"Do you know that this business, which at first seemed so perfectly easy to run, is beginning to worry me seriously?"
"It's always the same story. I don't like these affectuosissimo and dilatory replies followed by complete silence."
And yet six weeks before a party of carefully chosen engineers had been despatched to San Lucido. Their prospecting continued to have excellent results, but so far not a stroke of actual work had been done. Formality after formality with an anti-French municipality ended in nothing but further checks, and permission to construct the railway line past the foot of Battaglia had been refused, in spite of an appeal to the Courts; they had had to face the prospect of getting their produce to the shore by a service of lorries which was rendered precarious by the absence of fuel supplies and an execrable road.
When the question arose of the establishment of an outlet to the sea and the utilization of the creek nearest to the works (the very one where Lewis used to bathe) it was far worse: the Company certainly possessed the authority and the possibility of building piers fairly quickly for loading ships; but they found that though, as shown on the maps, there was quite enough water, there was a chain of reefs just outside which made it dangerous for cargo boats to approach in rough weather. And so they had to consider loading from tenders on the high seas. After several attempts this had to be given up and they turned to the west, to Marmarole; there the land at the back of the south jetty was admirably adapted for the disposition of sheds and warehouses. But when they decided to make use of it, they were told that all the land had been let a short time before (the deal had been carried through in haste anonymously, and nothing had been done with the land since). Labour problems became more and more complicated: where before labour had been scarce, it had now disappeared altogether; where labour could be found the Trades Unions demanded such high wages that it was useless to start work. The emigration offices, the local Press, the local authorities, the Labour Bureau, the election agents, even the delegates of the Mafia seemed for once to be at one, banded together against this French undertaking. In whose pay were all these people? Lewis instituted enquiries. Some interesting facts came to light. Soon the hand of the Compagnia Pascali of Palermo appeared; behind them, issuing orders to them, a combine of Malto-Italian banks whose instructions were discovered to come from No. 8 Via Petrarcha, Trieste; in other words, from the Apostolatos Bank.
[VII]
SOME time after this Lewis went to supper with a famous Champagne merchant who, in spite of his age and a rather assailable position, still financed a good number of charming little ladies.
After crossing one of those streets in the Champ de Mars which seem to be cut in butter, Lewis entered a little house at an hour when there were no longer any servants about: anyone who liked could go in by the open door. Unlike the Magnac Salon, it was an unfashionable house, in other words an amusing one, full of pretty women and good vintage wine (that pink 1911, like disguised raspberry syrup), and where no expense was spared for the entertainment of the guests; even to the extent of having gifts beneath every napkin. The host was celebrating that evening the thirtieth anniversary of a secret malady which had not interfered with his tempestuous mode of life. To this party, of which Paris had been talking for weeks, he had invited all the specialists who had treated him during these thirty years, and even the lady to whom he owed what was, after all, so little worry, and whom he discovered at Laval where she ran a church furnishing shop. She sat opposite him at the head of his table, wearing a bonnet and a dress of Alençon lace.
Lewis was at the daffodil table (each table being named after a colour), next to Hector Lazarides who was sucking at his Homard à l'Americaine and wearing a helmet with a nose-piece which made him look like the Greeks of Pericles in Duruy's manual. Lazarides was an old Greek parasite who, after twenty centuries, still remained the Gnatho of ancient comedy, and who lived in an attic facing the Tuileries in a hotel in the Rue de Rivoli. A gay old sentimental corsair, he hawked things about, looked after his friends' wives and took them out, stayed in bed when he had no victims, "fallen between two mugs," he used to say, or, "in the dead season," and if by some oversight he was asked down to the country he never left. (To such a point that the Prince de Waldeck had to have the wing in which he had put him up for one night pulled down after two years in order to get rid of him.) He was always asking people to find him something to do. When anyone offered him a job he would refuse with dignity, saying: "I can make more than that by borrowing." An impecunious old snob, he had only abandoned the scepticism of a lifetime at the sight of his fallen monarch, whom he set about serving with a guilty fervour. But even this did him no good, because far from his Francophobia strengthening his social position in Paris, as it generally does. Fate willed that people should frown on it; so that he was thenceforth, like this evening, forced to spend the night amongst the higher strata of commerce.
He could not be too civil to Lewis, taking off his helmet, bowing his head on which three hairs still curled like electric bell wires. Lewis brought the conversation round to Greece and to Irene.
"But I knew her quite well as a child!" cried Lazarides, "at Aix, at Nauheim, at Zalzomazziore (he exaggerated to the point of grotesqueness the lisp that Trieste Greeks have borrowed from the Venetians). She used to look after her father, a choleric old gentleman who was always blackguarding his servants and distributing five franc pieces amongst the little ladies who called him 'papa.' I saw her again as a young girl in Rome. There she married Pericles Apostolatos who, following the Greek custom, was old enough to be her father; he was at school with me at Condorcet. He killed himself two years ago after some unsuccessful speculations. As he was only a trustee, his personal fortune passed to the creditors; but as Irene is a modern young woman she went into business with the help of her cousins, paid her husband's debts and built up his fortune again; now, as you probably know, she is practically the head of the Apostolatos Bank. Such a thing is unheard of in the history of Greece. She is a thoroughly excellent girl and she hasn't had much of a time. Brought up in our old school. You Parisians have no idea of what that means, what an awful thing youth can be, shut up in those huge Oriental houses whose doors never open save to admit the cephalonite priest who comes to teach the Pistevo, our creed, and then a premature marriage, often by proxy."