Anthony Powell - The Valley of Bones

‘On the staff of London District, old boy.’

He spoke with an exaggerated dignity, squaring his chest and coming to attention. Frederica, who was handing round drinks, now joined us. Once more she began to laugh helplessly.

‘Dicky’s got a very grand job,’ she said, ‘haven’t you?’

She slipped her arm through Umfraville’s. This was unheard-of licence for Frederica, something to be regarded as indicating decay of all the moral and social standards she had defended so long.

‘It’s certainly one of the bigger stations,’ Umfraville agreed modestly.

‘Of course it is, darling.’

‘And should lead to promotion,’ he said.

‘Without doubt.’

‘Collecting the tickets perhaps.’

‘Dicky is an RTO,’ said Frederica.

She was quite unable to control her laughter, which seemed not so much attributable to the thought of Umfraville being a Railway Transport Officer, as to the sheer delight she took in him for himself.

‘He’s got a cosy little office at one of those North London stations,’ she said. ‘I can never remember which, but I’ve visited him there. I say, Dicky, we’d better tell Nick, hadn’t we?’

‘About us?’

‘Yes.’

‘The fact is,’ said Umfraville speaking slowly and with gravity, ‘the fact is Frederica and I are engaged.’

Isobel came through the door at that moment, so the impact of this unexpected piece of news was to some extent lessened by other considerations immediately presenting themselves. Then and there, no more was said than a few routine congratulations, with further gigglings from Frederica. Isobel looked pale, though pretty well. I had not seen her for months, it seemed years. We went off to a corner together.

‘How have you been?’

‘All right. There was a false alarm about ten days ago, but it didn’t get far enough to inform you.’

‘And you’re feeling all right?’

‘Most of the time — but rather longing for the little brute to appear.’

We talked for a while.

‘Who is the character on the floor playing bricks with the children and Priscilla?’

‘He’s called Odo Stevens. He’s on the course and brought me over in his car. Come and meet him.’

We went across the room. Stevens got to his feet and shook hands.

‘Look here,’ he said, ‘I must go. Otherwise Aunt Doris will be upset something’s happened to me.’

‘Don’t rush off, Mr Stevens,’ said Priscilla, still prone on the carpet, ‘hullo, Nick, I’ve only had a wave from you so far. How are you?’

Frederica joined us.

‘Another drink,’ she said.

‘No, thank you, really,’ said Stevens, ‘I must be moving on.’

He turned to say goodbye to Priscilla.

‘I say,’ he said, ‘you’ll lose your brooch, if you’re not careful.’

She looked down. The brooch hung from its pin. It was a little mandoline in silver-gilt, ornamented with musical symbols on either side, early Victorian keepsake in style, pretty, though of no special value. Priscilla used to wear it before she married Chips. I had always supposed it a present from Moreland in their days together, that the reason for the musical theme of its design. While she glanced down, the brooch fell to the ground. Stevens stooped to pick it up.

‘The clasp is broken,’ he said. ‘Look, if I can take it with me now, I’ll put it right in a couple of ticks. I can bring it back on Sunday night, when I turn up with the car.’

‘But that would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘Do you know about brooches?’

‘All about costume jewellery. In the business.’

‘Oh, do tell me about it.’

‘I must be off now,’ he said. ‘Some other time.’

He turned to me, and we checked the time he would bring the car for our return to Aldershot. Then Stevens said goodbye all round.

‘I’ll come to the door with you,’ said Priscilla. ‘I want to hear more about costume jewellery, my favourite subject.’

They went off together.

‘What a nice young man,’ said Frederica. ‘He really made one feel as if one were his own age.’

‘Take care,’ said Umfraville. ‘That’s just what I was like when I was young.’

‘But that’s in his favour,’ she said, ‘surely it is.’

‘Barely twenty,’ said Umfraville, in reminiscence. ‘Blind with enthusiasm. Fighting like a hero on Flanders fields.’

‘Oh, rot,’ said Frederica. ‘You said you were nearly twenty-four when you went to the war.’

‘Well, anyway, look at me now,’ said Umfraville. ‘A lot of good my patriotism did me, a broken-down old RTO.’

‘Cheer up, my pet.’

‘Ah,’ said Umfraville, ‘the heroes of yesterday, they’re the maquereaux of tomorrow.’

‘Well, you’re my maquereau anyway,’ said Frederica, ‘so shut up and have another drink.’

Later, when we were alone together upstairs, Isobel gave a fuller account of herself. There was a lot to talk about. The doctor thought everything all right, the baby likely to arrive in a couple of weeks’ time. There were, indeed, far more things to discuss than could be spoken of at once. They would have to come out gradually. Instead of dealing with myriad problems in a businesslike manner, settling all kind of points that had to be settled, making arrangements about the future — if it could be assumed there was to be a future — we talked of more immediate, more amusing matters.

‘What do you think about Frederica?’ Isobel asked.

‘Not a bad idea.’

‘I think so too.’

‘When did she break the news?’

‘Only yesterday, when he arrived on leave. I was a bit staggered when told. She’s mad about him. I’ve never seen Frederica like that before. The boys get on well with him too, and seem to approve of the prospect.’

Frederica and Dicky Umfraville getting married was something to open up hitherto unexplored fields of possibility. The first thought, that the engagement was grotesque, bizarre, changed shape after a time, developing until one saw their association as one of those emotional hook-ups of the very near and the very far, which make human relationships easier to accept than to rationalize or disentangle. I remembered that if Frederica’s husband, Robin Budd, had lived, his age would not have been far short of Umfraville’s. I asked Isobel if the two of them had ever met.

‘Just saw each other, I think. Rob looked a little like Dicky too.’

‘Where did Frederica pick him up?’

‘With Robert. Dicky Umfraville knew Flavia Wisebite in Kenya. Her father farms there — or did, he died the other day — but of course you know that.’

‘Do you suppose Flavia and Dicky—’

‘I shouldn’t wonder. Anyway, it was an instantaneous click so far as Frederica was concerned.’

‘Frederica is aware, I suppose, that the past is faintly murky.’

‘One wife committed suicide, another married a jockey. Then there was the wife no one knows about — and finally Anne Stepney, who lasted scarcely more than a year, and is now, I hear, living with J. G. Quiggin.’

‘That’s as many as are recorded. But where did Robert contract Mrs Wisebite? That is even more extraordinary.’

‘One never knows with Robert. Tell me about her. She is sister of your old school pal, Charles Stringham. What else?’

‘Charles never saw much of her after they were grown up. She first married a notorious character called Flitton, who lost an arm in the war before this one. A great gambler, also a Kenya figure. Dicky must know him well. Flitton ran away with Baby Wentworth, but refused to marry her after the divorce. Flavia had a daughter by Flitton who must be eighteen or nineteen by now.’

‘Flavia told me the late Mr Wisebite, her second husband, came from Minneapolis, and died of drink in Miami.’