“You see,” said Mother accusingly to Larry, “this is what comes of letting people you don’t know send people you don’t know to stay. The man’s insufferable!”
“Well … he’s not so bad,” said Larry feebly, trying to argue against an attitude that he agreed with. “I thought some of his comments were valid.”
“What?” asked Mother ominously.
“Yes, what?” asked Margo, quivering.
“Well,” said Larry vaguely, “I thought that soufflé was a bit on the rich side, and Margo is beginning to look a bit circular.”
“Beast!” said Margo, and burst into tears.
“Now that’s quite enough, Larry,” said Mother. “How we’re going to endure this … this … scented lounge lizard of yours for another week I don’t know.”
“Well, I’ve got to put up with him too, don’t forget,” said Larry, irritated.
“Well, he’s your friend … I mean, your friend’s friend … I mean, well, whatever he is, he’s yours,” said Mother, “and it’s up to you to keep him out of the way as much as possible.”
“Or I’ll pepper his arse for him,” said Leslie, “the smelly little – ”
“Leslie,” said Mother, “that’s quite enough.”
“Well, he is,” said Leslie doggedly.
“I know he is, dear, but you shouldn’t say so,” Mother explained.
“Well, I’ll try,” said Larry, “but don’t blame me if he comes down to the kitchen to give you a cookery lesson.”
“I’m warning you,” said Mother mutinously, “if that man sets foot in my kitchen, I shall walk out … I shall go … I shall go and….”
“Be a hermit?” suggested Larry.
“No, I shall go and stay in an hotel until he’s gone,” said Mother, uttering her favorite threat, “and this time I really mean it.”
To give Larry his due, he did strive manfully with Count Rossignol for the next few days. He took him to the library and museum in town, he showed him the kaiser’s summer palace with all its repulsive statuary, he even took him to the top of the highest point in Corfu, Mount Pantocrator, and showed him the view. The count compared the library unfavorably with the Bibliothèque Nationale, said that the museum was not a patch on the Louvre, said the kaiser’s palace was inferior in size, design and furnishings to the cottage he had for his head gardener, and said that the view from Pantocrator was not to be mentioned in the same breath with any view to be seen from any high spot in France.
“The man’s intolerable,” said Larry, refreshing himself with brandy in Mother’s bedroom, where we had all repaired to escape the count’s company. “He’s got an obsession with France; I can’t think why he ever left the place. He even thinks their telephone service is the best in the world! And he’s so humorless about everything, one would think he were a Swede.”
“Never mind, dear,” said Mother, “it’s not for long now.”
“I’m not sure I shall last the course,” said Larry. “So far about the only thing he hasn’t claimed for France is God.”
“Ah, but they probably believe in Him better in France,” Leslie pointed out.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could do something really nasty to him?” said Margo wistfully. “Something really horrible.”
“No, Margo,” said Mother firmly, “we’ve never done anything nasty to anyone that’s stayed with us – I mean, except as a joke or by accident – and we’re not going to start. We’ll just have to put up with him; after all, it’s only for a few more days. It’ll soon pass.”
“Dear God!” said Larry suddenly. “I’ve just remembered. It’s the bloody christening on Monday!”
“I do wish you wouldn’t swear so much,” said Mother. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Can you imagine taking him to a christening?” asked Larry. “No, he’ll just have to go off somewhere on his own.”
“I don’t think we ought to let him go wandering off on his own,” said Mother, as if she were talking about a dangerous animal. “I mean, he might meet one of our friends.”
We all sat and thought about the problem.
“Why doesn’t Gerry take him somewhere?” said Leslie suddenly. “After all, he doesn’t want to come to a boring christening.”
“That’s a brain wave,” said Mother delightedly. “The very thing!”
Immediately all my instincts for self-preservation came to the fore. I said that I did want to go to the christening, I had been looking forward to it, it was the only chance I would ever have of seeing Larry being a godfather, and he might drop the baby or something and I would miss it; and anyway, the count did not like snakes and tortoises and birds and things, so what could I do with him? There was silence while the family, like a jury, examined the strength of my case.
“I know, take him out in your boat,” suggested Margo brightly.
“Excellent!” said Larry, “I’m sure he’s got a straw hat and a striped blazer among his sartorial effects. Perhaps we can borrow a banjo.”
“It’s a very good idea,’ said Mother. “After all, it’s only for a couple of hours, dear. You surely wouldn’t mind that.”
I stated in no uncertain terms that I would mind it very much indeed.
“I tell you what,” said Leslie, “they’re having a fish drive down at the lake on Monday. If I get the chap who’s in charge to let you go, will you take the count?”
I wavered, for I had long wanted to see a fish drive. I knew I was going to have the count for the afternoon, so it was simply a matter of what I could get out of it.
“And then we can see about that new butterfly cabinet you want,” said Mother.
“And Margo and I will give you some money for books,” said Larry, generously anticipating Margo’s participation in the bribery.
“And I’ll give you that clasp knife you wanted,” said Leslie.
I agreed. I felt that if I had to put up with the count for an afternoon, I was at least being fairly compensated for it. That evening at dinner, Mother explained the situation and went into such detailed eulogies about the fish drives that you would have thought she had personally invented them.
“Ees eating?” asked the count.
“Yes, yes,” said Mother. “The fish are called kefalias and they’re delicious.”
“No, ees eating on ze lack?” asked the count. “Ees eating wiz sun?”
“Oh … oh, I see,” said Mother. “Yes, it’s very hot. Be sure to wear a hat.”
“We go in ze enfant’s yacht?” asked the count, who liked to get things clear.
“Yes,” said Mother.
The count outfitted himself for the expedition in pale blue linen trousers, elegant chestnut-bright shoes, a white silk shirt with a blue and gold cravat knotted carelessly at the throat, and an elegant yachting cap. While the Bootle Bumtrinket was ideal for my purposes, I would have been the first to admit that she had none of the refinements of an oceangoing yacht, and this the count was quick to perceive when