Young Pattullo

by J. I. M. Stewart

  But I wasn’t, as it happened, further to bother my head with the problem of the lapidary poem – lapidary in the technical if not exactly the stylistic sense. Beginning to retrace my steps, it occurred to me to round the little temple-affair, and sit down for a moment to plumb the abyss and scan the sea. The affectionately disposed hands had vanished, so their owners, although they could scarcely have departed without my noticing the fact, were presumably not so passionately engaged as to resent intrusion. I obeyed my impulse, and was immediately confronted with an effect of the sort commonly compassed only within the cabinets of stage illusionists. The mature Italian married couple of my imagining had been spirited away. In their place sat Colonel Morrison and Mountjoy.

  XV

  Recognitions and discoveries represent, according to Aristotle, mechanisms crucial in the fabricating of a successful drama, and I was one day to give a good deal of professional attention to them myself. But if it was recognition and discovery that were with some abruptness before me now, I was far from exercising the slightest command over them. I knew whom I was recognising, indeed, but had no notion at all of what I was discovering.

  There could be not a moment’s doubt that some circumstance very extraordinary indeed was required to account for these two persons being thus revealed in close association in this remote locality. Although much has been written on the ties binding gentle and simple within the blood-kinship of the clan, it can scarcely be averred that social life in the Highlands of Scotland is organised upon strikingly democratic principles. Colonel Morrison was a laird, although not even a middling-grand one like Uncle Rory, and Mountjoy was Uncle Rory’s servant, who couldn’t possibly (for instance) address me as other than ‘Mr Duncan’.

  Clear about this, I was only for a moment otherwise at sea, after all. Or so I thought. I recalled – as I stood there, and the others still sat, poised crazily above the Gulf of Salerno – certain naive yet surely basically shrewd speculations which I had entertained about the mysterious Mountjoy long ago. I had provided him with a most romantic illegitimacy – even tracing in his features the impress of that English monarch who had so merrily scattered his Maker’s image o’er the land. This had been an absurdity, as had been the simpler notion that Mountjoy might be a Glencorry, and thus in some remote degree a kinsman of my own. (I remembered invoking this theory to account for the fact that he seemed to find me rather attractive.) My guesses had been within the target area, all the same. Mountjoy – those clasped hands proved it – was in Ravello with a father who was unable publicly to acknowledge his existence. I had concluded so much when Colonel Morrison broke our silence to utter, huskily but firmly, amazing words.

  ‘Duncan, I need hardly say that this is deeply painful to me. I had no idea you might be in Ravello, and that I should thus offend you. It happens that I am attached to the place – and I believe Alec is becoming fond of it too.’

  ‘It’s awfully nice,’ I mumbled. Revelation had come to me. ‘I’ve never been here before.’ Alec, I realised, must be Mountjoy; I had somehow failed ever to think of him as owning a Christian name. ‘And it’s awfully nice to run into you,’ I said. ‘Both.’

  ‘My dear lad!’ The husky voice of Colonel Morrison faltered. ‘The fact is simply that we have been lent a house in Amalfi. By a very old friend. He might be known to you.’

  ‘Dr Tindale,’ I said quickly. ‘As a matter of fact, I’m on his staircase.’ I reflected that here was why the name of Amalfi had rung a bell in my head. At the same time I tried desperately to think of further words, for it seemed to me that Colonel Morrison was about to break down, and that this would make our embarrassing situation worse. But, for some moments, Colonel Morrison merely rambled.

  ‘I always come up to Ravello. There’s the view. And I think of dear Morgan. He adores the place.’

  ‘Dear Morgan’ meant nothing to me. I had at that time no knowledge that this was the right way in which to refer to E. M. Forster. I simply remembered the Colonel’s foible for speaking of eminent literary persons in terms of familiar address, and guessed that here must be something like that.

  ‘One of his first short stories was written and set in Ravello. It’s called “The Story of a Panic”.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Forster was one of the possessions of my generation, and I recalled the story at once. Its title might have fitted my own case at the moment. ‘Lawrence was here too,’ I said confusedly. ‘I’ve just been looking into it.’

