The Military Philosophers - Anthony Powell [100]
One suddenly remembered that she was the wife of a Neutral military attaché, with whom secret matters must even now not be discussed.
‘It’s all too sad. Why did he do it?’
This was not really a question. In any case, to speak of Pamela Flitton would be too complicated. Bob Duport was better unmentioned too. The car was not an ideal place for conversations of that sort, especially with her husband present.
‘You must come and see us,’ she said. ‘We’re really not properly moved in yet. I expect you know we’ve only just arrived. The appointment was quite a surprise – due to a change of Government.’
She mentioned an address in Knightsbridge, as it happened not far from the flat at the back of Rutland Gate, where once, quite naked, she had opened the door when we were lovers. Like so many things that have actually taken place, the incident was now wholly unbelievable. How could this chic South American lady have shared with me embraces, passionate and polymorphous as those depicted on the tapestry of Luxuria that we had discussed together when we had met at Stourwater? Had she really used those words, those very unexpected expressions, she was accustomed to cry out aloud at the moment of achievement? Once I had thought life unthinkable without her. How could that have been, when she was now only just short of a perfect stranger? An absurd incident suddenly came into my head to put things in proportion. Representatives of the Section had to attend an official party the Greeks were giving at the Ritz. In the hall, a page-boy had said to another: ‘General de Gaulle’s in that room over there’. The second boy had been withering. He had simply replied: ‘Give me news, not history.’ Jean, I remembered, had become history. Perhaps not so much history as legend, the story true only in a symbolical sense; because, although its outlines might have general application to ourselves, or even to other people, Jean and I were no longer the persons we then had been.
‘Where would you like the chauffeur to drop you?” asked Colonel Flores.
‘Just on this corner would be perfect.’
There were a lot more assurances, endless ones, that we must meet again, in spite of difficulties about getting the flat straight in the midst of such shortage of labour, and the imminence of demobilization, which would be followed by absence from London. I got out. The car drove off. Jean turned and waved, making that particular gesture of the hand, the palm inwards, the movement rather hesitating, that I well remembered. Vavassor had not been at the Service. He was on duty in the hall when I came through the door. We had a word together.
‘Big crowd?’
‘Pretty big.’
‘Dull day for an affair like that.’
‘Very dull.’
‘How did the King look.’
‘I was too far away to sec.*
‘All your foreigners?’
‘Yes.’
Later in the afternoon I took some letters up to Finn for signature. He was sitting in his chair looking straight ahead of him.
‘I got that fish.’
‘You did, sir?’
‘Home and dry.’
‘A great relief?’
Finn nodded.
‘Did I tell you David Pennistone is going to join our Paris firm ?’ he said.
Pennistone, though he would not reveal before he left what his post-war plans were, had said they would make me laugh when I heard them.
‘I think the work will appeal to him,’ said Finn. ‘He wants a change. Tired of all that…’
He paused, searching for the right word.
‘Liaison?’
‘No, no,’ said Finn. ‘I don’t mean his work here. All that… philosophy.’
He smiled at the absurdity of the concept.
‘Any idea what you’re going to do yourself when you get out of uniform, Nicholas?’
I outlined a few possibilities. Even on my own ears, they sounded grotesque figments of a fevered imagination. Finn accepted them apparently; anyway for what they were worth. I excused myself by adding that the whole idea of starting up all that sort of thing again after six years seemed strange enough.
‘Remember Borrit?’ asked Finn.
It already seemed a hundred years since Borrit had been with the Section, but I admitted his image faintly lingered on. Finn pushed back his chair. He spoke slowly.