by Simon Raven
‘A proof came yesterday. As I hoped, Father, a very flattering article…which will certainly annoy them all at Lancaster. I don’t think Schroeder will withdraw now; but as you suggest, after today I shall continue my zealous apprenticeship uninterrupted.’
‘Until the day after the piece appears, I suppose?’
‘Until two or three days after. To cease on the very day of publication would be cynical.’
‘And then?’
‘I expect to discover that the almost mystical experience which I am undergoing, requires to be undergone again, and so affirmed, in other lands. It will need extending, sir. India might be one country in which to extend it.’
‘You’ll hate the bloody place. Nothing but beggars and filth when I was there – except in our own cantonments. And you won’t find much left of them.’
‘Very cheap to live in, sir.’
‘What’s that to you? You don’t need to live cheaply.’
‘I dare say not. But it will do no harm if people think I am…as an extension, let me repeat, of my endeavours, about to be much advertised by Mr Schroeder, as spiritual liegeman of the soil. Yes: India might be a very plausible and appropriate place to continue my apprenticeship.’
The chauffeur drove the Rolls over a bridge and under an arch, and both men’s eyes flickered as the tears pricked.
‘Green,’ said Jeremy, as they drove along a terrace past the First Eleven Cricket Ground.
‘Yes,’ said his father spitefully: ‘all we need is to see Fielding Gray standing in the middle of it. He made a lot of runs there in his day.’
‘And you, sir?’
‘One or two. At the age of fifteen I scored eighty nine not out in a House Match final on Green. When I reached fifty, I turned my bat round and played with the lumpy side, to confuse the opposition. Alas, I never quite lived up to my early promise… Am I to take it, Jeremy, that you’re coming to the ceremony, or have you got your own little fish to fry?’
‘I have one or two things to attend to, sir. I shall hope to see you in your Gown of Honour before we leave.’
Since only the masters and the Sixth Form would be hearing Lord Luffham’s address and assisting at his gowning, the rest of the school had an afternoon off. Jeremy, having surveyed the new Pottery Studio (which had been erected during the seven months since last he had been there) and having found it to be more horrible, both inside and out, than he would thought it possible for the most malignant architect in the kingdom to make it, decided to begin his search for Marius in the Junior Fives Courts. On the way there he overtook a loitering boy, whom he recognised from one of his visits to Oudenarde House, and said:
‘I think I saw you with Marius Stern a couple of years back. You were grooming your horses after a riding lesson.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said the boy sullenly.
‘I’m now going to the Junior Fives Courts to look for Marius,’ said Jeremy.
‘So am I.’
‘Not very fast, it seems.’
‘He won’t want to see me when I get there,’ Palairet said.
‘He may want to see me,’ said Jeremy, ‘so if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go on.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
When Jeremy reached the Fives Courts, Marius ran out of one of them to greet him.
‘Jeremy, how super, why didn’t you ring up to say you were coming?’
‘I don’t approve of telephoning people at school. They should be altogether removed from the world of telephones and anger.’
‘You could have written.’
‘Last minute decision to come down, old thing. They’re gowning my pater.’
‘I know. Aren’t you going to watch it?’
‘I’d sooner watch you playing Fives. Now finish the game without any rush, and we’ll talk afterwards.’
While Jeremy was watching the Fives, Palairet sneaked up to him.
‘I remember that day at the riding school,’ Palairet said: ‘out at Birchington. We’d just finished riding and were waiting for the school bus to come and take us back to Sandwich. You’d come to say goodbye to Marius.’
‘And you interrupted.’
‘I’m sorry. I know…now…how you must have been feeling. Something had gone wrong, by the look of you, and you wanted…to say a proper farewell…before you went wherever you were going.’
‘Yes. It was a low time with me. Over now, though. But your low time,’ said Jeremy, ‘is not over, I think.’
‘That evening out at Birchington, Marius and I, we were – well – together. And for a long time after. Not now, sir. This game of Fives. It’s not an official practice, because all the beaks and the Fives Bloods are at this ceremony for your father. You are Jeremy Morrison, aren’t you?’
