Oliver VII Read Free Page B

have come this way recently … ”
    Sandoval made his way through the foyer, whose walls were hung with vast historic canvasses in the somewhat rhetorical style of the mid-nineteenth century. The Duke’s taste was for delicate miniatures, and these hereditary daubings had been banished to the entrance. In the second room stood some small earthenware statues; in the third, cupboards filled with kamea —little square objects engraved with kabbalisticsymbols; in the fourth the Duke’s renowned collection of keys. Everything was in exemplary order.
    He moved quickly on, up the inner stairway, to the Duke’s private apartments. In a room packed with Japanese watercolours another praeternaturally ancient footman received him and offered him a chair.
    In no time at all Duke Geront appeared, supported by a young woman. The claimant to the throne was seventy-five years old and in rather poor condition for his years. He wore extremely thick spectacles, groping his way ahead as he walked, and his voice wavered into a sort of bleat; but his manner was decisive and intelligent. There was much more life in the girl, Princess Clodia. She was about thirty years of age, energetic and rather stern of feature: handsome enough, but as an old woman, Sandoval thought to himself, she would be really formidable.
    “Ah, Sandoval,” the Princess cried, “so they let you through the cordon? How did you manage it? They have practically sealed us off from the outside world. Our mail is opened, they listen in on our telephone calls … ”
    “You must remember, your Highness, that you are a claimant to the throne. There is a price to pay for that.”
    “Have you brought news from the Committee?”
    “Yes. Here, in my pocket.”
    He handed over a thick envelope.
    “Thank you, Sandoval. I’ll go and read it up in my room. Meanwhile you may entertain my father.”
    After a long search the Duke produced a netsuke from his pocket—a little button carved from stone and used for clasping the kimono at the shoulder.
    “Marvellous,” he commented. “Fifteenth century.”
    They talked at length about the netsuke and other things Japanese, the Duke leading him with uncertain steps throughroom after room, bringing out his treasures to show them off. Sandoval made tactful but persistent attempts to introduce the subject of what was to happen the following day, but even the most oblique mention of any such topic produced a display of violent irritation.
    “All these stupid claims to the throne,” he muttered. “Don’t say one word about any of that. Nothing will come of it, I’m quite sure. In my late brother Simon’s reign I was next in line three times … or was it just twice? … and nothing ever came of it. All the better for it, too.”
    A full half-hour or more passed in this manner, before signs of fatigue began to show on the Duke’s face. Princess Clodia and a footman came for him soon after, and made him lie down on a divan.
    Clodia and Sandoval went through into another room.
    “He’s interested in nothing but his collections,” she complained . “But he always was like that. He’s spent his entire fortune on them, and he’s run up so many debts he won’t be able to pay them even if he does become king. Oh well, never mind. It’s lucky I’m here. It’s not that I have an especially high opinion of myself, but I could run this country every bit as well as that daft cousin of mine, Oliver. Even when we were children he was completely useless. He used to write poetry … ”
    “Your Highness, the people are always happy to be ruled over by a woman. Because the male monarchs are always swayed by their women, and the women by their men.”
    For a moment the Princess frowned at this extreme impertinence , then she smiled. She thought of those exemplary women whose lives she had studied with such care: Elizabeth of England, Catherine the Great … Yes, Sandoval was right.
    “The Duke will have to be shaken out of his apathy,”