They were snobs and ordinarily, having been in the garden, would have gone up the front steps, where a footman generally opened them the door. Vraiment? The president put down his spoon. Jean Genet, said the Queen again, helpfully.
But she was being addressed by the Archbishop of Can-terbury.
Unbriefed on the subject of the glabrous playwright and novelist, the president looked wildly about for his minister of culture. Homosexual and jailbird, was he nevertheless as bad as he was painted? Or, more to the point, and she took up her soup spoon, was he as good? The Marseillaise and the national anthem made for a pause in the proceedings, but when they had taken their seats Her Majesty turned to the president and resumed. Now that I have you to myself, said the Queen, smiling to left and right as they glided through the glittering throng, Ive been longing to ask you about the writer Jean Genet. At Windsor it was the evening of the state banquet and as the president of France took his place beside Her Majesty, the royal family formed up behind and the procession slowly moved off and through into the Waterloo Chamber.
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