Casanova's Chinese Restaurant - Anthony Powell [50]
‘Come and have a drink with us, Carolo, before you go,’ she said, with greater warmth than she had shown until that moment. ‘Maclintick will get some more beer. We could all do with another drop. Here is the jug, Maclintick. Don’t take all the cheese, Moreland. Leave a little for the rest of us.’
Maclintick did not look specially pleased at this suggestion of Carolo joining us at the table, but he too welcomed the idea of more beer, immediately picking up the chipped jug and once more setting off with it to the pub. A chair was drawn up for Carolo, who accepted the invitation with no more than mumbled, ungracious agreement; to which he added the statement that he would not be able to stay long. I had not set eyes on him since that night in the Mortimer. Carolo looked just the same: pale; unromantic; black wavy hair a shade longer and greasier than before. Mrs Maclintick gave him a glance that was almost affectionate.
‘Have you got to go out tonight, Carolo?’ she said. ‘There is a little mutton left.’
Carolo shook his head, looking wearily at the residue of the joint, the remains of which were not specially tempting. He seemed in a thoughtful mood, but, when Maclintick reappeared with the jug and poured him out a glass, he drank a deep draught of the beer with apparent gratification. After wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, he spoke in his harsh, North Country voice.
‘How have you been, Moreland?’ he asked.
‘Much as usual,’ said Moreland. ‘And you?’
‘Pretty middling. How’s Matilda?’
‘Having a baby,’ said Moreland flushing; and, as if he referred to speak no more for the moment about that particular subject, went on: ‘You know, in that book I was reading upstairs, Chabrier says that the Spanish fleas have their own national song – a three-four tune in F major that Berlioz introduces into the Damnation of Faust .’
‘The Spanish fleas must be having a splendid time nowadays,’ said Maclintick, ‘biting both sides indiscriminately.’
‘The International Brigade could certainly make a tasty dish,’ said Moreland, ‘not to mention the German and Italian “volunteers”. As a matter of fact the fleas probably prefer the Germans. More blonds.’
‘I hope to God Franco doesn’t win,’ said Mrs Maclintick, as if that possibility had at this moment just struck her.
‘Who do you want to win?’ said Maclintick gruffly. ‘The Communists?’
Up till then Maclintick had been on the whole in a better temper than usual. The arrival at the table of Carolo had unsettled him. He now showed signs of wanting to pick a quarrel with someone. His wife was clearly the easiest person present with whom to come into conflict. Biting and sucking noisily at his pipe he glared at her. It looked as if the Spanish war might be a matter of controversy of some standing between them; a source of contention as a married couple, rather than a political difference. Maclintick’s views on politics could never be foretold. Violent, changeable, unorthodox, he tended to dislike the Left as much as the Right. He had spoken very bitterly.
‘I would rather have the Communists than the Fascists,’ said Mrs Maclintick, compressing her lips.
‘Only because you think it is the done thing to be on the Left,’ said Maclintick, with an enraging smile. ‘There isn’t a middle-brow in the country who isn’t expressing the same sentiment. They should try a little practical Communism and see how they like it. You are no exception, I assure you.’
He removed his pipe from his mouth and swallowed hard. Moreland was obviously becoming uneasy at the turn things were taking. He began kicking his foot against the side of his chair.
‘I am Pinkish myself,’ he said laughing.
‘And you want the Communists?’ asked Maclintick.
‘Not necessarily.’
‘And Marxist music?’
‘I long to hear some.’
‘Shostakovich, Russia’s only reputable post-Revolution composer, not allowed to have his opera performed because the dictatorship of the proletariat finds that work musically decadent, bourgeois, formalist?’
‘I’m not defending the Soviet regime,’ said Moreland, still laughing. ‘I’m all for Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District