The Remains of the Day (11 page)

‘Excuse me, sir, but I have a message to convey to you.’

‘Oh, really?’ Mr Cardinal said eagerly, looking up from his papers. ‘From Father?’

‘Yes, sir. That is, effectively.’

‘Just a minute.’

The young gentleman reached down into the attaché case at his feet and brought out a notebook and pencil. Tire away, Stevens.’

I coughed again and set my voice into as impersonal a tone as I could manage.

‘Sir David wishes you to know, sir, that ladies and gentlemen differ in several key respects.’

I must have paused a little to form my next phrase, for Mr Cardinal gave a sigh and said: ‘I’m only too aware of that, Stevens. Would you mind coming to the point?’

‘You are aware, sir?’

‘Father is perpetually underestimating me. I’ve done extensive reading and background work on this whole area.’

‘Is that so, sir?’

‘I’ve thought about virtually nothing else for the past month.’

‘Really, sir. In that case, perhaps my message is rather redundant.’

‘You can assure Father I’m very well briefed indeed. This attaché case’ – he nudged it with his foot – ‘is chock-full of notes on every possible angle one can imagine.’

‘Is that so, sir?’

‘I really think I’ve thought through every permutation the human mind is capable of. I wish you’d reassure Father of that.’

‘I will, sir.’

Mr Cardinal seemed to relax a little. He prodded once more his attaché case – which I felt inclined to keep my eyes averted from – and said: ‘I suppose you’ve been wondering why I never let go of this case. Well, now you know. Imagine if the wrong person opened it.’

‘That would be most awkward, sir.’

‘That is, of course,’ he said, sitting up again suddenly,
‘unless Father has come up with an entirely new factor he wants me to think about.’

‘I cannot imagine he has, sir.’

‘No? Nothing more on this Dupont fellow?’

‘I fear not, sir.’

I did my best not to give away anything of my exasperation on discovering that a task I had thought all but behind me was in fact still there unassaulted before me. I believe I was collecting my thoughts for a renewed effort when the young gentleman suddenly rose to his feet, and clutching his attaché case to his person, said: ‘Well, I think I’ll go and take a little fresh air. Thanks for your help, Stevens.’

It had been my intention to seek out a further interview with Mr Cardinal with minimum delay, but this proved to be impossible, owing largely to the arrival that same afternoon – some two days earlier than expected – of Mr Lewis, the American senator. I had been down in my pantry working through the supplies sheets, when I had heard somewhere above my head the unmistakable sounds of motor cars pulling up in the courtyard. As I hastened to go upstairs, I happened to encounter Miss Kenton in the back corridor – the scene, of course, of our last disagreement – and it was perhaps this unhappy coincidence that encouraged her to maintain the childish behaviour she had adopted on that previous occasion. For when I inquired who it was that had arrived, Miss Kenton continued past me, stating simply: ‘A message if it is urgent, Mr Stevens.’ This was extremely annoying, but, of course, I had no choice but to hurry on upstairs.

My recollection of Mr Lewis is that of a gentleman of generous dimensions with a genial smile that rarely left his face. His early arrival was clearly something of an inconvenience to his lordship and his colleagues who had reckoned on a day or two more of privacy for their preparations. However, Mr Lewis’s engagingly informal
manner, and his statement at dinner that the United States ‘would always stand on the side of justice and didn’t mind admitting mistakes had been made at Versailles’ seemed to do much to win the confidence of his lordship’s ‘home team’; as dinner progressed, the conversation had slowly but surely turned from topics such as the merits of Mr Lewis’s native Pennsylvania back to the conference ahead, and by the time the gentlemen were lighting their cigars, some of the speculations being offered appeared to be as intimate as those exchanged prior to Mr Lewis’s arrival. At one point, Mr Lewis said to the company:

‘I agree with you, gentlemen, our M. Dupont can be very unpredictable. But let me tell you, there’s one thing you can bet on about him. One thing you can bet on for sure.’ He leaned forward and waved his cigar for emphasis. ‘Dupont hates Germans. He hated them before the war and he hates them now with a depth you gentlemen here would find hard to understand.’ With that, Mr Lewis sat back in his chair again, the genial smile returning fully to his face. ‘But tell me, gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘you can hardly blame a Frenchman for hating the Germans, can you? After all, a Frenchman has good cause to do so, hasn’t he?’

