Jane Gardam - Last Friends

I can think of nobody I would have preferred NOT to share an honour with than Eddie Feathers. Remember Harold Fondle? No — he’s not as bad as that: but he has the fatal APLOMB.

Feathers is Prometheus. He is thoroughly, wonderfully good. The idea of sharing an honour with him is almost as terrible as that of sharing a woman with him. I cannot however think that this could ever, possibly, happen.

Also — how I run on! — he was ahead of me at the Prep School I would have given almost anything to go to. Where your father taught once, Fred. Man in charge called ‘Sir’. Met him when your Dad came and rescued me when I ran away from being an evacuee (and a corpse) on The City of Benares . Feathers was Sir’s star student. Sir clearly in love with him. Well, well, ‘this little Orb’. In-it amazing?

Why am I so full of hate for this man Feathers? ‘He hath a certain beauty in his life/That makes mine ugly’. We’ll go to a Shakespeare together shall we Fred? When you do come down to London? If I can afford a ticket. There’s Olivier being something or other in St. Martin’s Lane. Sorry. I’m drunk. Did I say that before?

Oh yes — don’t expect to stay with me. I’m sleeping on the floor at present. There’s no respectable accommodation to be had in London unless you have Oxford ‘connections’. No doubt Les Plumes of this ghastly world have. By the way, how interesting that you are ‘breeding Highlanders’. Do they wear the kilt? Do you know Bobbie Grampian?

London’s a bomb-site Fred-boy. Stay among your stinking chimneys.

Love from

Terry

* * *

Curtain to some solemn music.

O ne week later

Terry sat in the Law Library of the Inns of Court looking at the envelope addressed to Fred Smith he had found in his pocket. It had been there for some days. Letter to the dreaded Fred of yester-year, the meanest boy in the school. He wondered about putting a penny or a penny-halfpenny stamp on it. Penny would do. He had few enough. F. Fiscal-Smith, Lone Hall, Near Yarm, North Yorkshire. A really merry-sounding address.

Think of swatty little Fred turning up! Well, well. And a lawyer. Post it when I go out. On the way to the interview. Why ever did I write so much to him? Terrible bore when he was eight. Will be worse now. Lawyer. Of course a lawyer! Well, he can’t come and land down here with me. I’m on the pavement.

Tonight would be the first Terry Veneering had no bed to go to. The landlady, so called, in Piccadilly Circus had said as he left the house that morning, ‘Oh, yes. There’ll be another man here tonight. I told him I thought you wouldn’t mind sharing’.

‘Well, you were wrong,’ he’d said, slamming upstairs, picking up his case, crashing out of the front door after leaving four shillings on the hall-stand.

Where to go? Think about it in the Law Library. He’d already been the rounds of the few people he knew in London. Might try MacPherson. Lived in Kensington somewhere with his mother. Thoroughly nice man. No side to him.

‘Hullo? Oh, hullo ! So glad you’re in, Robert. It’s Terence. Yes, Veneering. Yes. Oh, thanks. Well of course I’m only joint top with Feathers. No — I haven’t actually met up with him lately. Listen Bobby, you once said if I was ever stuck for a bed in London — could I possible stay tonight? I’ve an interview for a place in Chambers around five o’ clock in Lincoln’s Inn and nowhere to sleep. I’d be gone by breakfast.’

Silence. Then ‘ Tomorrow night is that, Terence? Tomorrow night?’

‘Well, actually tonight. My landlady told me this morning that she thought I wouldn’t mind sharing — with a stranger. So I. . ’

‘Good God. That’s terrible. Of course you’re welcome. Delighted. I’ll just check with mother. We’re having a bit of a party here tonight. Scottish dancing. We’ve a piper coming. I don’t suppose you have the kilt in your luggage? No? Well, never mind. Can lend.’

‘Actually, I haven’t much luggage at all. Toothbrush sort of thing.’

‘We have some splendid people coming. Do you reel?’

‘Well, no.’

‘Never mind. I seem to remember that you play?’

‘No! Well, saxophone. Bit of Blues. Piano.’

‘Oh, well. Shame. Just come. Not too early or late. Mother has very early dinner and goes to bed at nine.’

‘Actually, could I come another time? I can’t be sure of times tonight — I mean this evening — you see. Depends on how long this interview’s going to last. I’m looking for a seat in Chambers — anywhere, of course will do.’

‘Where’s the interview?’

‘Oh, just general. Libel and slander. Nothing distinguished. Not sure where. It’s on a bit of paper. Tutor at Christ Church set it up.’

‘Be careful. Libel’s a vile life. Come some other time won’t you, Terence?’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh — and do you sing? Madrigals! Next week. .?’

‘Not very well, Bobby.’

‘Oh, pity. I live at home here you know. Shan’t bother with Chambers just yet. Bit nostalgic for the old days after three years in the German nick. Picking up the old life. . ’

* * *

Where would he sleep tonight?

Veneering crossed the Strand, the letter to little Fred in his pocket. He dropped it into a letter-box on the corner of Chancery Lane and thought of it being opened in the despoiled — and by him never re-visited — Cleveland Hills. It was late afternoon now and the fog had come down. He thought of Malta gleaming at dawn. Thought of Elsie’s jade bracelet, her creamy skin, the startlingly beautiful little boy, Harry. Veneering was wearing his only suit, his demob suit which was already getting shiny. Hideous. Cold. He was hungry.

Why in the name of God did he want a job as a working court-room lawyer? In a set of Chambers nobody had ever heard about? Because there were ten applicants and more for every vacancy and often war heroes and/or rich. Had to try everything that was offered. Otherwise — No Room at the Inn. Ha-ha.

He found the Chambers and walked in.

* * *

The Clerk — a very famous Clerk he had been told: Augustus, the king-maker — looked him up and down and said, ‘Oh yes. I remember. All right, I’ll see if he can see you. He’s very busy,’ and vanished, pretending to yawn.

Then, ‘Follow me.’

‘Mr. Veneering, sir, of Christ Church College, Oxford and new member of the Inner Temple, starred First, top of Bar Finals, introduced by old tutor, an old friend of these Chambers.’

The tall, dapper Head of Chambers, very scarlet about the face, shiny-lipped, found his way from among the crowd of young men, all drinking wine and shouting with laughter. ‘Mr. Who ? Oh, yes, yes, yes. Mr. Veneering. Your tutor — he was mine, too, you know — I’m younger than I seem. How unbelievably young you all look now despite the recent conflict. I hear that you have travelled about the Globe? Showing the Flag? What a joy. All our troubles ended by the dropping of the splendid atomic bomb. Your — our — tutor never thought much of me you know, yet here I am at last proving myself useful to him. Soaking up the latent talent of our great College. He says you’re Russian? I don’t think — I’d better say at once — that these are quite the Chambers for a Russian. Have you tried one of the more un-noticeable professions? Perhaps the Civil Service?’

Veneering said that he was a lawyer.

‘Well exactly. Exactly . But we are exclusively Libel Chambers here. We are, I’ll admit, on the verge of being fashionable — even Royalty hovers — but all is very slow and fragile. So very few decadent duchesses. Huge sums to be made of course eventually, but, dear boy, not yet. Tell me, why did you become a lawyer?’