The Kindly Ones - Anthony Powell [94]
I was annoyed by the phrase ‘bring your own beer’, also by being addressed as ‘my boy’ by Widmerpool. They were terms he had never, so to speak, earned the right to use, certainly not to me. However, I recognised that a world war was going to produce worse situations than Widmerpool’s getting above himself and using a coarsely military boisterousness of tone to which his civilian personality could make no claim. I accepted his invitation; he named a time. The following day, after finishing my article for the paper and looking at some books I had to review, I set out for the Territorial headquarters, which was situated in a fairly inaccessible district of London. I reached there at last, feeling in the depths of gloom. Entry into the most arcane recesses of the Secret Service could not have been made more difficult. Finally an NCO admitted me to Widmerpool’s presence. He was sitting, surrounded by files, in a small, horribly stuffy office, which was at the same time freezingly cold. I was still unused to the sight of him in uniform. He looked anything but an army officer – a railway official, perhaps, of some obscure country.
‘Been left in charge of details consequent on the unit’s move to a training area,’ he said brusquely, as I entered the room. ‘Suppose I shouldn’t have told you that. Security – security – and then security. Everyone must learn that. Well, my lad, what can I do for you? You need not stand. Take a pew.’
I sat on a kitchen chair with a broken back, and outlined my situation.
‘The fact is,’ said Widmerpool, glaring through his spectacles and puffing out his cheeks, as if rehearsing a tremendous blowing up he was going to give some subordinate in the very near future, ‘you ought to have joined the Territorials before war broke out.’
‘I know.’
‘No good just entering your name on the Reserve.’
‘There were difficulties about age.’
‘Only after you’d left it too late.’
‘It was only a matter of months.’
‘Never mind. Think how long I’ve been a Territorial officer. You should have looked ahead.’
‘You said there wasn’t going to be a war after “Munich”.’
‘You thought there was, so you were even more foolish.’
There was truth in that.
‘I only want to know the best thing to do,’ I said.
‘You misjudged things, didn’t you?’
‘I did.’
‘No vacancies now.’
‘How can I put that right?’
‘The eldest of our last intake of commissioned subalterns was twenty-one. The whole lot of them had done at least eighteen months in the ranks – at least.’
‘Even so, the army will have to expand in due course.’
‘Officers will be drawn from the younger fellows coming up.’
‘You think there is nothing for me to do at present?’
‘You could enlist in the ranks.’
‘But the object of joining the Reserve – being accepted for it – was to be dealt with immediately as a potential officer.’
‘Then I can’t help you.’
‘Well, thanks for seeing me.’
‘I will keep an eye out for you,’ said Widmerpool, rather less severely. ‘As a matter of fact, I may be in a position well placed for doing so before many moons have waned.’
‘Why?’
‘I am probably to be sent to the Staff College.’
‘Oh?’
‘Again, for security reasons, that should not be mentioned beyond these four walls.’
He began to gather up his multitudinous papers, stowing some away in a safe, transferring others to a brief-case.
‘I shall be coming back to this office again after dinner,’ he said. ‘Lucky if I get away before midnight. It’s all got to be cleared up somehow, if the war is to be won. I gave my word to the Brigade-Major. He’s a very sharp fellow called Farebrother. City acquaintance of mine.’
‘Sunny Farebrother?’
‘Have you met him?’
‘Years ago.’
Widmerpool gave a semi-circular movement of his arm, as if to convey the crushing responsibility his promise to the Brigade-Major comprehended. He locked the safe. Putting the key in his trouser-pocket after attaching it to a chain hanging from his braces, he spoke again, this time in an entirely changed tone.
‘Nicholas,’ he said, ‘I am going to ask you to do something.’
‘Yes?