There was a moment of slight awkwardness as Mr Lewis glanced around the table. Then Lord Darlington said:

‘Naturally, some bitterness is inevitable. But then, of course, we English also fought the Germans long and hard.’

‘But the difference with you Englishmen,’ Mr Lewis said, ‘seems to be that you don’t really hate the Germans any more. But the way the French see it, the Germans destroyed civilization here in Europe and no punishment is too bad for them. Of course, that looks an impractical kind of position to us in the United States, but what’s always puzzled me is how you English don’t seem to share the view of the French. After all, like you say, Britain lost a lot in that war too.’

There was another awkward pause before Sir David said, rather uncertainly:

‘We English have often had a different way of looking at such things from the French, Mr Lewis.’

‘Ah. A kind of temperamental difference, you might say.’ Mr Lewis’s smile seemed to broaden slightly as he said this. He nodded to himself, as though many things had now become clear to him, and drew on his cigar. It is possible this is a case of hindsight colouring my memory, but I have a distinct feeling that it was at that moment I first sensed something odd, something duplicitous perhaps, about this apparently charming American gentleman. But if my own suspicions were aroused at that moment, Lord Darlington evidently did not share them. For after another second or two of awkward silence, his lordship seemed to come to a decision.

‘Mr Lewis,’ he said, ‘let me put it frankly. Most of us in England find the present French attitude despicable. You may indeed call it a temperamental difference, but I venture we are talking about something rather more. It is unbecoming to go on hating an enemy like this once a conflict is over. Once you’ve got a man on the canvas, that ought to be the end of it. You don’t then proceed to kick him. To us, the French behaviour has become increasingly barbarous.’

This utterance seemed to give Mr Lewis some satisfaction. He muttered something in sympathy and smiled with contentment at his fellow diners through the clouds of tobacco smoke by now hanging thickly across the table.

The next morning brought more early arrivals; namely, the two ladies from Germany – who had travelled together despite what one would have imagined to have been the great contrast in their backgrounds – bringing with them a large team of ladies-in-waiting and footmen, as well as a great many trunks. Then in the afternoon, an Italian gentleman arrived accompanied by a valet, a secretary, an ‘expert’ and two bodyguards. I cannot imagine what sort of
place this gentleman imagined he was coming to in bringing the latter, but I must say it struck something of an odd note to see in Darlington Hall these two large silent men staring suspiciously in all directions a few yards from wherever the Italian gentleman happened to be. Incidentally, the working pattern of these bodyguards, so it transpired over the following days, entailed one or the other of them going up to sleep at unusual hours so as to ensure at least one was on duty throughout the night. But when on first hearing of this arrangement I tried to inform Miss Kenton of it, she once again refused to converse with me, and in order to accomplish matters as quickly as possible I was actually obliged to write a note and put it under the door of her parlour.

The following day brought several more guests and with two days yet to go to the start of the conference, Darlington Hall was filled with people of all nationalities, talking in rooms, or else standing around, apparently aimlessly, in the hall, in corridors and on landings, examining pictures or objects. The guests were never less than courteous to one another, but for all that, a rather tense atmosphere, characterized largely by distrust, seemed to prevail at this stage. And reflecting this unease, the visiting valets and footmen appeared to regard one another with marked coldness and my own staff were rather glad to be too busy to spend much time with them.

It was around this point, in the midst of dealing with the many demands being made on my attention, that I happened to glance out of a window and spotted the figure of the young Mr Cardinal taking some fresh air around the grounds. He was clutching his attaché case as usual and I could see he was strolling slowly along the path that runs the outer perimeter of the lawn, deeply absorbed in thought. I was of course reminded of my mission regarding the young gentleman and it occurred to me that an outdoor setting, with the general proximity of nature, and in
particular the example of the geese close at hand, would not be an unsuitable setting at all in which to convey the sort of message I was bearing. I could see, moreover, that if I were quickly to go outside and conceal my person behind the large rhododendron bush beside the path, it would not be long before Mr Cardinal came by. I would then be able to emerge and convey my message to him. It was not, admittedly, the most subtle of strategies, but you will appreciate that this particular task, though no doubt important in its way, hardly took the highest priority at that moment.

