A Buyers Market - Anthony Powell [79]
One, perhaps the chief, bone of contention lying between herself and her brother was Miss Walpole-Wilson’s conviction that the traditions of his service, by their very nature, must have rendered him impervious to anything in the way of new ideas or humanitarian concepts; so that much of Sir Gavin’s time was taken up in attempting to demonstrate to his sister that, so far from lagging behind in the propagation of reforms of almost every kind, he was prepared to go, theoretically at least, not only as far as, but even farther than, herself. Both of them knew Sillery, who had recently stayed in the neighbourhood, and for once they were in agreement that he was “full of understanding.” The subject of Sillery’s visit came up at dinner on the night of my arrival.
“It was at Stourwater,” said Lady Walpole-Wilson. “As a matter of fact we have been asked over there on Sunday. Prince Theodoric is staying there with Sir Magnus Donners.”
I knew the castle by name, and was even aware in a vague kind of way that it had often changed hands during the previous fifty or hundred years; but I had never seen the place, nor had any idea that Sir Magnus Donners lived there.
“And I so much wanted that afternoon to see those two hound puppies Nokes is walking,” said Eleanor. “Now it turns out we are being forced to go to this ghastly luncheon-party.”
“Got to be civil to one’s neighbours, my dear,” said Sir Gavin. “Besides, Theodoric has particularly asked to see me.”
“I don’t know what you call ‘neighbours’,” said Eleanor. “Stourwater is twenty-five miles, at least.”
“Nonsense,” said Sir Gavin. “I doubt if it is twenty-three.”
His attitude towards Eleanor varied between almost doting affection and an approach most easily suggested by the phrase “making the best of a bad job.” There were times when she vexed him. Arguing with her father brought out the resemblance between the two of them, though features that, in Sir Gavin, seemed conventionalised to the point, almost, of stylisation took on a peculiar twist in his daughter. As she sat there at the table, I could recognise no similarity whatever to Barbara—of whom at times I still found myself thinking—except for their shared colouring.
“I explained to Donners that we should be quite a large party,” said Sir Gavin, “but he would not hear of anyone being left behind. In any case, there is plenty of room there, and the castle itself is well worth seeing.”
“I don’t think I shall come after all, Gavin,” said Miss Walpole-Wilson. “No one will want to see me there—least of all Prince Theodoric. Although I dare say he is too young to remember the misunderstanding that arose, when I stayed with you, regarding that remark about ‘travesty of democratic government’—and you know I never care for people with too much money.”
“Oh, come, Janet,” said Sir Gavin. “Of course they will all want to see you—the Prince especially. He is a very go-ahead fellow, everyone who has met him agrees. As a matter of fact, you know as well as I do, the old King laughed heartily when I explained the circumstance of your remark. He made a rather broad joke about it. I’ve told you a thousand times. Besides, Donners is not a bad fellow at all.”
“I can’t get on with those people—ever.”
“I don’t know what you mean by ‘those people’,” said Sir Gavin, a trifle irritably. “Donners is no different from anyone else, except that he may be a bit richer. He didn’t start life barefoot—not that I for one should have the least objection if he had, more power to his elbow—but his father was an eminently solid figure. He was knighted, I believe, for what that’s worth. Donners went to some quite decent school. I think the family are of Scandinavian, or North German, extraction. No doubt very worthy people.”
“Oh, I do hope he