Books Do Furnish a Room - Anthony Powell [9]
‘They’re both all right so far as I know, Sillers.’
‘Leonard here lives in the same block of flats.’
‘Oh, do you?’
She spoke politely, no more.
‘You were saying Mrs W finds the place rather poky,’ persisted Sillery.
Miss Leintwardine did not choose to answer that one. Instead, she addressed herself to me.
‘I think you know Pam and Kenneth, Mr Jenkins. They spoke of you. Like so many people, Pam’s been having rather a painful reaction now the war’s over. Tired, I mean, and listless. Always ill. We’ve been friends since we were in the ATS together.’
‘She was a driver in the ATS when I first met her.’
‘Then we both went into secret shows, different ones, and always kept in touch – but for God’s sake don’t let’s talk about the war. Such a boring subject.’
Sillery shouted assent to that, showing distinct signs of displeasure at this interchange. What was the good of presenting Ada Leintwardine as a woman of mystery, if she shared a crowd of acquaintances in common with another guest? Besides, long experience of extracting information out of people must have warned him she was not prepared to furnish anything of great interest that evening, unless matters took an unexpected turn. Grasp of the fact was to Sillery’s credit, in some degree justifying the respect paid him in such traffickings by Short and others. He rose once more from his chair, again throwing himself to the floor with surprising suppleness of movement, to scrabble further at the stuff in the cupboard.
‘You’re sure you’ve got the right notebooks now, Ada? I’m putting away the ones you brought back, ere worse befall. Don’t want to lose them, do we?’
Miss Leintwardine chose this moment of Sillery’s comparative detachment on the floor to announce something probably intended to take a less abrupt form. Possibly she had even paid the visit for this purpose, the diaries only an excuse. Since she had not found Sillery alone, she had to take the best opportunity available.
‘Talking of J. G. Quiggin, you’ve heard about this new publishing firm of his?’
She spoke rather self-consciously. Sillery, swivelling round where he squatted orientally on a hole in the carpet, was attentive to this.
‘Have you any piquant details, Ada? I should like to know more of JG’s publishing venture.’
‘I’m rather committed myself. Perhaps you heard that too, Sillers?’
Whatever this meant, clearly Sillery had not heard. He sat up sharply. Miss Leintwardine’s manner of asking the question strongly suggested he had been given no opportunity to hear anything of the sort
‘How so, Ada?’
‘As it happens, I’m joining the firm myself. I’ve been reading manuscripts for them since they started. I thought I told you.’
‘No, Ada, no. You never told me.’
‘I thought I had.’
This showed Sillery in the plainest terms he was not the only one to discharge bombshells. He took it pretty well, though there could be no doubt he was shaken. His eyes showed that.
‘Craggs brought in the goodwill of Boggis & Stone, together with such Left-Wing steadies as survive. Of course the new firm won’t be nearly so limited as Boggis & Stone. We’re hoping to get the young writers. We’ve signed up X. Trapnel, for example.’
She spoke all this quickly, more than a little embarrassed, even upset, at having to break the news to Sillery. He did not say anything. She continued in the same hurried tone.
‘I was wondering whether the possibility wasn’t worth exploring for publication of your own Journal, Sillers. You haven’t decided on a publisher yet, have you? There’s often something to be said for new and enterprising young firms.’
Sillery did not pledge himself on that point.
‘Does this mean you’re going to live in London, Ada?’
‘I suppose so, Sillers. I can’t very well commute from here. Of course it won’t make any difference to my work for you. I shall always have time for that. I do think it should be an interesting job, don