Kingsley Amis - Dear Illusion - Selected Stories

‘I found I could miss a lot of that film by rolling my eyes up. And it’s easier when you’re acting. I must go.’

‘Where does Julie think you were?’

‘With A. N. Other. She had a fling with S. O. Else so that’s all right. We were having a difference at the time. I was only away for one night.’

Adrian left Derek Richards in his office and went upstairs to his own. He had not told Derek or anybody else about how, immediately on returning to his desk, he had telephoned that Pennistone whose pitiable book on the world of high finance he had so rightly dismissed out of hand, nor how he had given Pennistone notice of his return, just that and no more, nor how half a minute’s complete silence at the other end of the line had been the only response.

Afterwards, Adrian had been as satisfied as he cared to be that he had identified the man Chatterton had stagily called Mr X and that there was nothing more to be expected from that quarter. He wished only, and that not very ardently, that he could have known the whereabouts of the house he had been taken to in a drugged state and brought back from with his head, however willingly, in a bag.

But there was one more thing. With the obstinate punctuality of the unwelcome, Jack Brownlow arrived no more than a couple of seconds after the agreed hour, full of fraudulent apologies for taking up the firm’s valuable time. He settled himself down in a chair by the window with a self-importance suggesting his conviction that, in the years that lay ahead, visitors to this office would be told in hushed tones that that was the self-same chair Jack Brownlow used to sit in. No doubt for a similar reason he wore his usual archaic suit.

‘Did you manage to glance at those rough xeroxes I dropped in the other day?’ he asked when he was ready to.

‘Yes I did .’ Instead of going on to say that he had thought he recognized them as the opening pages of Brownlow’s last novel, and had had to check to make sure they were not, or not quite, Adrian went on to say, ‘I don’t know how you do it.’

Luckily Brownlow made no offer to explain how. He said, ‘That’s a relief. I just thought it was time I made a clean break with the sort of thing the public expect from me.’

Adrian made some reply. This time what he did not say was that he had got an idea for a sort of thriller that began with a kidnapping, something he would gladly part with if Brownlow thought it was time he made a clean break with the sort of thing the public expected from him. Another lecture on how novelists should stick to their own experience might be too much to bear.

A Play For Radio

Principal Characters (* denotes a fictitious person)

CAPTAIN LEWIS NOLAN

In his late twenties. An upper-crust Irishman brought up in Milan.

LORD ROBERT CECIL

In his mid-twenties.

[later Lord Salisbury]

CAPTAIN IVOR MORRIS

A few years older than Nolan. I see or hear him as a fairly posh Welshman. ‘Ivor’ is my invention. I cannot find Morris’s true Christian name nor much about him, but a Capt. Morris certainly led the 17 thLancers at the charge, which he survived though grievously wounded, and was certainly a close friend of Nolan’s and a fellow-enthusiast for cavalry.

COUNT ROGACHEV*

In his thirties or forties.

LORD LUCAN

Mid-fifties.

LORD CARDIGAN

Late fifties. A ‘plunger’, an aristocrat who spoke with a distinctive jargon or accent, pronouncing R as W and interlarding sentences with loud and meaningless exclamations of ‘Haw haw’.

JOSEPH*

In his forties or fifties. Speaks with an accent differentiating him from Russians, e.g. Polish or Ukrainian.

LORD GEORGE PAGET

In his mid-thirties. A gallant soldier, later a general.

SIDNEY HERBERT

’Secretary at War’ in the 1852 cabinet of Lord Aberdeen.

Sequence 1 — London

We are in Pall Mall in the year 1854. A cab draws up.

CABBY: Here we are, gents. Retrenchment Club. Oh, thank you, captain. You two gentlemen going to be off to fight them Rooshans?

NOLAN: One day, maybe.

CABBY: Well, give ’em a bang on the boko from me. Good night, sir.

The cab moves off. During the exchange NOLAN and his companion have alighted. They cross the pavement, mount some steps and enter the lobby of the club. A porter approaches .

PORTER: Good evening, gentlemen.

NOLAN: We’re here to see Lord Robert Cecil. We are Captain Lewis Nolan and Captain Ivor Morris. His lordship is expecting us.

PORTER: If you’ll be good enough to wait a moment, sir, I’ll inform his lordship that you gentlemen have arrived.

NOLAN: Thank you kindly. ( A moment .) Ivor, for God’s sake: this fellow is younger than you or me. Sure he comes from a grand family and they say he’s a coming man, but there’s no side about him at all. He’s always been interested in the Eastern Question, that’s Turkey and Russia and the rest of it. And the lad’s fond of horses, do you understand.

PORTER: ( Approaching ) Would you come this way please, gentlemen.

They walk through part of the club.

PORTER: Captain Nolan and Captain Morris, your lordship.

CECIL: Thank you, Hawkins. Thank you for coming, Nolan. So this is the estimable Captain Morris. All I know about you, sir, is that you’re a childhood friend of Lew Nolan here, and that you share some of this mad Irishman’s delusions.

MORRIS: I’m afraid there are one or two subjects, my lord, on which neither Lew nor I is quite sane.

CECIL: That’s a relief. I pass my days with sane people and believe me it’s hell. Now sit down and let’s have a drink. The sherry here can just about be swallowed if you grit your teeth, or you might prefer a little brandy.

Fade down and fade up in the main dining-room of the club. CECIL, NOLAN and MORRIS are at a table by themselves.

CECIL: What’s being said about the appointment of Lord Lucan to lead the cavalry?

NOLAN: Well, unlike the other generals he has seen active service.

CECIL: Oh, I didn’t realize that.

NOLAN: Twenty-six years ago. He did well enough then.

MORRIS: And then, on April Fool’s Day, if you please, it’s announced that Lord Cardigan is gazetted Brigadier-General in command of the Light Brigade. Now Lucan’s a difficult fellow, but the word is he’s a good tough officer. But Cardigan, he’s… may I speak plain, sir?

CECIL: Please do.

MORRIS: Lord Cardigan is a lunatic, that’s the kindest thing you can say of him. Arrogant, reckless, obstinate, brooking no opposition, a damn fool, and unfortunately as brave as a lion. And in the 17th Lancers I’m to be under his command. The thought of that frightens me.

NOLAN: Which doesn’t often happen to Ivor Morris. And my lord Cardigan wants me as his personal assistant, his A D C.

CECIL: Are you going to take the job?

NOLAN: I’ll see the fellow in hell first. You know, my lord, when I think that the British cavalry list is full of brilliant and experienced officers in the prime of their careers, not one of whom has been given a command in this expedition, because their service has been in India — well, I want to weep.

CECIL: Before you collapse altogether, Nolan, you’d better have a glass of port.

We have moved to the port-drinking room of the club . NOLAN is well away .

NOLAN: It’s my belief that, properly led, cavalry, especially light cavalry, can do anything.

CECIL: Is it your belief that cavalry could break an infantry square?