Perfection Comes at a Price, page 13
“Yes, I do see. I see that everything else is of more importance than love.”
Chapter 25
Just after Christmas 1980, Eric learned that he was being posted to Caracas. To be a First Secretary there. It was a Spanish-speaking country so there would be no language difficulties.
“We are going to South America in April, to Venezuela,” boomed Eric to the family, “What do you think of that?”
“Are there Indians there? And temples?” Lucius wanted to know, who at the age of seven had learned something about the Mayas and the Aztecs.
“I should think so. We will see,” replied his father.
“Eric, how come we have been posted to South America?” asked Philippa.
“In the bowels of the Office there is a world map. The promotion board lads put a name on a dart and then throw it at the map. Where the dart lands, that’s where the person is sent whose name is on the dart,” cackled Eric.
“It comes at the right time for us, Eric,” continued Philippa, “Lucius and Emma will profit from seeing the New World while they still don’t need to be at boarding school.”
“We will still have a fair amount of time for them as I am not yet too senior for all of our time to be taken up by work and social duties,” said Eric, “higher up the ladder, it becomes real pressure. Have you not noticed how our Ambassador here in Madrid is for evermore at some “cat christening”?”
“You do choose some very irreverent phrases, my love, but to answer your question, I have paid attention, and I see that stamina is needed.”
“What is the situation as regards our crockery at this stage?”
“Well, Eric, out of twelve settings there are eight of each left and similarly with the glassware. I suggest we keep those for ourselves and buy a load of nice, but cheap stuff. Here in Spain I can get rock bottom prices.”
“Brilliant, you are, my spouse. You are the best spouse I ever had.”
“Has Daddy had other spouses, then?” enquired Emma with eyes wide in surprise.
“No, he hasn’t, stupid,” said Lucius, “what he means is that mum’s the best mum ever.”
“Amen to that,” said Eric.
Later that evening the couple sat together.
“Eric, I have been planning a list of places we need to see while across the Atlantic.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Rubbish. I’m keen on seeing Brazil, Chile and Argentina. Further north, I’d like to see the Redwood Trees, Grand Canyon and Mississippi River.”
“Lord, what a list. I have only six weeks holiday a year. And think of the cost.”
“We’ll space it over three years. This time don’t start to grind on about the price. As you know, father has settled me with money of my own. The holiday fund will come from there. Otherwise we’ll stay within your income.”
Eric had gathered that to stay within his income was not possible for Philippa. He was aware that a lot of the stuff for the children had not been bought from the bargain basements as Philippa purported them to have been bought. Her bargain basement had a name: Sir Philip. Father and daughter concocted endless ruses to explain certain purchases and cover up the actual expenses.
Eric had had to cave in. He was too busy with work to take time for a major counter campaign. He could foresee that both Lucius and Emma, once they were older, would also frequent the bargain basement. He sighed. In the end, it was better that money was used for something rather than only piling it up.
“Eric, Eric. Have you gone to sleep?”
“Ah, no, Philippa, just in my thoughts.”
“Do you know anything about the climate there?”
“Not much, but I’ve looked into it briefly. I’m afraid it is heat all through the year in Caracas. Twenty-five to thirty degrees Celsius.”
“Goodness, that is a bit steep.”
“I should imagine that the houses have air-conditioning.”
“We are all young enough to cope. And it is a chance to get to know South America.”
At the family reunion, the grandparents, who had come for a three week stay in Madrid, were not too pleased because of the distance.
“I’ve made enquiries about Venezuela,” said Sir Philip, ”it is at the moment one of the wealthiest countries on that continent, thanks to its oil. That will probably mean that there is not too much crime. But the weather is frightful. Relentless heat.”
“I don’t think I could cope with any visits there, “said Lady Saunders, “that breaks my heart.”
“I don’t think your health could support it, Steffi,” said her husband, “but we could arrange to go with the young ones on some holidays where the climate is not quite so hot. That is, if they would have us.”
“Of course, we would have you,” said Eric, “That is a very good idea.”
“Philip,” said Lady Saunders, “you could go once a year for a few weeks to Caracas. That would give such joy to Lucius and Emma.”
“Yes,” piped up the children. We want Grandpa to see where we live. And take photos to show you, Grandma.”
The preparations for the long journey were intense. Also various vaccinations had to be undergone. This time the whole family would go by plane. Before they left, Eric made a brief visit to see his parents in order to tell them that he would be away abroad with a new job for three to four years. They had been surprised, but showed no interest in the subject. Eric said that he would write to them.
When the family arrived in Venezuela, they were plunged straight away into intense heat. A humid one at that. It took them a while to get used to it, but as Philippa had said, they were all young enough and their bodies were adaptable. They had been given a lovely large four-bedroom house with a large garden. In every room there was an air-conditioning unit. That was a saving grace.
What Sir Philip had said about the economics was correct. The country did seem to be booming and most people seemed to be reasonably well off. The place had a feeling of a permanent party, especially in places like the island of Margarita which overflowed with rich tourists.