‘The same.’
‘But although it’s not an official practice, they still wouldn’t find a place for me, because I’m not good enough. I came down in case one of them had to fall out and they needed me after all.’
‘You told me…when we met just now…that you were coming to see Marius.’
‘That as well. To look at him. To wonder whether he can be the same boy I went riding with, that afternoon at Birchington.’
‘Look,’ said Jeremy, ‘if you want Marius back, you’ll do a smart about turn, march away from these Fives Courts, and keep right out of Marius’ way, not even letting him get the tiniest glimpse of you, for the next six months. By that time he’ll get worried, he’ll think that you have finished with him (which may very well be true by then) and since this is not what he is used to, he will come looking for you.’
‘What do I do then?’
‘Behave with the indifference which you will, as I say, by then quite probably feel. Marius will fall at your feet. He will be yours in whatever way you want him.’
‘But if I am indifferent, I shan’t want him in any way at all?’
‘Precisely.’
‘That would be horrible. I don’t believe you. I won’t.’
‘Then try it for yourself and find out. You’ve nothing to lose as things are.’
‘Very well,’ said Palairet. He turned and ran from the Fives Courts.
‘I saw you had poor old Pally Palairet with you,’ Marius said when the match was over: ‘he’s rather a mess these days.’
‘Do you remember the lecture you gave me, on the wicked way I was treating Fielding Gray?’ said Jeremy. ‘On Boxing Day, on the golf course at Broughton?’
‘I do. What of it?’
‘Let me spell it out, sweetheart: what I have done to Fielding, you have done to Palairet. It is the same with you as with me, you see, as I told you it would be.’
‘But it wasn’t my fault, Jeremy. Pally just couldn’t measure up, and got left behind.’
‘Like enough. I’m not blaming you. But from now on, don’t you go blaming others. Time and chance,’ said Jeremy, ‘happeneth to us all.’
Milo Hedley came towards them, wearing a dark grey flannel suit with an enormous pink flower, which looked rather like a rhododendron, in his button hole.
‘Introduce us,’ he said to Marius.
Marius introduced them.
‘I’ve just been present, sir,’ said Milo, ‘while they gowned your father. A memorable occasion. He wept.’
‘He was always a sentimental man,’ Jeremy said: ‘it goes with that generation.’
‘I cut the bun fight,’ said Milo, ‘because I wanted to be sure of catching Marius. We have a special ride arranged,’ he said to Marius, ‘for tomorrow at half past two.’
‘But I can’t–’
‘–Half past two, Marius,’ Milo said. ‘You will excuse yourself, in Mr Conyngham’s name, from any other engagements.’ Then to Jeremy, ‘Has Marius told you, sir, that he and I are to stay with Raisley Conyngham – one of our beaks – for the Easter holidays?’
‘Mr Conyngham owns horses,’ said Marius, thinking to himself with pleasure that he would now be able to get out of hateful House Gardening, the following
afternoon. ‘Racehorses, Jeremy,’ he said. He was about to add that among them was Lover Pie, whom they had once backed together at Newmarket, when he remembered Milo’s recommendation of secrecy in this matter and said instead: ‘We shall read Plato’s Apology. And Twelfth Night.’
‘That reminds me,’ Milo said. ‘Marius, I want you to take a message from Mr Conyngham to Miss Teresa Malcolm.’ He handed Marius an envelope. ‘A list of books she’ll need from the School Library,’ he said. ‘Off you go.’
‘But surely, I needn’t take it to her this very minute,’ Marius said.
‘Now,’ said Milo.
‘Do as your friend says,’ said Jeremy: ‘I see from his buttonhole that he is a School Monitor. Therefore to be instantly obeyed, Marius. I was a School Monitor. You will be one before very long. You are a member of an elite, Marius…and as such must obey a senior member without any question. I should be interested,’ he said to Milo Hedley as Marius reluctantly departed, ‘to hear a little more about this holiday.’
