Louis de Bernières - The Dust That Falls From Dreams

‘Ambidextrous, so to speak?’

‘I expect there’s a proper word,’ said Sophie.

‘Ambisexual perhaps?’

‘I believe that “ambisextrous” is just catching on.’

Fairhead leaned back and put his hands behind his head. ‘I really am very sorry that you’ve enlightened me. How am I supposed to feel comfortable with Christabel and Gaskell any more? And write books with a Sapphic medium?’

‘ Amor vincit omnia! You adore them and they adore you, and you firmly believe that Gaskell has the most fascinating eyes that anyone ever saw, and your pen name will be Valentine Fairhead, or Fairhead Valentine.’

‘Better toss for it,’ said Fairhead, ‘or it might lead to bitterness. And for some reason I’ve just remembered that I think it’s high time we got a cat. Caractacus is such a character, isn’t he? It would be nice to have a quirky cat like that, with amber eyes and a lopsided moustache.’

‘Hmm,’ said Sophie, ‘you might have been reminded because “ambisextrous” rhymes with “puss”. Anyway, I couldn’t possibly be jealous of Madame Valentine. She’s not your sort at all.’

‘Yes,’ said Fairhead, ‘I like little waifs like you, but Madame Valentine is “luggage in advance and heavy goods to follow”, without a doubt.’

‘She is macromastic and steatopygous.’

‘Yea, verily.’

Thus it was that Fairhead failed to feel uncomfortable working with Madame Valentine, and the first of their books, Intimations of Immortality , was published the following year, in time for Armistice Day.

19 March 1922

Very Honoured Captain Pitt,

We are writing with the help of a dictionary. Naturally when we prisoners were in Scotland we English learned.

We are aye much hoping that you survived and this letter to your mother’s address are sending. We are ever thankful for your mercy and knightliness and we wish always that you with God’s blessing go.

We have often asked ourselves what happened to our Walfisch. Did she live, and where lies she now? According to our opinion the Snipe a frigging excellent even more than the Camel was. We like to fly again one day, but now we for jobs are long time searching. We small hope. We want motorcycle shop to attempt. You know that our fatherland Germany buggered and scunnered is, but getting better.

If you still live, please dear Captain Pitt, to us reply. We should meet us somewhere and talk of aeroplanes. Come to Germany!

Fritz Hoffman and Wilhelm Spatz

PS While we prisoners were we have learned from the Jock guards mostly the bad words. Ecrivez en Français si vous préférez.

The Grampians

23 March 1922

My dear Mme Pitt,

I write to you in some haste, but hoping that you are well, as I am.

My dear Mme Pitt, we have a sticky situation that I believe a visit from you may be able to resolve. I have no doubt that Daniel will already have spoken to you about it.

In short, Daniel has landed a most wonderful position in Ceylon which will suit him perfectly and, I believe, set him up for life. The problems are these, however.

Firstly, Rosie is extremely reluctant to leave the family home. Hitherto she has evaded going to Birmingham, which is perhaps more understandable, and also to Argentina, where there was an opportunity in aviation, but in this case she is flailing around for reasons that one knows are simply spurious, such as that Esther might get ill on the ship or get leprosy once she has arrived. I have told her repeatedly that the climate in the highlands of Ceylon is most salubrious, but she will not listen.

Secondly, Mrs McCosh has in recent years grown more and more arbit-rary and unpredictable (and, one might say, eccentric) in her behaviour, and at present her greatest joy is to provoke Daniel into a rage by taunting him about France and the French. He may have spoken to you about this, and if he has not, it may be well to ask him. This would possibly not matter very much if Daniel did not have to come here to be with his wife and daughter, but at present he does, simply because Rosie is finding reasons not to go elsewhere.

Thirdly, I have every reason to believe that Daniel and Rosie do not enjoy proper marital relations. This is very hard for a father to talk to a daughter about, and Mrs McCosh’s advice would almost certainly be detrimental to the case, so I would not think of asking her to intervene. You are a forthright person (I am sure you will take this as a compliment) and I suspect would not suffer from inhibitions such as mine.

It is my opinion that Rosie has never recovered from the loss of a much adored fiancé in 1915, and that this explains all that is otherwise inexplicable in her behaviour.

I have failed completely in the exercise of paternal or marital authority, through no want of cajoling, ordering and even shouting. Rosie’s sisters have also failed in their many interventions. The situation is quite beyond us. I am certain, however, that the situation is not beyond you, and that a visit from you, carried out with the inexorability of purpose for which you are rightly renowned, is the one thing that might do the trick.

I will telephone you from the Athenaeum on the afternoon of Thursday next, by which time you will have had some time to absorb this information. When you see her, please do tell the operator at Partridge Green post office not to listen into the conversation after she has connected us. There is no excuse for it, and I find it most aggravating, as I am sure do you.

I look forward very much to seeing you. My dear Mme Pitt, you are my great hope.

Affectionately yours ever,

Hamilton McCosh

DANIEL PITT TURNED his combination into the small gravelled yard in front of his mother’s house in Partridge Green. Behind him the South Downs rose sheep-cropped, breasted and majestic into the air, and before him nestled the small detached house in which his mother was passing the remaining years of her passionate life in relative tranquillity. There was wisteria growing up the walls and prying into the cracks and corners of the window frames, and a climbing rose all but obliterating any glimpse of the porch. It was exactly the kind of house that Helen Allingham liked to paint.

All it lacked was a winsome dairy maid with a pail of milk in each hand. Instead there was Mme Pitt, with a tattered bonnet on her head, galoshes on her feet, a trug basket over her left arm and a pair of secateurs in her right hand. Daniel adored her. ‘ Ah, te voilà! ’ she cried, dropping her impediments and advancing towards him with her arms spread wide. ‘ Une bise! Une bise! ’ she exclaimed, kissing him on both cheeks before he could even remove his flying helmet.

‘But how dirty your face is!’ she said. ‘And you have white rings round your eyes! Comme c’est marrant! ’

‘You should have seen me in the war, maman ,’ said Daniel. ‘I was covered in black blobs of castor oil just about all the time. Got sick of the stuff. Had to put whale grease on my face.’

‘ Ah, la guerre, la guerre ,’ sighed Mme Pitt. ‘ Quel horreur, quel grand dommage. Ça me rend triste d’y penser. Viens, viens, je te ferai un nice cup of tea.’

‘ On parle franglais aujourd’hui? ’

‘ Comme d’habitude! Comme d’habitude! Why are you so en retard ? I had almost given in to désespoir , and then apathie .’