‘Thank you for being so sweet about everything.’
‘I haven’t been sweet at all.’
‘Yes you have. Because of what you haven’t said and haven’t made me feel. You should have heard the way the bloke with the beard went on. Letting him down and letting myself down. I expect you can imagine.’
‘Yes, I think I can.’
We embraced and kissed briefly. I could not see her eyes when she turned away, but her mouth had lost its firmness. Her figure, trim in the olive uniform, and strong-looking in a sense that had not struck me before, moved confidently across to the far pavement and, after a final hasty wave at her office doorway, disappeared.
I went back to the flat and wrote my piece for the paper, half of it about a new opera just then going into rehearsal, the other and slightly longer half about Elevations 9.
Ten: All Free Now
‘Was it really as bad as you say?’ asked Harold.
‘Well yes. Even worse, if anything. I haven’t gone into the way he used classical conventions to—’
‘I hear all the other notices so far have been wildly favourable.’
‘Not all. The Custodian this morning was very stuffy.’
Harold shifted his gaze from my copy to what appeared to be another sheet of typescript beside it on his desk. ‘On this piece of . . . popsical music the kids voted with their feet, and only that noted sense of duty kept me from going along . . . mixture never got to the boil . . . somewhere between three stools. That’s young Bolsover.’
‘I know; he was—’
‘The point of sending the two of you to cover the same event was to get two quite different points of view, and here you are both taking the same line.’
‘It isn’t the same line. From our quite different points of view, we each decided independently and for our own reasons that there was nothing in it for either of us.’
‘A line which runs directly counter to the general verdict. We’ve talked before about the dangers of eccentricity for its own sake. Independence is one thing, but can’t you find a redeeming feature or so? The technique of it, or something like that?’
‘You can’t talk about technique as if it were . . . No, Harold, and I don’t think you’ll get Terry to shift either.’
‘All right, all right.’
‘And you hate him. Roy, I mean.’
‘I’m running a newspaper. How is he?’
‘He’ll be out of hospital some time today.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. They ought to have kicked his head in while they were about it. Still, in general they showed him up for the oaf he is.’
Perhaps for the first time since I had known him, warmth had entered Harold’s voice, and, certainly for the first time, he looked me straight in the face. One more mini-mystery seemed cleared up: I had been included in the Retrenchment Club lunch-party not out of indifference but by design, so that I might witness my friend’s discomfiture.
‘You don’t know him,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t—’
‘One thing you can do for me.’ Already he was back in his poky little shell. ‘I want no further dealings with him, so you tell him he’s won. I’ll make no further move to interfere.’
I stood and waited, in the substantial hope that Harold’s style of oral free-association would see to it that my curiosity was satisfied.
‘It was much more damaging than the piece I was threatening to print. The two of them must have got together on it. No newspaper would take it, but Peeping Tom isn’t a newspaper. You remember what they did to that actor chap last year, and he didn’t get a bean out of them. Even if you win, they’ve nothing to pay you with. And you’re fired.’
‘Yes, I imagine you are,’ I said, taking the last remark as a mildly fanciful description of what happened to you, or how you felt, when you tried to sue Peeping Tom.
‘No no. You’re . . . fired.’
‘Oh, I see.’
‘I’ll make out a cheque for four weeks’ worth and send it along to you.’
‘Thanks. This is the next best thing to getting at Roy himself. Not a very good next best.’
‘Better than nothing, and that’s only part of it. Just the timing. I don’t care for what you write. I was against hiring you in the first place, as you know.’
‘No, Harold, I don’t know. You told me it was all your idea.’
‘Rubbish, you’re dreaming. Good morning to you.’
Along in Features, I told Coates and Bolsover my news.
‘It’s the way he keeps thinking up new ways of being a shit that you can’t help taking your hat off to him for,’ said Coates.
‘So perhaps sacking me as well’d seem a bit tame,’ said Bolsover. ‘How much actual difference will it make to you?’
