Eva Ibbotson

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 armor, the seating of the musicians. The arrival of Alvarez’ chef—with the pomp attending the appearance of a field marshal at maneuvers—had been less of a disaster than expected. Monsieur Pierre, whose mustaches 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 around 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 mustache 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 rumor 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 annex 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 makeup.

” ‘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 Bertha’s hat-pin?”