A Question of Upbringing - Anthony Powell [88]
“I thought I’d told you,” he said. “As a matter of fact it isn’t finally fixed yet. What awful cheek of your friend Quiggin, if I may say so.”
“What do you think of him?”
“The man is a closed book to me,” Stringham said. “And one that I confess I have little temptation to open. Bill Truscott, on the other hand, was rather impressed.”
“With Quiggin?”
“Curiously enough.”
“Will you work with Truscott?”
“I shall be the other personal secretary.”
“Did Sillery put up the suggestion?”
“He is very keen on it. He agrees one’s family will have to be consulted.”
“Will your family raise difficulties?”
“For once,” said Stringham, “I don’t think they will. My mother will at last see hopes of getting me settled in life. Buster – most mistakenly – will suppose this to be the first step on the stair to a seat on the Donners-Brebner Board. My father will be filled with frank astonishment that I should be proving myself capable of earning a living in any capacity whatsoever.”
“What about a degree?”
“Bill Truscott reports Sir Magnus as demanding who the hell wants a degree these days; and saying all he needs is men who know the world, and can act and think quickly.”
“Strong stuff.”
“I suppose I can take lessons from Bill.”
“Then you won’t come up next term?”
“Not if I can avoid it.”
Sillery’s part in this matter was certainly of interest. He might have been expected – as Stringham himself agreed – to encourage as many undergraduates as possible to remain, for as long as possible, within his immediate range. Later on, however, I began to understand something of his reasons for recommending this course. If Stringham remained at the university, it was probable that he would fall under influences other than – and alien to – Sillery’s. Even if he remained Sillery’s man, he was obviously a person who might easily get involved in some scrape for which Sillery (if too insistent on taking Stringham under his wing) might be held in some degree answerable. Placed in a key position in Donners-Brebner – largely due to Sillery’s own recommendation – Stringham could not only supply news of that large concern, but could also keep an eye on Sillery’s other man, Truscott. In due course Sillery would no doubt find himself in a position to renew acquaintance in most satisfactory conditions. In short, power without responsibility, could hardly be offered to Sillery, within this limited sphere, upon cheaper terms. Such a series of crude images would scarcely have suggested themselves in quite this manner to Sillery’s mind – still less did I see them myself in any such clarity – but the apparent paradox of why Sillery threw in his weight on the side of Stringham’s going-down became in due course comparatively plain to me.
“Anyway,” said Stringham, “you’ll be in London yourself soon.”
“I suppose so.”
“Then we’ll have some fun.”
Somehow, I felt doubts about this. Life no longer seemed to present quite the same uncomplicated façade as at a time when dodging Le Bas and shirking football had been cardinal requirements to make the day tolerable. Although I might not feel, with Stringham, that Peter Templer was gone for good, Peter certainly seemed now to inhabit a world that offered limited attractions. The sphere towards which Stringham seemed to be heading, little as I knew of it, was scarcely more tempting to me. Perhaps Widmerpool had been right in advocating a more serious attitude of mind towards the problem of the future. I thought over some of the remarks he had made on this subject while we had both been staying at La Grenadière.
As it turned out, Mrs. Foxe did not show the complacence Stringham had expected in agreeing, at once, that he should cease to be a member of the university. On the contrary, she wrote to say that she thought him too young to spend all his time in London; even going so far as to add that she had no desire for him to turn into “something like Bill Truscott:” of whom she had always been supposed to approve. However, this was an obstacle