‘I agree with you, gentlemen, our M. Dupont can be very unpredictable. But let me tell you, there’s one thing you can bet on about him. One thing you can bet on for sure.’ He leaned forward and waved his cigar for emphasis. ‘Dupont hates Germans. He hated them before the war and he hates them now with a depth you gentlemen here would find hard to understand.’ With that, Mr Lewis sat back in his chair again, the genial smile returning fully to his face. ‘But tell me, gentlemen,’ he continued, ‘you can hardly blame a Frenchman for hating the Germans, can you? After all, a Frenchman has good cause to do so, hasn’t he?’

There was a moment of slight awkwardness as Mr Lewis glanced around the table. Then Lord Darlington said:

‘Naturally, some bitterness is inevitable. But then, of course, we English also fought the Germans long and hard.’

‘But the difference with you Englishmen,’ Mr Lewis said, ‘seems to be that you don’t really hate the Germans any more. But the way the French see it, the Germans destroyed civilization here in Europe and no punishment is too bad for them. Of course, that looks an impractical kind of position to us in the United States, but what’s always puzzled me is how you English don’t seem to share the view of the French. After all, like you say, Britain lost a lot in that war too.’

There was another awkward pause before Sir David said, rather uncertainly:

‘We English have often had a different way of looking at such things from the French, Mr Lewis.’

‘Ah. A kind of temperamental difference, you might say.’

Mr Lewis’s smile seemed to broaden slightly as he said this. He nodded to himself, as though many things had now become clear to him, and drew on his cigar. It is possible this is a case of hindsight colouring my memory, but I have a distinct feeling that it was at that moment I first sensed something odd, something duplicitous perhaps, about this apparently charming American gentleman. But if my own suspicions were aroused at that moment, Lord Darlington evidently did not share them. For after another second or two of awkward silence, his lordship seemed to come to a decision.

‘Mr Lewis,’ he said, ‘let me put it frankly. Most of us in England find the present French attitude despicable. You may indeed call it a temperamental difference, but I venture we are talking about something rather more. It is unbecoming to go on hating an enemy like this once a conflict is over. Once you’ve got a man on the canvas, that ought to be the end of it. You don’t then proceed to kick him. To us, the French behaviour has become increasingly barbarous.’

This utterance seemed to give Mr Lewis some satisfaction. He muttered something in sympathy and smiled with contentment at his fellow diners through the clouds of tobacco smoke by now hanging thickly across the table.

The next morning brought more early arrivals; namely, the two ladies from Germany – who had travelled together despite what one would have imagined to have been the great contrast in their backgrounds – bringing with them a large team of ladies-in-waiting and footmen, as well as a great many trunks. Then in the afternoon, an Italian gentleman arrived accompanied by a valet, a secretary, an ‘expert’ and two bodyguards. I cannot imagine what sort of place this gentleman imagined he was coming to in bringing the latter, but I must say it struck something of an odd note to see in Darlington Hall these two large silent men staring suspiciously in all directions a few yards from wherever the Italian gentleman happened to be. Incidentally, the working pattern of these bodyguards, so it transpired over the following days, entailed one or the other of them going up to sleep at unusual hours so as to ensure at least one was on duty throughout the night. But when on first hearing of this arrangement I tried to inform Miss Kenton of it, she once again refused to converse with me, and in order to accomplish matters as quickly as possible I was actually obliged to write a note and put it under the door of her parlour.