‘A present?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘That reminds me we’ll have to get you one, I suppose. Anyway, that’s Molly’s job. This is just for you to see. You might even want to buy one for yourself.’
‘What is it?’
‘Guess.’
‘I don’t like to say the word in company.’
Jeavons extended his clasped fist towards Members, who shook his head angrily and turned away.
‘For your car,’ urged Jeavons.
‘I haven’t got a car,’ said Members.
He was thoroughly cross.
‘What do you really do with it?’ I asked.
‘Fix it on to the carburettor—then you use less petrol.’
‘What’s the point?’
‘Save money, of course. Are you a bloody millionaire, or what?’
Molly drew near our group as she crossed the room to refill one of the jugs of drink. She saw what Jeavons was doing and laid a hand on his arm.
‘You’ll never sell Nicholas one of those things,’ she said. ‘Nor Mr. Members, either, I’m sure. I don’t myself think you will sell it to anyone, darling.’
She moved on.
‘It is called an atomiser,’ said Jeavons, slowly, as if he were about to lecture troops upon some mechanical device. ‘It saves thirty-three and a third consumption per mile. I don’t expect it really saves you that for a moment, as a matter of fact. Why should it ? Everybody would have one otherwise. It stands to reason. Still, you never know. It might do some good. Worth trying, I suppose.’
He spoke without great conviction, gazing for a time at the object in his open palm. Then he returned it to his coat pocket, fumbling about for some time, and at last bringing out a tattered packet of Gold Flake. He nicked up one of the cigarettes with his thumb, and offered it to each of us in turn.
‘Well,’ he said to me, ‘so you are going to get married.’
Members watched him with absolute horror. Jeavons, I was sure, was wholly unaware of the poor impression he was making. Members could stand it no longer.
‘I think I must go now,’ he said. ‘I have another party I have to look in on. It was kind of Lady Molly and yourself to ask me.’
‘Not at all,’ said Jeavons. ‘Glad to see you. Come again.’
He watched Members leave the room, as if he had never before seen anyone at all like him. His cigarette remained unlighted in his mouth.
‘Odd bloke,’ he said. ‘I feel shocking this afternoon. Had too much lunch. Red in the face. Distended stomach. Self-inflicted wounds, of course.’
We talked together for a minute or two. Then Jeavons wandered off among the guests. By then General and Mrs. Conyers had arrived. I went across the room to speak to them. They had come up from the country the day before. After making the conventional remarks about my engagement, Mrs. Conyers was removed by Molly to be introduced to some new acquaintance of hers. I was left with the General. He seemed in excellent form, although at the same time giving the impression that he was restless about something: had a problem on his mind. All at once he took me by the arm. ‘I want a word with you, Nicholas,’ he said, in his deep, though always unexpectedly mild, voice. ‘Can’t we get out of this damned, milling crowd of people for a minute or two?’
The Jeavonses’ guests habitually flowed into every room in the house, so that to retire to talk, for example in Molly’s bedroom, or Jeavons’s dressing-room, would be considered not at all unusual. We moved, in fact, a short way up the stairs into a kind of boudoir of Molly’s, constricted in space and likely to attract only people who wanted to enjoy a heart-to-heart talk together: a place chiefly given over to cats, two or three of which sat in an ill-humoured group at angles to one another, stirring with disapproval at this invasion of their privacy. I had no idea what the General could wish to say, even speculating for an instant as to whether he was about to offer some piece of advice—too confidential and esoteric to risk being overheard—regarding the conduct of married life. The period of engagement is one when you are at the mercy of all who wish to proffer counsel, and experience already prepared me for the worst. The truth turned out to be more surprising.
As soon as we were alone together, the General sat down on a chair in front of the writing-table, straightening out his leg painfully. It still seemed to be giving trouble. Alone with him, I became aware of that terrible separateness which difference of age imposes between individuals. Perhaps feeling something of this burden himself, he began at first to speak of his own advancing years.
