by Evelyn Waugh
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Just a bit of unfinished business from Crete. I don’t know the right man to send it to. Algie’s secretary will know.’
Mrs Stitch took the envelope. She noted the address. Then she fondly kissed Guy.
As he drove away she waved the envelope; then turned indoors and dropped it into a waste-paper basket. Her eyes were one immense sea, full of flying galleys.
EPILOGUE
‘GOOD evening, Job.’
‘Good evening, sir. Very glad to see you back.’
‘Things seem pretty quiet.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, sir.’
‘No air raids, I mean.’
‘Oh, no, sir. That’s all over now. Hitler needs all he’s got for the Russians.’
‘Has Mr Box-Bender arrived yet?’
‘Yes, sir. Inside.’
‘Hullo, Guy, you back?’
‘Hullo, Guy, where have you been?’
‘I say, Guy, weren’t you with Tommy? Awful business about Eddie and Bertie.’
‘Bad luck Tony Luxmore got caught.’
‘Anyway, you got away.’
‘And Tommy?’
‘And Ivor?’
‘I was awfully pleased to hear Ivor was all right.’
‘Did you see Algie and Julia?’
‘Ah, there you are, Guy,’ said Box-Bender. ‘I’ve been waiting for you. We’ll go straight up and start dinner, if you don’t mind. I’ve got to get back to the House. Besides, everything gets eaten these days if you don’t look sharp.’
Guy and his brother-in-law struggled through and up to the coffee-room. Under the chandeliers waitresses distributed the meagre dinner. It was barely half past seven, but already most of the tables were taken. Guy and Box-Bender had to sit in the middle of the room.
‘I hope we keep this to ourselves. There’s something I particularly want to talk to you about. Better have the soup. The other thing is made of dried eggs. Good trip home?’
‘Eight weeks.’
‘Eight weeks. Did you bring anything back with you?’
‘I had some oranges. They went bad on the voyage.’
‘Oh. Don’t look. Elderbury’s trying to find somewhere to sit… Hullo, Elderbury, you joining us?’
Elderbury sat with them.
‘Heard the results of the Tanks for Russia Week?’
‘Yes,’ said Box-Bender.
‘Great idea of Max’s.’
‘I should like to have seen Harold Macmillan standing to attention while they sang the Red Flag.’
‘I saw it on the news-reel. And Mrs Maisky unveiling the picture of Stalin.’
‘Well, it’s worked,’ said Box-Bender. ‘Production was up twenty per cent. Twenty per cent – and they were supposed to be working all-out before.’
‘And that strike in Glasgow. “Aid to Russia” stopped that.’
‘So the Express said.’
‘Tanks for Russia?’ asked Guy. ‘I’m afraid all this is new to me. They want tanks pretty badly in the desert.’
‘They’ll get them, too, don’t you worry,’ said Box-Bender. ‘Naturally the workers are keen to help Russia. It’s how they’ve been educated. It doesn’t do any harm to let them have a pot of red paint and splash round with hammers and sickles and “Good old Uncle Joe”. It’ll wash off. The tanks will get to the place they’re most needed. You can be sure of that.’
‘Mind you, I’m all for the Russians,’ said Elderbury. ‘We’ve had to do a lot of readjustment in the last few weeks. They’re putting up a wonderful fight.’
‘Pity they keep retreating.’
‘Drawing them on, Guy, drawing them on.’
Neither Elderbury nor the dinner conduced to lingering.
‘Look,’ said Box-Bender briskly, when he and Guy were alone in a corner of the billiard-room. ‘I haven’t much time. This is what I wanted to show you.’ He took a typewritten paper from his pocket-book and handed it to Guy. ‘What d’you make of that?’
Guy read:
The Spiritual Combat by Francis de Sales.
Christ the Ideal of the Monk by Abbot Marmion.
Spiritual Letters of Don John Chapman.
The Practice of the Presence of God by Lawrence.
‘I think it ought to be “Dom John” not “Don John”,’ he said.
‘Yes, yes, very likely. My secretary copied them. But what d’you make of it?’
‘Most edifying. I can’t say I’ve read them much myself. Are you thinking of becoming a monk, Arthur?’
The effect of the little quip was remarkable.
‘Exactly,’ said Box-Bender. ‘That’s exactly what I expected you to say. It’s what other people have said when I showed them.’
‘But what is this list?’
‘They’re the books Tony has sent for from prison. Now. What d’you say to that?’
Guy hesitated. ‘It’s not like him,’ he said.
