either of these uniformed figures looming out of the lightless mist, but knowing that Spruce had, in fact, a few bottles of that wine laid down. ‘I don’t know anything about champagne.’
‘Well, we’ll come up and see,’ said Ian.
Coney led them upstairs.
Though depleted the company was still numerous enough to provide a solid screen between the entrance and the far corner in which Ludovic was seated. For two minutes now he had been in enjoyment of what he had come for, the attention of his host.
‘The arrangement is haphazard or planned?’ Spruce was asking.
‘Planned.’
‘The plan is not immediately apparent. There are the more or less generalized aphorisms, there are the particular observations – which I thought, if I may say so, extremely acute and funny. I wondered: are they in any cases libellous? And besides these there seemed to me two poetic themes which occur again and again. There is the Drowned Sailor motif – an echo of the Waste Land perhaps? Had you Eliot consciously in mind?’
‘Not Eliot,’ said Ludovic. ‘I don’t think he was called Eliot.’
‘Very interesting. And then there was the Cave image. You must have read a lot of Freudian psychology.’
‘Not a lot. There was nothing psychological about the cave.’
‘Very interesting – a spontaneous liberation of the unconscious.’
At this moment Coney infiltrated the throng and stood beside them.
‘Everard, there are two men in uniform asking for champagne.’
‘Good heavens, not the police?’
‘One might be. He’s wearing an odd sort of blue uniform. The other’s an airman. I’ve never seen them before. They had an American with them but he ran away.’
‘How very odd. You haven’t given them champagne?’
‘Oh no, Everard.’
‘I’d better go and see who they are.’
At the door Ian had collided with the Smart Woman and kissed her warmly on each dusty cheek.
‘Drinks have run out here,’ she said, ‘and I am due at my Warden’s Post. Why don’t you two come there? It’s only round the corner and there’s always a bottle.’
Spruce greeted them.
‘I’m afraid we’re a little late. I brought Guy. You remember him?’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. Somewhere,’ said Spruce. ‘Everything is over here. I was just having a few words with a very interesting New Writer. We always particularly welcome contributions from service men. It’s part of our policy.’
The central knot of guests opened and revealed Ludovic, his appetite for appreciation whetted but far from satisfied, gazing resentfully towards Spruce’s back. ‘Ludovic,’ said Guy.
‘That is the man I was speaking of. You know him?’
‘He saved my life,’ said Guy. ‘How very odd.’
‘I’ve never had a chance to thank him.’
‘Well, do so now. But don’t take him away. I was in the middle of a fascinating conversation.’
‘I think I’ll go off with Per.’
‘Yes, do.’
The gap had closed again. Guy passed through and held out his hand to Ludovic who raised his oyster eyes with an expression of unmitigated horror. He took the hand limply and looked away.
‘Ludovic, surely you remember me?’
‘It is most unexpected.’
‘Hookforce. Crete.’
‘Oh yes, I remember.’
‘I’ve always been hoping to run into you again. There’s so much to say. They told me you saved my life.’ Ludovic mutely raised his hand to the ribbon of the MM. It was as though he were beating his breast in penitence.
‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me.’
‘It’s the shock,’ said Ludovic, resuming his barrack-room speech, ‘not looking to find you here, not at Mr Spruce’s. You of all people, here of all places.’
Guy took the chair where Spruce had sat. ‘My memory’s awfully vague of those last days in Crete and in the boat.’
‘Best forgotten,’ said Ludovic. ‘Things happen that’re best forgotten.’
‘Oh, come. Aren’t you rather overdoing the modest hero? Besides I’m curious. What happened to
‘Well, we’ll come up and see,’ said Ian.
Coney led them upstairs.
Though depleted the company was still numerous enough to provide a solid screen between the entrance and the far corner in which Ludovic was seated. For two minutes now he had been in enjoyment of what he had come for, the attention of his host.
‘The arrangement is haphazard or planned?’ Spruce was asking.
‘Planned.’
‘The plan is not immediately apparent. There are the more or less generalized aphorisms, there are the particular observations – which I thought, if I may say so, extremely acute and funny. I wondered: are they in any cases libellous? And besides these there seemed to me two poetic themes which occur again and again. There is the Drowned Sailor motif – an echo of the Waste Land perhaps? Had you Eliot consciously in mind?’
‘Not Eliot,’ said Ludovic. ‘I don’t think he was called Eliot.’
‘Very interesting. And then there was the Cave image. You must have read a lot of Freudian psychology.’
‘Not a lot. There was nothing psychological about the cave.’
‘Very interesting – a spontaneous liberation of the unconscious.’
At this moment Coney infiltrated the throng and stood beside them.
‘Everard, there are two men in uniform asking for champagne.’
‘Good heavens, not the police?’
‘One might be. He’s wearing an odd sort of blue uniform. The other’s an airman. I’ve never seen them before. They had an American with them but he ran away.’
‘How very odd. You haven’t given them champagne?’
‘Oh no, Everard.’
‘I’d better go and see who they are.’
At the door Ian had collided with the Smart Woman and kissed her warmly on each dusty cheek.
‘Drinks have run out here,’ she said, ‘and I am due at my Warden’s Post. Why don’t you two come there? It’s only round the corner and there’s always a bottle.’
Spruce greeted them.
‘I’m afraid we’re a little late. I brought Guy. You remember him?’
‘Yes, yes, I suppose so. Somewhere,’ said Spruce. ‘Everything is over here. I was just having a few words with a very interesting New Writer. We always particularly welcome contributions from service men. It’s part of our policy.’
The central knot of guests opened and revealed Ludovic, his appetite for appreciation whetted but far from satisfied, gazing resentfully towards Spruce’s back. ‘Ludovic,’ said Guy.
‘That is the man I was speaking of. You know him?’
‘He saved my life,’ said Guy. ‘How very odd.’
‘I’ve never had a chance to thank him.’
‘Well, do so now. But don’t take him away. I was in the middle of a fascinating conversation.’
‘I think I’ll go off with Per.’
‘Yes, do.’
The gap had closed again. Guy passed through and held out his hand to Ludovic who raised his oyster eyes with an expression of unmitigated horror. He took the hand limply and looked away.
‘Ludovic, surely you remember me?’
‘It is most unexpected.’
‘Hookforce. Crete.’
‘Oh yes, I remember.’
‘I’ve always been hoping to run into you again. There’s so much to say. They told me you saved my life.’ Ludovic mutely raised his hand to the ribbon of the MM. It was as though he were beating his breast in penitence.
‘You don’t seem very pleased to see me.’
‘It’s the shock,’ said Ludovic, resuming his barrack-room speech, ‘not looking to find you here, not at Mr Spruce’s. You of all people, here of all places.’
Guy took the chair where Spruce had sat. ‘My memory’s awfully vague of those last days in Crete and in the boat.’
‘Best forgotten,’ said Ludovic. ‘Things happen that’re best forgotten.’
‘Oh, come. Aren’t you rather overdoing the modest hero? Besides I’m curious. What happened to
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