‘I’m beginning to find all this standing about at Buck House a bit of a strain,’ he said. ‘Not so young as I was. Dropped my eyeglass not so long ago in one of the anterooms at St. James’s and had to get a fellow who was standing beside me to pick it up for me. Secretary from the Soviet Embassy. Perfectly civil. Just couldn’t get down that far myself. Afraid I’d drop my axe too, if I tried. Still, although I’m getting on in life, I’ve had a good run for my money. Seen some odd things at one time or another.’
He moved his leg again, and groaned a bit. I always had the impression that he liked talking about his appearances at Court.
‘I’m a great believer in people knowing the truth,’ he said. ‘Always have been.’
Without seeing at all clearly where this maxim would lead us, I agreed that truth was best.
‘Something happened the other day,’ said the General, ‘that struck me as interesting. Damned interesting. Got on my mind a bit, especially as I had been reading about that kind of thing. Odd coincidence, I mean. The fact is, you are the only fellow I can tell.’
By that time I began to feel even a little uneasy, having no idea at all what might be coming next.
‘When you came to tea with us not so long ago, I told you I had been reading about this business of psychoanalysis. Don’t tie myself down to Freud. Jung has got some interesting stuff too. No point in an amateur like myself being dogmatic about something he knows little or nothing about. Just make a fool of yourself. Don’t you agree?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Well, a rather interesting illustration of some of the points I’d been reading about happened to come my way the other day. Care to hear about it?’
‘I should like to very much indeed.’
‘In connexion with this fellow you say you were at school with—this fellow Widmerpool—who wanted to marry my sister-in-law, Mildred.’
‘I hear the engagement is off.’
‘You knew that already?’
‘I was told so the other day.’
‘Common knowledge, is it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Know why it’s off?’
‘No. But I wasn’t altogether surprised.’
‘Nor was I, but it is an odd story. Not to be repeated, of course. Happened during their stay at Dogdene. Perhaps you’ve heard about that too?’
‘I knew they were going to Dogdene.’
‘Ever stopped there yourself?’
‘No. I’ve never met either of the Sleafords.’
‘I was once able to do Geoffrey Sleaford a good turn in South Africa,’ said the General. ‘He was A.D.C. to the Divisional Commander, and a more bone-headed fellow I never came across. Sleaford—or Fines, as he was then—had landed in a mess over some mislaid papers. I got him out of it. He is a stupid fellow, but always grateful. Made a point of trying out our poodle dogs at his shoots. Then Bertha knew Alice Sleaford as a girl. Went to the same dancing class. Bertha never much cared for her. Still, they get on all right now. Long and the short of it is that we stop at Dogdene from time to time. Uncomfortable place nowadays. Those parterres are very fine, of course. Alice Sleaford takes an interest in the garden. Wonderful fruit in the hot-houses. Then there is the Veronese. Geoffrey Sleaford has been advised to have it cleaned, but won’t hear of it. Young fellow called Smethyck told him. Smethyck saw our Van Troost and said it was certainly genuine. Nice things at Dogdene, some of them, but I could name half a dozen houses in England I’d
rather stop at.’
None of this seemed to be getting us much further so far as Widmerpool was concerned. I waited for development. General Conyers did not intend to be hurried. I suspected that he might regard this narrative he was unfolding in so leisurely a manner as the last good story of his life; one that he did not propose to squander in the telling. That was reasonable enough.
‘I was not best pleased,’ he said, ‘when Bertha told me we had been asked to Dogdene at the same time as Mildred and her young man. I know the Sleafords don’t have many people to stop. All the same it would have been quite easy to have invited some of their veterans. Even had us there by ourselves. Just like Alice Sleaford to arrange something like that. Hasn’t much tact. All the same, I thought it would be a chance to get to know something about Widmerpool. After all, he was going to be my brother-in-law. Got to put up with your relations. Far better know the form from the beginning.’
‘I’ve been seeing Widmerpool on and off for ages,’ I said, hoping to encourage the General’s flow of comment. ‘I really know him quite well.’
