Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - Anthony Powell [81]
‘Coming?’ he enquired.
‘Where’s Maclintick?’
‘Gone home.’
‘Full of whisky, I bet.’
‘You bet.’
‘All right.’
Stringham had made no great impression on her. She must have seen him as one of those eccentric figures naturally to be encountered in rich houses of this kind. That was probably the most judicious view of Stringham for her to take. Certainly there was no way for Mrs Maclintick to guess that a small, violent drama had been played out in front of her; nor would she have been greatly interested if some explanation of the circumstances could have been revealed. Now – in her tone to Carolo – she re-entered, body and soul, the world in which she normally lived. The two of them went off together. I began to look once more for Isobel. By the door Commander Foxe was saying goodbye to Max Pilgrim.
‘Well,’ said Commander Foxe, when he saw me, ‘that was neatly arranged, wasn’t it?’
‘What was?’
‘Persuading Charles to go home.’
‘Lucky Miss Weedon happened to look in, you mean?’
‘There was a good reason for that.’
‘Oh?’
‘I rang her up and told her to come along,’ said Commander Foxe briefly.
That answer was such a simple one that I could not imagine why I had not guessed it without having to be told.
Those very obvious tactical victories are always the victories least foreseen by the onlooker, still less the opponent. Mrs Foxe herself might feel lack of dignity in summoning Miss Weedon to remove her own son from the house; for Buster, no such delicacy obstructed the way. Indeed, this action could be seen as a beautiful revenge for much owed to Stringham in the past; the occasion, for example, when Buster and I had first met in the room next door, and Stringham, still a boy, had seemed to order Buster from the house. No doubt other old scores were to be paid off. The relationship between Commander Foxe and Miss Weedon herself was also to be considered. Like two rival powers-something about Miss Weedon lent itself to political metaphor – who temporarily abandon their covert belligerency to combine against a third, there was a brief alliance; but also, for Miss Weedon, diplomatically speaking, an element of face-losing. She had been forced to allow her rival to invoke the treaty which demanded that in certain circumstances she should invest with troops her own supposedly pacific protectorate or mandated territory. In fact there had been a victory for Commander Foxe all round. He was not disposed to minimise his triumph.
‘Pity about poor old Charles,’ he said.
‘I’ll have to say good night.’
‘Come again soon.’
‘That would be nice.’
A general movement to leave was taking place among the guests. Mrs Maclintick and Carolo had already disappeared. Gossage still remained deep in conversation with Lady Huntercombe. There was no sign of the Morelands, or of Priscilla. Isobel was talking to Chandler. We went to find our hostess and say goodbye. Mrs Foxe was listening to the famous conductor, like Gossage, unable to tear himself away from the party.
‘I do hope the Morelands enjoyed themselves,’ said Mrs Foxe. ‘It was so sad Matilda should have had a headache and had to go home. I am sure she was right to slip away. She is such a wonderful wife for someone like him. As soon as he heard she had gone, he said he must go too. Such a strain for a musician to have a new work performed. Like a first night – and Norman tells me first nights are agony.’
Mrs Foxe spoke the last word with all the feeling Chandler had put into it when he told her that. Robert joined us in taking leave.
‘It was rather sweet of Charles to look in, wasn’t it?’ said Mrs Foxe. ‘I would have asked him, of course, if I hadn’t known parties were bad for him. I saw you talking to him. How did you think he was?’
‘I hadn’t seen him for ages. He seemed just the same. We had a long talk.’
‘And you were glad to see him again?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘I think he was right to go back with Tuffy. He can be rather difficult sometimes, you know.