‘Not an enormous amount. I can more or less walk into a small spot with Discs and Listening. And I’ve got a contact in Brandenburg Records. But it’s a bit unsettling.’
‘Come over to the Fleece and I’ll buy you a beer,’ said Coates.
‘I owe you one. Several, in fact.’
‘I’ll join you when I’ve got my okay,’ said Bolsover.
‘Did I do all right the other night?’ asked Coates in the saloon of the Fleece.
‘First-class. You gave me all the time I needed.’
‘I kept being afraid he’d think balls to it and hang up. How did your end of it go? – whatever it was.’
‘As well as could be expected.’
‘That’s bloody well, isn’t it, as well as that?’
‘Looked at in one way, I suppose it is, yes.’
I arrived back at the flat about three, with a good deal of beer and some sausages under my belt, and settled down to play the Brahms-Handel Variations. I performed the piece, after a false start or two, with great dash and depth of feeling, but also with an unusually high proportion of wrong notes. Never mind, I thought to myself as I started to fall asleep on the couch – Schnabel had played plenty of wrong notes in his time. Tea, toast, a bath and change saw me through until five, and a long brisk walk, a ride in the Tube, and a shorter, less brisk walk brought me to the Copes doorstep just after six.
Mr Copes himself, wearing a pink-and-white striped jacket that recalled bygone musical comedies with a campus setting, let me in and took me into his study. Here, a couple of dozen people of high average age and rather crude type-casting stood about with curious-looking drinks in their hands. I caught sight of Gilbert face to face with a gesticulating cleric; then Vivienne came out from behind someone, gave me a cousinly kiss, and introduced me to her (elder) brother and sister-in-law, whom I recognized from having seen their photographs, together with a fat and silent aunt-like figure. Vivienne went away again at once, to be replaced by Mr Copes, who handed me a small tumbler containing what I tried, with some success, not to think of as a urine sample drawn from one gravely ill. He was accompanied by a man who could there and then have sat for a left-wing cartoonist assigned to portray a retired major, and who turned out to be called Major somebody.
‘See what you think of it, Doug. It’s by way of being a little invention of my own.’
Under the silent gaze of five persons, I forestalled, perhaps by the briefest of margins, actual spotlight and/or side-drum roll, and drank. The fluid was both sweet and bitter without blending or reconciling these qualities to any degree, held a powerful tang of something far removed from any liquor I knew – something like roast chestnuts or camphor – had a bubble or two in it and was slightly warm.
‘Interesting,’ I said.
‘Interesting. That’s a terrific postcard word, isn’t it? Today we saw all round the folk museum; it was very interesting. Spanish champagne, Angostura, and something else I keep very dark. Yes, I think interesting is just about right. You saw what that fellow from Zambia was saying the other day, did you? Or was it Malawi?’
Since Mr Copes was looking at me, it was I who answered, ‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Oh yes, I promise you. Our Pr
ime Minister was worse than Mr Hitler. I swear to you. Our Prime Minister.’
‘Oh, but he’s got to say that,’ said the younger Copes. ‘Home consumption. You don’t want to take it too seriously.’
‘And we and the South Africans were plotting to massacre the entire black population of Africa.’
‘I only wish it was true,’ said the major in a cockney whine so exaggerated as to make even me want to ask the name of his regiment.
‘Oh, you’re joking,’ said the younger Copes.
‘I bloody am not joking, mate. They’re monkeys, that lot, all of ’em.’
‘You’re not to mind the major,’ said Mr Copes. ‘He’s a bit of a reactionary. I don’t feel we should go any further than just invading them all and turning them back into colonies. They’d thank us for it, you know. I’m thinking entirely of them. Unlike the major here. Would you let your daughter marry a black man, Doug?’
‘Yes, if she really wanted to.’
‘Ah, now that’s the point exactly.’
‘I’d have forced mine to if I’d had half a chance,’ said the major. ‘Teach the cow.’
