The Valley of Bones - Anthony Powell [86]
‘I’m going to the ITC,’ said Gwatkin.
‘Pending—’
‘To await a posting,’ Gwatkin said abruptly.
He could not conceal his own mortification. The corner of his mouth worked a little. It was not surprising he was upset. There was no adequate comment at hand to offer in condolence. Gwatkin had been relieved of his Company. There was nothing more or less to it than that. He was being sent to the Regimental Depot – the Infantry Training Centre – whence he would emerge, probably posted to a Holding Battalion finding drafts for the First Line. His career as a military paragon was at an end, though not perhaps his visions as a monk of war, after the echoes and dreams of action died away. Gwatkin might get a company again, he might not. His Territorial captaincy at least was substantive, so that he could not, like holders of an emergency commission, be reduced in rank. However, a captaincy was not in every respect an advantage for someone who hoped to repair this catastrophe. An unreducible captain could find himself in some dead-end where three pips were by convention required, ship’s adjutant, for example, or like Pinkus at Castlemallock. That would not be much of fate for a Stendhalian hero, a man bent on making a romantic career in arms, the sort of figure I had supposed Gwatkin only a few months before; in Stendhal, I thought this fate would be attributed to malign political intrigue, the work of Ultras or Freemasons.
‘You can fall out, both of you, now,’ said Gwatkin, speaking with forced cheerfulness. ‘I’ll straighten out the papers for you, Idwal. We’ll go through them together tomorrow.’
‘What about the Imprest Account?’ asked Kedward.
‘I’ll bring it up to date.’
‘And the other Company accounts?’
‘Them, too.’
‘I only mention that, Rowland, because you’re sometimes a bit behindhand with them. I don’t want to have to waste a lot of time on paper work. There’s too much to do about the Company without that.’
‘We’ll check everything.’
‘Has that bren been returned we lent to the Anti-Gas School?’
‘Not yet.’
‘I shall want it formally handed over again, before I sign for the Company’s weapons.’
‘Of course.’
‘Then Corporal Rosser’s promotion.’
‘What about it?’
‘Did you decide to make him up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you told him?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Then don’t tell him, Rowland.’
‘Why not?’
‘I want to see more of Rosser before I decide he’s to have a third stripe,’ said Kedward. ‘I shall think about it further.’
Gwatkin’s face took on a shade more colour. These were forcible reminders of Kedward’s changed position. I was myself a little surprised at the manner in which Kedward accepted the Company as his undoubted right. In one sense, he could have behaved in a more tactful manner about the take-over, anyway leave such questions until they were going through the papers together; in another, as Company Commander designate, he was there to arrange matters in the Company’s best interests – by Gwatkin’s own definition – not to be polite or spare Gwatkin’s feelings. Nevertheless, Gwatkin had not cared for being treated in this manner. He tapped with his knuckles on the blanket covering the trestle table, played with his beloved symbol, the rubber stamp. Gwatkin was deeply humiliated, even though keeping himself under control.
‘I want to be alone now, boys,’ he said.
He began to rustle papers. Kedward and I retired. We went along the passage together, Kedward deep in thought.
‘Rowland is taking this pretty hard,’ I said.
Kedward showed surprise.
‘Losing the Company?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you think so?’
‘I do.’
‘He must have seen it coming.’
‘I don’t think he did for a moment.’
‘Rowland has been getting less and less efficient lately,’ Kedward said. ‘You must have noticed that. You said yourself something was wrong, when you came back from the Aldershot course.