“I like Caracas,” said Philippa, “the people are friendly and there are smart shops.”
“As your father so wisely put it, for the time being, yes. However, the country has not diversified its economy at all. It is totally dependent upon the price of oil. That could have severe repercussions in the future.”
“So far they have managed good social programs, health care, education and transport,” said Philippa.
“Yes, and people are getting a decent salaries. Well, let’s not think of doom and gloom. President Herrera seems to be doing fine so far.”
Lucius and Emma thrived at the English school. They were most interested in the country. Lucius showed all signs of becoming a chip off Sir Philip. He had a scientific mind like his grandfather’s. Emma was very good at drawing and made many lovely pictures of the nature for her grandmother.
There were many ancient sites of old civilisations and of prehistoric animals. When the family visited Taima-Taima, the youngsters had been impressed by the finding of the bones of the ancient Xenorhinotherium, a cross between a camel and a rhino. It was there that the first human settlement had been discovered, dating from around 14,000 ago.
At Urumaco, the two had become fascinated by the monster guinea pig. This rodent was called Phoberomys Patterson, after the scientist Brian Patterson, who in the 1970’s had discovered the remains of the prehistoric animal. The guinea pig had been the size of a buffalo, weighing over 700 kilos. Lucius wanted to know all about it and learned that it had been semi-aquatic and had lived in packs.
“Being so big, it would have been safe,” said Emma.
“I’m not so sure. What about the animals for whom it was food? What size would they have been?”
“Please don’t worry Emma with the subject of predators, for that is what they are called,” said Philippa, “let her enjoy the large guinea pig.”
Their time in Venezuela passed very well. They toured as they had planned and Sir Philip came on yearly visits. However, in 1982, the pleasant side of their diplomatic existence underwent a slight hiccup. This was because President Herrera sided with Argentina in its war with the United Kingdom over the Falkland Islands. That caused a certain tension between the Venezuelans and the British.
“The Venezuelans don’t think we’ll win,” said Eric, “and they are not the only ones. The whole world seems to think that we are mad and can but lose. They don’t think we have any real power.”
“Should we win, against all the odds, the world will change its mind about Britain being weak. Meanwhile the tension towards the British makes itself felt.”
“Yes, Philippa. I don’t know whether this will happen here, but it could be that the Ambassador will be called home and the Embassy will be put under the care of Switzerland, a neutral country, to look after British affairs. We here become a type of extension of the Swiss Embassy.”
“Will it affect much?”
“I don’t know, probably not much. We will continue to be as pleasant to everyone as possible.”
And the incredible happened, Britain won.
In early 1983, the Venezuelan bolivar suffered abrupt devaluation against the US dollar. It demonstrated the precarious economic situation of the country. There was a respite later that year when the oil prices rose again. So far there had not been any devastating results.
In May that year, when Eric had been in Caracas for three years, the Councillor died in a car accident. That happened only two weeks after the sudden departure of the Second Secretary, who had decided to leave the Service and become a priest.
“This affects our family,” said Eric, “as there was a new Ambassador less than a year ago, this means that I am the only one to carry the can at the moment. The two new people that are posted here need time to get to grips with the country. I can see that we shall be here for an extra year.”
In fact, it was August 1984 when the Flint family came back to London.
Chapter 26
To be at a home posting was ideal for the family at that stage. Lucius was eleven and Emma ten. In September Lucius started boarding at Westminster school, right in the centre of London. He fitted in well and also had the joy of seeing much of his family. It would be September 1986 when Emma would start boarding at Wycombe Abbey. Again, that would be a success.
At the Office Eric was made an Assistant Head of the department responsible for Sweden among other countries. He decided to learn the language. It might mean he would be posted there as a result. The thought that Swedish was really the main language in the Scandinavian countries meant that later he might get a posting in any one of them. He did not relish the thought of cold Nordic winters but the incessant heat that he had endured in Venezuela did not make him keen on any tropical postings.
In November 1986, Horace was posted home. He had been in New Delhi. After his posting to Bangkok the two friends were very pleased to see each other.
“Horace. You are still a bachelor at the age of forty-three,” said Eric.
“My dear chap. I was constantly in love with the Siamese women when I was there. I did not know how to choose. But they felt a bit distant. And as for the Indian beauties, they were fire-crackers all right and needless to say, I was constantly in love with them as well. But there was a very big but.”
“What do you mean?”
“The ‘but’ was the extent of a family one would be marrying into. Frightening. I saw it with a couple of colleagues who had yielded and had got wed. With a wife came a couple dozen siblings, cousins, and so on. You name it. Visiting family members came in packs. I like the idea of a quiet wife for me alone.”
“Gosh. You are so right. Good man. You escaped any snares.”
“And how is life for you, a family man?”
“Lucius is nearly fourteen and Emma is twelve. Lucius is at Westminster as a boarder and Emma is at Wycombe Abbey to follow in Philippa’s footsteps. The grandparents are wonderful. Sir Philip dotes on both grandchildren. We lead an active family life with them.”