‘There, there, Major.’ Mr Copes lifted his glass towards his mouth, then quickly lowered it again. ‘Of course, it’s a silly question, isn’t it? One can’t prevent them these days. Still, one can exert various sorts of pressure. I’m not going to. I positively wish my daughter to marry a black man – that black man over there, anyway – and I’ll tell you why.’
‘Don’t you think, Dad, perhaps another time . . . ?’
‘As many times as you like. I’ve told Gilbert all about it already. The whole thing is this. She really wants to, because she’s bright enough to have foreseen the difficulties, and because she’s always got on very well with me and her brothers and everybody and she’s never hankered after any different sort of life and background from the ones she’s got. And that means she hasn’t decided to do this so as to show me or what the major would call teach me or get her own back on anything. She isn’t doing it on purpose, if I make myself clear. That’s good enough for me. Now you must excuse me while I go round and top up the beakers.’
Given that every glass in sight was at least three-quarters full, this move seemed unnecessary, but Mr Copes took hold of an earthenware jug and set off. The major’s suitably bloodshot eyes flickered at mine. After some slow-motion twitches involving his head and shoulders, he whined,
‘Not that I wouldn’t rather die than make that fellow feel uncomfortable, you understand. Trouble is, I’ve had some unfortunate experiences of those people. I remember when I was in—’
With the sense of timing that was better developed in her than in any other girl I had ever known, Vivienne came up at this precise point and took me off to talk to two additional girls who worked in her office. That was all right, but their and her sudden withdrawal in favour of three further aunt-types was less welcome, and the later arrival of the gesticulating cleric, who turned out to gesticulate when listening (or not talking) as well as when talking, did little to mend matters. After some minutes of him, I disengaged myself, said goodbye to Mr Copes, and cornered Vivienne under the portrait of Haydn.
‘Viv, I’m off.’
‘But you’ve only just come, and we haven’t had a chance . . . All right. I’ll see you out. Hang on a second.’
By the time we reached the doorstep, Gilbert had joined us. He showed no traces of the scruffiness I had noticed on our recent encounters: this was the Gilbert of our first meeting, smartly and soberly clad. What with Vivienne beside him in her new trouser-suit, the pair of them looked ready for the taking of a commemorative photograph.
‘Vivienne tells me you don’t need an apology from me,’ he said, ‘but also I’ve good reason to be grateful to you. I wanted to tell you that.’
‘Thank you, but there’s really no . . .’
‘But for you I should never have met her, you see. In addition, you’ve been kind to my friends the Vandervanes.’
‘Not to much effect, I’m afraid.’
‘You’ve been of some comfort to them at various times. If you can help Penny in the least, I’d be still more grateful. Perhaps you could let me know how she is.’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘You must be sure to come and visit us when we’re settled. Goodbye for the present, Douglas.’
‘Yes. Goodbye, Gilbert.’
We shook hands; then, without either hurry or hesitation, he turned and went back into the house. Vivienne looked at me in silence, rubbing between finger and thumb a head of lavender she had picked from a clump that grew by the wall.
‘Why didn’t he bring any of his, uh, pals along this evening?’ I asked incuriously.
‘Said he couldn’t get hold of any of them he could be sure they’d behave themselves in time.’ Her tone was as flat as mine had been. ‘You know, wouldn’t start going on about the colour bar and things. He’s changed a lot about all that.’
‘Really.’
‘Doug . . . when I told you about him yesterday and you didn’t make a scene or act up or anything, and I said it was sweet of you . . . Well, it still was sweet of you, but it was because you sort of didn’t care all that terrifically, wasn’t it? Oh, of course you liked me and everything, and you can see I’m not cross or upset, but I’d just like to know. You weren’t so off your head about me that you’d try and stop me going, isn’t that right?’
‘I was very sorry we were packing up and I still am . . .’
‘But.’
‘All right, but I don’t think people should try to stop people doing what they want to do.’
