The Governor's Lady by Norman Collins Page B

Purely out of friendship, I mean. Because of our Cambridge bond. I am very close to the Governor. Often, I advise him. I am starting also a new technical school. The Governor will be our first Patron. I shall ask him. That is yet another reason why I am here.’
    The bottle of champagne was almost finished by now, and already Mr. Ngono was a little drunk.
    â€˜Our Governor is much like a good king,’ he was saying. ‘He is all-powerful and also extremely nice. Most philosophic and intelligent, and of great patience. If he should leave us, I verily believe the crops would fail. By Jove, I do really. It will be a great regret for me always that I could not have been the first to introduce you to such a man.’
    Mr. Ngono was leaning forward by now. His face was up close to Harold’s.
    â€˜But there is one other,’ he said. ‘It is Her Excellency, the Governor’s wife you understand. She is not a personal friend, I am most sad to say. I have shaken hands, yes; but spoken, unfortunately never. She is the most extremely beautiful person I have ever seen. Like a photograph. A goddess. A veritable goddess. Everyone who has cast eyes on her agrees that.’
    Mr. Ngono poured out the last of the champagne.
    â€˜But’—here he drew the corners of his mouth down and dropped his voice to the merest audible whisper— ‘also a most naughty goddess, so I have heard tell. A most extremely naughty one.’
    He was leaning so far forward on his stool to impart this confidence that he accidentally slipped. He had to put both hands on Harold’s shoulders to save himself.
    â€˜But I should not have spoken,’ he said. ‘If she should become your friend, I am ruined. Also my publishing house. Please altogether to forget my last remark. It is no more than idle hear-say, I don’t damn well doubt. Not a single word of so-called truth from start to finish.’

Chapter 5
    It was there ready waiting for him on the tray when he got back from seeing Mr. Frith. One of the boys from the Residency must have delivered it.
    The envelope had a Crown on the back, and inside was the crisply printed invitation card. It stated, formally enough, that Her Excellency, Lady Anne Hackforth, would be at home at 4.30 p.m. next Wednesday. His own name had been written at the top in a precise, impersonal kind of script. But in the bottom right-hand corner there were two words scribbled in a contrastingly bright ink.
‘Do come
were what they said.
    â€˜So she’s remembered about me, has she?’ Harold asked himself. ‘I suppose that means that she’s feeling bored again. Or perhaps she thinks that I am.’
    He was, as it happened, not in the least bored. Sir Gardnor had found time to send him a line of thanks for the new presentation of the Trade Tables. And other people, too, in Arnimbo had just caught up with the fact that he was out there with them. At breakfast that morning there had been a letter from Establishment, confirming his appointment and thoughtfully enclosing an Overseas Allowances form; a roneo-ed sheet from the Milner Sports Club, requesting the sum of three guineas; and a black-rimmed card with deckle-edges inviting him to the memorial service in the Anglican Cathedral for poor Major Henderson.
    There was also someone else who had remembered Harold: Mr. Ngono. His letter put on record how extremely much the writer had enjoyed meeting him the other evening, and proposed full dinner next time, with or without dancing just as Harold preferred. Mr. Ngono’s own car could be available to call for Mm the earlier the so much better; and would Harold’s official position, Mr. Ngono wondered, permit him to take a prominent seat on the board of a little syndicate that Mr. Ngono was about to form for the import of American fertilisers. He was ready, Mr. Ngono stressed, to come along to the bungalow at anytime for a few drinks and a most friendly chat if Harold