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now, look here,’ he said. ‘Have you ever noticed at all how Widmerpool gets on with women?’
‘He never seemed to find them at all easy to deal with. I was surprised that he should be prepared to take on someone like Mrs. Haycock.’
We had plunged into an intimacy of discussion that I had never supposed possible with an older man of the General’s sort.
‘You were?’
‘Yes.’
‘So was I,’ he said. ‘So was I. Very surprised. And I did not take long to see that they were getting on each other’s nerves when they arrived at Dogdene. She was being very crisp with him. Very crisp. Nothing much in that, of course. Engaged couples bound to have their differences. Now I know Mildred pretty well by this time, and, although I did not much take to Widmerpool when I first met him, I thought she might do worse at her age. What?’
‘So I should imagine.’
‘Not every man would want to take her on. Couple of step-children into the bargain.’
‘No.’
‘All the same Widmerpool seemed to me rather a trying fellow. Half the time he was being obsequious, behaving as if he was applying for the job as footman, the other half, he was telling Geoffrey Sleaford and myself how to run our own affairs. It was then I began to mark down his psychological type. I had brought the book with me.’
‘How did he get on with Lord Sleaford?’
‘Pretty well,’ said the General. ‘Pretty well. Better than you might think. You know, Widmerpool talks sense about business matters. No doubt of it. Made some suggestions about developing the home farm at Dogdene which were quite shrewd. It was with Mildred there was some awkwardness. Mildred is not a woman to hang about with. If he wanted to marry her, he ought to have got down to matters and have done it. No good delaying in things of that sort.’
‘He has been having jaundice.’
‘I knew he’d been ill. He made several references to the fact. Seemed rather too fond of talking about his health. Another sign of his type. Anyway, his illness was beside the point. The fact was, Mildred did not think he was paying her enough attention. That was plain as a pikestaff. Mildred is a woman who expects a good deal of fuss to be made over her. I could see he was in for trouble.’
‘What form did it take?’
‘First of all, as I told you, she was a bit short with him. Then she fairly told him off to his face. That was on Saturday afternoon. Thought there was going to be a real row between them. Alice Sleaford never noticed a thing. In the evening they seemed to have made it up. In fact, after dinner, they were more like an engaged couple than I’d ever seen ’em. Now, look here, where would you put his type? Psychologically, I mean.’
‘Rather hard to say in a word—I know him so well——’
‘It seems to me,’ said the General, ‘that he is a typical intuitive extrovert—classical case, almost. Cold-blooded. Keen on a thing for a moment, but never satisfied. Wants to get on to something else. Don’t really know about these things, but Widmerpool seems to fit into the classification. That’s the category in which I’d place him, just as if a recruit turns up with a good knowledge of carpentry and you draft him into the Sappers. You are going to say you are a hard-bitten Freudian, and won’t hear of Jung and his ideas. Very well, I’ll open another field of fire.’
‘But——’
‘You haven’t heard the rest of the story yet. I came down to breakfast early on Sunday morning. I thought I’d have a stroll in the garden, and have another look at those hot-houses. What do you think I found? Widmerpool in the hall, making preparations to leave the house. Some story about a telephone call, and being summoned back to London. Fellow looked like death. Shaking like a jelly and the colour of wax. Told me he’d slept very badly. Hardly closed his eyes. I’m quite prepared to believe that. Alice Sleaford won’t use the best bedrooms for some reason. Never know where you are going to be put.’
‘And did he go back to London?’
‘Drove off, there and then, under my eyes. Whole house had been turned upside down to get him away at that hour on Sunday morning. Left a message for the host and hostess to say how sorry he was, neither of them having come down yet. Never saw a man more disgruntled than the Sleafords’ chauffeur.’
‘But what had happened? Had there really been a telephone call? I don’t understand.’
