Anthony Powell - Books Do Furnish a Room

‘How’s Stevens taking the loss?’

‘He’s pretty cross. Can you blame him? The more interesting point is that Rosie Manasch is very cross too. In fact she’s withdrawn her support from the mag in consequence of her crossness with Quiggin & Craggs as a firm. That’s awkward, because — though personally I think a lot of unnecessary fuss was made about the Trapnel parody — the rest of the board don’t feel it a good moment to stir up Widmerpool.’

‘Is Stevens getting compensation?’

‘You haven’t studied the writing paper. The greatest care is taken of manuscripts, but no responsibility. However, they’ve allowed the contract to be cancelled.’

‘That was handsome.’

Compared with the Stevens row, the disappointment caused by Sillery’s Diary, after all the haggling about terms, and high advance, was a minor blow, though again there were repercussions. The extracts were called Garnered at Sunset: Leaves from an Edwardian Journal .

‘A masterpiece of dullness,’ said Bagshaw. ‘JG read it. Howard read it. For once they were in complete agreement. The only thing to do will be to publish, and hope for the best. I’m surprised at Ada. She’s strung them along over Sillery.’

Ada’s policy in the matter, as not seldom, was enigmatic, probably dictated by a mixture of antagonistic considerations. The Diary, seen as one of the paths to a career, had not been truly subjected to her usually sharp judgment. Its lack of interest had been obscured by inner workings of the curious kind of flirtation she and Sillery had shared. Those elements might be put forward as excuse for the recommendation. It was also possible, knowing Sillery as she did, that Ada had genuinely found Garnered at Sunset absorbing. Publishers’ readers, as Quiggin remarked, are no less subjective than other animals. It might be thought that this critical lapse on Ada’s part would have prejudiced her position in the firm. On the contrary, nothing more retributive was visited on her than that Quiggin proposed marriage.

Bagshaw suggested that an emotional scene contingent on some sort of reprimand on the subject of the Sillery Journal, had brought things to a head, but there can be no doubt an offer of marriage was already at the back of Quiggin’s mind. The fact that the firm was moving towards a close had nothing to do with it. He was accepted. As a married man, the place he had found on the board of Clapham’s firm would be advantageous; on the whole a step forward in a publishing career. The two of them were quietly married one August afternoon before the Registrar; Mark Members and L. O. Salvidge, witnesses. Craggs and Gypsy were not asked. Craggs had announced he was going into semi-retirement when the firm closed down, but it seemed likely that he would continue his activities, at least in an inconspicuous manner, with many little interests of a political sort that had always engrossed him. All these things played a part, others too, in the winding up of Quiggin & Craggs, representative of common enough impediments to running a publishing house; exceptional, in as much as they were exceptional, only on account of the individuals concerned. The climax, in an odd way, seemed to be the night spent with Trapnel and Bagshaw. That had been rather different. By then, in any case, both magazine and publishing business had received the death sentence. All the same that night — the symbolic awfulness of its events — was something to put a seal on the whole affair. It confirmed several other things too.

Matters had begun with a telephone call from Bagshaw at about half-past nine one evening four or five weeks before. From the opening sentences it was clear he was drunk, less clear what he wanted. At first the object seemed no more than a chat about the sadness of life, perhaps a long one, but entailing merely a sympathetic hearing. That was too good to be true. It soon grew plain some request was going to be made. Even then, what the demand would be became only gradually apparent.

‘As the mag’s closing down, I thought a small celebration would be justified.’

‘So you said, Books. You’ve said that twice.’

‘Sorry, sorry. The fact is everything always comes at once. Look, Nicholas, I want your help. I’d already decided on this small celebration, when Trappy got in touch with me at the office. He rang up himself, which, as you know, he doesn’t often do. He’s in a lot of trouble. This girl, I mean.’

‘Pamela Widmerpool?’

It was as well to make sure.

‘That’s the one.’

The fact that Pamela might be Widmerpool’s wife had made, from his tone of voice, little or no serious impact on Bagshaw. He clearly thought of her as one, among many, of Trapnel’s girls … Tessa … Pat … Sally … Pauline … any of the Trapnel girls Bagshaw himself had known in the course of their acquaintance.

‘What’s happened?’

‘They’ve had some row about his novel — you know the one — what — can’t quite — ’

He made a tremendous effort, but I had to intervene.

‘ Profiles in String ?’

‘That’s the book. He’s tremendously pleased with it, but can’t decide about an ending. He wants one, she wants another.’

‘Trapnel’s writing the bloody book, isn’t he?’

Bagshaw was shocked at this disregard for authority conferred by a love attachment.

‘Trappy was upset. They had a row. Now he doesn’t want to go back and find she’s left. She may have done. He wants someone to go back with him. Soften the blow. I said I’d do that.’

‘Look, Books, why are you telling me all this?’

‘I was quite willing to do that. See him home, I mean. Trappy and I went to the pub to talk things over. You know how it is. I’m not quite sure I can get him back unaided.’

‘Do you mean he’s passed out?’

Bagshaw was insulted at the suggestion that such a fate might have overtaken any friend of his.

‘Not in the least. It’s just he’s in a bit of a state. Sort of nervous condition. That’s what I’m coming to. It’s really an awful lot to ask. Would it be too great an infliction for you to come along and lend a hand?’

‘Is it those pills?’

‘Might be.’

‘Where are you?’

‘Not far from Trappy’s flat. Once we’ve got him under way there’ll be nothing to it.’

Bagshaw named a pub I had never heard of, but, from the description of its locality, evidently not far from Trapnel’s base, assuming that unchanged from the night I had visited him. Since that night I had heard nothing of him or Pamela. She had not rung up to ask for further books to review. The L. O. Salvidge notice had never been sent in. Salvidge was aggrieved. Trapnel ceased altogether to be a contributor to Fission in its latter days.

‘Can he walk?’

‘Of course he can walk — at least I think so. It’s not walking I’m worried about, just I don’t know how he’ll behave when he gets into the open. After all, which of us does? You’d be a great support, Nicholas, if you could manage to come along. You always get on all right with Trappy, which is more than some do. I’m full of apologies for asking this.’

Although in most respects quite different, the situation seemed to present certain points in common with conducting Bithel, collapsed on the pavement, back to G Mess; restoring Stringham to his flat after the Old Boy dinner. In some sense history was repeating itself, though incapacity to walk seemed not Trapnel’s disability.

‘All right, I’ll be along as soon as I can.’

Isobel was unimpressed by this call for help. There was much to be said for her view of it. Now that Bagshaw was off the line, compliance took the shape of moral weakness, rather than altruism or benevolence.