Stiff Upper Lip by Lawrence Durrell Page A

impregnate that lustreless salad, order the peas to be lightly simmered in the stuff before serving? Answer me at once, or in Heaven’s Name I’ll—’
    â€œDe Mandeville made a gobbling self-deprecating sort of sound and spread his manicured hands as he muttered something about garlic being eaten in all the best London houses. It toned up the nervous system. Some said it was the only specific for scabies. One would have to be very retrograde to imagine.… And so on in this style. Veins were throbbing all over poor Polk-Mowbray by this time. ‘Do not try to justify yourself,’ he thundered. ‘Answer me with a simple yea or nea. And take that beastly sensual smile off your face. If you choose to dine on heads of raw garlic with your scabrous chauffeur it is your business. But the Embassy table is sacred, do you hear? Sacred. If you do not answer truthfully I shall make you the subject of a General Paper to the Foreign Secretary.’ There was a short silence during which they glared at each other. Then De Mandeville threw back his chin and uttered the word ‘yes’ rather defiantly; he was wearing an obstinate Canine Defence League expression on his face. Polk-Mowbray levitated briefly and banged his desk with a triumphant. ‘Aha! So you did.’ It was clear that De Mandeville was in for one of those Searching Reproofs. His Chief now began to walk up and down his own carpet as he always did when he was moved. He Pointed The Finger Of Scorn at De Mandeville in no uncertain fashion. ‘Wretch!’ he cried in a shaking voice. ‘Could you not see the harm that might come from such reckless and criminal cookery? Moreover you choose the one lunch party of the year which is of policy importance in order to do me the greatest damage. Think of the Naval Attaché! What has he ever done to merit that unspeakable lunch—at which he ate far too heartily? And my niece Angela—what of her? And the Head of the Foreign Ministry—what of him?’
    â€œDe Mandeville tried to make a few unavailing protests. ‘Enough!’ cried Polk-Mowbray hoarsely. ‘Surely you know that to feed a Naval Attaché garlic is like stoking a coke furnace with dead rats? Did you see his face as he lurched out into the afternoon? You did not know, I suppose, that he was due to lecture to the Sea Wolves on Temperance and Self-Denial at sea? He created a very poor impression in a very short time. The wretch now fears court-martial. He says that now whenever his pinnace is sighted they raise a Yellow Fever flag and forbid him access to the ship. I do not doubt that the dirk-point will be facing him when he walks into the ward-room. All this is on your head and more. Don’t interrupt me. That is not all. Do you realize that when I helped the Minister into his car he was making a noise like a bunsen burner? You would not care that he had to address the High Praesidium that afternoon on Foreign Affairs—moreover in a language so full of aspirates as to make the gravest demands on his audience! No, you would not care, with your pumpkins and pottery and left-handed table arrangements! On you go in your headlong career, weaving these devilish plots around my table. And apart from all this what about me. You cannot be expected to know that I was booked to read the Lesson at a Memorial Service in the British Baptist Chapel which is notoriously cramped and ill-ventilated. How did you think I felt when I saw the first two rows of the congregation swaying like ripened wheat in an east wind? How do you think I felt when it came to my turn to embrace the hapless widow? She was breathing as if she had slipped her fan-belt. Answer me! You see, you haven’t a word to say. You are mumchance as you jolly well ought to be. Fie on you, Aubrey de Mandeville! You did not stop to think what effect Angela might have on Cosgrave after such a lunch. The engagement was pretty tremulous as it