Oliver VII (13 page)

“How interesting. And how did you address each other? Were you on first-name terms?”

“But of course we were,” Antas fibbed, seeing how much this seemed to impress Marcelle. “It was always things like ‘my dear boy’.”

“He called Coltor his ‘dear boy’! Did you hear that, Sandoval? Wonderful! And you would just go up to him and pat him on the cheek like that, and say things like ‘What ho! my dear boy,’ and that sort of thing?”

“But of course. Coltor loved my informal manner, and my eternal good humour.”

“But that I can’t believe, Count, if you will forgive me. These Norlandians are so dour, and so very reserved, it just isn’t possible to talk to them like that,” said Sandoval.

“What’s that? You don’t believe me? And do you believe me, Marcelle?”

“I’m not sure.”

“But that’s how it was.”

“Well, let’s see. Let’s go to him right now, and you can show us it’s true. Pat him on the cheek, and give him the old ‘What ho!’ then.”

“All right. Let’s go!” Antas roared, in his drunken
overconfidence
. “And I’ll tell you something else. You think I’m scared of Coltor? What a joke. Me, afraid of a common merchant? I can do what I want with him, whatever I feel like. So there. You’ll see.”

He was no more sober on the boat going back, and when they got to the Lido Sandoval and Marcelle made doubly sure by getting him to drink two bottles of maraschino before going up to meet Coltor. Sandoval sat in the foyer to await the outcome.

When Antas presented his card to Coltor’s secretary, the man spent a moment staring in astonishment at his blurred features and uncertain bearing, but after St Germain’s
triumphant
incursion he simply dared not risk denying immediate entry to any Alturian. He felt sure that any news of that country would now be of even greater interest to his boss.

And so it happened that a few moments later Antas marched into his room, with Marcelle at his side.

Coltor came up to him and bowed politely.

“Hello, my dear boy,” Antas bellowed, using the full power of his lungs, and patting Coltor on the cheek as he stood there stock still in surprise. “So then, what ho, what ho?” was the next bellowed question, accompanied by a knowing
sideways glance at Marcelle. “Do you still like those smelly cheeses?”

Coltor was not easily disconcerted, but by now he had almost completely lost his bearings. He threw an enquiring glance at Marcelle, who gave him a conspiratorial look as if to say it was all Antas’ doing.

“Well, er … my dear Count … I am delighted to receive … so glad you’ve come, old pal … ”

“I should hope you would be, my dear boy,” Antas boomed. “You certainly would if you knew why I’ve come! Oh yes—and I’ve brought my little niece with me … ” (Coltor bowed to Marcelle) … “who is so splendidly … splendidly charming, and pretty, and clever, and an altogether wonderful young woman … But you only have to look at her, so why I am I telling you this? … So, what do you think of my little niece, my dear boy?”

“But Uncle Ugolino,” Marcelle responded modestly, and cast another conspiratorial glance at Coltor.

“Take a seat, Count,” said Coltor (by now thoroughly
nervous
). “Would you like a glass of cold water?”

“Water? For an Antas? What are you thinking of, dear boy?”

“So then, to what do I owe the honour of this visit?”

“To what … ? Wait a sec … I can’t think what it was, right now … Oh yes, now I have it. My dear fellow, I have come to save you.”

“To save me? Me? From what?”

“My poor old Coltor, you are such a trusting little chap you don’t even know what danger you are in. My boy, I have words to whisper in your ear. Coltor, you are entangled in a swindlers’ net!” he bellowed, inches away from the man’s ear.

Coltor leapt back.

“What sort of swindlers are you talking about?”

“Well, that I can’t exactly say, because, whaddya call it … you know … because, right now, I’m in love. But take a look, here’s the letter, from my good friend Palawer, you’ll find it all in there.”

And he handed over the letter.

It read:

Coltor folded the letter carefully and put it in his pocket. Antas remained seated, and in a trice had nodded off to sleep.

“Is it often like this with the poor chap?” he asked Marcelle quietly.

