The Military Philosophers - Anthony Powell [6]
Farebrother pointed to the strip lighting with which the underground room was equipped.
‘Wish I could afford to install something like that in my peacetime office,’ he said. ‘What you need, if you’re going to get any work done. Can’t tell whether it’s three o’clock in the morning, or three o’clock in the afternoon. No disturbance from time. I expect you know we’re going to meet an old friend here this morning?’
‘Kenneth Widmerpool?’
Farebrother laughed. Concealing as a rule his likes and dislikes about most people, he scarcely attempted to hide his hatred of Widmerpool, whom it must have been galling to find once more his equal in rank, after temporarily outstripping him; not to mention the fact that Widmerpool’s appointment was of such undeniably superior standing to Farebrother’s.
‘Oh, Kenneth, of course,’ he said. ‘No, I didn’t mean him. This is certainly Kenneth’s bower, a very cosy one, don’t you think? No – Peter Templer. I was talking to him yesterday about some matter in which his Ministry was concerned, and he told me the usual man’s sick and he himself would be representing Economic Warfare here this morning.’
Templer came into the room at that moment, followed by another civilian. Sir Magnus Donners – who continued to hold his place in the Cabinet, in spite of a concerted attack for several months from certain sections of the Press – had probably had some hand in finding this job for him in MEW. Catching sight of me, Templer nodded and gave a slight smile, but did not come over and speak. Instead, he sat down with the party at the table, where he too began to produce papers. He seemed to know them all.
‘I must have a word with Peter,’ said Farebrother.
He went across to Templer and said something. At Stourwater, where I had last seen him, I had been struck by a hardness, even brutality of expression that had changed someone I had once known well. That look had seemed new to Templer, perhaps to be attributed to lack of concord with his second wife, Betty, then showing herself an unassimilable member of Sir Magnus’s houseparty; indeed, so near the borderline of sanity that it seemed unwise ever to have brought her into those formidable surroundings. Templer had not lost this rather grim appearance. If anything, it had increased. He was thinner, more resembling himself in his younger days in that respect. To go through his papers he had put on spectacles, which I had never before seen him wear. While I was wondering whether I too ought to go and sit at the table, Widmerpool himself entered the room.
‘My apologies, gentlemen.’
Holding up a sheaf of documents in both hands, at the same time making peculiar movements with his head and arms in the direction of the small crowd awaiting him, he looked very pleased with himself; like a dog delighted to show ability in carrying a newspaper in his mouth.
‘You must excuse me,’ he said. ‘I was kept by the Minister. He absolutely refused to let me go.’
Grinning at them all through his thick lenses, his tone suggested the Minister’s insistence had bordered on sexual importunity.
‘Let us be seated.’
Everyone except Farebrother and myself was already sitting down. Widmerpool turned towards me, somewhat abating the geniality of his manner.
‘I was not informed by Finn that you were coming here in Pennistone’s place, Nicholas. He should have done so.’
‘I have the necessary stuff here.’
‘I hope you have. Finn is rather slack about such notifications. There are security considerations here of which he may not appreciate the complexity. However, let us begin. This Polish business should not take too long. We must be brisk, as a great many more important matters have to be got through this morning.’
The other civilian, who had entered the room with Templer, turned out to be the Foreign Office representative on this particular committee, a big fat man with a small mouth and petulant manner. He had brought a paper with him which he now read aloud in the tone