Jeremy looked carefully at Milo, and Milo looked carefully at Jeremy. Both saw in the other what neither saw in Marius. Jeremy saw a certain smile which was wanting in Marius’ beautiful but taut, tense face, the smile of the Archaic kouros, enticing to all and contemptuous of most, yet not contemptuous of Jeremy; and Milo saw a promise of smooth, warm and ample limbs, not the narrow thighs and spare calves he had seen on Marius under his shower.
‘There used to be a hayloft,’ said Jeremy, ‘above a barn. Just along Pioneers’ Path round the ridge.’
‘It is still there, sir.’
‘A pleasant way to walk…while we talk of Marius and the way he will spend his Easter.’
‘Raisley Conyngham?’ said Lord Luffham to Jeremy in the Rolls as it went down the School Hill.
‘A beak in the school. Marius Stern is going to him for the Easter holidays. Did you meet him, Father, during your bonanza?’
Bonanzas for all, that afternoon, Jeremy thought: his father gowned and weeping; himself prone in the hayloft while Master Milo had his wicked way. Funny, thought Jeremy: I’ve never let anyone do that to me before, I’ve always loathed the idea; but when Milo asked so politely, ‘Please, sir, may I bugger you, sir?’, the request was irresistible…and the performance painful at first but later very agreeable. There was, he had heard, a gland situated in that region, which if properly stimulated…as evidently it had been by Milo… ‘Now,’ he had said to Milo in the hayloft: ‘now, boy, now.’ ‘Oh Christ, sir,’ Milo had said, ‘I’m coming, sir, oh Christ.’
‘Are you listening, sir?’ Jeremy’s father said.
‘Sorry, Father.’
‘Raisley Conyngham. Not a good man, I thought. Rich. Pleased with himself. Devious. Rather like Somerset Lloyd-James used to be, but physically more wholesome. Yes: a prettier and prinked up version of Somerset.’
‘Somerset Lloyd-James. Your old and very dear friend?’
‘Old, certainly. As for the rest of it, dead.’
‘A reading party with Somerset Lloyd-James would surely have been rather a memorable experience?’
‘So it’s a reading party that Conyngham’s getting up?’
‘With diversions.’
‘I’m sure…that it will all be very plausible.’
The word that Milo had used was ‘respectable’. ‘Raisley Conyngham,’ Milo had said, as they walked back along Pioneers’ Path towards the school, ‘sets great store on the respectable, on turning his pupils into unexceptionable members of whatever world they elect to enter. Marius, of whom we are both fond, sir, to use no stronger word, can come to no harm this Easter.’ Amen to that, Jeremy thought, and said aloud:
‘You looked splendid in your gown, father.’
‘You were late enough coming to see me in it. Where were you?’
‘Talking to Marius and some friends of his.’ Now: now, boy, now.
‘All that time?’
‘And listening to what they had to say about things.’
‘Oh? What things?’
‘School life, sir, and matters appertaining.’
Oh Christ, sir, I’m coming, sir, oh Christ.
So that’s my plan for Holbrook,’ said Ptolemaeos Tunne to Piero, Nicos and the Greco. ‘Agreed?’
‘Are you sure,’ said Nicos, ‘that Holbrook will react in the way that you describe?’
‘If he doesn’t, we go back to the laboratory and think of something else. Meanwhile, no harm done.’
‘And if he does so react, and things do go the way you see them,’ said Nicos, ‘I shall be very glad. He insulted me, he insulted my Greek manhood.’
‘Don’t be such a bore, Nico dear,’ said Piero. ‘You mustn’t take all that silly Greek rubbish so seriously. God save us from this “Greek manhood”…all of you strutting about in your bankrupt villages, insisting on marrying virgins and killing anyone who fucks your sisters. So extreme. Who the hell do you Greek boys think you are?’
‘Get off your hobby horse, Piero,’ said Ptolemaeos Tunne. ‘Do not discourage Nicos from seeking his just recompense. And you, Greco? Are you going along again for the ride?’
‘For company. Nicos says that I may.’
‘And most welcome, kyrie,’ Nicos said.
‘What is your view of my scheme, Greco?’
‘Ingenious as always, Ptoly. But how does Nicos go about procuring the…agent…of all this? Not so easy, these days.’
