At Lady Molly's - Anthony Powell [73]
‘Tell him to report to the Orderly Room when he comes,’ said Jeavons, causing the blue-nosed guardian of the door to reveal a few rotting teeth in appreciation of this military pleasantry.
The interior of the club was unimpressive. An orchestra of three, piano, drum and saxophone, were making a deafening noise in the corner of the room. A few ‘hostesses’ sat about in couples, gossiping angrily in undertones, or silently reclining in listless attitudes against the back of a chair. We seemed to be the first arrivals, not surprisingly, for it was still early in the evening for a place of this kind to show any sign of life. After a certain amount of palaver, a waiter brought us something to drink. Nothing about the club suggested that Umfraville’s fortune would be made by managing it.
‘Anyway, as I was saying,’ remarked Jeavons, who had, in fact, scarcely spoken for some considerable time, except for his negotiations with the doorkeeper and waiter. ‘As I was saying, you did have the odd spot of fun once in a while. Mostly on leave, of course. That stands to reason. Now I’ll tell you a funny story, if you’ll promise to keep it under your hat.’
‘Wild horses won’t drag it from me.’
‘I suppose it’s a story a real gent wouldn’t tell,’ said Jeavons. ‘But then I’m not a real gent.’
‘You are whetting my appetite.’
‘I don’t know why I should fix on you to hear the story,’ said Jeavons, speaking as if he had given much thought to the question of who should be his confidant in this particular matter, and at the same time taking a packet of Gold Flake from his trouser pocket and beginning to tear open the wrapping. ‘But I’ve got an idea it might amuse you. Did I see you talking to a fellow called Widmerpool at our house some little while ago—I believe it was the first night you ever came there?’
‘You did.’
I was interested to find that new arrivals at the Jeavonses’ were so accurately registered in the mind of the host.
‘Know him well?’
‘Quite well.’
‘Then I expect you know he is going to marry someone called Mildred Haycock, who was also there that night.’
‘I do.’
‘Know her too?’
‘Not really. I met her once when I was a small boy.’
‘Exactly. You were a small boy and she was already grown up. In other words, she is quite a bit older than Widmerpool.’
‘I know. She was a nurse at Dogdene when your wife was there, wasn’t she—?’
‘Wait a moment—wait a moment;’ said Jeavons. ‘Not so fast. Don’t rush ahead. That’s all part of the story.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Well, as I was saying, you did occasionally have a spot of fun in those days. Especially on leave. That’s the point. No good going too fast. Had to dodge the A.P.M., of course. Still, that’s by the way. Now I happened to get ninety-six hours’ leave at short notice when I hadn’t time to make any arrangements. Found the easiest thing was to spend the time in London. Didn’t know a soul there. Not a bloody cat. Well, after I’d had a bit of a lie-up in bed, I thought I’d go to a show. The M.O. had told me to look in on Daly’s, if I got the chance. It was a jolly good piece of advice. The Maid of the Mountains. Top-hole show. José Collins. She married into the aristocracy like myself, but that’s nothing to do with the story. I bought myself a stall, thinking I might catch a packet in the next ‘strafe’ and never sit in a theatre again. Hadn’t been there long before a large party came in and occupied the row in front of me. There were a couple of guardsmen in their grey greatcoats and some ladies in evening dress. Among this lot was a nurse—a V.A.D.—who, as I thought—and it subsequentiy proved correct—began to give me the glad eye.’
Jeavons paused to gulp his drink. He shook his head and sighed. There was a long silence. I feared this might be the termination of the story: a mere chronicle of nostalgic memory: a face seen on that one occasion, yet always remembered: a romantic dream that had remained with him all his life. I spurred him gently.
‘What did you do about it?’