Rather splendid, don't you think?'

Gerald seemed much more impressed by his father's suite when they reached it. 'The British taxpayer certainly has to shell out for this,' he commented, walking around.

'Only because the British Government is anxious that its representatives abroad should not appear as impoverished as they usually are.'

Gerald grinned. 'Are WE impoverished?'

'We certainly should be if we had to live on my salary.'

'Ah . . . so the old family fortune's standing up pretty well?'

Charles was never quite sure when Gerald was having fun with him, or what kind of fun it was. He answered, half seriously: 'It isn't much of a fortune, after inflation and taxes. But you needn't worry.'

'Oh, I don't. . . . You know, dad, if I were you I'd spend every penny during the next ten years or so, then you'd be sure of enjoying yourself. Or is that a crazy idea?'

'Not at all. You'd be surprised how popular it seems to be--hence in part the present state of Europe. But don't get me on to politics or I shall say the kind of things that annoy Sir Malcolm.'

'Your boss?'

'Boss, chief, or head of department.'

'Like rod, pole, or perch?'

'Exactly.'

'What kind of chap is he?'

'Very able. I'd introduce you if he were staying here, but he prefers the Embassy. A fine diplomat and--so they say--an EXCEEDINGLY fine bridge player.'

'I guess all that means you don't like him much.'

'Oh now, come, come,' protested Charles with restrained glee. 'You mustn't guess anything of the sort. Sir Malcolm and I work very well in harness. But even a horse doesn't want to be in harness all the time.'

Gerald laughed heartily, and Charles thought that the evening, after a somewhat inauspicious start, was proceeding well.


* * * * *


An hour later they were at the corner table in the Cheval Noir with Henri hovering about them like a benign and elderly angel. Charles introduced Gerald proudly. 'Henri, I want you to meet my son. Quite an occasion--his first evening in Paris as well as his seventeenth birthday.'

Henri bowed, but Gerald offered his hand; Charles was pleased at this--it was intelligent of the boy to realize that Henri was not just an ordinary restaurant keeper. After the exchange of civilities Charles added: 'Henri is one of mankind's truest benefactors--his huîtres Mornay puts him with Cellini and Michelangelo. Too bad they're out of season--oysters, I mean.'

After Henri, beaming at the compliment, had gone off, Gerald said: 'Do you really think cooking's an art like painting, dad?'

'A much HIGHER art than some modern painting. Anyhow, it's a polite thing to say to a cook who really is an artist.'

'I suppose being a diplomat you get a lot of practice saying polite things.'

'I wish I got more. I sometimes feel at a disadvantage because I'm not equally proficient in saying nasty things.' He was thinking of Palan.

'Why's that?'

'Perhaps because the world isn't getting any better.' Charles rallied himself from the dark reflection. 'Though I must admit I see it looking pretty good here and now.' Henri was serving the Vino de Pasto. 'I'm very happy to be with you tonight, Gerald. I drink an affectionate toast to your future.'

Gerald grinned embarrassedly, then sipped from his glass.