‘I used to know him well. I haven’t seen him for years.’
‘Met Charles Stringham in Kenya too. Came out for a month or two when he was quite a boy. I liked him very much. Then he took to drink, like so many other good chaps. Flavia says he has recovered now, and is in the army. Charles used to talk a lot about that bastard, Buster Foxe, whom their mother married when she and Boffles Stringham parted company. Charles hated Buster’s guts.’
‘I haven’t seen Commander Foxe for ages.’
‘Neither have I, thank God, but I hear he’s in the neighbourhood. At your brother-in-law, Lord Warminster’s home, in fact. He’ll soon be my brother-in-law, too. Then there’ll be hell to pay.’
‘But what on earth is Buster, a sailor, doing at Thrubworth? I thought it was a Corps Headquarters.’
‘Thrubworth isn’t an army set-up any longer. It’s still requisitioned, but they turned the place into one of those frightfully secret inter-service organisations. Buster has dug himself in there.’
‘Are they still letting Erry and Blanche inhabit their end of the house.’
‘Don’t object, so far as I hear.’
No very considerable adjustment had been necessary when Thrubworth had been taken over by the Government at the beginning of the war. Erridge, in any case, had been living in only a small part of the mansion (seventeenth-century brick, fronted in the eighteenth century with stone), his sister, Blanche, housekeeping for him. Although the place was only twenty or thirty miles from Frederica’s village, there was little or no communication between Erridge and the rest of his family. Since the outbreak of war he had become, so Isobel told me, less occupied than formerly with the practical side of politics, increasingly devoting himself to books about the Anabaptists and revolutionary movements of the Middle Ages.
‘Buster’s a contemporary of mine,’ said Umfraville, ‘a son-of-a-bitch in the top class. I’ve never told you my life story, have I?’
‘Not yet.’
‘You’ll hear it often enough when we become brothers-in-law,’ he said, ‘so I’ll start by revealing only a little now.’
Once more I thought of Odo Stevens.
‘My father bred horses for a living,’ said Umfraville. ‘It was a precarious vocation and his ways were improvident. However, he had the presence of mind to marry the daughter of a fairly well-to-do manufacturer of machinery for the production of elastic webbing. That allowed for a margin of unprofitable deals in bloodstock. If I hadn’t learnt to ride as a boy, I don’t know where I should have been. There was some crazy idea of turning me into a land-agent. Then the war came in 1914 and I got off on my own. Found my way into one of the newly formed Guards battalions. There had been terrific expansion and they didn’t turn up their noses at me and many another like me. In fact some of my brother officers were heels such as you’ve never set eyes on. I never looked back after that. Not until I fell foul of Buster Foxe. If it hadn’t been for Buster, I might have been major-general now, commanding London District, instead of counting myself lucky to be a humble member of its Movement Control staff.’
‘You remained on after the war with a regular commission?’
‘That was it,’ said Umfraville. ‘I expect you’ve heard of a French marshal called Lyautey. Pacified North Africa and all that. Do you know what Lyautey said was the first essential of an officer? Gaiety. That was what Lyautey thought, and he knew his business. His own ideas of gaiety may not have included the charms of the fair sex, but that’s another matter. Well, how much gaiety do you find among most of the palsied crackpots you serve under? Precious little, you can take it from me. It was my intention to master a military career by taking a leaf out of Lyautey’s book – not as regards neglecting the ladies, but in other respects. First of all it worked pretty well.’
‘But what has Buster Foxe to do with Marshal Lyautey?’
‘I’m coming to that,’ said Umfraville. ‘Ever heard of a girl called Dolly Braybrook?’
‘No.’
‘Dolly was my first wife. Absolute stunner. Daughter of a fellow who’d formerly commanded the Regiment. Bloody Braybrook, her father was universally termed throughout the army, and with reason. She wouldn’t have me at first, and who should blame her. Asked her again and again. The answer was always no. Then one day she changed her mind, the way women do. That pertinacity of mine has gone now. All the same, its loss has confirmed my opinion that the older I get, the more attractive I am to women.’
‘It certainly looks like it.’