  ‘I never met him.’ Colonel Morrison had stood up. Alec Mountjoy remained seated, silent and staring out darkly over the Mediterranean. He was inscrutable. He might have been feeling that here was a major crisis. Or he might simply have been in a foul temper. Colonel Morrison I was admiring immensely. Without prevarication, he had come straight out with the thing, and he had maintained his dignity. I felt it was up to me to be forthright too.

  ‘Sir,’ I said, ‘I’m perfectly reliable. I’ve been a bit thick. But I’m that.’

  ‘You rather showed it during Anna’s trouble.’ Mountjoy broke in with this, rather to my surprise. The words had come from him with his intermittent gentleman’s air, and he stood up as he uttered them. ‘Look, Arthur,’ he said, ‘I’m going to get this bus. You’ll want to talk to Duncan. And there’s another bus down at eight.’

  ‘Perhaps that will be best, Alec.’ Not very steadily, Colonel Morrison put out a hand, and for a moment two hands again touched. I hadn’t got over this – for I found it very moving – when I realised that Alec Mountjoy had gone, striding away between the cypresses in the direction of Lord Grimthorpe’s idiotic folly and the town.

  ‘Sit down, Duncan,’ Colonel Morrison said. He was once more, and to my immense relief, the kindly older man.

  ‘Does it mean that it’s more or less over in Glencorry?’ I asked presently. I was still keyed up to bear myself properly. It seemed the only wish of my life. But in face of this strange and somehow touching situation I was beginning to feel curiosity as well.

  ‘More or less. In fact, yes.’ Colonel Morrison spoke sadly but without self-pity. He held out his hands in front of him, palms downward, in an odd gesture. They were almost an old man’s hands. ‘And a meeting like this sets a thing in a clearer light. It shows me the future, really. You see, this isn’t—well, simply an affair.’

  ‘No, of course not.’ I paused awkwardly. ‘I did just hear from my father that matters weren’t too good at Corry. And Ninian and I haven’t been invited there this summer. That’s why I’m in Italy, in a way.’

  ‘Anna is quite all right, you know.’ Colonel Morrison said this anxiously. ‘Of course young Petrie jumped the gun, and all that. But he’s a perfectly decent lad. However, the affair upset Ruth. And that upset things generally.’ The Colonel appeared to struggle for some succinct expression. ‘There was a changed situation.’

  ‘I see.’ I wasn’t very sure I did see. But I remembered how these two men – lovers then, it was to be supposed – had obscurely panicked before the unsettled courses of my cousins. Their reasons had been nonsensical, but perhaps their instinct had been sound. It looked as if Ruth, without much understanding of what she was about, had found a release from frustration in mucking something up. I wanted to elucidate this. ‘Just how did it take Ruth?’ I asked.

  ‘I suppose she looked around, and felt there was only Alec. So she threw herself at his head, you might say. Awkward. Made things untenable. There were discoveries, disclosures.’

  ‘She thought she was in love with him?’ I stared at Colonel Morrison round-eyed.

  ‘We mustn’t say it wasn’t love.’ The Colonel was smiling at me. ‘It was a great pity, you know, that Ruth could never get away from the place.’

  ‘It was certainly that.’ Ruth, I felt, had behaved idiotically, but it was still a shame that she had set her cap at so hopeless a mark. It remained this, whatever further and obscure promptings had conduced to the whole small catastrophe. I remembered guiltily my undertaking to invite her t
o Oxford and submerge her in the society of returned warriors. But there had scarcely been time for anything of the kind. ‘The whole thing got out of hand?’

  ‘Not sensationally.’ Colonel Morrison smiled again. ‘Alec had his month’s holiday coming along, and of course it’s known that I travel a little from time to time. So it was possible to ease ourselves out unobtrusively. I discussed it all with your uncle.’

  ‘You discussed it with Uncle Rory?’ This thought dumbfounded me. ‘And with Aunt Charlotte too?’

