‘No one,’ and added unctuously:
‘It was a terrible shock to the community, this affair.’
‘Nonsense,’ Fielding retorted. ‘Boys love disaster. The further we are from death the more attractive it seems. They find the whole affair most exhilarating.’
‘The publicity has been most unseemly,’ said D’Arcy, ‘most. I think that has been prominent in the minds of many of us in the Common Room.’ He turned to Smiley:
‘The press, you know, is a constant worry here. In the past it could never have happened. Formerly our great families and institutions were not subjected to this intrusion. No, indeed not. But today all that is changed. Many of us are compelled to subscribe to the cheaper newspapers for this very reason. One Sunday newspaper mentioned no fewer than four of Hecht’s old boys in one edition. All of them in an unseemly context, I may say. And of course such papers never fail to mention that the boy is a Carnian. You know, I suppose, that we have the young Prince here. (I myself have the honour to supervise his French studies.) The young Sawley is also at Carne. The activity of the press during his parents’ divorce suit was deplorable. Quite deplorable. The Master wrote to the Press Council, you know. I drafted the letter myself. But on this tragic occasion they have excelled themselves. We even had the press at Compline last night, you know, waiting for the Special Prayer. They occupied the whole of the two rear pews on the west side. Hecht was doing Chapel Duty and tried to have them removed.’ He paused, raised his eyebrows in gentle reproach and smiled. ‘He had no business to, of course, but that never stopped the good Hecht.’ He turned to Smiley. ‘One of our athletic brethren,’ he explained.
‘Stella was too common for you, Felix, wasn’t she?’
‘Not at all,’ said D’Arcy quickly. ‘I would not have you say that of me, Terence. I am by no means discriminatory in the matter of class; merely of manners. I grant you, in that particular field, I found her wanting.’
‘In many ways she was just what we needed,’ Fielding continued, addressing Smiley and ignoring D’Arcy. ‘She was everything we’re forced to ignore – she was red-brick, council estates, new towns, the very antithesis of Carne!’ He turned suddenly to D’Arcy and said, ‘But to you, Felix, she was just bad form.’
‘Not at all; merely unsuitable.’
Fielding turned to Smiley in despair.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘We talk academic here, you know, wear academic dress and hold High Table dinners in the Common Room; we have long graces in Latin that none of us can translate. We go to the Abbey and the wives sit in the hencoop in their awful hats. But it’s a charade. It means nothing.’
D’Arcy smiled wanly.
‘I cannot believe, my dear Terence, that anyone who keeps such an excellent table as yourself can have so low an opinion of the refinements of social conduct.’ He looked to Smiley for support and Smiley dutifully echoed the compliment. ‘Besides, we know Terence of old at Carne. I am afraid we are accustomed to his roar.’
‘I know why you disliked that woman, Felix. She was honest, and Carne has no defence against that kind of honesty.’
D’Arcy suddenly became very angry indeed.
‘Terence, I will not have you say this. I simply will not have it. I feel I have a certain duty at Carne, as indeed we all have, to restore and maintain those standards of behaviour which suffered so sadly in the war. I am sensible that this determination has made me on more than one occasion unpopular. But such comment or advice as I offer is never – I beg you to notice this – is never directed against personalities, only against behaviour, against unseemly lapses in conduct. I will acknowledge that more than once I was compelled to address Rode on the subject of his wife’s conduct. That is a matter quite divorced from personalities, Terence. I will not have it said that I disliked Mrs Rode.
‘It was a terrible shock to the community, this affair.’
‘Nonsense,’ Fielding retorted. ‘Boys love disaster. The further we are from death the more attractive it seems. They find the whole affair most exhilarating.’
‘The publicity has been most unseemly,’ said D’Arcy, ‘most. I think that has been prominent in the minds of many of us in the Common Room.’ He turned to Smiley:
‘The press, you know, is a constant worry here. In the past it could never have happened. Formerly our great families and institutions were not subjected to this intrusion. No, indeed not. But today all that is changed. Many of us are compelled to subscribe to the cheaper newspapers for this very reason. One Sunday newspaper mentioned no fewer than four of Hecht’s old boys in one edition. All of them in an unseemly context, I may say. And of course such papers never fail to mention that the boy is a Carnian. You know, I suppose, that we have the young Prince here. (I myself have the honour to supervise his French studies.) The young Sawley is also at Carne. The activity of the press during his parents’ divorce suit was deplorable. Quite deplorable. The Master wrote to the Press Council, you know. I drafted the letter myself. But on this tragic occasion they have excelled themselves. We even had the press at Compline last night, you know, waiting for the Special Prayer. They occupied the whole of the two rear pews on the west side. Hecht was doing Chapel Duty and tried to have them removed.’ He paused, raised his eyebrows in gentle reproach and smiled. ‘He had no business to, of course, but that never stopped the good Hecht.’ He turned to Smiley. ‘One of our athletic brethren,’ he explained.
‘Stella was too common for you, Felix, wasn’t she?’
‘Not at all,’ said D’Arcy quickly. ‘I would not have you say that of me, Terence. I am by no means discriminatory in the matter of class; merely of manners. I grant you, in that particular field, I found her wanting.’
‘In many ways she was just what we needed,’ Fielding continued, addressing Smiley and ignoring D’Arcy. ‘She was everything we’re forced to ignore – she was red-brick, council estates, new towns, the very antithesis of Carne!’ He turned suddenly to D’Arcy and said, ‘But to you, Felix, she was just bad form.’
‘Not at all; merely unsuitable.’
Fielding turned to Smiley in despair.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘We talk academic here, you know, wear academic dress and hold High Table dinners in the Common Room; we have long graces in Latin that none of us can translate. We go to the Abbey and the wives sit in the hencoop in their awful hats. But it’s a charade. It means nothing.’
D’Arcy smiled wanly.
‘I cannot believe, my dear Terence, that anyone who keeps such an excellent table as yourself can have so low an opinion of the refinements of social conduct.’ He looked to Smiley for support and Smiley dutifully echoed the compliment. ‘Besides, we know Terence of old at Carne. I am afraid we are accustomed to his roar.’
‘I know why you disliked that woman, Felix. She was honest, and Carne has no defence against that kind of honesty.’
D’Arcy suddenly became very angry indeed.
‘Terence, I will not have you say this. I simply will not have it. I feel I have a certain duty at Carne, as indeed we all have, to restore and maintain those standards of behaviour which suffered so sadly in the war. I am sensible that this determination has made me on more than one occasion unpopular. But such comment or advice as I offer is never – I beg you to notice this – is never directed against personalities, only against behaviour, against unseemly lapses in conduct. I will acknowledge that more than once I was compelled to address Rode on the subject of his wife’s conduct. That is a matter quite divorced from personalities, Terence. I will not have it said that I disliked Mrs Rode.
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