‘Formerly, there was all that business of “Not tonight, darling, because I don’t love you enough”, then “Not tonight, darling, because I love you too much” – Christ, I’ve been through the whole range of it. The nearest some women get to being faithful to their husband is making it unpleasant for their lover. However, that’s by the way. The point is that Dolly married me in the end.’
‘How long did it last?’
‘A year or two. Happy as the day’s long, at least I was. I’d been appointed adjutant too. Then Buster Foxe appeared on the horizon. He was stationed at Greenwich at the time – the Naval College. I used to play an occasional game of cards with him and other convivial souls when he came up west. What should happen but under my very nose Dolly fell in love with Buster.’
The exaggerated dramatic force employed by Umfraville in presenting his narrative made it hard to know what demeanour best to adopt in listening to the story. Tragedy might at any moment give way to farce, so that the listener had always to keep his wits about him. When I first met Umfraville I had noticed some resemblance to Buster Foxe, now revealed as that similarity companionship in early life confers on people.
‘It was just the moment when the Battalion was moving from Buckingham Gate to Windsor,’ Umfraville said. ‘I had to go with them, of course, while Dolly stayed in London, until we could find somewhere to live. I went up to see her one day. Arrived home. The atmosphere was a shade chilly. The next thing was Dolly told me she wanted a divorce.’
‘A complete surprise?’
‘Old boy, you could have knocked me down with a swizzle-stick. Always the way, of course. Nothing I could say was any good. Dolly was set on marriage to Buster. In the end I agreed. There was no way out. I suppose I might have shot Buster through the head, if I’d got close enough to him, even though it is only the size of a nut. What the hell good would that have done? Besides, I’d have run quite a chance of swinging in this country. It’s not like France, where they expect you to react strongly. So I settled down to do the gentlemanly thing, and provide evidence for Dolly to divorce me. I was quite well ahead with that when Buster found Amy Stringham, Flavia’s mama, was just as anxious to marry him as Dolly was. Now it didn’t take Buster long to work out that marriage to a lady with some very warm South African gold holdings, not to mention a life interest in her first husband Lord Warrington’s estate, stud and country mansion, would be more profitable than a wife like Dolly, one of a large family without a halfpenny to bless herself with. Mrs Stringham was a few years older than Buster, it’s true, but she was none the less a beauty. We all had to admit that.’
Umfraville paused.
‘Next thing I heard,’ he said, ‘was that Dolly had taken an overdose of sleeping pills.’
‘Divorce proceedings had started?’
‘Not so far as that they couldn’t have been put in reverse gear. I suppose Dolly thought it too late in the day to suggest return, though there’s nothing I’d have liked better.’
‘But why did that prevent you from Commanding London District?’
‘That’s a sensible question, old boy. The reason was this. I had to leave the service – abandon my gallant and glorious Regiment. I’ll explain. You see I wasn’t feeling too good after my poor wife Dolly decided to join the angels, and naturally I looked about for someone to console me. Found several, as a matter of fact. The one I liked best was a girl I met one night at the Cavendish called Joy Grant – at least that was her professional name, a
nd a very suitable one too – so I thought I might as well marry her. Of course, there couldn’t be any question of staying in the Regiment, if I married Joy. To begin with, I should have been hard put to it to name a brother officer who hadn’t shared the same idyllic experiences as myself in that respect. I sent in my papers and made up my mind to up stumps and emigrate with my blushing bride. Thought I’d try Kenya, the great open spaces where men are men, as Charles Stringham used to say. Well, Joy and I had scarcely arrived in the hotel at Nairobi when it became abundantly clear we had made a mistake in becoming man and wife. We were already living what’s called a cat-and-dog life. In short, it wasn’t long before she went off with a fellow called Castlemallock, twice her age, who looked like an ostler suffering from a dose of clap.’
‘The Corps School of Chemical Warfare is at a house called Castlemallock.’