  ‘Not with your aunt, Duncan. One can’t quite take up these matters with ladies. Man-to-man is different. Your uncle was fortunately quite all right at the time. A bit at odds with the duke, but not on about that unfortunate standing army. It has been a most regrettable aberration, that.’

  ‘Yes, it has.’ The notion of that man-to-man talk took me utterly out of my depth. I held the common belief of my generation that the very existence of sexual deviations had never been revealed to our innocent forbears. ‘So you and Uncle Rory quietly worked something out?’

  ‘That expresses it very well. A cover story, as they now say. Of course, it’s exile that it comes to. One can’t blink that. But do you know, Duncan? It seemed almost simple at the time. A sense of relief, too. Things becoming less covert, I suppose. Naturally there are certain problems. There must be. I see that now. Alec sees it. It’s true that money happens not to be a difficulty. If one owns property one can always have a little money follow one around. But we all know that money isn’t everything. It isn’t everything, by a long way. There’s the business of any sort of place in the world. And Alec likes a little society – particularly young fellows of his own age.’

  ‘I suppose he does,’ I said. ‘Or younger.’

  ‘Yes, yes – you understand what I mean. But he and I are very solid, absolutely together. Still, one has to think a little. One has to try to think ahead. A sudden meeting like ours now – which has been delightful in a way that’s utterly due to your way of taking it, my dear boy – somehow a little brings it home.’ Colonel Morrison paused, as if this last word had reverberated in his mind. ‘I’m rather fond of Scotland,’ he said. ‘I expect you are too.’

  Fish, hungry for dinner, was sprawled on his bed next to mine, once more idly turning over the pages of Lady Chatterley’s Lover.

  ‘Christ, you’ve been the hell of a time,’ he said. ‘We’d better get down to that eternal vitello. Have you solved the problem?’

  ‘Solved the problem?’ I stared at Fish blankly. ‘Oh, that! No.’

  ‘Then forget it. I say! There’s an absurd bit here. Mellors blows his top to Connie about all the ghastly things that have happened to him in bed. He says that pretty well all women are lesbians. And Connie says, “You do seem to have had awful experiences of women.” And Mellors—’

  ‘Martin,’ I said, ‘do you mind? Just belt up.’

  ‘And why the hell should I belt up?’ For a moment Fish was indignant – and fairly enough. Then he gave me a quick look. ‘Oh, all right,’ he said. And he tossed our bedtime reading into his suitcase.

  A Staircase in Surrey

  These titles can be read as a series, or randomly as standalone novels

  1. The Gaudy 1974

  2. Young Pattullo 1975

  3. Memorial Service 1976

  4. The Madonna of the Astrolabe 1977

  5. Full Term 1978

  Other Titles by J.I.M. Stewart

  Published or to be published by House of Stratus

  A. Fiction

  Mark Lambert’s Supper (1954)

  The Guardians (1955)

  A Use of Riches (1957)

  The Man Who Won the Pools (1961)

  The Last Tresilians (1963)

  An Acre of Grass (1965)

  The Aylwins (1966)

  Vanderlyn’s Kingdom (1967)

  Avery’s Mission (1971)

  A Palace of Art (1972)

  Mungo’s Dream (1973)

  Andrew and Tobias (1980)

  A Villa in France (1982)

  An Open Prison (1984)

  The Naylors (1985)

  B. Short Story Collections

  The Man Who Wrote Detective Stories (1959)

  Cucumber Sandwiches (1969)

  Our England Is a Garden (1979)

  The Bridge at Arta (1981)

  My Aunt Christina (1983)

  Parlour Four (1984)

  C. Non-fiction

  Educating the Emotions (1944)

  Character and Motive in Shakespeare (1949)

  James Joyce (1957)

  Eight Modern Writers (1963)

  Thomas Love Peacock (1963)

  Rudyard Kipling (1966)

  Joseph Conrad (1968)

  Shakespeare’s Lofty Scene (1971)

  Thomas Hardy: A Critical Biography (1971)

  Plus a further 48 Titles published under the pseudonym ‘Michael Innes’

