by John Winton
‘I’m glad you fellows have come,’ Aquila was saying to his guests. ‘We don’t often get visitors here and those we do get are mostly down-and-outs, or queers. The people inland don’t like them. We had a chap a few months ago, called himself a painter. Public-school type, too. So he said, anyway. We’ve got some of his stuff hanging in the lavatories. He gave us it for saving him from being eaten. I must say when I looked more closely at it I began to feel we’d made a mistake. We should have let them eat him. We’re still very conservative here, you know, in spite of all that’s happened in the last twenty or thirty years. Especially the people who live in the remoter parts. They don’t even like modern buildings or cars. It’s hardly surprising that they don’t like modern painting.’
Aquila glanced at the armoury of weapons piled in the hall.
‘Nice of you to come all togged up in your bow-tie and all that’ he remarked. ‘But you really needn’t have bothered. The old man and I have more or less come to an agreement. That’s why there was no one down there to meet you this afternoon. We were still talking when you arrived and by the time we’d decided that I should go and do the honours, you’d already landed. The old man’s going to retire to the hills and keep bees while I run the show here. I let him out this afternoon. I wonder you didn’t run into him? You didn’t happen to see him while you were passing through the town, did you? He’s about the place somewhere with that ridiculous old Consul.’
‘I’m afraid we must have missed him,’ said the Gunnery Officer.
‘Not to worry. He’ll be along soon, I expect. Extraordinary chap, my old man. Goes about the place looking like Geronimo. The people love him. He represents the old way. I represent the new. That’s what all the argument’s about, as a matter of fact. But I suppose you knew about that?’
‘We were given an inkling of the situation,’ replied the Gunnery Officer.
‘However, that’s all settled now. I wonder what can be keeping the old man? He’s supposed to be here to meet you chaps. Ah, talk of the devil, the Consul I mean, here he is!’
The Gunnery Officer and the Captain of Royal Marines turned to see the British Consul, Dominquin and The Bodger stride into the hall and stop in stupefaction.
‘Guns!’ cried The Bodger. ‘Do you realise you’re drinking with the rebels?’
‘Your protest would carry more weight if you cleaned your collar first, old chap,’ said Aquila amiably. ‘That lipstick’s ferocious stuff, I happen to know. But let’s not squabble over peccadilloes. I think we can consider the revolution, such as it was, officially over, can we not? Now I don’t think all you people have met. ...’
The news that the revolution was officially over was greeted with wild excitement amongst the citizens of Cajalcocamara, none the less wild because most of the town were unaware that the Englishmen had arrived to quell the revolution. The town gave itself over to celebration. The landing parties returned to the Plaza del Concubinas, not as aggressors, but as heroes.
‘Panther’s Water’ flowed like rain water in the gutters. The Bodger made a speech from the balcony of the British Consulate. The signals from the shore signal station became more and more incoherent.
At nine o’clock the Commander stormed into the M.S.O. waving the latest signal.
‘Yeoman!’
‘Sir!’
‘What’s the meaning of this gibberish? R.P.C. Plates of Concubines? Have you all gone mad?’
‘That’s the signal from shore, sir. We asked them to repeat it and they made R.P.C. Concubines, sir. Request the Pleasure of your Company signed Concubines, sir. The last time we called they just made R.P.C., sir.’
‘Ring the quarterdeck and tell them I’m going ashore.’
‘Aye aye, sir.’
As the Commander stepped up on to the jetty a figure darted forward. It was a small man wearing soiled shorts and shirt, sandals, and a growth of stubble on his chin. He held out a notebook.
‘I’m from the Daily ...’
‘Stand back!’
The Commander thrust out his arm. The figure in shorts tottered back on his heels to the edge of the jetty and dropped into the water. The Commander strode on into the town.
