The Soldier's Art - Anthony Powell [77]
“There will, old boy, I bet there will – and promotion.”
“Possibly.”
“Quite soon.”
“Oh, you never know in the bloody army,” said Widmerpool, thought of his new job inducing a better humour, marked as usual by the assumption of his hearty military manner, “but what’s happening to you, Sunny, if you say you’re going too?”
“One of these secret shows.”
“Baker Street?”
“I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Promotion too?”
Farebrother nodded modestly.
“That’s the only reason I’m taking it. Need the pay. Much rather do something straightforward, if I had the choice.”
Widmerpool could not have been pleased to hear that Farebrother was about to become a lieutenant-colonel, while he himself, however briefly, remained a major. Indeed, it probably irritated him that Farebrother should be promoted at all. At the same time, a display of self-control rare with him, he contrived to show no concern, his manner being even reasonably congratulatory. This was no doubt partly on account of the satisfactory nature of his own promised change of employment, but, as he revealed on a later occasion, also because of the low esteem in which he held the organisation which Farebrother was about to join.
“A lot of scallywags, in my opinion,” he said later.
Farebrother was certainly acute enough to survey their respective future situations from much the same point of view, that is to say appreciating the fact that, although he might himself be now ahead, Widmerpool’s potentialities for satisfying ambition must be agreed to enjoy a wider scope. Indeed, in a word or two, he openly expressed some such conclusion. Farebrother could afford this generosity, because, as it turned out, he had another trick up his sleeve. He brought this trump card out only after they had talked for a minute or two about their new jobs. Farebrother opened his attack by abruptly swinging the subject away from their own personal affairs.
“You’ve been notified Ivo Deanery’s going to get the Recce Unit?” he asked suddenly.
Widmerpool was taken aback by this question. He began to look angry again.
“Never heard of him,” he said.
The answer sounded as if it were intended chiefly to gain time.
“Recently adjutant to my Yeomen,” said Farebrother. “As lively a customer as you would meet in a day’s march. Got an M.C. in Palestine just before the war.”
Widmerpool was silent. He did not show any interest at all in Ivo Deanery’s juvenile feats of daring, whatever they might have been. I supposed he did not want to admit to Farebrother that he himself had been running a candidate for the Recce Unit’s Commanding Officer; and that candidate, from what had been said, must have been unsuccessful.
“Knew you were interested in the Recce Regiment command,” said Farebrother, speaking very casually.
“Naturally.”
“I mean specially interested.”
“There was nothing special about it,” said Widmerpool.
“Oh, I understand there was,” said Farebrother, assuming at once a puzzled expression, as if greatly worried at Widmerpool’s denial of special interest. “In fact that was the chief reason I came round to see you.”
“Look here,” said Widmerpool, “I don’t know what you’re getting at, Sunny. How could you be D.A.A.G. of a formation and not take a keen interest in who’s appointed to command its units?”
He was gradually losing his temper.
“The M.G.A. thinks you were a bit too interested,” said Farebrother, speaking now with exaggerated sadness. “Old boy, there’s going to be the hell of a row. You’ve put your foot in it.”
“What do you mean?”
Widmerpool was thoroughly disturbed now, frightened enough to control his anger. Farebrother looked interrogatively at me, then his eyes travelled back to Widmerpool. He raised his eyebrows. Widmerpool shook his head vigorously.
“Say anything you like in front of him,” he said. “He knows I had a name in mind for the Recce Unit command. Nothing wrong with that. Naturally I regret my chap hasn’t got it. That’s all there is to it. What’s the M.G.A. beefing about?”
Farebrother too shook his head, but slowly and more lugubriously than ever.
“I understand from the M.G.A. that you were in touch with him personally not long ago about certain matters with which I myself was concerned.