“How lucky for you. You are blessed in having Philippa, a wonderful woman.”
“You must come to dinner. We would like to hear about all the tales from your postings. I loved your letters. I’ll talk to Philippa and phone you about the dates.”
“Splendid. I look forward to that.”
For New Year, Eric and Philippa gave a party, and of course Horace was there as well. Philippa had carefully selected three women to invite who were in their early thirties in order to give Horace a chance to find romance. Eric had shaken his head, Horace was bound to see through the ruse, but women were so eternally romance orientated. Most of them hated the thought that any man should remain single. Horace was reasonably good-looking, he had a pair of jolly light-brown eyes and a perky smile which exposed a set of perfect teeth. He was of medium height and slim. He tended to wear comfortable clothes and all his garments seemed a little too big for him. Not for him any figure-hugging sartorial triumphs such as Eric’s choice of clothes. Because of his flamenco dancing, Eric was conscious of the beauty of the body and its movements and the clothing to accentuate sex-appeal. He was also aware that he was a singularly attractive man.
“We must find a wife for Horace,” said Philippa.
“Must we? The man is perfectly capable of finding himself a wife. And he is only forty-three.”
“He is getting long in the tooth, say I. Soon he will become untrainable.”
“Is that what women want? A man to train. Into submission, no doubt.”
“I have never tried to train you, Eric, much less tried to beat you into submission. I love you just as you are.”
“Oh darling, I know that. I hope that I have not tried to do too much leading from my part. Come here, let me kiss you. You make me so happy.”
“Any of the three women I specially invited with Horace in mind, any one of them would be a good choice. Girls from a proper background. Out of your crowd of four, only you and Malcolm are family men. I shudder to think that Cecil’s first marriage lasted only two years to be followed by an acrimonious divorce.”
“He had hardly got married when a mistress promptly appeared in the picture. He has always been a veteran skirt-chaser. As we are talking of him, I heard the other day that he has just left wife number two after four years.”
“Goodness gracious. Thank goodness there are no children. I can see though why women fall for him. It is his dark eyes and his dark curly hair plus the Italianate looks he has inherited from his mother. And the charm.”
“Yes, he is a handsome man indeed.”
At the party, to Philippa’s disappointment, Horace had not been interested in any of her three candidates. No doubt Philippa would pursue her efforts, thought Eric. Poor Horace. Let the man enjoy his liberty.
Then something totally unforeseen happened. In April, Horace had invited Eric and Philippa to dinner, a dinner Eric was never to forget.
What had happened? During the early months of the year Horace seemed to have been much occupied by personal life. After one party, where they had all been, Eric and Philippa had asked him to go on with them to dinner at a restaurant, but he had made some excuse about going to see some friends. Then there had been that lunch to which Philippa had asked him to come but he had said that he was busy that Saturday.
“Eric,” said Philippa, “Horace has been behaving out of character. He seems very secretive. My hunch is that he has found a woman.”
“Hmm. Now that you mention it, I think you may be right. I, too, feel that there is more to him than there was.”
“I am dying of curiosity.”
“I can see that, my love. We will get to know about it sooner or later. Even though he seems so open, I can sense that the portcullis of his interior is shut.”
Indeed, there was a woman in Horace’s life. Not just a woman, he had actually fallen in love.
One day at the beginning of February, he had been out with a friend of his who had waxed lyrical about the new exhibition of pottery at a smart gallery in Fulham. In fact his friend had dragged Horace there with him. At the gallery, Horace had been impressed by the wonderful craftsmanship of the artist and the beautiful creations that were there to see. The artist was truly gifted. A middle-aged man with a beard had approached them.
“May I introduce myself, I am Zoltan Landowski, the owner of this gallery. I see you are admiring the pottery. I can assure you that it would profit you well to buy a piece. This is an oncoming artist who will go far. At the moment you can still make a bargain.”
“I like them all,” said Horace, “but I like particularly the piece called “Yearning”. I think I shall buy it.”
“Would you like to meet the artist, Kat Claydon, who happens to be here at the moment?”
“Oh, indeed I would.”
The owner went to some back rooms and then came out with a woman. As soon as Horace set eyes upon her he was a changed man. It was a “coup de foudre” for him. He fell in love hook, line and sinker.
“May I introduce the artist, Kat Claydon,” said the owner.
“Horace Grant. This is a great honour for me, Ms Claydon. Your works have got a sensitivity and grace about them that is quite exceptional. I have just bought the piece called “Yearning”. Can you tell me at all what inspired it?”
“Mr Grant, it gives me great pleasure to know that you appreciate my works. “Yearning” came about as I was deeply engrossed in sentiments of yearning and longing for beauty and warmth in life. All my pieces have to do with feeling and emotion. How could it be otherwise, given that I am a woman?”
“Ms Claydon, would it be too much to ask you to take me round the other works to explain them to me?”
“I shall be delighted to do so.”
