Free The Last Two Weeks of Georges Rivac by Geoffrey Household

done. It could have done. And the College of Heralds—for a consideration—agreed that I might quarter the arms of Longueville.’
    â€˜We always thought the name came down from an ancestor of yours called Long Willy because he had one.’
    â€˜Certainly a village tradition to be proud of, but I’m afraid that is all it is. There can be no doubt that we are descended from Longueville who came over with William the Conqueror.’
    â€˜What happened? A win on the pools?’
    â€˜Pools are grease for the dreams of the proletariat, Georges. I just used the little capital father left me and mortgaged the place as well. No money in pigs, they all said. So they sold and I bought. Two years later shortage of pigs and market strong. So I sold. I put that lot into property and secondary banking and had the luck to get out at the top before both collapsed. That makes me a coming City man with an office in the West End.’
    â€˜And you’re making a profit out of farming?’
    â€˜At any rate I am not making a loss. An estate and some horses is the in-thing and I can ask anybody, absolutely anybody, to come down for a night or two. Now, tell me what has brought you over to England?’
    â€˜I had some business. Small stuff, you know. Just another agency.’
    Longwill kindly remarked that the foreign agent was the backbone of trade: the invaluable sergeants, one might say, without whom the high command of industry was helpless.
    â€˜Mere money is always up for grabs,’ he added. ‘But to grab it one must know the right people.’
    The right people, yes. It occurred to Rivac that his old and much changed friend might know the right people. Much changed? Well, he sounded the biggest damned snob in the county; on the other hand he was not at all uncertain of himself like, say, some building contractor buying a flashy way into the jet set. Ever since that peasant Long Willy—who must have done a bit of boasting too—his roots had been firmly set in his countryside. And Daisy had said that he would do anything for a friend.
    â€˜I came over to see a firm called Bridge Holdings, Paul. I don’t quite know what their business is. They may be just a holding company or have something to do with government buying and selling, especially import.’
    â€˜You came over without knowing who they are? How extraordinary!’
    â€˜I don’t like missing chances.’
    â€˜You talk like a pedlar, my dear chap! Tomorrow I will find out for you who Bridge Holdings are. We have a directors’ lunch. Lord Bamborough will be there. They say his daughter is attracting attention in the highest quarters. Useful! He can’t be such a fool as he looks. And let me see! I don’t like the sound of your Bridge Holdings. I’ll give our accountants a call. They know a different kind of everybody. Come round and see me on Saturday morning! I won’t be home tomorrow.’
    Rivac next morning called at the White Hart to inspect it and book a room for Zia. He thought it best that she should not produce a Hungarian passport in signing the hotel register; there might be other investigations into the Rippmann incident besides those of Harbour Police and, to judge by her story, she had no excuse for visiting England. So he christened her Mrs. Fanshawe, mentioning that she was French and married to—he was about to say Colonel Fanshawe, but Paul had reminded him that the English bourgeoisie loved to be impressed. The colonel was promoted.
    â€˜The wife of Major-General Fanshawe, commanding the Armoured Brigade in Germany, you know.’
    The proprietor of course appeared to know and asked if he himself was serving in Germany. Rivac whose military knowledge was limited—his service as a conscript being largely confined to trapping hares for his platoon—decided that he was on the Civilian Staff of the Commission. It was unnecessary to say what commission.
    That