Books Do Furnish a Room - Anthony Powell [24]
‘I thought I must say hullo, Nick, though it’s years since we met – you remember me, Mona, I used to be married to Peter Templer – what ages. Yes, poor Peter, wasn’t it sad? So brave of him at his age too. Jeff says you’re never the same in war after you’re thirty. We’re weaving about fairly close here, and I’ve got to scamper home this minute, because Jeff’s quite insane about punctuality. We’re living in a horrible house over by Gibbet Down, so I thought I ought to make a pilgrimage for Alf. It’s poor Alf now too, as well as poor Peter, isn’t it? Alf didn’t have much of a time, did he, though he was kindhearted in his way, even if he abominated spending a farthing on drink – one’s throat got absolutely arid travelling with him. I shall never forget Hong Kong. JG used to get so angry in the old days if I complained about the drought when we dined at Thrubworth with Alf, which wasn’t all that often. Lack of drink was even worse when I was alone with him, I can assure you. Fancy JG turning up today too. So unexpected when he does the right thing for once. I hear he lived for a time with someone called Lady Anne Stepney, and then she went off with one of the Free French. That did make me laugh – and Gypsy here too. Do you think she did have a walk out with Alf? He used to talk about seeing her at those awful political conferences he loved going to. I sometimes wondered. Well, we’ll never know now. I just waved to JG and Gypsy. I thought that would be quite enough.’
Isobel reappeared.
‘Your wife? How sad it must be to lose a brother, I never had one, but I’m sure it is. And not at all old either, except we’re all centuries old now, I feel a million, but, of course – well, I don’t know – anyway, I just thought it was my duty to come, even in daunting weather. I’ll have to proceed back now with all possible speed, or Jeff will be having kittens. Jeff’s an Air Vice-Marshal now. Isn’t that grand? Burdened with gongs. He was rather worried about my using the car for a funeral, but I said I was going to a POW camp, and if an Air Vice-Marshal’s lady can’t inspect a POW camp, what in hell can she do? Well, it’s been nice seeing you, Nick, and your wife, not to mention having a word about those poor dears who are no more. That erk will have to drive like stink if I’m not to be late. We’ve got some personnel coming to tea of all things – drink quite impossible to get for love or money these days, anyway to dish out to all and sundry, as well you must know, so I’ll just say bye-bye for now ...’
While talking, she had fallen more than once into what Mr Deacon used to call a ‘vigorous pose’. Now, as she walked away, the controlled movement of her long swift strides recalled the artists’ model she once had been. In the road stood a large car, a uniformed aircraftman at the wheel. She turned and waved, then disappeared within.
‘Who on earth?’
‘That’s Mona.’
‘ Not the girl Erry took to China?’
‘Of course.’
‘Why didn’t you indicate that? I could have had a closer look. What a pity the poor old boy didn’t hang on. She might have kept him going.’
As the RAF car drove away, the outlines of Alfred Tolland, picking his way between the graves, came into view. He had been waiting for Mona to move on before he approached. It now struck me that he must have met Widmerpool at the Old Boy dinners of Le Bas’s house, because Alfred Tolland retained sentiments about his schooldays that age had in no way diminished. Except for Le Bas himself, he had always – in the days long past when I myself attended them – been the eldest present by at least twenty years.
‘Uncle Alfred’s a sad case