The prime minister looked perplexed.
‘HRH should be with us in a few minutes,’ said the ambassador, before moving on to the Mayor of Buenos Aires. He gave him the same instructions, before adding, ‘Yours will be the last official presentation.’
The ambassador couldn’t miss Martinez, who had placed himself a couple of feet behind the mayor. He could see that the young man standing by his side was Harry Clifton’s son. Martinez headed straight for the ambassador, leaving Sebastian in his wake.
‘Will I get to meet Her Majesty?’ he asked.
‘I was hoping to present you to Her Royal Highness. So if you’d be kind enough to stay exactly where you are, Mr Martinez, I’ll bring her across as soon as she’s finished talking to the mayor. But I’m afraid that does not include your guest. The princess is not accustomed to having to speak to two people at once, so perhaps the young gentleman would be kind enough to stand back a little.’
‘Of course he will,’ said Martinez, without consulting Sebastian.
‘Now, I’d better get going, or this show will never get off the ground.’ The ambassador made his way across the crowded lawn, avoiding stepping on the red carpet, as he walked back into his office.
The guest of honour was seated in a corner of the room, smoking a cigarette and chatting to the ambassador’s wife. A long, elegant ivory cigarette holder dangled from her white gloved hand.
The ambassador bowed. ‘We’re ready, ma’am, whenever you are.’
‘Then let’s get on with it, shall we?’ said the princess, taking one last puff before stubbing out her cigarette in the nearest ashtray.
The ambassador accompanied her out on to the balcony, where they paused for a moment. The bandmaster of the Scots Guards raised his baton, and the band began to play the unfamiliar sound of the guest’s national anthem. Everyone fell silent, and most of the men copied the ambassador and stood rigidly to attention.
When the last chord had been played, Her Royal Highness proceeded slowly down the red carpet and on to the lawn, where the ambassador first introduced her to President Pedro Aramburu.
‘Mr President, how nice to see you again,’ the princess ventured. ‘Thank you for a most fascinating morning. I did so enjoy seeing the assembly in session, and having lunch with you and your cabinet.’
‘We were honoured to have you as our guest, ma’am,’ he said, delivering the one sentence he had rehearsed.
‘And I have to agree with you, Mr President, when you said that your beef is the equal of anything we can produce in the Highlands of Scotland.’
They both laughed, although the president wasn’t sure why.
The ambassador glanced over the president’s shoulder, checking that the prime minister, the mayor and Mr Martinez were all planted in their correct positions. He noticed that Martinez couldn’t take his eyes off the princess. He gave Becky a nod, and she immediately stepped forward, took her place behind Sebastian, and whispered, ‘Mr Clifton?’
He swung round. ‘Yes?’ he said, surprised anyone knew his name.
‘I’m the ambassador’s private secretary. He has asked if you would be kind enough to come with me.’
‘Shall I let Don Pedro know?’
‘No,’ said Becky firmly. ‘This will only take a few minutes.’
Sebastian looked uncertain, but followed her as she weaved her way through the chattering crowd of morning suits and cocktail dresses, and entered the embassy by a side door that was being held open for her. The ambassador smiled, pleased that the first part of the operation had gone so smoothly.
‘I will indeed pass on your best wishes to Her Majesty,’ said the princess, before the ambassador guided her across to the prime minister. Although he tried to concentrate on every word the princess was saying in case anything needed to be followed up, he allowed himself the occasional glance in the direction of his study window, in the hope of spotting Becky coming back out on to the terrace, which would be the sign that the meeting between father and son had taken place.
When he felt that the princess had had quite enough of the prime minister, he moved her on to the mayor.
‘How nice to meet you,’ said the princess. ‘Only last week, the Lord Mayor of London was telling me how much he’d enjoyed visiting your city.’
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ the mayor replied. ‘I am looking forward to returning the compliment some time next year.’
The ambassador glanced in the direction of his study, but there was still no sign of Becky.
