Charles Snow - The Conscience of the Rich

‘Are you enjoying this do tonight?’ he said. ‘Are you enjoying yourself?’

For a moment Charles did not answer. Before he spoke, Ann had turned to him. ‘Ronald is thinking of starting a practice in London,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to persuade him that before he makes up his mind he really must get some up-to-date advice. He happens to know Getliffe, I mean Herbert Getliffe, quite well. He doesn’t think much of him, but I don’t see that ought to matter: he might be useful.’

‘Getliffe’s not gone far enough,’ said Ronald. ‘I dislike crawling unless it’s worth while.’

‘It can’t do any harm.’ Ann looked at Charles.

‘It can’t do any harm,’ said Charles. ‘Isn’t that the point? I know it’s an intolerable nuisance, going to people for this kind of purpose—’

‘I dislike crawling in any case,’ said Ronald. ‘Particularly to men I don’t care for and whose ability I despise.’

‘He’s climbing pretty fast, isn’t he?’ Ann was asking me.

‘There are private reasons, which you know enough to guess,’ Ronald said to her, ‘which make it certain that, before I asked Getliffe for a favour, I’d sooner sweep the streets.’

I said: ‘There are plenty of other people you could talk to, aren’t there?’

‘Albert Hart would give you a pretty sensible judgement,’ said Charles. ‘If ever you’d like me to introduce you—’

‘I’m not prepared to go on my knees except for a very good reason.’

‘I should feel exactly the same,’ said Charles. ‘But still, that never prevents one, does it, from pointing out that someone else is doing too much for honour.’

Ronald laughed. After his first remark, he seemed surprised that he was actually liking Charles’ company.

‘Ah well, my boy,’ said Ronald, ‘I might stretch a point some day. But I insist on tapping my own sources first—’ Then he turned to Ann: ‘I’m going to take you home soon, aren’t I?’

‘Yes,’ said Ann.

‘Are you ready to come now?’

‘I think I’d like to wait half an hour,’ said Ann.

‘You’ll be ready then? You’ll remember, won’t you?’

‘Yes,’ said Ann.

His masterfulness had dropped right away; suddenly he asserted himself by saying to me in a loud voice:

‘Well, my lad, I’m going to take you away and give you some advice.’

We went to the study, where whisky bottles and glasses were laid out. Ronald said: ‘Now you must develop a master plan too. Of course, you can’t expect it to be on such a scale as mine, but I’m damned if we can’t work out something for you. We must use some of my connections.’

He was at home, now he was giving help instead of taking it. His smile became domineering and good-natured; he could even put aside his obsession with Ann while he was giving me advice. Yet, though his connections were genuine enough, the advice was vague; his voice was throaty with worldly wisdom, but he was really an unworldly man. He was far more lost than Ann believed, I thought.

In time he left off advising me, took another drink, put an arm round my shoulders as we stood by the mantelpiece, told me a dirty story, and confided his ambitions. ‘It’s incredible that they shouldn’t recognize me soon,’ he said in his masterful tone. Those ambitions, like the advice, turned out to be quite vague; he was forty, but he did not know what he wanted to do. When I enquired about details his manner was still overbearing, but he seemed to be longing for something as humble as a respectable status and a bare living at the Bar.

Soon he said, with a return of anxiety: ‘We’d better be making our way back, old boy. Ann wants me to take her home tonight.’

When we returned to the dance-room, Ann and Charles were standing together. Ronald said to her: ‘Do you feel you can tear yourself away yet?’

‘I’d just like the next dance with Lewis,’ said Ann.

Ronald gave an impersonation of nonchalance, heavy and painful.

‘In that case I can use another drink,’ he said.

He went away before the band began to play.

Neither Charles nor Ann spoke. When she looked at him, he gave her a smile which was intimate but not happy. Then Charles’ gaze was diverted to the other end of the room, where his aunt Caroline had just buttonholed Mr March. He watched them walk up and down, Caroline protruding her great bosom like a shelf as she inclined her less deaf ear to catch Mr March’s replies. Charles had no doubt that she was catechizing him about Katherine.

‘I was afraid that they wouldn’t leave him in peace,’ he said.

As Ann and I were dancing, I asked her what Mr March would be forced to do. But she was scarcely attending: her mind was elsewhere: all she said was: ‘Charles has too much trouble with his family, hasn’t he?’

We danced round, the conversation ground to a stop. Then, to my surprise, she settled more softly in my arms, and said: ‘I shan’t be sorry when tonight is over.’

‘What’s the matter?’

She looked straight up at me, but slipped away from the question.

‘I always used to dread meeting people till I got in the middle of them, didn’t you?’

‘Not much,’ I said.

‘Don’t you really mind?’

‘I’m nervous of lots of things you’re not,’ I said. ‘But not of that.’

‘Do you know,’ said Ann, ‘I used to make excuses to stay by myself. Not so long ago, either. As a matter of fact, last summer, I very nearly didn’t go to Haslingfield.’

As we danced on, she said in a low voice: ‘Yes. I very nearly didn’t go. That would have altered things.’

I asked again: ‘What’s the matter?’

After a pause, she replied: ‘You’ve seen Ronald now, haven’t you?’

Then I guessed that all night she had been screwing herself up to make the final break. This was the night when she had to tell him that he had no hope.

I said that she should never have come with him at all.

‘Perhaps,’ said Ann. ‘I’d better get it over.’

Then she softened again, and as she spoke of Charles she pressed my hand. ‘I shall have to go off with Ronald now. I shan’t be able to talk to Charles. Will you tell him that everything is well? You’ll remember, won’t you? I don’t want him to go home alone without being told that.’

Ronald came to Ann as soon as we left the floor. She went to say goodbye to Herbert March’s wife: Ronald and I walked into the hall, where we met Getliffe on the point of leaving. Before he saw us, he was trying to smooth down the fur of his old top hat. He said to me: ‘As soon as my wife comes, I depart from the shores of Canaan. But I must say they’ve done us pretty well.’ Then he noticed Ronald. ‘Why, I didn’t realize it was you. It must be years since we met. Though I’ve always wanted to keep in touch with you. Everything satisfactory with the job?’

‘It’s been a complete success,’ said Ronald. ‘I’ve never regretted going out east for a minute.’

‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ said Getliffe earnestly. ‘Look here, if you’re not ashamed of your old friends, we ought to get together some time. Why, I’ve scarcely had a glass of water with you since we used to tune up the old Feathers — I don’t believe you’ve forgotten the place.’

They fixed nothing, but Getliffe shook hands with both of us, though he was bound to see me the next morning, and said: ‘The best of everything. Pleasant dreams.’

The Getliffes had gone when Ronald and Ann had finished their goodbyes. Charles and I waited with them in the hall while someone moved a car. At last they went out into the road, and Ann said to Charles: ‘I shall see you soon.’ Charles watched her climb into Ronald’s car and draw her coat round her shoulders; she was talking to him as they drove away.