Very tiresome of Pepino. But Lucia’s guide (better than poor Daisy’s Abfou) must have been very attentive to her needs that morning, for Pepino had hardly uttered these awkward words, when the telephone rang. She could easily therefore trip across to it, protesting at these tiresome interruptions, and leaving Georgie to answer.
“Yes, Mrs. Lucas,” said Lucia. “Covent Garden? Yes. Then please put me through.... Dearest Olga is ringing up. No doubt about ‘The Valkyrie’ next week....”
Georgie had a brain wave. He felt sure Lucia would have answered Pepino’s question instantly if she had known what the Princess’s name was. He had noticed that Lucia in spite of her hangings about had not been presented to the illustrious lady last night, and the brain wave that she did not know the illustrious lady’s name swept over him. He also saw that Lucia was anxiously listening not to the telephone only, but to him. If Lucia (and there could be no doubt about that) wanted to know, she must eat her humble pie and ask him....
“Yes, dear Diva, it’s me,” said Lucia. “Couldn’t sleep a wink. ‘Lucrezia’ running in my head all night. Marvellous. You rang me up?”
Her face fell.
“Oh, I am disappointed you can’t come,” she said. “You are naughty. I shall have to give you a little engagement book to put things down in....”
Lucia’s guide befriended her again, and her face brightened. It grew almost to an unearthly brightness as she listened to Olga’s apologies and a further proposal.
“Sunday evening?” she said. “Now let me think a moment: yes, I am free on Sunday. So glad you said Sunday, because all other nights are full. Delightful. And how nice to see Princess Isabel again. Good-bye.”
She snapped the receiver back in triumph.
“What was it you asked me, Pepino?” she said.