Anthony Powell - The Kindly Ones

‘How do you like Albert?’

‘Get along with Albert, as you call him, like a house on fire — but it’s a pretty dead-and-alive hole to live in, I can tell you. It’s the sort of town where you feel hellishly randy all the time. I’ve got quite a bit of work to do in the way of sorting out my own affairs. That keeps me going during the day. But there’s nothing whatever to do in the evenings. I go to a flick sometimes. The girls are a nightmare. We’d better go out and get drunk together tonight. Make you forget about your uncle. Has he left you anything?’

‘Doubt if he’d anything to leave.’

‘Never mind. You’ll get over it. I’d like to have a talk with you about Widmerpool.’

This intermittent conversation had taken us through most of dinner. I felt scarcely more drawn to Duport than on the day we first met. He was like Peter Templer, with all sympathetic characteristics removed. There was even a slight physical resemblance between the two of them. I wondered if one of those curious, semi-incestuous instincts of attraction had brought Jean to Duport in the first place, or whether Templer and Duport had become alike by seeing a good deal of each other as brothers-in-law and in the City. Duport, I knew, suffered financial crises from time to time. For a period he would live luxuriously, then all his money would disappear. This capacity for making money, combined with inability to keep it, was mysterious to me. I had once said something of the sort to Templer, when he complained of his brother-in-law’s instability.

‘Oh, Bob knows he will be able to recoup in quite a short time,’ Templer had said. ‘Doesn’t worry him, any more than it worries you that you will be able to write the review of some book when it appears next year. You’ll have something to say, Bob’ll find a way of making money. It’s only momentary inconvenience, due to his own idiocy. It’s not making the money presents the difficulty, it’s keeping his schemes in bounds — not landing in jail.’

I could see the force of these words. They probably explained Duport’s present situation. From what Templer used to say of him — from what Jean used to say of him — I knew quite a lot of Duport. At the same time, there were other things I should not at all have minded hearing about, which only Duport could tell me. I was aware that to probe in this manner was to play with fire, that it would probably be wiser to remain in ignorance of the kind of thing which I was curious to know. However, I saw, too, there was really no escape. I was fated to spend an evening in Duport’s company. While I was about it, I might as well hear what I wanted to hear, no matter what the risk. Like Uncle Giles’s failings, all was no doubt written in the stars.

‘Where shall we go?’

‘The bar of the Royal.’

For a time we walked in silence towards the sea-front, the warm night hinting at more seductive pursuits than drinking with Duport.

‘News doesn’t look very good,’ I said. ‘Do you think the Germans are going into Poland?’

There seemed no particular object in avoiding banality from the start, as the evening showed every sign of developing into a banal one.

‘There’s bloody well going to be a war,’ said Duport, ‘you can ease your mind about that. If I’d been in South America, I’d have sweated it out there. Might in any case. Still, I suppose currency restrictions would make things difficult. I’ve always been interested in British Guiana aluminium. That might offer something. I’ll recount some of my recent adventures in regard to the international situation when we’ve had some drinks. Did you meet Peter Templer’s wife at Stourwater?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you think of her?’

‘Something’s gone a bit adrift, hasn’t it?’

‘Peter has driven her off her rocker. Nothing else. Used to be a very pretty little thing married to an oaf of a man who bored her to death.’

‘What went wrong?’

‘She was mad about Peter — still is — and he got too much of her. He always had various items on the side, of course. Then he started up with Lady Anne Something-or-Other, who is always about with Donners.’

‘Anne Umfraville.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘There was rather a scene when we were there.’

I gave a brief account of the Masque of the Seven Deadly Sins. Duport listened without interest.

‘Donners never seems to mind about other people getting off with his girls,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard it said he is a voyeur. No accounting for tastes. I don’t think Peter cares what he does now. Something of the sort may have upset Betty — though whether she herself, or Anne, was involved, you can’t say.’

‘I found Peter quietened down on the whole.’

‘Quite right. He is in a way. Used to be more cheerful in the days of the slump, when he was down the drain like the rest of us. Then he turned to, and made it all up. Very successful, I’d say. But he never recovered from it. Slowed him up for good, so far as being a pal for a night on the tiles. Prefers now to read the Financial Times over a glass of port. However, that need not apply to his private life — may have developed special tastes, just as Donners has. Very intensive womanising sometimes leads to that kind of thing, and you can’t say Peter hasn’t been intensive.’

By this time we had reached the Royal. Duport led the way to the bar. It was empty, except for the barman, a beefy, talkative fellow, who evidently knew Duport pretty well.

‘Fred will fix you up with a girl, if you want one,’ said Duport, while drinks were being poured out. ‘I don’t recommend it.’

‘Come off it, Mr Duport.’

‘You know you can, Fred. Don’t be so coy about it. Where are we going to sit? How do you feel about availing yourself of Fred’s good offices?’

‘Not tonight.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not in the mood.’

‘Sure?’

‘Certain.’

‘Don’t make a decision you’ll regret later.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Do you play poker?’

‘Not a great hand at it.’

‘Bores you?’

‘Never seem to hold a card.’

‘Golf?’

‘No.’

I felt I was not cutting a very dashing figure, even if I did not accept all this big talk about women as necessarily giving an exact picture of Duport’s own life. No doubt women played a considerable part in his existence, but at the same time he seemed over keen on making an impression on that score. He probably talked about them, I thought, more than concerning himself with incessant action in that direction. He was not at all put out that I should fall so far short of the dissipations suggested by him. All he wanted was a companion with whom to drink. Life at the Bellevue must certainly be boring enough.

‘I was going to tell you about that swine Widmerpool,’ he said.

This seemed no occasion for an outward display of loyalty to Widmerpool by taking offence at such a description. I had stated earlier that Widmerpool and I were on reasonably good terms. That would have to be sufficient. In any case, I had no illusions about Widmerpool’s behaviour. All the same, this abuse sounded ungrateful, for what I knew of their connection indicated that more than once Widmerpool had been instrumental in finding a job for Duport when hard up. It was a Widmerpool job for Duport that had finally severed me from Jean.

‘Why do you dislike Widmerpool so much?’

‘Listen to this,’ said Duport. ‘Some years ago, when I was on my uppers, Widmerpool arranged for me to buy metal ores for a firm in South America. When that was fixed, I suggested to my wife, Jean, that we might as well link up again. Rather to my surprise, she agreed. Question of the child and so on. Made things easier.’