The Soldier's Art - Anthony Powell [45]
We said good-bye to him. Lovell left for the Madrid. Moreland showed signs of relief that he was no longer with us. At first I thought this was still, as it were, on account of Priscilla; or, like some people – amongst whom several of his own relations were included – he simply found Lovell’s company tedious. As it turned out, both possibilities were incorrect. Quite another matter was on Moreland’s mind. This was only revealed when I suggested it was time to order dinner. Moreland hesitated,
“Do you mind if we wait a minute or two longer?” he said. “Audrey thought she’d probably get away in time to join us for some food.”
“Audrey who?”
“Audrey Maclintick – you know her.” He spoke sharply, as if the question had been a silly one to ask.
“Maclintick’s wife – the one who went off with the violinist?”
“Yes – Maclintick’s widow, rather. I always assume everyone is familiar with the rough outlines of my own life, such as they are. I suppose, as a gallant soldier, you live rather out of the world of rank and fashion. Audrey and I are running steady now.”
“Under the same roof?”
“In my old flat. I found I could get back there, owing to the blitz and it being left empty, so took the opportunity to move in again.”
“And Max Pilgrim is your lodger?”
“Has been for some months.”
Moreland had been embarrassed by having to explain so specifically that he was now living with Mrs. Maclintick, but seemed glad this fact was made plain. There had been no avoiding a pointblank enquiry about the situation; nor was all surprise possible to conceal. He must certainly have been conscious that, to any friend not already aware he and Mrs. Maclintick had begun to see each other frequently, the news must come as an incalculable reversal of former circumstances and feelings.
“Life became rather impossible after Matilda left me,” he said. He spoke almost apologetically, at the same time seemed to find relief in expressing how the present situation had come about. The statement that life for him had become “impossible” after Matilda’s departure was easy to believe. Without Matilda, the organisation of Moreland’s day was hard to imagine. Formerly she had arranged almost all the routine of those affairs not immediately dictated by his profession. In that respect, unless she had greatly changed, Mrs. Maclintick could hardly be proving an adequate substitute. On the one or two occasions when, in the past, I had myself encountered Mrs. Maclintick, she had appeared to me, without qualification, as one of the least sympathetic of women. So far as that went, in those days she had been in the habit of showing towards Moreland himself sentiments not much short of active dislike. He had been no better disposed to her, though, as an old friend of Maclintick’s, always doing his best to keep the peace between them as husband and wife. When she had left Maclintick for Carolo, Moreland’s sympathies were certainly on Maclintick’s side. In short, this was another of war’s violent readjustments; possibly to be revealed under close investigation as more logical than might appear at first sight. Indeed, as Moreland began to expand the story, as so often happens, the unthinkable took on the authoritative tone of something that had to be.
“After Audrey bolted with Carolo, they kept company till the beginning of the war – surprising in a way, knowing them both, it went on so long. Then he left her for a girl in a repertory company. Audrey remained on her 0wn. She was working in a canteen when we ran across each other