Anthony Powell - The Acceptance World

‘But this is all too thrilling,’ she said. ‘I told you St. John Clarke was my favourite author. Can’t we get Mr. Quiggin to lunch and ask him what really has happened?’

‘Well—’

‘Look, Pete,’ she exclaimed noisily. ‘Do let’s ask J. G. Quiggin to lunch today. He could get a train. Nick would ring him up — you will, won’t you, darling?’

Templer threw the News of the World on to the carpet, and, turning towards me, raised his eyebrows and nodded his head slowly up and down to indicate the fantastic lengths to which caprice could be carried by a woman.

‘But would Mr. Quiggin want to come?’ he asked, imitating Mona’s declamatory tone. ‘Wouldn’t he want to finish writing one of his brilliant articles?’

‘We could try.’

‘By all means, if you like. Half-past eleven on the day of the luncheon invitation is considered a bit late in the best circles, but fortunately we do not move in the best circles. I suppose there will be enough to eat. You remember Jimmy is bringing a girl friend?’

‘Jimmy doesn’t matter.’

‘I agree.’

‘What do you think, Nick?’ she asked. ‘Would Quiggin come?’

One of the charms of staying with the Templers had seemed the promise of brief escape from that routine of the literary world so relentlessly implied by the mere thought of Quiggin. It was the world in which I was thoroughly at home, and certainly did not wish to change for another, only for once to enjoy a week-end away from it. However, to prevent the Templers from asking Quiggin to lunch if they so desired was scarcely justifiable to anyone concerned. Besides, I was myself curious to hear further details regarding St. John Clarke; although I should have preferred by then to have heard Members’s side of the story. Apart from all that — indeed quite overriding such considerations — were my own violent feelings about Jean which had to be reduced inwardly to some manageable order.

‘Who is “Jimmy”?’ I asked.

‘Surely you remember Jimmy Stripling when you stayed with us years ago?’ said Templer. ‘My brother-in-law. At least he was until Babs divorced him. Somehow I’ve never been able to get him out of my life. Babs can demand her freedom and go her own way. For me there is no legal redress. Jimmy hangs round my neck like a millstone. I can’t even get an annulment.’

‘Didn’t he go in for motor racing?’

‘That’s the chap.’

‘Who disliked Sunny Farebrother so much?’

‘Hated his guts. Well, Jimmy is coming to lunch today and bringing some sort of a piece with him — he asked if he could. Not too young, I gather, so your eyes need not brighten up. I can’t remember her name. I could not refuse for old times’ sake, though he is a terrible bore is poor old Jimmy these days. He had a spill at Brooklands a year or two ago. Being shot out of his car arse-first seems to have affected his brain in some way — though you wouldn’t think there was much there to affect.’

‘What does he do?’

‘An underwriter at Lloyd’s. It is not his business capacity so much as his private life that has seized up. He still rakes in a certain amount of dough. But he has taken up astrology and theosophy and numerology and God knows what else. Could your friend Quiggin stand that? Probably love it, wouldn’t he? The more the merrier so far as I’m concerned.’

‘Quiggin would eat it up.’

‘Do ring him, then,’ said Mona.

‘Shall I?’

‘Go ahead,’ said Templer. ‘The telephone is next door.’

There was no reply from Quiggin’s Bloomsbury flat, so I rang St. John Clarke’s number; on the principle that if a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing well. The bell buzzed for some seconds, and then Quiggin’s voice sounded, gratingly, at the other end of the line. As I had supposed, he was already engaged on his new duties. At first he was very suspicious of my seeking him out at that place. These suspicions were not allayed when I explained about the invitation to lunch with the Templers.

‘But today’ he said, irritably. ‘Lunch today? Why, it’s nearly lunch-time already.’

I repeated to him Mona’s apologies for the undoubted lateness of the invitation.

‘But I don’t know them,’ said Quiggin. ‘Are they very rich?’

He still sounded cross, although a certain interest was aroused in him. I referred again to his earlier meeting with Mona.

‘So she remembered me at Deacon’s party after all?’ he asked, rather more hopefully this time.

‘She has talked of nothing but that evening.’

‘I don’t think I ought to leave St. J.’

‘Is he bad?’

‘Better, as a matter of fact. But there ought to be someone responsible here.’

‘Couldn’t you get Mark?’ I asked, to tease him.

‘St. J. does not want to see Mark just at the moment,’ said Quiggin, in his flattest voice, ignoring any jocular implications the question might have possessed. ‘But I suppose there is really no reason why the maid should not look after him perfectly well if I went out for a few hours.’

This sounded like weakening.

‘You could catch the train if you started now.’

He was silent for a moment, evidently anxious to accept, but at the same time trying to find some excuse for making himself so easily available.

‘Mona reads your articles.’

‘She does?’

‘Always quoting them.’

‘Intelligently?’

‘Come and judge for yourself.’

‘Should I like their house?’

‘You’ll have the time of your life.’

‘I think I will,’ he said. ‘Of course I shall be met at the station?’

‘Of course.’

‘All right, then.’

He replaced the receiver with a bang, as if closing an acrimonious interchange. I returned to the drawing-room. Templer was sprawling on the sofa, apparently not much interested whether Quiggin turned up or not.

‘He’s coming.’

‘Is he really?’ said Mona, shrilly. ‘How wonderful.’

‘Mona gets a bit bored with my friends,’ said Templer. ‘I must say I don’t blame her. Now you can sample something of another kind at lunch, sweetie.’

‘Well, we never see anybody interesting, sweetie,’ said Mona, putting on a stage pout. ‘He’ll at least remind me of the days when I used to meet intelligent people.’

‘Intelligent people?’ said Templer. ‘Come, come, darling, you aren’t being very polite to Nick. He regards himself as tremendously intelligent.’

‘Then we are providing some intelligent company for him,’ said Mona. ‘Your ex-brother-in-law isn’t likely to come out with anything very sparkling in the way of conversation — unless he has changed a lot since we went with him to Wimbledon.’

‘What do you expect at Wimbledon?’ said Templer. ‘To sit in the centre court listening to a flow of epigrams about foot-faults and forehand drives? Still, I see what you mean.’

I remembered Jimmy Stripling chiefly on account of various practical jokes in which he had been concerned when, as a boy, I had stayed with the Templers. In this horseplay he had usually had the worst of it. He remained in my memory as a big, gruff, bad-tempered fellow, full of guilty feelings about having taken no part in the war. I had not much cared for him. I wondered how he would get on with Quiggin, who could be crushing to people he disliked. However, one of the traits possessed by Quiggin in common with his new employer was a willingness to go almost anywhere where a free meal was on offer; and this realistic approach to social life implied, inevitably, if not toleration of other people, at least a certain rough and ready technique for dealing with all sorts. I could not imagine why Mona was so anxious to see Quiggin again. At that time I failed entirely to grasp the extent to which in her eyes Quiggin represented high romance.