‘That’s the family. They used to live there until they lost all their money a generation or two ago. Castlemallock himself, marquess or not, was a common little fellow, but what was much worse, so far as he himself was concerned, was the fact that he found he couldn’t perform with Joy in Kenya. He thought it might have something to do with the climate, the altitude, so he took her back to England to see if he could make better going there, or at least consult a competent medical man about getting a shot of something to liven him up occasionally. However, he took too long to find the right specialist, and meanwhile Joy went off with Jo Breen, the jockey, the chap who was suspended one year at Cheltenham for pulling Middlemarch. They keep a pub together now in one of those little places in the Thames Valley, and overcharge you most infamously if you ever drop in for a talk about old times.’
Umfraville paused again. He took out a cigarette case and offered it to me.
‘Now this business of wives departing was beginning to get me down,’ he said. ‘It seemed to be becoming a positive habit. This time, I thought, I’ll be the one to do the cattle rustling, so I removed from him the wife of a District Commissioner. There was no end of trouble about that. When I previously found myself in that undignified position, I’d behaved like a gent. This fellow, the husband, didn’t see things in that light at all. I found myself in a perfect rough-house.’
He lit a cigarette and sighed.
‘How did it end?’
‘We got married,’ he said, ‘but she died of enteric six months later. You see I don’t have much luck with wives. Then you were present yourself when I met little Anne Stepney at Foppa’s. You know the end of the story. That was a crazy thing to do, to marry Anne, if ever there was. Anyway, it didn’t last long. Least said, soonest mended. But now I’ve turned over a new leaf. Frederica is going to be my salvation. The model married couple. I’m going to find my way out of Movement Control, and once more set about becoming a general, just as I was before being framed by Buster. Frederica is going to make a first-class general’s wife. Don’t you agree? My God, I never dreamed I’d marry one of Hugo Warminster’s daughters, and I don’t expect he did either.’
By then, it was time for luncheon. I found myself sitting next to Flavia Wisebite. She had a quiet, rather sad manner, suggesting one of those reserved, well behaved, fairly peevish women, usually of determined character, often to be found as wives, or ex-wives, of notably dissipated men like Flitton or Wisebite. Their peevishness appears to derive not so much from a husband’s ill behaviour, as to be a trait natural to them, which attracts men of that kind. Such was mere conjecture, since I knew little or nothing of Flavia’s private life, except that Stringham had more than once implied that his sister’s matrimonial troubles were largely of her own choosing. In that she would have been, after all, not unlike himself. I asked for news of her brother.
‘Charles?’ she said. ‘He’s in a branch of the army called the RAOC – Royal Army Ordnance Corps. I expect you know about it. According to Charles, they look after clothes and boots and blankets, all that sort of thing. Is it true?’
‘Perfectly true. What rank?’
‘Private.’
‘I see.’
‘And likely to remain so, he says.’
‘He’s – all right now?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said ‘Hardly touches a drop. In fact, so cured he can even drink a glass of beer from time to time. That’s a great step. I always said it was just nerves, not real addiction.’
Familiar herself with alcoholics, she took her brother’s former state in a very matter-of-fact way; also his circumstances in the army, which did not sound very enviable. Stringham as a private in the RAOC required an effort of imagination even to picture.
‘How does Charles like it?’
‘Not much.’
‘I’m not surprised.’
‘He says it’s rather hell, in fact, but he was bent on getting into something. For some reason, the RAOC were the only people who seemed to want him. I think Charles is having a more uncomfortable time than Robert. You rather enjoy the I. Corps, don’t you, dear?’
‘Enjoy is rather a strong word,’ said Robert. ‘Things might be worse at Mytchett. I always like prying into other people’s business, and that’s what Field Security is for.’
Flavia Wisebite’s manner towards Robert was almost maternal. She was nearer in age to Robert than to Umfraville, but gave the impression, although so different an example of it, of belonging much more to Umfraville’s generation. Both she and Umfraville might be said to represent forms of revolt, and nothing dates people more than the standards from which they have chosen to react. Robert and Flavia’s love affair, if love affair it were, took a very different shape from Frederica’s and Umfraville’s. Robert and Flavia gave no impression that, for the moment at least, they were having the time of their lives. On the contrary, they seemed very subdued. By producing Flavia at his sister’s house, Robert was at last to some extent showing his hand, emotionally speaking, something he had never done before. Perhaps he was in love. The pressures of war were forcing action on everyone. Were his efforts to get to France part of this will to action, or an attempt to escape? The last might also be true. The telephone bell rang as we were rising from table. Frederica went to answer it. She returned to the room.
