Charles Snow - The Masters

‘You’ve not been offered it,’ I said. Perversely, I was coming to have more fellow feeling for her. ‘Is Paul free? I’ve got something to tell him that’s fairly important.’

‘He’s very busy,’ she said obstinately. ‘I don’t think he can be disturbed.’

‘Look,’ I said, ‘I want to tell him that this election is not lost.’

‘Has anything happened, has anything really happened?’

‘Yes. Don’t hope too much. But it’s not lost.’

Her face exploded into a smile. She looked like a child, suddenly made happy. She ran out into the passage. ‘Paul! Paul! You must come and see Mr Eliot at once! He’s got something to tell you.’

Jago walked into the drawing-room, tense to his fingertips.

‘It’s extremely good of you to take this trouble, Eliot. Is it something — worse?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s not impossible that Gay may finish on your side. He may not — but it’s worth holding on for.’

‘Old Gay?’

I nodded.

Suddenly Jago broke into roars of laughter.

‘Gay! He’s the vainest old boy I’ve ever met in my life.’

He went on laughing. ‘The vain old boy!’ It was an odd response, I thought later: yet on the spot it seemed completely natural.

Then he wiped his eyes and settled down; his tension returned in a different mode.

‘I’m most grateful to you, Eliot,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what I should have done without you right through this wretched business. This news changes everything. I think I was just teaching myself to face the humiliation. But this changes everything.’

I warned him, but it had no effect. He was always capable of being possessed by a rush of hope. Now there was no room for anything else. It all lay in his hands, the college, his whole desire. He looked at his wife with love and triumph. When I had gone, they would get busy on their plans again. He was alive with hope.

I tried once again to make him more moderate. In some ways it would have been kinder not to tell him about Gay at all.

‘There is one thing you needn’t warn me of, Eliot,’ he said with a smile. ‘There are still six nights to go. We’ve still six nights to get through.’

‘You’ve got to rest,’ she said.

‘In a week’s time,’ said Jago, ‘it will all be over.’

I went from his house straight to Brown’s rooms, and found Brown and Chrystal talking of the meeting. It was as good as arranged for the following night, December 15th. To Brown’s amazement, the other side had not backed out (were they so confident that they did not care? or did Despard-Smith like the last ounce of grave discussion?) They were talking of what line to begin on.

‘Is that the meeting?’ I asked.

‘Certainly,’ said Chrystal.

‘It may not be necessary,’ I said.

‘What do you mean?’ asked Brown very quickly.

‘I think there’s a good chance of Gay coming over.’

‘Have you seen him? I didn’t know you were thinking of seeing him—’

‘No, I wasn’t,’ I said. ‘Roy Calvert and I happened to drop in for tea.’

Brown cross-questioned me with the inquisitiveness he showed at any piece of news, but with an extra excitement and vigilance. His curiosity was always insistent; there were moments, as those sharp eyes watched one, when the company ceased to be bland and peaceful; now it was like being in the dock. Deliberately I played down the part Roy and I had taken — I was feeling Chrystal’s silence on the other side of the fire. Roy had asked the old man a question or two, I said: and I gave word for word his last replies.

In the end Brown was satisfied.

‘It’s absolutely wonderful!’ he cried. Then he turned, heavily but quickly, on his friend. ‘Don’t you think it’s wonderful?’ he said.

Chrystal did not look at him, but stared challengingly at me.

‘Are you sure of this, Eliot?’ he asked.

‘I’m sure of what I’ve told you.’

‘That doesn’t get us very far. He didn’t even say he might vote for Jago.’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘It’s not good enough, Eliot. You’re being led away by your optimism. Wishful thinking,’ said Chrystal. ‘Remember, I’ve had a shot at him myself. I know Gay.’

‘I trust Eliot’s judgement,’ said Brown. His voice was comfortable and rich, as always — but I heard a stern, angry note.

‘It’s not good enough,’ said Chrystal. ‘I dare say the old man will withhold his vote. Just to have a bit of fun. What’s to stop him coming down for Crawford at the end?’

‘I trust Eliot’s judgement,’ said Brown. The stern note was clearer now.

‘I can’t be sure,’ I said. ‘No one can be sure. But I don’t think so for a minute. Neither does Calvert.’

‘I don’t give twopence for Calvert’s opinion. He’s not lived long enough. He hasn’t seen anything yet,’ Chrystal replied.

‘I should bet at least 4–1,’ I said, ‘that when we go into chapel Gay will write down Jago’s name.’

‘I accept that absolutely,’ said Brown, still watching his friend.

‘Well, we disagree,’ said Chrystal. ‘This is all amusing about Gay. But I don’t see that it can alter our plans.’

‘We may have this election in our hands,’ said Brown.

‘We may not.’

‘I believe we have. Have you stopped listening to reason?’ Brown’s friendly blandness had broken at last, he spoke with a mixture of menace and appeal.

‘I’m afraid we disagree, Arthur.’

‘You can’t disagree that the sensible course is to get out of this meeting,’ said Brown. ‘Anything else is ridiculous.’

‘I wish I didn’t disagree. I’m afraid I do.’

‘I want an explanation,’ said Brown.

‘Yes. Well, I don’t believe that Gay will come over. I expect Eliot has got everything he said right. But I’ve seen Gay myself.’

‘A lot of water has flowed under the bridges since then,’ cried Brown. ‘These two may have been better at handling the old man than we were.’

‘They wouldn’t claim that themselves,’ said Chrystal. ‘I’m sorry to seem ungrateful for Eliot’s efforts, but I don’t believe in Gay. Even if I did, there’s another point. I think we’re bound to keep our understanding with the other side. They were willing to hold this meeting. They didn’t try to back out when they seemed to be sitting pretty.’

‘Did they ever mean business?’ asked Brown, his voice no longer comfortable at all, but full of scorn.

‘I think they did, Arthur.’

‘I think you deceived yourself. I think you’ve deceived yourself over many things you’ve done in this election. I know you’ve always wanted to find a way out from Crawford. I’ve never doubted that. But you’ve also been glad of a chance to find a way out from Jago. That’s why you’re giving me reasons that aren’t anything like reasons, they’re ridiculous after everything we’ve brought off together. You said yesterday that you’d stay with Jago if I could get him in. Now you’re finding an excuse for spoiling it, just when we’ve got our last chance.’

‘It won’t spoil it, Arthur. If he does stand a chance,’ said Chrystal. ‘Very likely nothing will come out of this meeting. Then if old Gay remembers we might still be all right.’

‘I keep thinking of the things we’ve brought off together. We shouldn’t have managed them alone. We couldn’t even have begun getting that benefaction alone. And that’s been true for a good many years. It’s a pity to find us divided now.’

‘Do you think I don’t feel that?’ said Chrystal brusquely. He had been buoyed up, exhilarated, master of his plans, conscious that others were waiting for him, pleased perhaps to escape from Brown’s steady imperceptible guidance. Yet he was moved by the reminder of their comradeship, by the call on his affection. His manner, which had been conciliatory, became at once tough and aggressive. He was angry to be so moved.