Eva Ibbotson - A Company of Swans

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!

Marie-Claude had vanished behind the screen.

‘’ariette, please come!’ The voice was unrecognisable as that of the self-assured and cheerful French girl.

Harriet peered round the screen. Marie-Claude had made no attempt to change, but stood looking down at the envelope containing her fee which she held in a trembling hand. ‘I can’t do it, ’ariette! I can’t perform. It’s impossible!’

‘But, Marie-Claude, why? What’s the matter? They’re just a few old men having dinner; they won’t harm you.’

‘Certainly they won’t harm me!’ For a moment, Marie-Claude showed some of her former spirit. Then her face crumpled. ‘That man in the kitchen — the chef who is to cut the cake — he’s Vincent’s cousin! He’s the head of the whole family and very, very strict. He was not at all in favour of Vincent becoming engaged to me because I am a dancer, but Vincent persuaded him that ballet was respectable. If he sees me it will be the end of everything. He will write and tell Vincent—’ And Marie-Claude, the practical and invincible Marie-Claude, broke into piteous tears.

‘Then you must say you can’t do it,’ said Harriet decisively. ‘Say you have been taken ill and then we can go out quietly before Monsieur Pierre sees you.’

‘It’s too late, I’m trapped here,’ sobbed Marie-Claude. ‘If he even knew I intended to do it… You have no idea what he’s like. He is a man who makes three genuflections before he cooks a profiterole. And I have taken Mr Parker’s money!’

She looked down at the notes in her hand — almost the exact sum needed to make up the deposit for the auberge — and fresh tears welled up in her eyes.

‘You must leave the money and go out quickly the way we came,’ said Harriet. ‘I’ll stay and explain to Mr Parker. I’m sure he won’t give you away.’

From the banqueting room came the sound of clapping, followed by cheers. The speeches were finished. Soon now, very soon…

‘They are waiting.’ The disgrace of letting down her public, built into Marie-Claude since she was six years old, added to her anguish and her tears came faster.

‘Marie-Claude, if I could do it for you, I would,’ said Harriet, ‘but—’

Marie-Claude lifted her head. She picked up the envelope containing the money which she had just put down. ‘Oh, ’arriette, if you could! You are an excellent dancer, better than me, and the light will be very dim. That will keep everyone happy and while Pierre is in there, I could escape.’ She looked at Harriet standing there in her Aunt Louisa’s dreadful dress — and then at the fish-net stockings, the garters, the little rosettes to cover the breasts which she had brought. ‘No,’ she said, ‘you are right.’ She put down the money once more and gave a heroic sniff. ‘Come then; let us go! Perhaps it will not be as bad as I think.’