The princess didn’t last long with the mayor, and discreetly made it clear that she wanted to move on. The ambassador reluctantly fell in with her wishes.
‘And may I be allowed, ma’am, to present one of the city’s leading bankers, Don Pedro Martinez, who I am sure you will be interested to know spends the season at his home in London every year.’
‘This is indeed a great honour, Your Majesty,’ said Martinez, bowing low, before the princess had a chance to speak.
‘Where is your home in London?’ enquired the princess.
‘Eaton Square, Your Majesty.’
‘How very nice. I have a lot of friends who live in that part of town.’
‘If that’s the case, Your Majesty, perhaps you’d like to join me for dinner one night. Do bring along anyone you like.’
The ambassador couldn’t wait to hear the princess’s reply.
‘What an interesting idea,’ she managed, before rapidly moving on.
Martinez bowed low once again. The ambassador hurried after his royal guest. He was relieved when she stopped to chat to his wife, but the only sentence he caught was, ‘What a frightful little man, how did he ever get invited?’
Once again, the ambassador glanced towards his study, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Becky walk out on to the terrace and give him a firm nod. He tried to concentrate on what the princess was saying to his wife.
‘Marjorie, I’m desperate for a cigarette. Do you think I could escape for a few minutes?’
‘Yes, of course, ma’am. Shall we go back into the embassy?’
As they walked away, the ambassador turned to check on Martinez. The besotted man hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes were still firmly fixed on the princess, and he didn’t seem to notice Sebastian quietly returning to his place just a few feet behind him.
Once the princess had disappeared out of sight, Martinez turned and beckoned Sebastian to join him.
‘I was the fourth person to meet the princess,’ were his opening words. ‘Only the president, the prime minister and the mayor were presented before me.’
‘What a great honour, sir,’ said Sebastian, as if he’d witnessed the whole encounter. ‘You must be very proud.’
‘Humbled,’ said Martinez. ‘This has been one of the great days of my life. Do you know,’ he added, ‘I think Her Majesty agreed to have dinner with me when I’m next in London.’
‘I feel guilty,’ said Sebastian.
‘Guilty?’
‘Yes, sir. It should be Bruno who’s standing here to share in your triumph, not me.’
‘You can tell Bruno all about it once you’re back in London.’
Sebastian watched the ambassador and his secretary walk back into the embassy, and wondered if his father was still there.
‘I’ve only got as long as it takes the princess to smoke a cigarette,’ said the ambassador as he burst into his study, ‘but I couldn’t wait to find out how the meeting with your son went.’
‘He was shocked to begin with, of course,’ said Harry as he slipped his BOAC jacket back on. ‘But when I told him he hadn’t been expelled, and they were still expecting him at Cambridge in September, he relaxed a little. I suggested that he fly back to England with me, but he said he’d promised to take a package to Southampton on the Queen Mary, and that as Martinez had been so kind to him, it was the least he could do.’
‘Southampton,’ repeated the ambassador. ‘Did he tell you what was in the package?’
 
; ‘No, and I didn’t press him, in case he stumbled on the real reason I’d travelled all this way.’
‘Wise decision.’
‘I also thought about going back on the Queen Mary with him, but I realized that if I did Martinez would soon work out why I was here.’
‘I agree,’ said the ambassador. ‘So how did you leave it?’
‘I promised I’d be there to meet him when the Queen Mary docks at Southampton.’
‘How do you think Martinez will react if Sebastian tells him you’re in Buenos Aires?’
‘I suggested it might be wise not to mention it, as he’d be certain to want Seb to fly back to London with me, so he agreed to say nothing.’
‘So now all I’ve got to do is find out what’s in that package, while you get back to London before someone recognizes you.’
‘I can’t begin to thank you for all you’ve done, sir,’ said Harry. ‘I’m painfully aware that I’m a distraction you could have done without at the moment.’
