waited for him to go on.

‘Look, this is what happened: last night I’d had a couple of drinks and I went out on to the veranda to cool down. I found your Marjorie out there. Her husband was playing cards. “Let’s take a walk,” I said. “Certainly,” says she. So off we went. When we passed by her house, she said, “Come in, I’m thirsty, I want to drink a glass of water.” I went in and, in the dark, I tried to kiss her, and she didn’t object. In the end we went to bed and she told me not to ruffle her dress. Then we went back to the club, and her husband was still playing cards.’

Marin Dronţu has gone quiet and is looking at me, awaiting a response, a sign. For a few moments I say nothing either, not knowing what to do.