  Synopses

  Published by House of Stratus

  The Gaudy

  The first volume in J.I.M. Stewart’s acclaimed ‘A Staircase in Surrey’ quintet, (but the second in time), ‘The Gaudy’ opens in Oxford at the eponymous annual dinner laid on by the Fellows for past members. Distinguished guests, including the Chancellor (a former Prime Minister) are present and Duncan Pattullo, now also qualified to attend, gets to meet some of his friends and enemies from undergraduate days. As the evening wears on, Duncan finds himself embroiled in many of the difficulties and problems faced by some of them, including Lord Marchpayne, now a Cabinet Minister; another Don, Ranald McKenechnie; and Gavin Mogridge who is famous for an account he wrote of his adventures in a South American jungle. But it doesn’t stop there, as Pattullo acquires a few problems of his own and throughout the evening and the next day various odd developments just add to his difficulties, leading him to take stock of both his past and future.

  Young Pattullo

  This is the second of the ‘A Staircase in Surrey’ quintet, and the first in chronological order. Duncan Pattullo arrives in Oxford, destined to be housed off the quadrangle his father has chosen simply for its architectural and visual appeal. On the staircase in Surrey, Duncan meets those who are to become his new friends and companions, and there occurs all of the usual student antics and digressions, described by Stewart with his characteristic wit, to amuse and enthral the reader. After a punting accident, however, the girl who is in love with Duncan suffers as a result of his self-sacrificing actions. His cousin, Anna, is also involved in an affair, but she withholds the name of her lover, despite being pregnant. This particular twist reaches an ironical conclusion towards the end of the novel, in another of Stewart’s favourite locations; Italy. Indeed, Young Pattullo covers all of the writer’s favourite subjects and places; the arts, learning, mystery and intrigue, whilst ranging from his much loved Oxford, through Scotland and the inevitable Italian venue. This second volume of the acclaimed series can be read in order, or as a standalone novel.

  Memorial Service

  This is the third novel in the Oxford quintet entitled ‘Staircase in Surrey’. Duncan Pattullo returns in middle age to his old college. The Provost is heavily engaged in trying to secure a benefaction from a charitable trust which the old and outrageous Cedric Mumford influences. One significant complication is the presence in college of Ivo Mumford, Cedric’s grandson. He is badly behaved and far from a credit to the college. His magazine, ‘Priapus’ proves to be wholly objectionable. Stewart explores the nature of the complicated relationships between the characters with his usual wit, literary style and intellectual precision and turns what might otherwise be a very common and ordinary situation into something that will grip the reader from cover to cover.

  The Madonna of the Astrolabe

  In the fourth of J.I.M. Stewart’s acclaimed ‘Staircase in Surrey’ quintet the gravity of a surveyor’s report given to the Governing Body is the initial focus. The document is alarming. The Governing Body, an assembly of which Pattullo was in awe, wa
s equally awed by the dimensions of the crisis revealed. It would seem that the consideration was whether there would literally be a roof over their heads for much longer. The first rumblings from the college tower brings the thought well and truly home to Pattullo. ‘Professor Sanctuary,’ the Provost said evenly, ‘favours the immediate launching of an appeal . . .’ And so it begins . . . In J.I.M. Stewart’s superbly melding of wit, mystery, observation and literary prowess a gripping novel develops that will enthral the reader from cover to cover. This can be read as part of the series, or as a standalone novel.

  Full Term

  The final volume in the ‘A Staircase in Surrey’ quintet. Duncan Pattullo is coming to the end of his term as ‘narrator’ and is thinking of re-marrying, although his former wife continues to cause difficulties. His intended is also providing gossip for the college, but that is as nothing compared to the scandal caused by Watershute, an eminent nuclear physicist. His misdemeanours range from abandoning his family and conducting an affair in Venice, to being drunk at High Table. However, things get very serious when he appears to be involved in activities that might amount to treason. An interesting and convoluted plot, which is a fitting end to this acclaimed series, is carried forward with J.I.M. Stewart’s hallmark skill and wit. Full Term can be read in order, or as a standalone novel.