The revolution ended to everyone’s satisfaction. Aquila governed the SanGuanos much as his father had done before him; the only overt effect of his government was in the composition of the programmes broadcast by Radio SanGuana which showed a preponderance of music by Granados and Castelnuovo-Tedesco played by Andres Segovia. The Captain received a signal of commendation from the Admiralty; the Gunnery Officer received that ultimate accolade for a member of his Branch, a letter of congratulation from the Captain of Whale Island; The Bodger received the Freedom of Cajalcocamara; and Captain Gumshott, Royal Marines, received a knitted balaclava helmet from a Girl Guide Company in Manchester who saw his photograph in the newspapers and liked his face. The Consul was made a K.C.M.G. in the next Honours Lists and promoted to Zagreb, while Maria of the Seven Breasts, to everyone’s surprise and delight, was given an M.B.E., for services to the Crown, unspecified.
15
The SanGuana Revolution was the end of the West Indies cruise. Barsetshire’s headlong dash across the Caribbean did enough damage to her main engines to make it necessary for her to return a week early to England. She spent a day in Kingston, Jamaica, to refuel, two days in Gibraltar for the traditional buying of presents, and then sailed for home.
The senior cadets’ examinations began in the Bay of Biscay. Although Barsetshire’s examinations were seldom difficult and had little ultimate bearing on a cadet’s future, the cadets took them seriously because they were the only means of leaving Barsetshire and becoming a midshipman.
When Barsetshire had been in the dockyard for several days and the Ship’s Company were preparing for leave, an Admiral arrived alongside with his flag flying from his car. The ship was not expecting an Admiral and there was some speculation about the purpose of the call until The Bodger took the Flag-Lieutenant aside. A Prize-Giving was quickly organised.
Tom Bowles won the Sword for the most outstanding cadet of the term. Isaiah Nine Smith won the Seamanship Prize, the Navigation Prize, and the Prize for the highest aggregate of marks in the examinations, while Paul won the set of drawing instruments awarded to the cadet who gained the highest marks in the Engineering Paper.
The cadets were called at five o’clock on their last morning and left Barsetshire as they had joined her, in gentle but persistent rain.
Halfway through the leave period, while the cadets were waiting for their appointments as midshipmen, Mrs Vincent gave a party for Paul. Michael was very pleased to receive an invitation. After the excitements and hurly-burly of Barsetshire, Michael was already beginning to be a little bored with being at home. Michael was impressed when he saw Paul, standing with his mother waiting to welcome his guests.
Paul’s hair was brushed, his face was scrubbed and shining, his dinner jacket had been freshly pressed and his tie had a crisp bow.
‘Paul, you look disgustingly smooth,’ Michael said enviously.
‘Thank you, kind sir, she said,’ said Paul. ‘Mother, I’d like you to meet a great friend of mine. This is Michael Hobbes. He and I have been through a lot together.’
Mrs Vincent held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Michael. Paul has mentioned you in his letters.’
‘It’s all lies, Mrs Vincent,’ Michael muttered.
‘Dear boy. Now go straight in and make yourself at home. You’ll find lots of people you know.’
‘What a nice boy,’ Mrs Vincent said to Paul. ‘He must look charming in uniform. I do wish you’d all worn your uniforms, darling.’
‘Mother dear, I’ll wear my uniform when I get married. That’s a promise.’
Michael hesitated on the threshold. Going into a room full of people was for him a sensation like plunging into cold water. He braced himself and went in. At first he could see no one he knew. Everyone was talking without looking in his direction. Then he
saw Raymond Ball talking to a blonde girl in a red dress, and George Dewberry standing by the bar.
‘What ho, Mike’ George Dewberry said. ‘Nice to see your ugly mug again.’
‘Don’t keep talking in clichés, George, for God’s sake,’ Michael said nervously. ‘Tell me, do you know anybody here?’
‘Not a soul. What’re you drinking?’
‘Nothing yet. What’s that?
‘Dry Martini. First time I’ve tried one. Try it. It’s good.’
Michael wavered. He was still a novice at drinking. He had made far less use of his opportunities than George Dewberry.
‘I think I’ll just have some sherry.’
