The Complete Short Stories of Evelyn Waugh - Evelyn Waugh [163]
“It’s all a racket,” said Miss Bombaum, “of the Neutralian Propaganda Bureau. I reckon they feel kind of left out of things now the war’s over and want to make some nice new friends among the United Nations. We’re only part of it. They’ve got a religious pilgrimage and a Congress of Physical Culture and an International Philatelists’ Convention and heaven knows what else. I reckon there’s a story in it—in Neutralia, I mean; not in Bellorius, of course, he’s been done.”
“Done?”
“Yes, I’ve a copy somewhere,” she said, rummaging in her bag. “Thought it might come in useful for the speeches.”
“You don’t think,” said Scott-King, “that we are in danger of being required to make speeches?”
“I can’t think what else we’ve been asked for,” said Miss Bombaum. “Can you?”
“I made three long speeches at Upsala,” said Whitemaid. “They were ecstatically received.”
“Oh, dear, and I have left all my papers at home.”
“Borrow this any time you like,” said Miss Bombaum, producing Mr. Robert Graves’s Count Belisarius. “It’s sad though. He ends up blind.”
The music suddenly ceased and a voice said: “Passengers for Bellacita will now proceed to Exit D. Passengers for Bellacita will now proceed to Exit D,” while, simultaneously, the conductress appeared in the doorway and said: “Follow me, please. Have your embarkation papers, medical cards, customs clearance slips, currency control vouchers, passports, tickets, identity dockets, travel orders, emigration certificates, baggage checks and security sheets ready for inspection at the barrier, please.”
The Very Important Persons followed her out, mingled with the less important persons who had been waiting in a nearby room, stepped into a dusty gale behind the four spinning screws of the aeroplane, mounted the step-ladder and were soon strapped into their seats as though waiting the attention of the dentist. A steward gave them brief instructions in the case of their being forced down over the sea and announced: “We shall arrive at Bellacita at sixteen hours Neutralian time.”
“An appalling thought occurs to me,” said Whitemaid, “can this mean we get no luncheon?”
“They eat very late in Neutralia, I believe.”
“Yes, but four o’clock!”
“I’m sure they will have arranged something for us.”
“I pray they have.”
Something had been arranged but not a luncheon. The Very Important Persons stepped out some hours later into the brilliant sunshine of Bellacita airport and at once found their hands shaken in swift succession by a deputation of their hosts. “I bid you welcome to the land of Bellorius,” said their spokesman.
His name, he told them with a neat bow, was Arturo Fe; his rank Doctor of Bellacita University; but there was nothing academic in his appearance. Rather, Scott-King thought, he might be a slightly ageing film actor. He had thin, calligraphic moustaches, a hint of sidewhisker, sparse but well-ordered hair, a gold-rimmed monocle, three gold teeth, and neat, dark clothes.
“Madam,” he said, “gentlemen, your luggage will be cared for. The motor-cars await you. Come with me. Passports? Papers? Do not give them a thought. Everything is arranged. Come.”
At this stage Scott-King became aware of a young woman standing stolidly among them. He had taken notice of her in London where she had towered some six inches above the heads of the crowd.
“I come,” she said.
Dr. Fe bowed. “Fe,” he said.
“Sveningen,” she answered.
“You are one of us? Of the Bellorius Association?” asked Dr. Fe.
“I speak not English well. I come.”
Dr. Fe tried her in Neutralian, French, Italian and German. She replied in her own remote Nordic tongue. Dr. Fe raised hands and eyes in a pantomime of despair.
“You speak much English. I speak little English. So we speak English, yes? I come.”
“You come?” said Dr. Fe.
“I come.”
“We are honoured,” said Dr. Fe.
He led them between flowering oleanders and borders of