‘There had been some telephoning that morning, but the butler said it had been Widmerpool putting the call through. Only heard the true story that afternoon from Mildred when we were walking together in the Dutch garden. She didn’t make any bones about it. Widmerpool had been in her room the night before. Things hadn’t gone at all well. Made up her mind he wasn’t going to be any use as a husband. Mildred can be pretty outspoken when she is cross.’
The General said these things in a manner entirely free from any of those implied comments which might be thought inseparable from such a chronicle of events. That is to say he was neither shocked, facetious, nor caustic. It was evident that the situation interested, rather than surprised him. He was complete master of himself in allowing no trace of ribaldry or ill nature to colour his narrative. For my own part, I felt a twinge of compassion for Widmerpool in his disaster, even though I was unable to rise to the General’s heights of scientific detachment. I had known Widmerpool too long.
‘Mildred told me in so many words. Doesn’t care what she says, Mildred. That’s what young people are like nowadays. Of course, I don’t expect Mildred appears young to you, but I always think of her as a young woman.’
I did not know what comment to make. However, General Conyers did not require comment. He wished to elaborate his own conception of what had happened.
‘Widmerpool’s trouble is not as uncommon as you might think, he said. ‘I’ve known several cases. Last fellows in the world you’d suppose. I don’t expect the name Peploe-Gordon means anything to you?’
‘No.’
‘Dead now. Had a heart attack in the Lebanon. I remember it happened in the same week Queen Draga was murdered in Belgrade. At Sandhurst with me. Splendid rider. First-class shot. Led an expedition into Tibet. Married one of the prettiest girls I’ve ever seen. Used to see her out with the Quorn. He had the same trouble. Marriage annulled. Wife married again and had a string of children. This is the point I want to make. I saw Peploe-Gordon about eighteen months later at the yearling sales at Newmarket with another damned pretty girl on his arm. Do you know, he looked as pleased as Punch. Didn’t give a damn. Still, you don’t know what neuroses weren’t at work under the surface. That is what you have got to remember. Looking back in the light of what I have been reading, I can see the fellow had a touch of exaggerated narcissism. Is that Widmerpool’s trouble?’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me. As I said before, I’ve only dipped into these things.’
‘I don’t set up as an expert myself.
Last thing in the world I’d pretend to do. But look here, something I want to ask—do you know anything of Widmerpool’s mother?’
‘I’ve met her.’
‘What is she like?’
I felt as usual some difficulty in answering directly the General’s enquiry, put in his most pragmatical manner.
‘Rather a trying woman, I thought.’
‘Domineering?’
‘In her way.’
‘Father?’
‘Dead.’
‘What did he do?’
‘Manufactured artificial manure, I believe.’
‘Did he . . .’ said the General. ‘Did he . . .’
There was a pause while he thought over this information. It was undeniable that he had been setting the pace. I felt that I must look to my psycho-analytical laurels, if I was not to be left far behind.
‘Do you think it was fear of castration?’ I asked.
The General shook his head slowly.
‘Possibly, possibly,’ he said. ‘Got to be cautious about that. You see this is how I should approach the business, with the greatest humility—with the greatest humility. Widmerpool strikes me as giving himself away all the time by his—well, to quote the text-book—purely objective orientation. If you are familiar with tactics, you know you can be up against just that sort of fellow in a battle. Always trying to get a move on, and bring off something definite. Quite right too, in a battle. But in ordinary life a fellow like that may be doing himself no good so far as his own subjective emotions are concerned. No good at all. Quite the reverse. Always leads to trouble. No use denying subjective emotions. Just as well to face the fact. All of us got a lot of egoism and infantilism to work off. I’d be the last to deny it. I can see now that was some of Peploe-Gordon’s trouble, when I look back.’
‘I’m sure Widmerpool thought a lot about this particular matter. Indeed, I know he did. He spoke to me about it quite soon after he became engaged to Mrs. Haycock.’
‘Probably thought about it a great deal too much. Doesn’t do to think about anything like that too much. Need a bit of relaxation from time to time. Everlastingly talks about his work too. Hasn’t he any hobbies?’
Dance to the Music of Time, Volume 2 Page 22
