Stone's Fall полностью

He was, fortunately, about as serious a journalist as I was, but had been in Paris for nearly twenty years by this stage. He had written a book review in the Spectator in the early seventies and, as he had shown a willingness to live abroad, had been offered the job as Paris correspondent of The Times on this basis alone. His reports were few and far between, and always couched in such vague language that it was often impossible to ascertain what, exactly, was the subject. For Barclay, the importance of an event varied in direct proportion to the importance of the person who had given him the information, for he was a most fearful snob, and could work himself into a lather of excitement over an invitation to a prestigious salon, or dinner at a senator's private house. Their words he treated like finest gold dust, but he was so discreet he could rarely bring himself to report them without wrapping his information up in so many circumlocutions that their significance was totally lost. Besides, he had of late become the President of the British Chamber of Commerce in Paris, which post he took most seriously, thinking, rather oddly, that it was a position of the highest political and diplomatic importance, rather than a mere dining club for foreign traders.

He was delighted to see me, and not in the slightest perturbed either that no one had asked his opinion about my coming, or by my utter lack of experience. 'Very few people in England have any interest in what goes on outside the Empire,' he said cheerfully, 'as long as it does not affect them. For the most part you can write anything you wish, and for all important events a straight translation from a reputable Paris paper will do excellently well. I wouldn't bother running around trying to get interesting stories, if I were you. No one will read them and they probably won't even get published. The only subject worth extending yourself over is a society scandal. They always go down well as they confirm the readers' opinions about the low morals of the French. Book reviews, if you don't mind, I will keep for myself. Theatre only if Bernhardt is involved.'

I told him that he was welcome to keep all the book reviews. 'I thought,' I said tentatively, 'I might write some stories about the Bourse.'

He frowned. 'If you wish, go ahead. I wouldn't find it very interesting myself. But it takes all sorts, of course.'

'I was given a few names,' I added. 'It would be rude not to call on them.'

'Good heavens, yes. Go ahead. Please don't think I intend to direct you in any way. As long as you write one story every fortnight, more or less, everyone will be delighted with you.'

'I'll do my best,' I said.

'I did one yesterday, in fact,' he said. 'So we're in the clear for a while. If you do the next one . . .'

I said I thought I could manage to write something in a fortnight, and he leaned back in his chair, beaming at me. 'Splendid. That's that taken care of. Now, where are you living?'

In fact, I was in a hotel and ending up staying there for the next year; it was the cheapest option, as I did not want the expense of a household, and it was perfectly adequate. Domesticity has never been one of my great desires in life and certainly was not then; a comfortable bed and decent food are my sole requirements, and the Hôtel des Phares – in reality, a few rooms above a bar, with an obliging landlord whose wife was happy to do my laundry and cook some food – provided both.

I will pass over my daily life, as much of it was of little interest and consisted mainly in laying down those webs of information and making those acquaintances which journalists and other seekers of information require. How this is done is fairly obvious, and consists primarily in making oneself as personable and harmless as possible, in creating a void which others seek to fill through conversation. From such gossip come hints and clues which lead, sometimes, to other things. I made my acquaintance widely for I found the French both charming and welcoming, quite unlike their reputation. I cultivated the traders of the Bourse, the playwrights of the Latin Quarter, and the politicians and diplomats and soldiers who scattered themselves at random across the city. They all, I believe, considered me somewhat dull and without any opinions of my own; it was not my role to have any.