‘It’s for you, Priscilla.’
‘Who is it?’
‘Nick’s friend, Mr Stevens.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Priscilla. ‘About the brooch.’
She went rather pink.
‘Priscilla’s made a hit,’ said Umfraville.
I asked Flavia whether she ever saw her mother’s former secretary, Miss Weedon, who had married my parents’ old acquaintance, General Conyers.
‘Oh, Tuffy,’ she said. ‘She used to be my governess, you know. Yes, I visited her only the other day. It is all going very well. The General read aloud to us an article he had written about heightened bi-sexuality in relation to early religiosity. He is now much more interested in psychoanalysis than in his ’cello playing.’
‘What does he think about the war?’
‘He believed a German offensive would start any moment then, probably in several places at once.’
‘In fact this Norwegian and Danish business was the beginning.’
‘I suppose so.’
‘It doesn’t sound as if things are going too well,’ Umfraville said, ‘I think we’ve taken some knocks.’
Priscilla returned.
‘It was about the brooch,’ she said. ‘Mr Stevens can’t do it himself, as one of the stones has come out, but he has arranged for someone he knows to mend it. He just wanted to warn me that he wouldn’t have it for me when he came to pick up Nick in the car.’
‘I said he was a very polite young man,’ remarked Frederica, giving her sister rather a cold look.
The rest of the weekend passed with the appalling rapidity of wartime leave, melting away so quickly that one seemed scarcely to have arrived before it was time to go. Dinner was a trifle gloomy on that account, conversation fragmentary, for the most part about the news that evening.
‘I wonder whether this heavy bombing is a prelude to a move in France,’ said Robert. ‘What do you think, Dicky?’
‘That will be the next thing.’
Towards the end of the meal, the telephone bell sounded.
‘Do answer it, Nick,’ said Frederica. ‘You’re nearest the door.’
She spoke from the kitchen, where she was making coffee. The telephone was installed in a lobby off the hall. I went out to it. A man’s voice asked if he were speaking to Frederica’s number.
‘Yes.’
‘Is Lance-Corporal Tolland there?’
‘Who is speaking?’
He named some army unit. As I returned to the dining-room, a knocking came from the front door. I told Robert he was wanted on the telephone.
‘Shall I answer the door, Frederica?’
‘It’s probably the vicar about a light showing,’ she said. ‘He’s an air-raid warden and frightfully fussy. Bring him in, if it is. He might like a cup of coffee.’
However, a tall naval officer was on the step when I opened the door. He had just driven up in a car.
‘This is Lady Frederica Budd’s house?’
‘Yes.’
‘I must apologize for calling at this hour of the night, but I believe my step-daughter, Mrs Wisebite, is staying here.’
‘She is.’
‘There are some rather urgent business matters to talk over with her. I heard she was here for a day or two, and thought Lady Frederica would not mind if I dropped in for a moment. I am stationed in the neighbourhood – at her brother, Lord Warminster’s house, as a matter of fact.’
‘Come in. You’re Commander Foxe, aren’t you. I’m Nicholas Jenkins. We’ve met once or twice in the past.’
‘Good God, of course we have,’ said Buster. ‘This is your sister-in-law’s house?’
‘Yes.’
‘You were a friend of Charles’s, weren’t you. This is splendid.’
Commander Foxe did not sound as if he thought finding me at Frederica’s was as splendid as all that, even though he seemed relieved that his arrival would be cushioned by an introduction. Another sponsor would certainly be preferable, since any old friend of Stringham’s was bound to have heard many stories to his own discredit. However, Buster, although he had that chronic air some men possess of appearing to consider all other men potential rivals, put a reasonably good face on it. For my own part, I suddenly thought of what Dicky Umfraville had told me. He would hardly welcome this arrival. There was nothing to be done about that. I took Buster along to the sitting-room, where the rest of the party were now sitting. Buster had evidently planned a fairly dramatic entry.