Michael stood sipping his sherry and after a time became conscious that someone was looking at him. He looked round and caught the eye of a young man whom he had never seen before standing with a dark-haired girl in a russet-coloured dress.
‘Don’t mind us,’ said the young man, grinning. ‘I was just betting Mary that you were in the Navy.’
‘Oh.’
‘Am I right? What do you do between drinks?’
‘Well, actually, I am in the Navy.’
‘There,’ said the young man to the girl triumphantly. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘Very clever of you, Stephen,’ said the girl.
‘I shouldn’t really have asked you. It stands out a mile.’
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Michael said.
‘You National Service or Regular?’
‘Regular.’
‘Tough luck. What was the trouble, your old man hard up at the time?’
‘No, not exactly, I rather wanted to do it.’
‘Well, there’s no accounting for taste.’
‘No, I suppose not.’
Michael flushed and felt himself growing angry with this supercilious character who talked so airily about the Navy. He was taller than Michael, and fair-haired, with very pale blue eyes. He was wearing a single-breasted dinner jacket which hung open to show a grey brocade cummerbund decorated with a design of chrysanthemums. To someone as fresh as Michael from the dedicated atmosphere of the Cadet Training Cruiser, this conversation tasted of heresy. Michael wondered what The Bodger would make of it.
‘By the way, we haven’t introduced ourselves. It’s an old custom, you know. My name is Stephen and this is Mary. I don’t know your name?’
‘Michael Hobbes.’
‘Please to meet yer.’
‘Where are you stationed at the moment, Michael?’ asked Mary. ‘Are you with Paul?’
‘I was, but I’m not now. We’ve both just come from the Training Cruiser. I don’t know where we’ll go now.’
Stephen was interested. ‘Not the Barsetshire? Were you on board when they had that revolution?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘My goodness, that must have been quite a party. We had the most garbled stories here. We got cables that sounded as if our man there was drunk. All about blue-jackets committing the most frightful atrocities amongst the local women, and the hereditary ruler of the place being chased about the streets in a nightshirt....’
‘Stephen’s on the staff of the Daily Disaster’ Mary said.
‘He said later on in the night that he was assaulted himself by a drink-crazed sailor. It was all meaty stuff. All the more pity we hadn’t space to print most of it.’
‘Why ever not?’ said Michael. ‘I thought you printed anything about the Navy which made a good story?’
Mary clapped her hands. ‘Oh, well said.’
‘Sarcasm will get you nowhere, my good man,’ said Stephen. ‘Ordinarily we would have pounced on it and played it up but just now with the General Election coming off soon we’re giving all our scandal lines to the Government. Can’t afford to take the heat off them just yet.’
‘Never mind. I expect you’ll find plenty of other opportunities.’
‘Bitter, isn’t he?’ Stephen said to Mary.
‘I think Michael’s quite right.’
The longer Michael talked to Mary, the more he liked her. His feeling for her was indeed more complicated than liking. He was attracted by her voice and her way of dealing with Stephen, but he was repelled by her poise. From her shoes to her hair Mary was smart, even chic, and perfectly balanced; she made Michael feel like a yokel. It galled him to see that she and Stephen knew each other well enough to be able to dispense with polite conversation. With Michael she was polite, with Stephen she was easy and familiar. Michael wondered whether he would ever be able to achieve the same intimacy. It was the first time in his life that he had ever bothered to wonder whether he was interesting a girl in himself or not.
Michael joined Paul. ‘I’ve just met someone who would interest The Bodger,’ he said.
‘He’s coming later on.’
The Bodger is?’
‘Yes. He rang my mother up a few days ago. He’s got a pink ticket from his wife for the evening and he’s going to a dinner at Whites. He said he’d look in here afterwards. By the way, Mike, will you take Janet Willoughby-Cox into dinner? I’ll introduce you.’
Mary and Stephen sat opposite Michael at dinner. On Michael’s left was a girl whose name he saw from the place card was Angela, and on his right was Janet Willoughby-Cox.