‘Don’t give it a second thought, Harry. I haven’t enjoyed myself so much in years. However, it might be wise for you to slip away before—’
The door opened, and the princess walked in. The ambassador bowed, as Her Royal Highness stared at the man dressed in a BOAC captain’s uniform.
‘May I present Captain Peter May, ma’am,’ said the ambassador, not missing a beat.
Harry bowed.
The princess took the cigarette holder out of her mouth. ‘Captain May, how nice to meet you.’ Giving Harry a closer look, she added, ‘Have we met before?’
‘No, ma’am,’ Harry replied. ‘I have a feeling I would remember it if we had.’
‘Very droll, Captain May.’ She gave him a warm smile before stubbing out her cigarette. ‘Well, ambassador, ring the bell. I have a feeling it’s time for the second round.’
As Mr Matthews accompanied the princess out on to the lawn, Becky took Harry in the opposite direction. He followed her down the back stairs, through the kitchen and out of the tradesmen’s entrance at the side of the building.
‘I hope you have a pleasant flight home, Captain May.’
Harry made his way slowly back to the hotel, with several thoughts colliding in his mind. How he wanted to phone Emma to let her know that he’d seen Sebastian, and that he was safe and would be returning to England in a few days’ time.
After he’d arrived back at the hotel, he packed his few belongings, took his case down to the concierge’s desk and asked if there were any flights to London that evening.
‘I’m afraid it’s too late to get you on this afternoon’s BOAC flight,’ he replied. ‘But I could book you on to the Pan Am flight to New York that leaves at midnight, and from there you could—’
‘Harry!’
Harry swung round.
‘Harry Clifton! I knew it was you. Don’t you remember? We met when you addressed the Bristol Rotary Club last year?’
‘You’re mistaken, Mr Bolton,’ Harry said. ‘My name is Peter May,’ he added as Annabel walked past them carrying a suitcase. He strolled across to join her, as if they’d arranged to meet.
‘Let me help you,’ he said, taking her case and walking out of the hotel with her.
‘Thank you,’ said Annabel, looking a little surprised.
‘My pleasure.’ Harry handed their suitcases to the driver and followed her on to the bus.
‘I didn’t realize you were flying back with us, Peter.’
Neither did I, Harry wanted to tell her. ‘My brother had to get back. Some problem with the dam. But we had a great party last night, thanks to you.’
‘Where did you end up?’
‘I took him to the Majestic Hotel. You were right, the food is sensational.’
‘Tell me more. I’ve always wanted to have a meal there.’
During the drive to the airport, Harry had to invent a fortieth birthday present (an Ingersoll watch), and a three-course meal – smoked salmon, steak, of course, and lemon tart. He wasn’t impressed by his culinary imagination, and was grateful Annabel didn’t ask about the wines. He hadn’t got to bed, he told her, until three in the morning.
‘I wish I’d taken your advice on the bath as well,’ said Harry, ‘and had one before I went to bed.’
‘I took one at 4 a.m. You’d have been welcome to join me,’ she said, as the bus came to a halt outside the airport.
Harry stuck close to the crew as they made their way through customs and on to the plane. He returned to the back corner seat, wondering if he’d made the right decision or if he should have stayed put. But then he recalled Sir Alan’s words, so oft repeated. If your cover is blown, get out, and get out quickly. He felt sure he was doing the right thing – that loudmouth would be running around town telling everyone, ‘I’ve just seen Harry Clifton posing as a BOAC pilot.’
Once the other passengers had settled in their seats, the aircraft taxied out on to the runway. Harry closed his eyes. The briefcase was empty, the files destroyed. He fastened his seat belt and looked forward to a long, uninterrupted sleep.
‘This is your captain speaking. I have turned off the seat-belt signs, so you are now free to move around the aircraft.’
Harry closed his eyes again. He was just dozing off when he heard someone slump into the seat next to him.
