Anthony Powell - Temporary Kings

‘Sunny Farebrother? Do you know I was thinking of Sunny the other day. He used to own an old Ford car years ago — thirty or forty, old even then — so much so, people like me ragged him about it. No hope he’s kept it, I suppose? He’s always been a very economical man, but I don’t expect there’s any hope of that. I’d give a lot to possess that car. Cars are the only things I know about. Are you interested in cars?’

‘I possess one, so I have to be to that extent.’

Stripling shook his head. That was not enough.

‘I’ve loved cars all my life. Love’s the only word. Passionate love. Some feel like that about them. Probably why my marriage wasn’t a success. I loved cars over well. I’m too old to race them now, but I study them, and collect them. Not a rally, not a concours d’élégance , I miss. You know Odo’s got very keen on vintage cars too.’

When people speak of a subject close to them, they can look transformed. Almost as mystically absorbed in car lore as Mrs Erdleigh in a transcendental vision, Stripling suddenly changed from his dreamy state to one of intense excitement. He had just thought of something he could not wait to communicate to Stevens, something of paramount importance to both of them.

‘I say, Odo, do you know there’s an American at this party who’s keen on vintage cars? A fellow called Glober. Told me quite by chance a minute before the opera started. It’s just come back to me. I’d mentioned I owned two Armstrong Siddeleys, ’26 and ’27, which both still go like smoke. Powerful as dreadnoughts, the pair of them. He was as keen as mustard at once. They’re 14 h.p., o.h.v., four-cylinder, sparely raked windscreens, both absolute treasures the way they pound along. What do you think Glober told me? He owns a litre supercharged ’31 Bentley, which he’s got here tonight. Only bought her last week. Of course, he wanted to see the Armstrong Siddeleys, when he’s got a chance to let up on the film he’s making — he’s a film producer — and he’s going to show me the Bentley when we leave. He’s pondering a Bugatti 35.’

Stevens took charge of Stripling at this stage.

‘Of course I know Louis Glober’s in the vintage market, Jimmy. What are you thinking about? But, look here, tell me again what you were saying the other day about the 1902, 5 h.p., Renault Voiturette. It’s the big stuff I’m getting interested in now. There was also a 1903 Panhard et Levassor, 10 h.p. tonneau, I wanted to discuss.’

They settled down to the subject.

‘Though many desire these treasures, none enter but he who knows the key and how to use it.’

For a moment, Mrs Erdleigh sounded as if he she, too, had embarked on the subject of vintage cars, but occult practices were still her theme.

‘I remember Dr Trelawney saying much the same not long before he — ’

I stopped just in time, at the last minute remembering no one, least of all a mage like Dr Trelawney, should be disparaged by the statement that Death had overtaken him.

Providential suspension on my lips of that misnomer was barely accepted by Mrs Erdleigh. She had already begun to shake her head at such a near lapse, congenital lack of insight, all but openly displayed.

‘You mean not long before he achieved the Eighth Sphere to which Trismegistus refers?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Where, as again Vaughan writes, the liberated soul ascends, looking at the sunset towards the west wind, and hearing secret harmonies. He calls this world, where we are now, an outdoor theatre, in whose wings the Dead wait their cue for return to the stage — an image from the opéra bouffe we have just witnessed. In a short space now, I too shall leave for the wings. Perhaps before the drama is played out, of which the opening Act was in the Bragadin palace. The rumble of wheels sounds. Once set in motion, the chariot of the soul does not long linger.’

‘What was begun at Jacky Bragadin’s?’

‘Much to disorder the hierarchy of being. Elsewhere too. Pluto disports himself in the Eighth House.’

I should have liked to continue, try to persuade Mrs Erdleigh to show herself a little more explicit, but her attention was distracted by a young Labour MP, politely sceptical, also anxious to enquire into his own astrological nativity. Mrs Erdleigh’s engagement in this, other similar interrogations, took up the rest of supper. After we had moved away from the table, further opportunity came to talk to Stevens, who had for the moment renounced vintage cars, about Widmerpool, what had taken place to extricate him from his embarrassments. Stevens himself was greatly preoccupied with this question.

‘It’s been suggested he wrote an indiscreet letter. Realised he’d gone too far, then tried to withdraw. That might have been in office hours, or when he was being cultured in Eastern Europe. You can’t tell. It’s not denied now he’s a close sympathizer. Even so, he didn’t want to get in trouble with his own security authorities. A spot of blackmail seems to have been the result. I know the form. One of my own mob found himself in a tangle that way. Thought it all in the interests of “international goodwill” to hand over one or two quite important little items. They asked for more, he stalled — got cold feet — they gave him away to us.’

‘Somebody said there was a defection on their side.’

Stevens gave a sharp look.

‘Perhaps there was. Whatever happened, he’s got away with it.’

Stevens moved at ease through the world of secret traffickings of this kind. He was about to continue an exposition of what happened to such suspects, when — when not — convenient to prosecute, but was interrupted by Rosie. She came up in a state of some disquiet. Her little black eyes were popping out of her head with agitation.

‘Odo, come at once. Something rather worrying has happened.’

Stevens went off with her. Rosie’s anxiety might have any cause, the house on fire, an undesired invitation she wanted help in refusing, one of the children been sick, the degree of seriousness could not be estimated. Stevens’s comments had interest. What dreams of power, practical or phantasmic had long tantalized Widmerpool’s heart, what plans meditated to put them into effect? Stevens had spoken ironically of betrayals in the interest of ‘international goodwill’; Bagshaw, speculating on less highflown motives, satisfaction of a taste for wholesale destruction, vicarious individual revenge against society. Neither Bagshaw nor Stevens spoke without experience. Perhaps, in Widmerpool’s case, he managed to coalesce in himself both aspects. Chandler and Gossage passed. They said goodnight.

‘A nice turn of power in the middle notes, didn’t you think?’ said Gossage.’ A fine sensibility of phrase?’

‘Hugh didn’t look too well,’ said Chandler. ‘I hope he’s all right. I hadn’t seen him for an age.’

They passed on. It was time to leave. I began to look about for Isobel. Before I found her, Stevens returned to the room. I took this opportunity of saying goodbye, as he seemed on his way somewhere. He confirmed, as it were, the words spoken a minute before by Chandler.

‘Hugh Moreland’s not very well. He’s gone to lie down in the study. I’m on my way to get the car. I can run them home.’

Stevens, many of his characteristics uncommendable, was good at taking charge when certain kinds of awkward situation arose.

‘Is Hugh bad?’

‘Doesn’t look too good. He had a blackout, and fell. He’s all right now, all right in the sense that he doesn’t want to leave, because he says there are a lot of things about the Seraglio he still wants to discuss. We’ve persuaded him to take it easy for the moment. He’ll be better when he gets to bed.’