‘What is needed,’ said Piero, ‘is someone like Baby Canteloupe. No longer, alas, available. Or a drug addict who will risk anything for money. Look,’ he said, ‘when I lived in Venice with Lykiadopoulos and Max de Freville, we had a major-domo for the Palazzo, a man called Simone Fontanelli. He was kind to me, and when Lyki set him to spy on me he would always report what he knew would make Lyki content, because he was from Sicily, like me, and Lyki was a putrid Greek. This Fontanelli, he is retired now in Sicily, he wrote to me from there when I was in my convent once, and I have his address – that is, I think that I remember it. He was forever boasting that he knew every bordello and every putana in Venezia; not altogether falsely, as I think, for some marvellous creatures came to the Palazzo while Lyki and Max were out; and although that was a long time ago, he may still be able to help you now. Or maybe he no longer knows such things of Venezia, but knows them instead of Palermo, where he lives.’
‘Down to Sicily is a long diversion,’ said the Greco.
‘We shall try the telephone and the telegraph,’ said Piero. ‘One can at least enquire. Simone would perhaps like an expedition to serve you.’
This is exciting him for some reason, thought Ptolemaeos: he always slips a bit towards an Italian idiom when he is excited.
‘Don Simone, I remember he said he was called in Sicily,’ Piero said. ‘“Don” is usually for priests, or landowners, or lawyers – it is a title of courtesy accorded, without precise regulation, to important men…not always honest ones. But who wants an honest man in this affair? If Fontanelli is big enough to be Don Simone in Palermo, he may serve our turn.’
Part Three
Master Cesario
Enter Valentine, and Viola in man’s attire
Valentine: If the Duke continue these favours toward you, Cesario, you are like to be much advanced. He hath known you but three days, and already you are no stranger.
Viola: You either fear his humour or my negligence, that you call in question the continuance of his love. Is he inconstant, sir, in his favours?
Valentine: No, believe me.
Enter Orsino, Curio and attendants
Viola: I thank you. Here comes the Count.
Orsino: Who saw Cesario, ho?
Viola: On your attendance, my lord, here.
Orsino (to Curio and attendants)
Stand you awhile aloof. (To Viola) Cesario, Thou knowest no less but all…
Shakespeare: Twelfth Night, or What You Will: I 4 11.1 to 15
…I have unclasped,”’ said Marius, reading the part of Duke Orsino:
‘“To thee the book even of my secret soul.
Therefore, good youth, address thy gait unto her.
Be not denied access; stand at her doors,
And tell them, there thy fixed foot shall grow
Till thou have audience.”’
‘“Sure, my noble lord,”’ read Tessa in the part of Viola (Cesario):
‘“If she be so abandoned to her sorrow
As it is spoke, she never will admit me”’
‘“Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds
Rather than make unprofited return.”’
‘Stop,’ said Raisley Conyngham, who had a way of imposing arbitrary intervals. ‘Let us be sure we have the situation quite clear. Teresa: why are you at the Court of the Duke and dressed as a youthful male?’
‘Because I wished to serve the Duke,’ said Tessa, ‘and to present myself as a page or a boy singer seemed the easiest way of gaining admittance.’
‘Very fair. Now, in the previous scene but one (i.e. Act One, Scene Two, line fifty-seven), you have suggested that the Captain present you at the Duke’s Court as a eunuch. And how, Marius, would you interpret the use of the term?’
‘At that time,’ said Marius, well pleased with himself, ‘boys with promising voices were often castrated. Viola proposes to be presented to the Duke as a castrato.’
‘For a small boy you are woefully worldly,’ said Raisley Conyngham, ‘and for a Scholar Emeritus of the school, you are woefully imprecise.’
They were sitting on a terrace which looked south over the coloured counties of Somerset and Devon, and west to Exmoor and Dunkery Beacon. This was their second night at Ullacote. Their first had been spent in what Raisley Conyngham oddly called ‘Interior Economy’, which was unpacking and settling into quarters; and now, after a day of ‘recuperation’ (walking, resting and private reading), they were launched into Twelfth Night.
