“Sir, I need you to stop.”
“I am,” Vidal said, still in character, “in the sacred act of returning eight hundred years of stolen sovereignty to the Cardonan people. One does not interrupt a man at his historic work, Major. Even you English must understand this.”
Beauchamp crossed the drawing room in four strides and plucked the mobile off its stack of art books. It was still recording, the red dot blinking in the corner of the screen.
“Beauchamp.”
“Sir.”
“Give it back.”
“No, sir.”
“That ismymobile.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You cannot simplytakea man’s mobile from him in his own home.”
“I can, sir, and I just have.”
Vidal turned to face him properly for the first time, and Beauchamp noticed that his silk dressing gown was showing signs of wanting to open.
“Beauchamp.” Vidal’s voice had dropped. “Give me my mobile.”
“Sir, I’m going to ask you to sit down, and I’m going to explain to you why I can’t do that.”
“I am agrown man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I am twenty-six years of age.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have adegree.”
“I’m aware, sir.”
“FromCambridge, Beauchamp. HSPS. My dissertation was on the anthropology of the Mediterranean state banquet and it received astarred first.”
“Congratulations are in order, then, sir.”
“So you will kindly explain to me,” Vidal said, advancing, “on what authority a man of theHousehold Divisionhas taken it upon himself to confiscate the personal property of a guest of His Majesty the King, in the guest’s own residence, on what I can only assume is some sort of misguided paternal —”
“Sir, that is Aleix Ferrer’s moustache.”
Vidal stopped talking. His silence lasted long enough for Beauchamp to watch him choose a new angle of attack.
“It is ahomage. A loving, affectionate homage, Beauchamp, to the greatest political huckster of our time.”
“Sir, the man staged a referendum to remove your family from power a fortnight ago.”
“I am aware of that, Major, I wasthere. I tasted the betrayal in the air, and it was as salty as Marmite.”
“Then you are also aware that a video of you in this residence, dressed as him, mocking him in Catalan, would be on the front page of every newspaper from Barcelona to Brussels by lunchtime if it went anywhere near the internet. The Private Secretary’s office would be fielding Foreign Office questions by teatime. I would personally be explaining to a four-star general why I allowed a twenty-six-year-old in a silk dressing gown to start a diplomatic incident on his second morning in the country.”
“I was not going topostit,” Vidal said. “I was going to send it to James, Bash, and my brothers.”
