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one side and seemed almost wistful. She resembled a
solitary dandelion.
He liked her. He did not know what to say. He waited for
Mrs Aubrey to speak. At length, she caught his stare and said
softly: 'Perhaps we can start. If you would care to give me an
outline of the general nature of your business and social
activities . . .',
'Please speak to Mrs Rand about it,' said Chance, rising.
Mrs Aubrey hastily got to her feet. 'I quite understand,' she
said. 'In any case, sir, I am at your disposal.
My office is just next to that of Mr Rand's private secretary.'
Chance said, 'Thank you again,' and walked out of the
room.
At the United Nations fete, Chance and EE were greeted by
members of the U.N. Hospitality Committee and escorted to
one of the most prominent tables. The Secretary-General
approached; he greeted EE by kissing her hand and asking
about Rand's health. Chance could not recall ever having
seen the man on TV.
'This,' said EE to the Secretary-General, 'is Mr Chauncey
Gardiner, a very dear friend of Benjamin's.
The men shook hands. I know this gentleman,' the
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Secretary said, still smiling. 'I admired Mr Gardiner so much
on television last night. I am honored by your presence here,
sir.'
They all sat down; waiters arrived with canapés of caviar,
salmon, and egg, and trays crowded with glasses of
champagne; photographers hovered about and snapped
pictures. A tall florid man approached the table, and the
Secretary-General rose like a shot. 'Mr Ambassador,' he said,
'how good of you to come over.' He turned to EE. 'May I have
the honor of introducing His Excellency Vladimir Skrapinov,
Ambassador of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics?'
'Mr Ambassador and I have already had the pleasure of
meeting, haven't we?' EE smiled. I recall a warm exchange
between Mr Rand and Ambassador Skrapinov two years ago
in Washington.' She paused. 'Unfortunately, Mr Rand is ill and
must forgo the pleasure of your company here today.' The
Ambassador bowed cordially, seated himself, and talked
loudly with EE and the Secretary-General. Chance fell silent
and looked over the crowd. After a time the secretary-general
rose, reaffirmed his pleasure at meeting Chance, said good-
bye, and departed. EE caught sight of her old friend, the
Ambassador of Venezuela, who was just passing by, excused
herself and went over to him.
The Soviet Ambassador moved his chair closer to
Chance's. The flashbulbs of the photographers flashed away.
'I'm sorry we didn't meet sooner,' he said. 'I saw you on THIS
EVENING and must say that I listened with great interest to
your down-to-earth philosophy. I'm not surprised that it was so
quickly endorsed by your President.' He drew his chair still
closer. 'Tell me, Mr Gardiner, how is our mutual friend,
Benjamin Rand? I hear that his illness is actually very serious.
I did not want to upset Mrs Rand by discussing it in detail.'
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'He's ill,' Chance said. 'He's not well at all.' 'So I
understand, so I've heard.' The Ambassador nodded, looking
intently at Chance. 'Mr Gardiner,' he said, I want to be candid.
Considering the gravity of your country's economic situation,
it is clear that you will be called upon to play an important role
in the administration. I have detected in you a certain ...
reticence regarding political issues. But, Mr Gardiner, after all
... shouldn't we, the diplomat, and you, the businessmen, get
together more often? We are not so far from each other, not
so far!'
Chance touched his forehead with his hand. 'We are not,'
he said. 'Our chairs are almost touching.'
The Ambassador laughed aloud. The photographers
clicked. 'Bravo, very good!' the Ambassador exclaimed. 'Our
chairs are indeed almost touching! And -- how shall I put it --
we both want to remain seated on them, don't we? Neither of
us wants his chair snatched from under him, am I right? Am
I correct? Good! Excellent! Because if one goes, the other
goes and then -- boom! we are both down, and no one wants
to be down before his time, eh?' Chance smiled, and the
Ambassador laughed loudly once again.
Skrapinov suddenly bent toward him. 'Tell me, Mr Gardiner,
do you by any chance like Krylov's -fables? I ask this because
you have that certain Krylovian touch.'
Chance looked around and saw that he and Skrapinov were
being filmed by cameramen. 'Krylovian touch? Do I really?'
he asked and smiled.
'I knew it, I knew it!' Skrapinov almost shouted - 'So you
know Krylov!' The Ambassador paused and then spoke
rapidly in another language. The words sounded soft, and the
Ambassador's features took on the look of an animal.
Chance, who had never been addressed in a foreign
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language, raised his eyebrows and then laughed. The
Ambassador looked astonished. 'So . so! I was correct,
wasn't I? You do know your Krylov in Russian, don't you? Mr
Gardiner, I must confess that I suspected as much all along.
I know an educated man when I meet one.' Chance was about
to deny it when the Ambassador winked. 'I appreciate your
discretion, my friend.' Again he spoke to Chance in a foreign
tongue; this time Chance did not react.
Just then, EE returned to the table, accompanied by two
diplomats, whom she introduced as Gaufridi, a député from
Paris, and His Excellency Count von Brockburg-Schulendorff
of West Germany. 'Benjamin and I,' she reminisced, 'had the
pleasure of visiting the Count's ancient castle near Munich. .
. .'
The men were seated, and the photographers kept
shooting. Von Brockburg-Schulendorff smiled, waiting for the
Russian to speak. Skrapinov responded by smiling. Gaufridi
looked from EE to Chance.
'Mr Gardiner and I,' began Skrapinov, 'have just been
sharing our enthusiasm for Russian fables. It appears that Mr
Gardiner is an avid reader and admirer of our poetry, which,
incidentally, he reads in the original.'
The German pulled his chair closer to Chance's. 'Allow me
to say, Mr Gardiner, how much I admired your naturalistic
approach to politics and economics on television. Of course,
now that I know you have a literary background, I feel that I
can understand your remarks much better.' He looked at the
Ambassador, then lifted his eyes to the ceiling. 'Russian
literature,' he announced, 'has inspired some of the greatest
minds of our age.'
'Not to speak of German literature!' Skrapinov exclaimed.
'My dear Count, may I remind you of Pushkin's lifelong
56
admiration for the literature of your country. Why, after
Pushkin translated Faust into Russian, Goethe sent him his
own pen! Not to mention Turgenev, who settled in Germany,
and the love of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky for Schiller.'
Von Brockburg-Schulendorff nodded. 'Yes, but can you
calculate the effect of reading the Russian masters on
Hauptmann, Nietzsche, and Thomas Mann? And how about
Rilke: how often did Rilke declare that whatever was English
was foreign to him, while whatever was Russian was his
ancestral homeland ... ? '
Gaufridi abruptly finished a glass of champagne. His face
was flushed. He leaned across the table toward Skrapinov.
'When we first met during World War I,' he said, 'you and I
were dressed in soldiers' uniforms, fighting the common
enemy, the cruelest enemy in the annals of our nations'
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