The Speedicut Papers Book 9 (1900–1915) by Christopher Joll

Author:Christopher Joll [Joll, Christopher]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781546280316
Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
Published: 2017-07-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: ENTENTE CORDIALE

There have been far too many in times in my life when I’ve had to pray that the floor would open beneath my feet and this was another one of them. The idea of having to show Bertie a book which, although I hadn’t actually had the opportunity to unwrap and scan it, undoubtedly contained page after page of priapic Italian youths laying each other end-to-end, was not an inviting one. But I had no choice so, instead of giving the parcel to Pacelli, who seemed as though he too was invoking the Almighty whilst casting an imploring look at the Chamberlain, I handed it to The King.

“It’s a new guide book to ancient Rome, Sir,” I said, which was in a way true and would, I prayed, put Bertie off opening it. He fumbled for a moment or two with the string and sealing wax but failed to unwrap the book. Thank God, the man had the patience of a gnat.

“Your carriage is at the door, Your Majesty,” intoned the Chamberlain. Bertie harrumphed and handed the book to Pacelli, who looked as though he’d witnessed the Second Coming, whilst I thanked God that for once he’d delivered me from evil.

…

A couple of hours later Fahran and I were heading north on an Italian express train (there’s an oxymoron if ever there was one – Italy will only amount to something when they have a King who can make the trains run on time) and I gave myself over to finding a way of getting the Lay of Old Mother Russia between the sheets with our Declined and Fallen Monarch.

I was still wrestling with the problem as the train pulled into the Gare de l’Est where, thanks to Fritz, the Embassy’s second-best coach was waiting for me, complete with young Higgins, the Chargé d’Affaires (now there’s an appropriate title for me on this trip, I thought). No sooner had the coachman whipped up the horses, than Higgins started wittering on about the difficulties of ‘arranging His Majesty’s programme at such short notice in a hostile city crawling with anarchists bent on killing The King’.

“You have no idea, Sir Jasper, the trouble this is causing. His Majesty’s Private Secretary telegraphed this morning from Rome saying that His Majesty will expect to attend at least one performance at the Opera, but the Sûreté say that will be quite impossible. I am at my wits end…” And then I had a blinding flash of inspiration.

“Look here, Higgins, I may have a solution for you. What are your contacts like with the Ruskies?”

“Well, this year we are talking to them.”

“Good. When we get to the Embassy, get your chief to contact his opposite number at the Russian Embassy and get me an appointment with the Ruskie Ambassador at the double. I think I may have a solution to your problems.”

And so, the following morning I found myself, this time in our Embassy’s best carriage, bowling over to the Boulevard Lannes to

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