‘I’ve worked it out,’ he said, as Harry opened one eye. ‘You were in Buenos Aires to do research for your next book. Am I right, or am I right?’
SEBASTIAN CLIFTON
1957
39
DON PEDRO WAS among the last to leave the garden party, and not until he was finally convinced that the princess would not be returning.
Sebastian joined him in the back of the Rolls. ‘This has been one of the great days of my life,’ Don Pedro repeated. Sebastian remained silent, because he couldn’t think of anything new to say on the subject. Don Pedro was clearly drunk, if not on wine, then on the thought of mixing with royalty. Sebastian was surprised that such a successful man could be so easily flattered. Suddenly, Martinez changed tack.
‘I want you to know, my boy, that if you ever need a job, there will always be one for you in Buenos Aires. The choice is yours. You could be a cowboy or a banker. Come to think of it, there’s not a great deal of difference,’ he said, laughing at his own joke.
‘That’s kind of you, sir,’ said Sebastian. Although he wanted to tell him that he would be joining Bruno at Cambridge after all, he thought better of it, because he would have to explain how he’d found out. But he was already beginning to wonder why his father had come halfway round the world just to tell him . . . Don Pedro interrupted his thoughts by taking a wad of five-pound notes from his pocket, peeling off ninety pounds and handing it to Sebastian.
‘I always believe in paying in advance.’
‘But I haven’t done the job yet, sir.’
‘I know you’ll keep your side of the bargain.’ The words only made Sebastian feel more guilty about his little secret, and if the car hadn’t come to a halt outside Martinez’s office, he might have ignored his father’s advice.
‘Take Mr Clifton back to his hotel,’ Don Pedro instructed his driver. Turning to Sebastian he said, ‘A car will pick you up on Wednesday afternoon and take you to the dock. Make sure you enjoy your last couple of days in Buenos Aires, because this city has a lot to offer a young man.’
Harry was not a man who had ever felt it necessary to resort to foul language, even in his books. His churchgoing mother simply wouldn’t have approved. However, after an hour of listening to an endless monologue on Ted Bolton’s life, from his daughter’s responsibilities as a senior-sixer in the Girl Guides, in which she’d won badges for needlework and cookery, to his wife’s role as membership secretary of the Bristol Mothers’ Union, to the guest speakers he had booked for the Rotary Club this autumn, not to mention his views on Marilyn Monroe, Nikita Khrushchev, Hugh Gaitskell and Tony Hancock, he finally snapped.
He opened his eyes and sat up straigh
t. ‘Mr Bolton, why don’t you bugger off?’
To Harry’s surprise and relief, Bolton got up and returned to his seat without another word. Harry fell asleep within moments.
Sebastian decided to take Don Pedro’s advice and make the most of his last two days in the city, before the time came to board the Queen Mary and return home.
After breakfast the following morning, he exchanged four of his five-pound notes for three hundred pesos and left the hotel to go in search of the Spanish arcade, where he hoped to find a present for his mother and sister. He chose a brooch set in rhodochrosite for his mother, in a pale pink shade that the salesman told him could not be found anywhere else in the world. The price came as a bit of a shock, but then Sebastian remembered what he’d put his mother through during the past two weeks.
As he strolled along the promenade on his way back to the hotel, a drawing in a gallery window caught his eye and made him think of Jessica. He stepped inside to take a closer look. The dealer assured him that the young artist had a future, so not only was it a fine still-life, but it would be a shrewd investment. And, yes, he would accept English money. Sebastian only hoped that Jessica would feel the same way about Fernando Botero’s Bowl of Oranges as he did.
The only thing he bought for himself was a magnificent leather belt with a rancher’s buckle. It wasn’t cheap, but he couldn’t resist it.
He stopped to have lunch in a street café, and ate too much Argentinian roast beef while he read an out-of-date copy of The Times. Double yellow lines were to be introduced in all major British city centres. He couldn’t believe his uncle Giles would have voted for that.