Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - Anthony Powell [44]
Quickening his step, drawing his dressing-gown round him as if to keep himself more separate from us, he passed through the door almost at a run. His displacement immediately readjusted in Moreland’s favour Brandreth’s social posture.
‘To return to Wagner,’ Brandreth said, ‘you remember Wanderlust, Mr Moreland, of course you do, when Siegfried sings: “From the wood forth I wander, never to return!” – how does it go? – ”Aus dem Wald fort in die Welt zieh ’n ; nimmer kehr’ich zurüch!” Now, it always seems to me the greatest pity that in none of the productions of The Ring I have ever heard, has the deeper pessimism of these words been given full weight …’
Brandreth began to make movements with his hands as if he were climbing an invisible rope. Moreland disengaged us brutally from him. We descended the stairs.
‘Who was the man in the dressing-gown with spectacles?’ Moreland asked, when we had reached the street.
‘He is called Kenneth Widmerpool. In the City. I have known him a long time.’
‘I can’t say I took to him,’ Moreland said. ‘But, look here, what a business married life is. I hope to goodness Matilda will be all right. There are various worrying aspects. I sometimes think I shall go off my head. Perhaps I am off it already. That would explain a lot. What are you doing tonight? I am on my way to the Maclinticks. Why not come too?’
Without waiting for an answer, he began to recount all that had been happening to Matilda and himself since we had last met; various absurd experiences they had shared; how they sometimes got on each other’s nerves; why they had returned to London; where they were going to live. There had been some sort of a row with the municipal authorities at the seaside resort. Moreland held decided professional opinions; he could be obstinate. Some people, usually not the most intelligent, found working with him difficult. I heard some of his story, telling him in return how the film company for which I had been script-writing had decided against renewing my contract; that I was now appearing on the book page of a daily paper; also reviewing from time to time for the weekly of which Mark Members was assistant literary editor.
‘Mark recommended Dr Brandreth to us,’ Moreland said. ‘A typical piece of malice on his part. Brandreth is St John Clarke’s doctor – or was when Mark was St John Clarke’s secretary. Gossip is the passion of his life, his only true emotion – but he can also put you on the rack about music.’
‘Is he looking after Matilda?’
‘A gynaecologist does that. He is not a music-lover, thank God. Of course, a lot of women have babies. One must admit that. No doubt it will be all right. It just makes one a bit jumpy. Look here, Nick, you must come to the Maclinticks’. It would be more cheerful if there were two of us.’
‘Should I be welcome?’
‘Why not? Have you developed undesirable habits since we last met?’
‘I never think Maclintick much likes me.’
‘Likes you?’ said Moreland. ‘What egotism on your part. Of course he doesn’t like you. Maclintick doesn’t like anybody.’
‘He likes you.’
‘We have professional ties. As a matter of fact, Maclintick doesn’t really hate everyone as much as he pretends. I was being heavily humorous.’
‘All the same, he shows small visible pleasure in meeting most people.’
‘One must rise above that. It is a kindness to do so. Maclintick does not get on too well with his wife. The occasional company of friends eases the situation.’
‘You do make this social call sound tempting.’
‘If nobody ever goes there, I am afraid Maclintick will jump into the river one of these days, or hang himself with his braces after a more than usually gruelling domestic difference. You must come.’
‘All right. Since you present it as a matter of life and death.’
We took a bus to Victoria, then passed on foot into a vast, desolate region of stucco streets and squares upon which a doom seemed to have fallen. The gloom was cosmic. We traversed these pavements for some distance, proceeding from haunts of seedy, grudging gentility into an area of indeterminate, but on the whole increasingly unsavoury, complexion.