‘Because people always know what they want to do without anyone else saying what they want, the other ones. I thought so.’ She broke off another head of lavender. ‘You’re going off to see Penny now, are you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think you’ll be able to help her like Gilbert said?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Because you mustn’t mind me saying this, Doug, but if you’re really going to help somebody in the state she’s supposed to be in, or actually if you’re really going to help anybody at all, then you’ve got to really do something about it, take it on, do nothing else for a bit, well, not nothing else, but make it your number one priority until it’s cleared up or you realize it absolutely can’t be, whatever it is.’
‘Gilbert tried to really do something about Penny, and he doesn’t seem to have got anywhere.’
‘I know, I’m not saying you’ll always get somewhere if you really try, I’m saying you won’t get anywhere if you don’t. And at least he really tried.’
‘I’m sure he did.’
‘Sorry, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot, these last few days. Isn’t it awful? – I was so relieved you didn’t make a scene, and I was disappointed too. That’s women for you, isn’t it? Off you go now – I must get back to those people. I’ll give you a ring, probably in a couple of weeks.’
We performed another cousinly embrace and parted. That point about helping others, or not helping others, had been well taken. At various times, Roy, Kitty, Penny and Gilbert had asked me for help. Amount of help actually given: nil. The sort of help I actually gave was assuring Terry Bolsover by telephone that his piece on Elevations 9 contained no musical solecisms. On the other hand, or more likely the same hand, I had certainly adhered to my self-proclaimed rule about not stopping blokes doing what they wanted to do. Exception: delaying by two minutes Roy’s professional and public degradation.
These and similarly disagreeable reflections occupied me until, alighting at the end of the North-Western Line into a still, clear evening, I started feeling apprehensive, and also mildly excited, at the prospect of seeing Penny. By the time I was passing the pond, over which a hawk hovered, a less mild excitement had driven out apprehension. I made my way past some Yandell-high nettles into the courtyard. A moment later, the Furry Barrel’s voice rang out from inside the kitchen.
I
entered the house through the glass porch and found Penny hurrying towards me. She wore a plain scarlet cotton dress that negated any concept of style or fashion, and looked both desirable and pleased to see me, though tired. I kissed her, hearing as I did so a curious sound from the direction of the kitchen. It proved to herald the approach of the Furry Barrel, not at her usual canter, but laboriously and on three legs. One hind leg, with what looked like a rubber bandage on it, stuck out at an angle, and there was an arrangement of straps over her rump. She hobbled up, smelt me and wagged her abundant tail.
‘What’s the matter with her?’
‘She’s broken something, or dislocated something. I’m not quite clear what it is.’
‘But she’ll be all right?’
‘That leg won’t, the vet said. She’ll always be more or less on three legs.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘It was Ashley, apparently. I wasn’t here, but he must have given her a kicking. He said she tried to bite him.’
‘She’d never bite anybody.’
I stooped down and stroked the dog’s silky head, feeling as if something dismal had happened right in the middle of my own life and concerns, something major, something irretrievable, as if I had taken a fatally wrong decision years before and only now seen how much I had lost by it.
‘She’s quite old,’ said Penny consolingly.
‘Oh, good.’
‘You can’t blame Ashley.’
‘Oh yes you can. And you can blame his parents even more. Where is he, anyway? He’s not here, is he?’
‘No: Kitty’s taken him away for a few days.’
‘With a couple of ex-Royal Marine commandos in attendance.’
‘A nurse, and she’s gone to stay with a friend who’s got a little girl of eight and another nurse. Near Brighton.’
‘Four against two. They ought to be able to hold the number of animals crippled at a reasonable level. One a day, perhaps.’
‘Calm down. Would you like a drink?’
‘Yes. Yes, please. Does Roy know about this?’
‘Scotch and water?’
‘Yes. Does Roy know?’
‘Yes, and he was terrifically upset and gave Ashley a frightful bawling-out.’
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