A Question of Upbringing - Anthony Powell [97]
“Well?”
“It is an absolutely inexcusable thing to do. I’ve been asked to rather a good party at short notice – and have to dine and go to a play first. As the party can hardly fail to be rather fun, I thought you wouldn’t mind.”
“Of course not.”
“An intolerable act, I admit.”
“Not if it’s a good party.”
“I thought the thing to do would be for you to come back and talk while I changed. Then I could drop you wherever you are going to dine.”
“Let’s do that.”
I could pretend to Stringham that I did not mind: within, I was exceedingly annoyed. This was quite unlike him. A rearrangement of plans would now be necessary. His car was parked outside. We drove northward.
“How are things at the old coll.?”
“Le Bas visited me yesterday.”
“Our former housemaster?”
“Braddock alias Thorne.”
“Good heavens, I had forgotten all about that.”
“I wonder if he has?”
“Did you tell him how it happened?”
“No.”
“How extraordinary for him to swim to the surface.”
“He asked about you.”
“No?”
Stringham was not interested.. Le Bas was scarcely a memory. I began to realise that considerable changes had indeed been taking place.
“What is it like in London?”
“I’m rather enjoying myself. You must come and live here soon.”
“I suppose I shall in due course.”
“Can’t you get sent down? No one could stand three years of university life.”
We arrived at the house, and, passing between the pillars of the doorway, collected drinks in the dining-room. Then we went upstairs. The place seemed less gloomy than on my earlier visit. Stringham’s bedroom was a rather comfortless apartment, looking out on to the roofs of another row of large houses. “Who are you dining with?”
“The Bridgnorths.”
“Haven’t I seen pictures of a rather captivating daughter called Lady Peggy Stepney?”
“The last photograph was taken at Newmarket. I’ve been wondering whether it wasn’t time for her to get married and settle down,” said Stringham. “I seem to have been a bachelor an awfully long time.”
“What does Lady Peggy think about it?”
“There are indications that she does not actively dislike me.”
“Why not, then?”
We talked in a desultory way, Stringham walking to and fro, wearing only a stiff shirt, and some black silk socks, while he washed his hands and brushed his hair. I did not know how serious he might be with regard to the Bridgnorths’ daughter. The idea of one of my friends getting married had scarcely occurred to me, even as a possibility. I saw now that such a thing was not absolutely out of the question. From time to time a footman appeared, offering different collars, because Stringham could find none he liked.
“I suppose this must be one of Buster’s,” he said, at last accepting a collar that satisfied him. “I shall sell the rest of mine off cheap to the clergy to wear back-to-front.” He slipped on his tail-coat, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt. “Come on,” he said; “we’ll have another drink on the way out.”
“Where is your dinner-party?”
“Grosvenor Square. Where shall I drop you?”
“Grosvenor Square will do for me.”
“But what will you do?”
“Dine with an uncle of mine.”
“Does he live there?”
“No – but he isn’t expecting me just yet.”
“He was expecting you then?”
“A standing invitation.”
“So I really haven’t left you too high and dry?”
“Not in the least.”
“You are jolly lucky to have relations you can drop in on at any time,’” said Stringham. “My own are much too occupied with their own affairs to care for that.”
“You met Uncle Giles once. He suddenly arrived one night when we were having tea. It was the day of Peter’s ‘unfortunate incident’.”
Stringham laughed. He said: “I remember about Peter, but not about your uncle.”
We reached the car again, and drove for a time in silence. “We’ll meet soon,” Stringham said. “I suppose you are going back to-night – otherwise we might have lunched tomorrow.”
“I’ll be up in a week or two.”
“We will get together then.”
We had reached Grosvenor Square, and he slowed up: “Now where?”
“I’ll climb down here.”
“I expect it