‘So you see,’ said Rom, reporting to Harriet on the morning of Alvarez’ arrival, ‘everything is going splendidly. With luck he’ll be away until Tuesday at least and you can concentrate on supporting Madame Simonova through her ordeal!’ For the dreaded première of Nutcracker, with all that it implied, was almost upon them.

Harriet smiled. ‘Yes… I suppose it’s wrong to hope that Masha Repin doesn’t have too much of a success, but I can’t help hoping it just the same.’ She looked up at him, her eyes warm with gratitude. ‘You have been so kind. I still can’t believe that it can come right… that they will just let me dance. But at least you have shown me how not to be frightened.’

‘There’s a lot more to show you still,’ said Rom lightly. ‘I shall be tied up with business for the next two days.’ Even to Harriet, he could not speak of Ombidos and his determination to make Alvarez see what went on there. ‘But after that I intend to take you out in the Firefly. Just you, this time. If you will come?’

‘I will come,’ said Harriet.

12

The dinner for Antonio Alvarez was the grandest and most elaborate the Club had ever prepared. Harry Parker was everywhere, supervising the decorations, the arrangement of the vast silver epergne of knights in armour, the seating of the musicians. The arrival of Alvarez’ chef — with the pomp attending the appearance of a field marshal at manoeuvres — had been less of a disaster than expected. Monsieur Pierre, whose moustaches were the most impressive ever seen on the Amazon, had brought a case of gleaming instruments and taken possession of the kitchens; but his personality was such that within a few minutes the staff, who had been hostile and resentful, were scudding about at his bidding, and it was clear that the menu would be as impressive as his reputation.

But the undoubted triumph, the chef-d’oeuvre of the evening — Parker was sure of it — would be the eruption from her cake of the prettiest girl to arrive in the New World for a decade… He himself had personally supervised the construction of this cake: a massive three-tiered plywood gateau painted a mouth-watering pink and decorated with ribbons, mock icing-sugar hearts and cupids — the whole delectable concoction resting on a trolley whose mechanism was concealed by a sea of subsidiary confectionary lapping at its base.

Now, looking round the Club’s banqueting room with its mirrors, gilt lamps and red-damasked walls, Parker could not help feeling that he was upholding a fine and worthwhile tradition. Not at Maxim’s, not at the Café de Paris could they offer anything better than Marie-Claude, clad in her hair, erupting to the music of La Belle Hélène.

In the smoking room, Parker’s satisfaction was far from being shared by Rom. He had been drinking with Alvarez for nearly an hour and the Minister continued to be charming, urbane and impeccable. Immaculately dressed, his hair and moustache pomaded to perfection, his feet in their narrow, hand-made shoes resting on a brocaded footstool, Alvarez showed interest in Rom’s horticultural innovations, gossiped about his fellow politicians, was informative about the state of Brazilian drama — and again and again led the conversation away from Ombidos.

‘If you could go there yourself, sir — just for a day. That damnable company must be disbanded and the people brought to book!’

‘My dear Verney, if I personally investigated every rumour of that sort on the river, I would be quite unable to attend to my work.’

‘Ombidos is like nowhere else. I assure you that the report seriously understates what is going on up there.’

‘Well, well, we shall see.’ Alvarez selected a cigar, a matter which appeared to absorb his entire attention. ‘I’ll have a second look at the report in the morning and then we can have another talk. Now tell me, is it true that Calgeras is selling his interests in the Minas Gerais? It seems an odd move just now in view of what’s happening to rubber, but de Silva swore it was true…’

Half an hour before the dinner was due to begin, a message was brought to Parker to say that young Wetherby was down with a bad attack of malaria and would be unable to attend.

‘Damn! That means we’re down to thirty-five — I hate odd numbers,’ he said to his assistant. ‘I suppose it would be best just to remove his place — he was right down at the bottom of one of the side tables anyway.’ He stood for a moment, frowning. Then: ‘No, wait a moment!’

He hurried out to the annexe, where Edward was lying on his bed, disconsolate and bored. The expedition he had accompanied had run into trouble and although a price had been agreed with the porters, an altercation had developed at the end of the first day and the men had decamped, leaving the scientists no choice but to return.

‘Listen, Finch-Dutton,’ said Parker now. ‘There is a vacant place at the banquet — one of the guests is ill and can’t make it. Why don’t you come along? I can lend you some tails. You would be a good long way from the action and between a couple of Brazilians, so there’s no need to say much. Just clap and cheer in the right place. You’d be doing me a good turn, actually — an empty space looks bad at a do like this.’