‘Shall I tell you what I think? Religious mania. It’s as plain as a pikestaff the poor boy’s going off his head.’
‘Why “mania”, Arthur? Lots of quite sane people read books like that.’
‘Not Tony. At his age. Besides, you know, one’s got to remember Ivo.’
There it was, out in the open for a moment’s airing, the skeleton from Box-Bender’s cupboard. Box-Bender remembered Ivo every day of his busy prosperous life.
Tension quickly resolves in Bellamy’s.
‘Mind if I join you again?’ said Elderbury, carrying a cup of coffee. ‘Nowhere else to sit.’ And shortly afterwards Guy saw Ian Kilbannock and made his escape.
‘What’s all this about Ivor Claire?’ he asked.
‘I’ve no idea. I’ve been at sea for eight weeks. The last I heard of him, he’d gone to India.’
‘Everyone’s saying he ran away in Crete.’
‘We all did.’
‘They say Ivor ran much the fastest. I thought you might know.’
‘I don’t, I’m afraid. How’s HOO HQ?’
‘Seething. We’ve moved into new premises. Look at these.’
He showed the rings on his cuff.
‘There seem more of them.’
‘They keep coming. I’ve got a staff of my own – including Virginia, incidentally. She’ll be delighted to hear you’re back. She’s always talking of you. She’s away with Trimmer at the moment.’
‘Trimmer?’
‘You remember him. McTavish. He’s officially named Trimmer now. They couldn’t decide for weeks. In the end it went to the Minister. He decided there were too many Scots heroes. Also, of course, Trimmer’s so tremendously not Scottish. But he’s doing a great job. We’ve had our noses out of joint a bit this last week. There’s a female Soviet sniper going the rounds and getting all the applause. That’s why I sent poor Virginia to put some ginger into our boy. He was pining rather. Now things are humming again – except for Virginia, of course. She was sick as mud at having to go – Scunthorpe, Hull, Huddersfield, Halifax…’
Next day Guy reported at the Halberdier barracks. His old acquaintance was still in the office, promoted Major once more.
‘Back again,’ he said. ‘Quite an annual event. You come with the fall of the leaf, ha ha.’ He was much jollier now he was a Major. ‘Everything in order, too, this time. We’ve been expecting you for weeks. I expect you’d like a spot of leave?’
‘Really,’ said Guy,’ I don’t think I would. I’ve been sitting about in a ship since the end of June. I might as well get to work.’
‘The Captain-Commandant said something about putting you on the square for a fortnight to smarten up.’
‘That suits me.’
‘Sure? It seemed a bit rough to me. Returned hero and all that. But the Captain-Commandant says people forget everything on active service. I’d better take you to him this morning. Haven’t you any gloves?’
‘No.’
‘We can probably find a pair in the Officers’ House.’
T
hey did. They also found Jumbo.
‘I’ve read about your escape,’ he said. ‘It got in the papers.’
He spoke with gentle, genial reproof. It was not the business of a Halberdier officer to get his name in the papers, but Guy’s exploit had been wholly creditable.
At noon, gloved, Guy was marched in to the Captain-Commandant. Colonel Green had aged. ‘Mr Crouchback reporting from Middle East, sir,’ said the Adjutant.
Colonel Green looked up from his table and blinked.
‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘One of the first batch of young temporary officers. I remember you very well. Apthorpe, isn’t it?’
‘Crouchback,’ said the Adjutant more loudly, putting the relevant papers into the hands of the Captain-Commandant.
‘Yes, yes, of course …’ He reviewed the papers. He remembered the good things he knew of Guy … ‘Crouchback. Middle East… Bad luck you couldn’t stay out there and join to second battalion. They wanted you, I know. So did your Brigadier. Old women, these medicos. Still, one has to go by what they say. I’ve got their report here. They as good as say you’re lucky to be alive … change of climate essential… well, you look fit enough now.’
‘Yes, sir, thank you. I’m quite fit now.’
‘Good. Excellent. We shall be seeing something of one another, I hope…’
That afternoon Guy paraded on the square with a mixed squad of recruits and officers in training under Halberdier Colour-Sergeant Oldenshaw.
‘… I’ll just run through the detail. The odd numbers of the front rank will seize the rifles of the even numbers of the rear rank with the left hand crossing the muzzles – all right? – magazines turned outward – all right? – at the same time raising the piling swivels with the forefinger and thumb of both hands – all right?…’
All right, Halberdier Colour-Sergeant Oldenshaw. All right.