“Poor Uncle Ugolino, his drinking really is a bit excessive these days … but you can understand why … the grief … ”

Antas’ head jerked upwards.

“Well, my dear boy,” he shouted, if somewhat groggily, “what ho, what ho?”

“My dear Count, I am delighted to have seen you, and I am most sorry that you have to leave, but your kind niece informs me that you have pressing business elsewhere.”

“Yes, yes, of course … And the letter? Have you read it?”

“Of course I’ve read it. And I must thank you very much for bringing it to my attention. I shall be forever in your debt for exposing this plot.”

“No need for thanks; what I did … you know … what I did … sacrifice to honour and country … do you follow me?”

“But of course.”

“That’s good, then. God be with you.”

And, supported by Marcelle, he staggered out of the room.

The next morning St Germain gave Sandoval and Marcelle a lively ovation on their arrival at the Palazzo Pietrasanta to hear about his plans.

“Well done, maestro Sandoval. You did a marvellous job. I never knew so much talent in a painter. If you ever decide to give up art for another profession I predict a great future for you. But the most important thing we’ve learnt from all this is that we have to move quickly. Who knows, this Palawer could still bring us down. We can’t afford a second’s delay. I’d
prefer
to wait a bit longer but I can see that that’s not possible. My dear Sandoval, by the end of today we shall have held a meeting that will resound throughout history.”

“By this afternoon? Including the preparations?”

“My people are already here: Baudrieu, Valmier and Gervaisis have arrived. I’ll brief them before lunch and they’ll see to everything we might need. We’re still short of one person. That is to say, Princess Ortrud is to be here in the palace. Marcelle will take the role. Then, along with
Marcelle, we need an elderly countess to chaperone her. After all, Princess Ortrud can hardly call in at her fiancé’s palazzo, even in incognito.”

“This isn’t going to be easy,” said Sandoval. “First of all, where are we going to get an old countess at short notice? Also, Coltor already knows Marcelle as Antas’ niece. Is Ortrud’s presence really necessary?”

“At any rate, it’s highly desirable. It would persuade Coltor that the King’s intentions are serious, that he really does want to return to the throne, he wants to marry her, and he’s not going to have second thoughts. The fact that Coltor has already seen Marcelle is immaterial. Marcelle will wear entirely different make-up, and she’s a superb actress. As for the old countess … now, where can I find one of those?”

“Well, where?”

“I have it. St Germain’s resourcefulness is inexhaustible. Now, my young friend, can you guess who will be the old countess?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“But it’s so simple. Like a crossword puzzle. You will be the old countess.”

“Me?”

“Naturally. I’ll make you up myself. The sort of wonderfully ugly old countess you might paint in one of your pictures.”

“Splendid,” said Sandoval, resignedly.

“So, no difficulty there. No difficulty at all. There’s only one problem, and that’s a rather specific one.”

“What’s that.”

“The leading man. Oscar. Oscar the psychological mystery. Because, whether you think so or not, Oscar is a psychological mystery. A mystery even my rapier brain can’t penetrate.”

“How do you mean, Count?”

“It’s something I can’t quite put into words. I just feel—it’s
my miraculous intuition—that I can never be quite sure of him. You can never be certain he’s actually there. He could go off the rails at any moment. It wouldn’t surprise me if he just suddenly disappeared. Or at the very last moment, on the field of battle, face to face with Coltor, he might do
something
completely unexpected. For example, blurt out that he isn’t really the king, or that he is the king but he won’t sign the treaty. I tell you, he’s capable of anything. Ah, but here are the excellent Baudrieu, and the inimitable Valmier. Allow me to introduce you gentlemen to one another. Baudrieu, you must call on Coltor before lunchtime, and inform him—with all the usual bowings and scrapings—that the hour of
decision
is upon us, and he must come to the Palazzo Pietrasanta tomorrow afternoon.”

“Very good, boss.”

“Valmier, here is an Alturian flag. Find a place for it on the wall. There we are. And now hang there, glorious
banner
, with your two golden sardines on a field of silver, and bring blessings on your sons. Now, Valmier, you must don your time-honoured livery, and apply your celebrated
cheek-whiskers
. A visitor will be arriving in the next few hours and we need a footman.”

