The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [94]
‘My God,’ said Gwatkin, ‘you’re bloody right.’
He began to laugh. That was one of the moments when I felt I had not been wrong in thinking there was some style about him. We reached the house, parting without further discussion on either side, though Gwatkin had again laughed loudly from time to time. I made my way up the rickety stairs of the stable. The light was out in the bedroom, the blackout down from the window, through which moonlight shone on to the floor. This would usually have meant Kedward was asleep. However, as I came through the door, he sat up in bed.
‘You’re late, Nick.’
‘I went for a walk in the park with Rowland.’
‘Is he browned off?’
‘Just a shade.’
‘I couldn’t get to sleep,’ Kedward said. ‘Never happened to me before. I suppose I’m so bloody pleased to get command of the Company. I keep on having new ideas about running it. I was thinking, I’ll probably get Phillpots or Parry in your place, now that you’re going up to Div.’
‘Phillpots is a nice chap to work with.’
‘Parry is the better officer,’ said Kedward.
He turned over, in due course going to sleep, I suppose, in spite of these agitations induced by the prospect of power. For a time I thought about Gwatkin, Gwylt and Maureen, then went to sleep myself. The following day there were farewells to be said. I undertook these in the afternoon.
‘I hear you’re leaving the Battalion too, Sergeant-Major.’
‘That I am, sir.’
‘I expect you’re sorry to go.’
‘I am that, sir, and then I’m not. Nice to see home again, that will be, but there needs promotion for these younger lads that must be getting on.’
‘Who is going to take your place?’
‘It will be Sergeant Humphries, I do believe.’
‘I hope Humphries does the job as well as you have.’
‘Ah, well, sir, Humphries is a good NCO, and he should be all right, I do think.’
‘Thank you for all your help.’
‘Oh, it was a pleasure, sir …’
Before CSM Cadwallader could say more – not a man to take lightly opportunity to speak at length on the occasion of such a leave-taking, he was certainly going to say more, much more – Corporal Gwylt came running up. He saluted perfunctorily. Evidently I was not the object of his approach. He was tousled and out of breath.
‘Excuse me, sir, may I speak to the Sergeant-Major?’
‘Go ahead.’
Gwylt could hardly contain his indignation.
‘Somebody’s broke in and stole the Company’s butter, Sergeant-Major, and the lock’s all bust and the wire ripped out of the front of the meat-safe where it was put, and the Messing Corporal do think it be that bugger Sayce again that has taken the butter to flog it, so will you come and see right away, the Messing Corporal says, that we have your witness, Sergeant-Major, if there’s a Summary of Evidence like there was those blankets …’
CSM Cadwallader shortened his speech in preparation to a mere goodbye and grip of the hand. There was no alternative in the circumstances. He looked disappointed, but characteristically put duty before even the most enjoyably sententious of valedictions. He and Corporal Gwylt hurried off together. By this time the truck that was to take me to Divisional Headquarters had driven up. An NCO was parading the men who were to travel up in it for medical treatment. Gwatkin appeared. He had been busy all the morning, but had promised he would turn up to see me off. We talked for a minute or two about Company arrangements, revisions proposed by Kedward. Gwatkin had resumed his formality of manner.
‘Perhaps you’ll arrive at the ITC yourself, Nick,’ he said, ‘on the way to something better, of course, but it’s used as a place of transit. I trust I’ll be gone by then, but it would be good to meet.’
‘We may both turn up on the same staff,’ I said, without great seriousness.
‘No,’ he said gravely, ‘I’ll never get on the staff. I don’t mind that. All I want is to carry out regimental duties properly.’
He tapped his gaiter with the swagger stick he carried. Then his tone changed.
‘I had some rather bad news from home this morning,’ he said.
‘You’re not in luck.’
‘My father-in-law passed away.