The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [36]
‘Sergeant Pendry hasn’t been very bright today,’ I said. ‘I think he must be sick.’
‘I wanted to talk to you about Pendry,’ said Gwatkin.
‘You noticed he was in poor shape?’
‘He came to me last night. There wasn’t time to tell you before, with all the preparations going on for the exercise – or at least I forgot to tell you.’
‘What’s wrong with Pendry?’
‘His wife, Nick.’
‘What about her?’
‘Pendry had a letter from a neighbour saying she was carrying on with another man.’
‘I see.’
‘You keep on reading in the newspapers that the women of this country are making a splendid war effort,’ said Gwatkin, speaking with all that passion which would well up in him at certain moments. ‘If you ask me, I think they are making a splendid effort to sleep with as many other men as possible while their husbands are away.’
Even if that were an exaggeration, as expressed by Gwatkin, it had to be admitted letters of this kind were common enough. I remembered my brother-in-law, Chips Lovell, once saying: ‘The popular Press always talk as if only the rich committed adultery. One really can’t imagine a more snobbish assumption.’ Certainly no one who administered the Company’s affairs for a week or two would make any mistake on that score. I asked Gwatkin if details were known about Pendry’s case. None seemed available.
‘It makes you sick,’ Gwatkin said.
‘I suppose the men have some fun too. It isn’t only the women. Not that any of us are given much time for it here – except perhaps Corporal Gwylt.’
‘It’s different for a man,’ said Gwatkin. ‘Unless he gets mixed up with a woman who makes him forget his duty.’
These words recalled a film Moreland and I had seen together in days before the war. A Russian officer – the story had been set in Tsarist times – had reprimanded an unpunctual subordinate with just that phrase: ‘A woman who causes a man to neglect his duty is not worth a moment’s consideration.’ The young lieutenant in the film, so far as I could remember, had arrived late on parade because he had been spending the night with the Colonel’s mistress. Afterwards, Moreland and I had often quoted to each other that stern conclusion.
‘It’s just the way you look at it,’ Moreland had said. ‘I know Matilda, for instance, would take the line that no woman was worth a moment’s consideration unless she were capable of making a man neglect his duty. Barnby, on the other hand, would say no duty was worth a moment’s consideration if it forced you to neglect women. These things depend so much on the subjective approach.’
I wondered if Gwatkin had seen the film too, and memorized that scrap of dialogue as a sentiment which appealed to him. On the whole it was unlikely that the picture, comparatively highbrow, had penetrated so deep in provincial distribution. Probably Gwatkin had simply elaborated the idea for himself. It was a high-minded, hut not specially original one. Widmerpool, for example, when involved with Gypsy Jones, had spoken of never again committing himself with a woman who took his mind from his work. Gwatkin rarely spoke of his own wife. He had once mentioned that her father was in bad health, and, if he died, his mother-in-law would have to come and live with them.
‘What are you going to do about Pendry?’ I asked.
‘Arrange for him to have some leave as soon as possible. I’m afraid that will deprive you of a platoon sergeant.’
‘Pendry will have to go on leave sooner or later in any case. Besides, he’s not much use in his present state.’
‘The sooner Pendry goes, the sooner he will bring all this trouble to a stop.’
‘If he can.’
Gwatkin looked at me with surprise.
‘Everything will come right when he gets back home,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘Don’t you think Pendry will be able to deal with his wife?’
‘I don’t know anything about her.’
‘You mean she might want to go off with this