“We shall, of course, approach him at once, point out the possibly serious consequences, and beg him to defer publication of the Memoirs for at least a month, and in any case to permit them to be judiciously—er—edited.”
“Supposing that he says ‘No, sir,’ or ‘I’ll goddarned well see you in hell first,’ or something bright and breezy like that?” suggested Lord Caterham.
“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” said Lomax simply. “That’s why it suddenly occurred to me that it might be a good thing to ask him down to Chimneys as well. He’d be flattered, naturally, at being asked to meet Prince Michael, and it might be easier to handle him.”
“I’m not going to do it,” said Lord Caterham hastily. “I don’t get on with Canadians, never did—especially those that have lived much in Africa!”
“You’d probably find him a splendid fellow—a rough diamond, you know.”
“No, Lomax. I put my foot down there absolutely. Somebody else has got to tackle him.”
“It has occurred to me,” said Lomax, “that a woman might be very useful here. Told enough and not too much, you understand. A woman could handle the whole thing delicately and with tact—put the position before him, as it were, without getting his back up. Not that I approve of women in politics—St. Stephen’s is ruined, absolutely ruined, nowadays. But woman in her own sphere can do wonders. Look at Henry’s wife and what she did for him. Marcia was magnificent, unique, a perfect political hostess.”
“You don’t want me to ask Marcia down for this party, do you?” asked Lord Caterham faintly, turning a little pale at the mention of his redoubtable sister-in-law.
“No, no, you misunderstand me. I was speaking of the influence of women in general. No, I suggest a young woman, a woman of charm, beauty, intelligence?”
“Not Bundle? Bundle would be no use at all. She’s a red-hot socialist if she’s anything at all, and she’d simply scream with laughter at the suggestion.”