At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [51]
‘But you support them by not going,’ he said. ‘Yes, come early. You might possibly like to look round the house—though there really is nothing to see there that is of the slightest interest, I’m afraid.’
He moved once more towards the door, sunk again in deep despair, perhaps at the thought of the lack of distinction of his house and its contents. Shuffling his espadrilles against the stone floor, he caught his foot in the mat, swore gently and a trifle self-consciously, as if aspiring to act as roughly as he was dressed, and left with hardly a further word. Quiggin accompanied him to the door, and shouted a farewell. Then he returned to the room in which we sat. No one spoke for a minute or two. Quiggin slowly corked up the gin bottle, and put it away in a cupboard.
‘Alf is rather sweet, isn’t he?’ said Mona.
‘Alf is a good fellow,’ agreed Quiggin, a shade sourly.
‘Where does he live?’ I asked.
‘Thrubworth Park. It is a big house heyond the trees you see from our windows.’
Quiggin had been put out by this sudden appearance of Erridge. It had been a visit for which he was unprepared: a situation he had not bargained for. Now he seemed unable to decide what line he himself should take about his friend.
‘How much do you know about him?’ he asked at last.
‘Hardly anything, except that he is said to have been a tramp. And, as I said just now, I met some of his sisters the other day.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Quiggin, impatiently. ‘I am not at all interested in the rest of his family. He never sees anything of them, anyway. A lot of social butterflies, that’s all they are. Just what you might expect. Alf is different. I don’t know what you mean by being a tramp, though. Where did you get that story? I suppose you think everyone is a tramp who wears a beard.’
‘Aren’t they? Some of his relations told me he had been experimenting in life as a tramp.’
‘Just the sort of thing they would put about,’ said Quiggin. ‘Isn’t it like people of that class? It is true he has been making some study of local condidons. I don’t think he stayed anywhere very luxurious, but he certainly didn’t sleep in casual wards.’
‘His relations suppose he did. I think they rather admire him for it.’
‘Well, they suppose wrong,’ said Quiggin. ‘Alf is a very good fellow, but I don’t know whether he is prepared to make himself as uncomfortable as that.’
‘What did he do then?’
‘Useful work collecting information about unemployment,’ Quiggin conceded. ‘Distributed pamphlets at the same time. I don’t want to belittle it in any way, but it is absurd to go round saying he was a tramp. All the same, the experience he had will be of political value to him.’
‘I think he is rather attractive,’ said Mona.
For some reason this did not seem to please Quiggin.
‘Did you ever meet a girl called Gypsy Jones?’ he said. ‘A Communist. Rather a grubby little piece. I’m not sure Alf may not be a bit keen on her. I saw them sitting together at a Popular Front meeting. All the same, he is not a man to waste time over women.’
‘What do you mean, “waste time over women”?’ said Mona. ‘Anyway, nobody could blame you for that. You think about yourself too much.’
‘I think about you too, ducks,’ said Quiggin mildly, no doubt judging it advisable to pacify her. ‘But Alf is an idealist. Rather too much of one sometimes, when it comes to getting things done. All the same, he has most of the right ideas. Shall I get that bottle out again? Supper doesn’t seem to be nearly ready.’
‘Yes, get it out,’ said Mona. ‘I can’t imagine why you put it away.’
All this was reminiscent of the Templer household before Mona left her husband. During the twenty-four hours that followed, this recollection was more than once repeated.