While they were drinking clear soup, Janet turned to Michael.
‘Do you hunt?’ she asked.
Michael had anticipated the question on first seeing Janet Willoughby-Cox and he thought that at last it was his turn to be witty.
‘As a matter of fact, I don’t,’ he said. ‘I’m inclined to agree with Oscar Wilde, that hunting is the pursuit of the uneatable by the unspeakable.’
The polite smile vanished from Janet’s face, as though Michael had slapped her. She turned her shoulder and did not speak to him again.
Soon afterwards, Angela remembered that she had someone on her right.
‘Do you play hockey?’ she asked Michael.
Michael was caught in the act of putting some smoked salmon in his mouth and in trying to answer he choked and spluttered.
‘Well, there’s no need to be like that about it,’ Angela said.
‘I was just asking.’ She tossed her head and she too turned away to talk to her partner on the other side.
Mrs Vincent did not allow any smoking or dancing during the meal. Michael ate steadily and in silence. In between courses he listened to the conversations around him.
Opposite George Dewberry, Raymond Ball was regarding his blonde hungrily.
‘What are you thinking about?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well,’ said Raymond Ball, ‘I was just considering asking you whether you would like to go to bed with me after this is all over?’
‘What?’
‘Shush, my dear, don’t shout. This is a personal offer which I don’t make to everybody.’
‘Well! It’s the first time anyone has ever asked me.’
‘Where have you been all your life? In England, I suppose.’ Raymond Ball shook his head sadly. That’s where these foreigners have the edge on us every time. We just haven’t got the word about these things.’
Opposite Michael, Mary and Stephen were giving a faultless exhibition of how to talk to a partner at a party. They were blatantly enjoying themselves. They spoke to no one else but entertained each other. They exchanged gossip and scandal about mutual friends, discussed plays, books and exhibitions, and commented on the latest happenings in London. When they had no subject in particular they filled in with effortless small talk which kept them both laughing. Michael watched them with envy and with growing rage. It was not that Mary was beautiful, or at least not startlingly so, but she had a gaiety and a sincerity which fascinated Michael. He could not bear the sight of her enjoying herself so much with Stephen, especially as he knew Stephen had noticed and was enjoying his discomfort. Michael leaned forward.
‘Do you work for a newspaper too, Mary?’ he asked.
>
Mary and Stephen both stopped laughing and stared at him. Stephen’s expression made it plain that he was struggling to adjust himself to the phenomenon of this peculiarly gauche young man actually addressing them.
‘My dear chap,’ he said. ‘How long have you been in London? Asking a girl a question like that point blank is as good as asking her does she sleep with strangers!’
‘What was that?’ Raymond Ball asked from down the table.
‘Never you mind,’ said Stephen.
‘I’m a secretary,’ Mary said.
‘Oh.’
Michael was saved and distracted by the arrival of the coffee.
‘You’d better watch out, my dear,’ Stephen murmured in Mary’s ear. ‘You’ve got an admirer there, unless I’m very much mistaken. If you’re not careful, he’ll start following you about.’
Mary looked across at Michael, who was despondently sugaring his coffee.
‘I think he’s rather sweet,’ she said.
Michael drank some of his coffee and tried again, this time with Angela. He could think of no subject upon which to start a conversation except the one she had herself suggested.
‘As a matter of fact, I’m rather fond of hockey,’ he said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Oh never mind.’
Michael finished his coffee miserably. This was not one of his socially successful evenings. There was nothing he could do now except hope it would soon be over and leave as soon as he decently could.
After dinner the band, which had been playing all evening in a desultory manner, began to play in earnest. The drummer preceded and ended each number with a roll and the saxophonist, trombonist and trumpeter periodically stood up to take solos.
The party split up into groups. Cedric, spruce and hospitable like an usher at the best man’s party after the wedding, had been watching the progress of the party from his place next to Mrs Vincent. When Mrs Vincent was asked to dance by Stephen, Cedric came over and sat next to Michael.
