The Honorary Consul by Graham Greene Page A

know this chap Jeffries?"
           "Do you mean Humphries? If you are thinking about the Union Jack episode—flying it upside down—do you know the right way up?"
           "No, but thank God I've got chaps who do. I wasn't thinking of that—that happened in Callow's time. The trouble now is that Fortnum seems to have made a most unsuitable marriage—according to this man Humphries. I wish he'd stop writing to us. Who is he?"
           "I hadn't heard about Fortnum's marriage. He's a bit old for it. Who's the woman?"
           "Humphries didn't say. In fact he was a bit ambiguous all round. Fortnum seems to have kept it a great secret. I don't take the story seriously, of course. There's no security involved. He's only an Honorary Consul. We don't have to investigate her. I just thought—if you happened to have heard anything... In a way an Honorary Consul is more difficult to get rid of than a career man. He can't be transferred. That word honorary... it's a bit bogus when you come to think of it Fortnum imports a new car every two years and sells it. He's not entitled to—he's not in the service—but I suppose he's pulled a fast one with the local authorities there. I wouldn't be surprised if he doesn't make more than my Consul does here. Poor old Martin has to toe the line. He can't go buying cars on his salary, nor can I. Unlike the Ambassador of Panama. My God, my poor wife's tied up with that poet. What's his name?"
           "I don't know."
           "I just wanted to say—Plarr isn't it?... As you live up there... I've never met this man Humphries... oh well, they send them here in droves."
           "Humphries?"
           "No, no. Poets. If they are poets. The British Council always say they are, but I've never heard of any of them. When you are back up there, Plarr, do what you can. You're someone I can trust to drop the right word... no scandal, you understand what I'm getting at. . . This fellow Humphries, he strikes me as the sort of man who might write home. To the F. O. After all it's no concern of ours whom Fortnum marries. If you could somehow tactfully tell this chap Humphries to mind his own business and not bother us. Thank God he's getting old. Fortnum, I mean. We'll retire him the first chance we have. Oh dear, look at my poor wife. She's trapped."
           "I'll go and save her if you like."
           "My dear chap, will you? I daren't. These poets are touchy brutes. And I always get their names mixed up. They arc like this fellow Humphries—they write home—to the Arts Council. I won't forget this, Plarr. Anything I can ever do for you... up there..."
           ***
           The doctor found himself with more work than usual on his hands when he returned to the north. He had no time for Humphries, that old troublemaker, and he was not interested in Charles Fortnum's marriage—whether fortunate or unfortunate. Once, when some remark recalled the Ambassador's words to him, he wondered whether Charley might possibly have married his house-keeper that hawklike woman who had opened the door when he visited the Consulate for the first time. A marriage like that seemed not improbable. Old men, like dissident priests, were frequently known to marry their housekeepers sometimes as a measure of false economy, sometimes from fear of a lonely death. Death to Doctor Plarr who was still in his early thirties, appeared in the guise of a fortuitous accident on the road or an unforeseen cancer but in the mind of an old man it was the inevitable end of a long and incurable sickness. Perhaps Charley Fortnum's alcoholism was a symptom of his fear.
           One afternoon, while the doctor was taking an hour's siesta his bell rang. He opened the door and there was the hawklike woman, bristling yet again in the hope of carrion. He nearly took a chance and addressed her as Señora Fortnum.
           The guess would have proved mistaken. Señor Fortnum, she