“Very good, boss.”

“Then why aren’t you going?”

“Well, boss, I had to take out the livery from the
pawnbroker
, and then my travel expenses … if I could trouble you for a little advance … ”

“When you are properly dressed, my young friend, I shall give your request consideration … and you, Sandoval, are to undertake any artistic duties we decide on. The toothpaste advertisement is up in the top room. Turn it into a portrait of Philip II or the One-Eared. We must spread a little
meaningful
Alturian atmosphere around the place.”

At that moment Mawiras-Tendal entered, with a birdcage in his hand.

“Very suitable,” said St Germain. “Here we have Diogenes, His Highness’ favourite canary. Things are starting to take shape.”

“Where are we going to put it?” the Major asked.

“We’ll take it up to the great hall, where the meeting will be held. His Highness doesn’t like being without his favourite canary for a single minute. Oh yes, I haven’t yet told you, Mr Meyer. I have decided on the time. It’s this afternoon.”

The Major looked at St Germain in astonishment.

“Why so soon?”

“We can’t act quickly enough. There are traitors all around us. Somebody is trying to scupper our little enterprise. He’s already tried to expose us. But the miserable fellow forgot that he was dealing with St Germain. My arm has a long reach. I’m not referring to statesmen, of course, but I would venture to assert that there is no private individual in all Europe whose arm has such a long reach. I knew of this shabby little plan, and I put a stop to it with no trouble at all. That’s the person I am.”

The Major went pale, and put the cage down.

“To the devil with this bird,” he said with exasperation. “Does Oscar know it’s this afternoon … ?”

“He doesn’t know, because I have only just decided. Do go, my dear Meyer, and tell him. He’s here in the palazzo somewhere.”

There was no need to tell the Major twice; he rushed off immediately. He found Oscar in the room assigned to Marcelle.

“Oscar, I have to talk to you urgently. Alone.”

They went out onto the street so that they could speak without fear of being interrupted.

“Your Highness,” the Major began.

“‘My dear fellow’,” Oscar corrected him.

“Your Highness,” the Major repeated, rather more firmly. “We haven’t time just now for casual informality.”

“What is it, what’s happened? Don’t make me nervous!”

“Permit me, Your Highness, to make you very nervous. We haven’t a second to waste. St Germain has invited Coltor to this damned palazzo this afternoon.”

“Hm. He’s in such a hurry?”

“Yes. And now we really have no choice but to
disappear
.”

For some time the King maintained a sombre silence. Then he replied:

“Can you think of no other solution, Major? I really would like you to find some other way out. I would feel terrible leaving them in the lurch. St Germain is such a decent chap. A great talent. Without him I would never have known what to do if I were still king. It just proves it—even kings have to get to know life.”

“Your Highness, there is no other solution. You simply
cannot
meet Coltor here. We must leave for Trieste on the twelve o’clock train.”

“Yes, yes, I see that. And Marcelle?”

“I’d say yes, we should take her with us, but I’m afraid she would never leave St Germain in the lurch a few hours short of the realisation of his great plan. But we can write to her from Trieste a day or two after we get there and ask her to come. If Your Highness would still wish that … ”

“ … if I still wished it. You are quite right, I would. But the fact is, if I leave now it’ll be the end of everything, signed and sealed; and Marcelle, I am afraid, would no longer be a concern. Well, Milán, I must go and take my leave of her.”

“But Your Highness!”

“It’s all right, my Milán. I know what you want to say. She won’t suspect for a moment that I am saying goodbye. I just want to see her once more. She was very good to me … and this whole business has been very instructive.”

The King found Marcelle alone in her room. She had been putting on her Princess Ortrud costume, as they had conceived of it after studying pictures in the newspapers of the way she wore her hair, and how she looked at the time of the revolution. When the King saw her made up like this, he just stood there in the doorway, turned to stone: so strong was the resemblance to Ortrud.