‘I say, that’s very decent of you,’ said Edward. ‘I was just going to go to town and look for a bite to eat…’ and greatly cheered, he rolled off his bed and followed Harry Parker to his room.

Meanwhile in the Teatro Amazonas, where the curtain had gone down on Fille, Marie-Claude had grown pensive removing her make-up.

‘’arriette, I think it would be kind if you came with me, to the Club? I think it would be better if I came with a friend, so that the gentlemen don’t get any ideas.’

Harriet was surprised, for Marie-Claude had always seemed so unconcerned about anything the gentlemen might get up to. ‘Don’t you have your Tante Berthe’s hat-pin?’

‘Yes, I do. I have it. And while I am performing there can be no question of… anything. But—’ She broke off. ‘’ariette, please come?’ For to tell the truth, she had not actually erupted in quite that way since her engagement and somehow it was not as it had been before. ‘You see, I do this for Vincent… for the restaurant… but of course one knows that Vincent himself would not necessarily approve. He comes from a very strict family. And you being the daughter of a professor… that always lends a certain something.’

‘Of course I’ll come, Marie-Claude. I can take a book and wait until you’ve finished.’ She smiled. ‘Monsieur Dubrov has a copy of The Maxims of de Rochefoucauld in his office. If I carry that, then everyone can see I’m the daughter of a professor. Shall I put my hair in a bun?’

‘Thank you, ’arriette.’ Marie-Claude’s ravishing smile was a little more wistful than usual and though Harriet was wearing one of Aunt Louisa’s least fortunate purchases — a sludge-green dress spotted in purple — she forbore for once to criticise.

And ten minutes later they were in the cab which Harry Parker had sent, bound for the Sports Club.

‘Everything is ready!’ said Parker, coming forward to meet them.

‘This is my friend, Miss Morton,’ explained Marie-Claude. ‘Her father is a professor.’

Harry Parker, recognising the girl that Verney had brought from the garden at Follina, cordially shook her hand. ‘Good, good! They’re just on the last course — you’re in excellent time. Everything is laid out for you. The cake looks splendid, I must say!’

‘And the money?’ asked Marie-Claude sharply.

‘The money is waiting for you as promised,’ said the Club secretary a little stiffly.

They passed through the service door and into the kitchen quarters. From the banqueting room they heard the noise of laughter, of raised voices, to which Marie-Claude listened with a professional air. ‘Drunk, but not too drunk,’ she said, turning to Parker. ‘In fact, exactly right! Where do I change?’

‘In the little room along the corridor. We can wheel you straight in from there. There will be four men in livery and Monsieur Pierre, the Minister’s chef, will accompany you and pretend to plunge in his knife just before you come out. It should give a really good effect. He’s a great tall fellow with an amazing moustache and in his white hat—’ He broke off, for Marie-Claude had given a little cry and clutched Harriet’s arm. ‘Good heavens, there’s no danger of his hurting you,’ he said reassuringly. ‘He’s a very good amateur conjuror — used to have everyone in stitches back in Montpellier, we understand. He showed us how to bunch the sparklers so that they looked like Catherine wheels; in fact he’s been most helpful altogether.’

They were walking down the corridor and, passing an open door, caught a glimpse of an enormously tall, hatchet-faced man haranguing an underling.

‘Here we are,’ said Harry Parker, throwing open another door to reveal the trolley with the waiting cake in all its splendour. ‘We’ve put a screen there, and a mirror — and there is a wash-basin behind those curtains. No one will disturb you. Shall I fetch another chair for you, Miss Morton?’

‘There is no need, thank you.’

‘Well, that’s fine, then. About fifteen minutes?’ he said to Marie-Claude.

Harriet glanced at her friend. Surely she couldn’t be suffering from stage-fright? She had gone quite white and totally silent.

‘I’m sure that will be fine,’ Harriet said and, aware that Mr Parker was waiting for something, added, ‘The cake looks absolutely beautiful.’

‘Yes, I think it’s a success,’ said the secretary with quiet pride. ‘I’ll leave you alone, then. Just knock on the door when you’re ready.’ And he went, throwing a puzzled glance at Marie-Claude. How pale she was! The artist’s temperament, no doubt. But what a stunner!