“You’ve got promotion?”
“In the sense of immediate accession of rank — no. With the connotation that my employment will now be established in a more lofty — an incalculably more lofty — sphere than a Divisional Headquarters — yes.”
“The War Office?”
Widmerpool raised his hand slightly, at the same time allowing a brief smile to lighten his face in indication of the superiority, stratospheric in degree, towards which he was about to soar beyond the range of any institution so traditionally prosaic, not to say sordid in function, as the War Office. He folded his arms.
“No,” he said, “not the War Office, I am thankful to say.”
“Where, then?”
“The Cabinet Offices.”
“I’m rather vague about them.”
“An admission that does not surprise me.”
“It’s the top thing of all?”
“You might describe it that way.”
“How else?”
“The Cabinet Offices comprise, in one aspect, the area of action where the Ministry of Defence — the Chiefs of Staff, if you prefer — are in immediate contact with each other and with the Government of this country — with the Prime Minister himself.”
“I see.”
“So you will appreciate the fact that my removal of Stringham from these Headquarters will not affect me in the smallest way.”
“You go at once?”
“I have only heard unofficially at present. I imagine it will be the matter of a week, perhaps less.”
“Have you any idea what will happen to me when you’re gone?”
“None.”
There was something impressive in his total lack of interest in the fate of all persons except himself. Perhaps it was not the lack of interest in itself — common enough to many people — but the fact that he was at no pains to conceal this within some more or less hypocritical integument.
“I shall be left high and dry?”
“I certainly doubt if my successor will be allowed an assistant. My own particular methods, more energetic than most, led to an abnormal amount of work for a mere D.A.A.G. Even so, there has been recent pressure from above to encourage me to dispense with your services.”
“You haven’t anything in mind for me?”
“Nothing.”
“You said you might try and fix something.”
“I have no recollection of doing so — and, anyway, what could I fix?”
“So it will be the Infantry Training Centre?”
“I should imagine.”
“Not much of a prospect.”
“The army more often than not offers uninviting prospects,” said Widmerpool. “Look at the months I have been stuck here, wasting my time, and, if I may say so, my abilities. We are not soldiers just to enjoy ourselves. We are waging a war. You seem aggrieved. Let me point out there is nothing startlingly brilliant in your own work — your industry and capabilities — to make me press for a good appointment for you. In addition to what can only be regarded as mediocre qualities as a staff officer, it was you, and no other, who saw fit to involve me in the whole Bithel-Stringham hash. That might well have turned out very awkwardly for me. No, Nicholas, if you examine your conscience, you will find you have very little to grumble at.”
He sighed, whether at my own ingratitude or human frailty in general, I was uncertain. Cocksidge appeared in the doorway.
“A. & Q. wants to see you, sir,” he said. “Right away. Very urgent. He’s got the D.A.P.M. with him.”
“Right.”
“I hear you may be leaving us, sir,” said Cocksidge.
He spoke more with unction than servility.
“It’s got round, has it?” said Widmerpool approvingly.
I had the impression he had put the rumour round himself. He went off down the passage. Cocksidge turned towards me, at the same time sharply adjusting his manner from that of lower-middle-grade obsequiousness to a major ard staff officer, to one more in keeping for employment towards a second-lieutenant not even a member of the staff.
“The night you were last Duty Officer, Jenkins, the Field Park Company received their routine telephone contact five minutes later than the time noted on your report.”
“It went out in the normal manner with the others.”
“What happened then?”
“I suppose the Sapper Duty Officer didn’t note it down immediately or else his watch was wrong.”
“I shall have to look into this,” said Cocksidge.
He spoke threateningly, as if expecting further explanation. I remembered now I had indeed effected the Field Park contact a few minutes later than the others for some trivial reason. However, I stuck to my guns. The matter was not of the smallest practical importance. If Cocksidge wanted to make trouble, he would have to undertake researches at some considerable labour to himself. That was unlikely with such meagre advantages in view. He left the room, slamming the door behind him. The telephone bell rang.
“Major Farebrother, from Command, downstairs, sir. Wants to see the D.A.A.G.”
“Send him up.”
This was the first time Sunny Farebrother had ever paid a visit to Divisional Headquarters. Recently, he and Widmerpool had been less in conflict, less even in direct contact. Either old enmities had died down, or, I supposed, other more important matters had been occupying both of them. The news about himself Widmerpool had just released, in his own case confirmed that view. Farebrother was likely to have been similarly engaged, unless he had greatly changed. At that moment he came through the door, stopping short for a second, while he saluted with parade ground formality. Military psychology could to some extent be gauged by this business of saluting when entering a room. Officers of field rank would sometimes omit the convention, if, on entering, they immediately sighted only a subaltern there. These officers, one noticed, were often wanting when more serious demands were made on their capacity. However, few, even of those who knew how to behave, brought out the movement with such a click and snap as Farebrother had done. When he had relaxed, I explained Widmerpool had been summoned by Colonel Pedlar and might be away from the office for some little time.
“I’m in no particular hurry,” said Farebrother. “I had another appointment in the neighbourhood and thought I would look in on Kenneth. I’ll wait, if I may.”
He accepted a chair. His manner was kindly but cold. He did not recognise me. There was little reason why he should after nearly twenty years, when we had travelled together to London after staying with the Templers. I remembered the taxi piled high with miscellaneous luggage and sporting equipment, as our ways had parted at the station. There had been a gun-case, a cricket bat and a fishing rod; possibly two squash racquets.
“You must come and lunch with me one of these days,” he had said, giving one of his very open smiles.
He was surprisingly unchanged from that moment. A suggestion of grey threaded, here and there, neat light-coloured hair. This faint powdering of silver increased the air of distinction, even of moral superiority, which his outward appearance always conveyed. The response he offered — that he was a person of self-denying, upright life — had nearly been allowed to become tinged with a touch of self-righteousness. Any such outgrowth was kept within bounds by the soldierly spruceness of his bearing. I judged him now to be in his early fifties. Middle-age caused him to look more than ever like one’s conception of Colonel Newcome, though a more sophisticated, enterprising prototype of Thackeray’s old warrior. Sunny Farebrother could never entirely conceal his own shrewdness, however much he tried. He was a Colonel Newcome who, instead of collapsing into bankruptcy, had become, on retirement from the army, a brisk business executive; offered a seat on the East India Company’s Board, rather than mooning round the precincts of the Charterhouse. At the same time, Farebrother would certainly know the right phrase to express appreciation of any such historic buildings or sentimental memories with which he might himself have been associated. One could be sure of that. He was not a player to overlook a useful card. Above all, he bestowed around him a sense of smoothness, ineffable, unstemmable smoothness, like oil flowing ever so gently from the spout of a vessel perfectly regulated by its pourer, soft lubricating fluid, gradually, but irresistibly, spreading; and spreading, let it be said, over an unexpectedly wide, even a vast area.