There was a light frost covering the ground and much of the foliage, but it was a mild day for that time of the year. I crossed the grass quickly, placed my person behind the bush, and before long heard Mr Cardinal’s footsteps approaching. Unfortunately, I misjudged slightly the timing of my emergence. I had intended to emerge while Mr Cardinal was still a reasonable distance away, so that he would see me in good time and suppose I was on my way to the summerhouse, or perhaps to the gardener’s lodge. I could then have pretended to notice him for the first time and have engaged him in conversation in an impromptu manner. As it happened, I emerged a little late and I fear I rather startled the young gentleman, who immediately pulled his attaché case away from me and clutched it to his chest with both arms.

‘I’m very sorry, sir.’

‘My goodness, Stevens. You gave me a shock. I thought things were hotting up a bit there.’

‘I’m very sorry, sir. But as it happens, I have something to convey to you.’

‘My goodness, yes, you gave me quite a fright.’

‘If I may come straight to the point, sir. You will notice the geese not far from us.’

‘Geese?’ He looked around a little bewildered. ‘Oh yes. That’s what they are.’

‘And likewise the flowers and shrubs. This is not, in fact, the best time of year to see them in their full glory, but you will appreciate, sir, that with the arrival of spring, we will see a change – a very special sort of change – in these surroundings.’

‘Yes, I’m sure the grounds are not at their best just now. But to be perfectly frank, Stevens, I wasn’t paying much attention to the glories of nature. It’s all rather worrying. That M. Dupont’s arrived in the foulest mood imaginable. Last thing we wanted really.’

‘M. Dupont has arrived here at this house, sir?’

‘About half an hour ago. He’s in the most foul temper.’

‘Excuse me, sir. I must attend to him straight away.’

‘Of course, Stevens. Well, kind of you to have come out to talk to me.’

‘Please excuse me, sir. As it happened, I had a word or two more to say on the topic of – as you put it yourself – the glories of nature. If you will indulge me by listening, I would be most grateful. But I am afraid this will have to wait for another occasion.’

‘Well, I shall look forward to it, Stevens. Though I’m more of a fish man myself. I know all about fish, fresh water and salt.’

‘All living creatures will be relevant to our forthcoming discussion, sir. However, you must now please excuse me. I had no idea M. Dupont had arrived.’

I hurried back to the house to be met immediately by the first footman saying: ‘We’ve been looking all over for you, sir. The French gentleman’s arrived.’

M. Dupont was a tall, elegant gentleman with a grey beard and a monocle. He had arrived in the sort of clothes one often sees continental gentlemen wearing on their holidays, and indeed, throughout his stay, he was to maintain diligently the appearance of having come to Darlington Hall entirely for pleasure and friendship. As Mr Cardinal had indicated, M. Dupont had not arrived in a
good temper; I cannot recall now all the various things that had upset him since his arrival in England a few days previously, but in particular he had obtained some painful sores on his feet while sightseeing around London and these, he feared, were growing septic. I referred his valet to Miss Kenton, but this did not prevent M. Dupont snapping his fingers at me every few hours to say: ‘Butler! I am in need of more bandages.’

His mood seemed much lifted on seeing Mr Lewis. He and the American senator greeted each other as old colleagues and they were to be seen together for much of the remainder of that day, laughing over reminiscences. In fact, one could see that Mr Lewis’s almost constant proximity to M. Dupont was proving a serious inconvenience to Lord Darlington, who was naturally keen to make close personal contact with this distinguished gentleman before the discussions began. On several occasions I witnessed his lordship make attempts to draw M. Dupont aside for some private conversation, only for Mr Lewis smilingly to impose himself upon them with some remark like: ‘Pardon me, gentlemen, but there’s something that’s been greatly puzzling me,’ so that his lordship soon found himself having to listen to some more of Mr Lewis’s jovial anecdotes. Mr Lewis apart, however, the other guests, perhaps through awe, perhaps through a sense of antagonism, kept a wary distance from M. Dupont, a fact that was conspicuous even in that generally guarded atmosphere, and which seemed to underline all the more the feeling that it was M. Dupont who somehow held the key to the outcome of the following days.