The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [13]
‘Regulations allow these caps,’ he said. ‘They’re more comfortable than those peaked SD affairs. Cheaper, too. Got this one for seventeen bob, two shillings off because slightly shop-soiled. You don’t notice the small stain on top, do you?’
‘Not at all.’
He looked behind us and lowered his voice.
‘None of the rest of them were at the ’varsity,’ he said.
‘I’ve been making inquiries. What do you do in Civvy Street – that’s the correct army phrase, I believe.’
I indicated that I wrote for the papers, not mentioning books because, if not specifically in your line, authorship is an embarrassing subject for all concerned. Besides, it never sounds like a serious occupation. Up to that moment, no one had pressed inquiries further than that, satisfied that journalism was a known form of keeping body and soul together, even if an esoteric one.
‘I thought you might do something of the sort,’ said Bithel, speaking with respect. ‘I was trained for professional life too – intended for an auctioneer, like my pa. Never cared for the work somehow. Didn’t even finish my training, as a matter of fact. Always been more or less interested in the theatre. Had walk-on parts once or twice but I’m no actor. I’m quite aware of that. I like doing odd jobs in any case. Can’t bear being tied down. Worked for a time in our local cinema, for instance. Didn’t have to do much except turn up in the evening wearing a dinner jacket.’
‘Does that sort of thing bring in enough?’
‘Not much cash in it, of course. You’ll never make a fortune that way, but I rub along all right with the few pennies I have already. Helps not being married. I expect you’re married?’
‘I am, as a matter of fact.’
He made marriage sound as if it required some excuse.
‘I thought you would be,’ he said. ‘As I mentioned, I’m not. Never found the right girl somehow.’
Bithel looked infinitely uncomfortable when he admitted that. There was a pause in our conversation. I could not think of anything to suggest. Girls certainly did not appear much in his line, though you never could tell. I asked how he came to be in the Territorial Army Reserve, which seemed to require explanation.
‘Joined the Terriers years ago,’ he said. ‘Seemed the thing to do. Never thought I’d wear uniform again when I gave them up. Rather glad to get back now and have some regular money rolling in. I’ve been out of a job, as a matter of fact, and what I’ve got doesn’t support me. We draw Field Allowance here, so I heard last night. I expect you know that already. Makes a nice addition to the pay. Funds were running rather low, to tell the truth. Always such a lot to spend money on. Reading, for instance. I expect you’re an omnivorous reader, if you’re a journalist. What digests do you take?’
At first I thought he referred to some sort of medical treatment, harking back to the conversation of the chaplains the night before, then realized the question had something to do with reading. I had to admit I did not take any digests. Bithel seemed disappointed at this answer.
‘I don’t really buy a lot of digests myself,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps not as many as I should. They have interesting articles in them sometimes. About sex, for instance. Sex psychology, I mean. Do you know about that?’
‘I’ve heard of it.’
‘I don’t mean the cheap stuff just to catch the eye, girls and legs, all that. There are abnormal sides you’d never guess. It’s wiser to know about such things, don’t you think?’
‘Certainly.’
Bithel moved nearer as we walked, lowering his voice again. There