A Question of Upbringing - Anthony Powell [76]
Truscott nodded; but without producing any keen sense of conviction.
“Mark’s poem,” said Sillery, “It received quite a favourable reception.”
“Surrounded as usual by a brilliant circle of young men, Sillers,” said Truscott, laughing loudly again. “To tell you the truth, Sillers, I have come up to look for a young man myself.”
Sillery chuckled, pricking up his ears. Truscott stretched out his legs languidly. There was a pause, and muted laughter from the rest of the guests. Truscott looked round, archly.
“For my boss as a matter of fact,” he said.
He laughed quietly to himself this time, as if that were a good joke. Quiggin, who had been silent all the while, though not unattentive, spoke unexpectedly in his grating voice: “Who is ‘your boss’?” he asked.
I could not help admiring the cool way in which Truscott turned slowly towards Quiggin, and said, without the slightest suggestion of protest at Quiggin’s tone: “He is called Sir Magnus Donners.”
“The M.P.?”
“I fear that, at the moment, he cannot be so described.”
“But you work for him?” insisted Quiggin.
“Sir Magnus is kind enough to remunerate me as if I worked for him,” said Truscott. “But you know, really, I scarcely like to describe myself as doing anything that suggests such violent exertions undertaken on his behalf. He is, in any case, the kindest of masters.”
He cocked an eyebrow at Quiggin, apparently not at all displeased by this rather aggressive inquisition. As Truscott had not witnessed Quiggin’s arrival and earlier behaviour at the tea-party, I decided that he must find him less odd than he appeared to the rest of us: the thought perhaps he classed all undergraduate opinion together as inchoate substance, not to be handled too closely, occurring to me only several years later, after I had come down from the university. Sillery said: “I don’t expect “your master,” as you call him, would have much difficulty in returning to the House at any by-election, would he, Bill?”
“His industrial interests take up so much time these days,” said Truscott. “And really one must admit that ability of his sort is rather wasted in the House of Commons.”
“Isn’t he going to get a peerage?” said Stringham, unexpectedly.
Truscott smiled.
“Always a possibility,” he said; and Sillery grinned widely, rubbing his hands together, and nodding quickly several times.
“It’s a mortal shame that a big concern like his should be in the hands of a private individual,” said Quiggin, increasing the volume of his North Country accent, and speaking as if he were delivering the opening words of a sermon or address.
“Do you think so?” said Truscott. “Some people do. Of course, Sir Magnus himself has very progressive ideas, you know.”
“I think you would be surprised, Quiggin, if you ever met Sir Magnus,” said Sillery, “He has even surprised me at times.”
Quiggin looked as if there was nothing he would like better than to have an opportunity to meet Sir Magnus; but Sillery, who probably feared that conversation might decline from the handling of practical matters, like the disposal of jobs, to one of those nebulous discussions of economic right and wrong, of which he approved in general but obviously considered inopportune at that moment, brought back the subject of Truscott’s opening statement by saying: “And so Sir Magnus wants a man, does he?” However, Truscott was not disposed to say more of that for the time being. He may even have thought that he had already given away too much. His manner became perceptibly less frivolous, and he said: “I’ll tell you about it later, Sillers.”
Sillery concurred. It was probable that he, too, would prefer the details to be given in private. However, he evidently regarded the acquisition of further information on this matter to be of prime importance; because a minute or two later his impatience got the better of him, and, rising from the arm of Truscott’s chair, he announced: “Bill and I are a pair of very old friends who haven’t seen each other for many a long day, so that