Edward Aubyn - The Patrick Melrose Novels - Never Mind, Bad News, Some Hope, and Mother's Milk

‘Oh, I don’t think that’s fair,’ said Tom.

‘Well, I don’t suppose it is,’ said George, ‘but what is the point of reaching this idiotically advanced age if one can’t be unfair?’

‘There was a lot of talk at dinner about Chancellor Kohl’s claim that he was “very shocked” when war broke out in the Gulf.’

‘I suppose it was shocking for the poor Germans not to have started the war themselves,’ George interjected.

‘Harold was saying over dinner,’ continued Tom, ‘that he’s surprised there isn’t a United Nations Organisation called UNUC because “when it comes down to it they’re no bloody use at all”.’

‘What I want to know,’ said George, thrusting out his chin, ‘is what chance we have against the Japanese when we live in a country where “industrial action” means going on strike. I’m afraid I’ve lived for too long. I can still remember when this country counted for something. I was just saying to Patrick,’ he added, politely drawing him back into the conversation, ‘that one has to make a contribution in life. There are too many people in this room who are just hanging around waiting for their relations to die so that they can go on more expensive holidays. Sadly, I count my daughter-in-law among them.’

‘Bunch of vultures,’ growled Tom. ‘They’d better take those holidays soon. I don’t see the banking system holding up, except on some kind of religious basis.’

‘Currency always rested on blind faith,’ said George.

‘But it’s never been like this before,’ said Tom. ‘Never has so much been owed by so many to so few.’

‘I’m too old to care anymore,’ said George. ‘Do you know, I was thinking that if I go to heaven, and I don’t see why I shouldn’t, I hope that King, my old butler, will be there.’

‘To do your unpacking?’ suggested Patrick.

‘Oh, no,’ said George. ‘I think he’s done quite enough of that sort of thing down here. In any case, I don’t think one takes any luggage to heaven, do you? It must be like a perfect weekend, with no luggage.’

* * *

Like a rock in the middle of a harbour, Sonny stood stoutly near the entrance of the tent putting his guests under an obligation to greet him as they came in.

‘But this is something absolutely marvellous,’ said Jacques d’Alantour in a confidential tone, spreading his hands to encompass the whole tent. As if responding to this gesture the big jazz band at the far end of the room struck up simultaneously.

‘Well, we try our best,’ said Sonny smugly.

‘I think it was Henry James,’ said the ambassador, who knew perfectly well that it was and had rehearsed the quotation, unearthed for him by his secretary, many times before leaving Paris, ‘who said: “this richly complex English world, where the present is always seen, as it were in profile, and the past presents a full face.”’

‘It’s no use quoting these French authors to me,’ said Sonny. ‘All goes over my head. But, yes, English life is rich and complex – although not as rich as it used to be with all these taxes gnawing away at the very fabric of one’s house.’

‘Ah,’ sighed Monsieur d’Alantour sympathetically. ‘But you are putting on a “brave face” tonight.’

‘We’ve had our tricky moments,’ Sonny confessed. ‘Bridget went through a mad phase of thinking we knew nobody, and invited all sorts of odds and sods. Take that little Indian chap over there, for instance. He’s writing a biography of Jonathan Croyden. I’d never set eyes on him before he came down to look at some letters Croyden wrote to my father, and blow me down, Bridget asked him to the party over lunch. I’m afraid I lost my temper with her afterwards, but it really was a bit much.’

* * *

‘Hello, my dear,’ said Nicholas to Ali Montague. ‘How was your dinner?’

‘Very county ,’ said Ali.

‘Oh, dear. Well, ours was really tous ce qu’il y a de plus chic , except that Princess Margaret rapped me over the knuckles for expressing “atheistic views”.’

‘Even I might have a religious conversion under those circumstances,’ said Ali, ‘but it would be so hypocritical I’d be sent straight to hell.’

‘One thing I am sure of is that if God didn’t exist, nobody would notice the difference,’ said Nicholas suavely.

‘Oh, I thought of you a moment ago,’ said Ali. ‘I overheard a couple of old men who both looked as if they’d had several riding accidents. One of them said, “I’m thinking of writing a book,” and the other one replied, “Jolly good idea.” “They say everyone has a book in them,” said the would-be author. “Hmm, perhaps I’ll write one as well,” his friend replied. “Now you’re stealing my idea,” said the first one, really quite angrily. So naturally I wondered how your book was getting along. I suppose it must be almost finished by now.’

‘It’s very difficult to finish an autobiography when you’re leading as thrilling a life as I am,’ said Nicholas sarcastically. ‘One constantly finds some new nugget that has to be put in, like a sample of your conversation, my dear.’

* * *

‘There’s always an element of cooperation in incest,’ said Kitty Harrow knowingly. ‘I know it’s supposed to be fearfully taboo, but of course it’s always gone on, sometimes in the very best families,’ she added complacently, touching the cliff of blue-grey hair that towered over her small forehead. ‘I remember my own father standing outside my bedroom door hissing, “You’re completely hopeless, you’ve got no sexual imagination.”’

‘Good God!’ said Robin Parker.

‘My father was a marvellous man, very magnetic.’ Kitty rolled her shoulders as she said this. ‘Everybody adored him. So, you see, I know what I’m talking about. Children give off the most enormous sexual feeling; they set out to seduce their parents. It’s all in Freud, I’m told, although I haven’t read his books myself. I remember my son always showing me his little erection. I don’t think parents should take advantage of these situations, but I can quite see how they get swept along, especially in crowded conditions with everybody living on top of each other.’

‘Is your son here?’ asked Robin Parker.

‘No, he’s in Australia,’ Kitty replied sadly. ‘I begged him to take over running the farm here, but he’s mad about Australian sheep. I’ve been to see him twice, but I really can’t manage the plane flight. And when I get there I’m not at all keen on that way of life, standing in a cloud of barbecue smoke being bored to death by a sheepshearer’s wife – one doesn’t even get the sheepshearer. Fergus took me to the coast and forced me to go snorkelling. All I can say is that the Great Barrier Reef is the most vulgar thing I’ve ever seen. It’s one’s worst nightmare, full of frightful loud colours, peacock blues, and impossible oranges all higgledy-piggledy while one’s mask floods.’

* * *

‘The Queen was saying only the other day that London property prices are so high that she doesn’t know how she’d cope without Buckingham Palace,’ Princess Margaret explained to a sympathetic Peter Porlock.

* * *

‘How are you?’ Nicholas asked Patrick.

‘Dying for a drink,’ said Patrick.

‘Well you have all my sympathy,’ yawned Nicholas. ‘I’ve never been addicted to heroin, but I had to give up smoking cigarettes, which was quite bad enough for me. Oh, look, there’s Princess Margaret. One has to be so careful not to trip over her. I suppose you’ve already heard what happened at dinner.’

‘The diplomatic incident.’

‘Yes.’

‘Very shocking,’ said Patrick solemnly.

‘I must say, I rather admire P.M.,’ said Nicholas, glancing over at her condescendingly. ‘She used a minor accident to screw the maximum amount of humiliation out of the ambassador. Somebody has to uphold our national pride during its Alzheimer years, and there’s no one who does it with more conviction. Mind you,’ said Nicholas in a more withering tone, ‘ entre nous , since I’m relying on them to give me a lift back to London, I don’t think France has been so heroically represented since the Vichy government. You should have seen the way Alantour slid to his knees. Although I’m absolutely devoted to his wife who, behind all that phoney chic, is a genuinely malicious person with whom one can have the greatest fun, I’ve always thought Jacques was a bit of a fool.’