great ambiguity in the Italian language, it can indicate consent, vexation, slight interest, slight irritation, confusion, doubt, or it may merely announce a full stop and the start of a new topic. And then she added: 'Che sarebbe, lui? ' This was enough for me to interrupt the dance and disimpale myself very gently and carefully from the palisade, but she asked me one other thing before I pronounced the names: 'E cosa vuol dire pussy?' She must have understood almost nothing of what had been spokenby that disgrace to the Peninsula (although nowadays there are so many similar disgraces that they almost constitute the norm, and so can hardly be termed a disgrace), but perhaps she had sensed that this memorable term was intended for her, that it had been applied to her, and in pretty brazen tones.
'Rafael de la Garza, from the Spanish embassy in London. Mrs Flavia Manoia, a delightful Italian friend of mine.' I used Italian to introduce them, and took the opportunity to insert an adulatory word; then I added in Spanish, that is, purely for Rafita's benefit and in order to warn him off or to contain him (possibly a naive endeavour): 'That's her husband over there, he has a lot of influence in the Vatican.' I was hoping to impress him. 'On the same table as Mr Reresby, you remember Mr Reresby, don't you? At Sir Peter's party?' Of one thing I was sure, he would not remember that in Wheeler's house Tupra's surname had been Tupra.
'Oh, but he's so young, your ambassador,' she replied still in Italian, while they shook hands. 'And he's so modern too, so daring in the way he dresses, don't you think? Your country is clearly so very up to date in every respect. Oh, yes, in every respect.' Then she asked me again about 'pussy', she was determined to know. 'Tell me what "pussy" means, go on, tell me.'
De la Garza was talking to me at the same time (each of them bellowing in one of my ears and each in his or her own language), keeping the lady's hand clasped in his for far too long, that is, holding it prisoner while he unleashed a long string of insults and obscenities which the sight and recollection of Reresby caused to spill from his mouth as soon as he spotted him, and which I wasn't entirely able to follow, but from which I picked out the following words, fractured phrases and concepts: 'bastard', 'ringlets', 'big tall bint', 'a right tart', 'showing me her knickers', 'they cleared off', 'great lump of lard', 'flabbing up against her', 'frigging sofa', 'did you get them off her', 'pretence', 'bloody gypsy', 'bitch'; 'oh, purr-lease', and a final question: 'Did you have a dash in the bloomers yourself?' After this torrent of words, he brought himself back for a moment to the present:'What did you say before about ladra? You mean this corker of a -woman? Bloody hell, look at those bazoomas.' His vocabulary was often at its most schoolboyish or antiquated when he was trying his best to be crude. He had, however, seen that any approach might be problematic. He had not, on the other hand, even considered the matter of their obvious artificiality (the work of man), he was not a person for fine distinctions or for getting lost in petty details. Then, for an instant, he adopted an unctuous tone to address and flatter Flavia: 'It is an enormous pleasure to meet you, madam, and may I assure you of my equally enormous admiration.' This she did understand, it would have been crystal clear to any Italian.
Otherwise, he was just as foul-mouthed or, indeed, even more so (nights of dissipation, especially nights of arduous hunting, only encourage this), although I had never heard the expression 'to have a dash in the bloomers' (that old-fashioned use of 'bloomers' was odd). It was extremely crude as a euphemism, but it doubtless was one - a euphemism, that is -and one should, I suppose, be grateful for small mercies. Fortunately none of the people I was with would understand any of these brutal, vulgar expressions.
I was half regretting my
'Rafael de la Garza, from the Spanish embassy in London. Mrs Flavia Manoia, a delightful Italian friend of mine.' I used Italian to introduce them, and took the opportunity to insert an adulatory word; then I added in Spanish, that is, purely for Rafita's benefit and in order to warn him off or to contain him (possibly a naive endeavour): 'That's her husband over there, he has a lot of influence in the Vatican.' I was hoping to impress him. 'On the same table as Mr Reresby, you remember Mr Reresby, don't you? At Sir Peter's party?' Of one thing I was sure, he would not remember that in Wheeler's house Tupra's surname had been Tupra.
'Oh, but he's so young, your ambassador,' she replied still in Italian, while they shook hands. 'And he's so modern too, so daring in the way he dresses, don't you think? Your country is clearly so very up to date in every respect. Oh, yes, in every respect.' Then she asked me again about 'pussy', she was determined to know. 'Tell me what "pussy" means, go on, tell me.'
De la Garza was talking to me at the same time (each of them bellowing in one of my ears and each in his or her own language), keeping the lady's hand clasped in his for far too long, that is, holding it prisoner while he unleashed a long string of insults and obscenities which the sight and recollection of Reresby caused to spill from his mouth as soon as he spotted him, and which I wasn't entirely able to follow, but from which I picked out the following words, fractured phrases and concepts: 'bastard', 'ringlets', 'big tall bint', 'a right tart', 'showing me her knickers', 'they cleared off', 'great lump of lard', 'flabbing up against her', 'frigging sofa', 'did you get them off her', 'pretence', 'bloody gypsy', 'bitch'; 'oh, purr-lease', and a final question: 'Did you have a dash in the bloomers yourself?' After this torrent of words, he brought himself back for a moment to the present:'What did you say before about ladra? You mean this corker of a -woman? Bloody hell, look at those bazoomas.' His vocabulary was often at its most schoolboyish or antiquated when he was trying his best to be crude. He had, however, seen that any approach might be problematic. He had not, on the other hand, even considered the matter of their obvious artificiality (the work of man), he was not a person for fine distinctions or for getting lost in petty details. Then, for an instant, he adopted an unctuous tone to address and flatter Flavia: 'It is an enormous pleasure to meet you, madam, and may I assure you of my equally enormous admiration.' This she did understand, it would have been crystal clear to any Italian.
Otherwise, he was just as foul-mouthed or, indeed, even more so (nights of dissipation, especially nights of arduous hunting, only encourage this), although I had never heard the expression 'to have a dash in the bloomers' (that old-fashioned use of 'bloomers' was odd). It was extremely crude as a euphemism, but it doubtless was one - a euphemism, that is -and one should, I suppose, be grateful for small mercies. Fortunately none of the people I was with would understand any of these brutal, vulgar expressions.
I was half regretting my
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