The Kindly Ones - Anthony Powell [70]
‘Stourwater.’
‘Did you, by God? What do you do?’
I tried to give some account, at once brief and intelligible, of the literary profession: writing; editing; reviewing; the miscellaneous odd jobs to which I was subject, never, for some reason, very easy to define to persons not themselves in that world. To my relief, Duport showed no interest whatever in such activities, apparently finding them neither eccentric nor important.
‘Shouldn’t think it brings in much dough,’ he said. ‘But how do you come to know Donners?’
‘We were taken over by some friends who live in the neighbourhood.’
‘You’re married?’
‘Yes.’
‘How do you like being married?’
‘Support it all right.’
‘You’re lucky. I find it a great relief not to be married – though I was quite stuck on Jean when we were first wed. But what on earth are you doing in this dump?’
I explained about Uncle Giles, about Albert.
‘So that’s the answer,’ said Duport. ‘Of course I used to see your uncle cruising about here. Bad-tempered old fellow. Didn’t know he’d dropped off the hooks. They like to keep death quiet in places like this. Look here, when you were staying with Donners, was an absolute bugger called Widmerpool there too?’
‘Widmerpool wasn’t staying there. He just looked in. Wanted to say something about your business affairs, I think. I know Widmerpool of old.’
‘A hundred per cent bastard – word’s too good for him.’
‘I know some people think so.’
‘Don’t you?’
‘He and I rub along all right. But why are you living at the Bellevue?’
‘Keeping out of the immediate view of the more enterprising of my creditors. I only wish my stay here were going to be as brief as yours.’
‘How did you find the place?’
‘Odd chance, as a matter of fact. I once brought a girl down to the Royal for the week-end – one of those bitches you want to have and get out of your system and never set eyes on again. While we were there I made friends with the barman. He’s called Fred and a very decent sort of chap. When I found, not so long ago, that I’d better go into comparative hiding, I decided this town would be as good a place as any other to put myself out of commission for a week or two. I left my bags at the station and dropped in to the Royal bar to ask Fred the best place to make an economical stay. He sent me straight to the Bellevue.’
‘How do you like Albert?’
‘Get along with Albert, as you call him, like a house on fire – but it’s a pretty dead-and-alive hole to live in, I can tell you. It’s the sort of town where you feel hellishly randy all the time. I’ve got quite a bit of work to do in the way of sorting out my own affairs. That keeps me going during the day. But there’s nothing whatever to do in the evenings. I go to a flick sometimes. The girls are a nightmare. We’d better go out and get drunk together tonight. Make you forget about your uncle. Has he left you anything?’
‘Doubt if he’d anything to leave.’
‘Never mind. You’ll get over it. I’d like to have a talk with you about Widmerpool.’
This intermittent conversation had taken us through most of dinner. I felt scarcely more drawn to Duport than on the day we first met. He was like Peter Templer, with all sympathetic characteristics removed. There was even a slight physical resemblance between the two of them. I wondered if one of those curious, semi-incestuous instincts of attraction had brought Jean to Duport in the first place, or whether Templer and Duport had become alike by seeing a good deal of each other as brothers-in-law and in the City. Duport, I knew, suffered financial crises from time to time. For a period he would live luxuriously, then all his money would disappear. This capacity for making money, combined with inability to keep it, was mysterious to me. I had once said something of the sort to Templer, when he complained of his brother-in-law’s instability.
‘Oh, Bob knows he will be able to recoup in quite a short time,’ Templer had said. ‘Doesn’t worry him, any more than it worries you that you will be able to write the review of some book when it appears next year. You’ll have something to say, Bob