The Soldier's Art (24 page)

“I’ve got some rather bad news for Kenneth, I’m afraid,” he said, “but
I expect I’d better keep it till he returns. I’d better tell him personally. He
might be hurt otherwise.”

He spoke in a tone almost of misery. I thought the point had arrived
when it should be announced that we had met before. Farebrother listened, with
raised eyebrows and a beaming smile, while I briefly outlined the
circumstances.

“That must have been seventeen or eighteen years ago.”

“Just after I’d left school.”

“Peter Templer,” he said. “That’s a curious coincidence.”

“You’ve heard about him lately?”

“I have, as a matter of fact. Of course I often used to run across him
in the City before the war.”

“He’s attached to some ministry now in an advisory capacity, isn’t he?”

“Economic Warfare,” said Farebrother.

He fixed his very honest blue eyes on me. There was something a bit odd
about the look.

“He told me he wasn’t very happy where he was,” he said, “and hearing I
was making a change myself, thought I might be able to help.”

I did not see quite how Farebrother could help, but assumed that might
be through civilian contacts, rather than from his own military status.
Farebrother seemed to decide that he wanted to change the subject from Templer’s
immediate career, giving almost the impression that he felt he might himself
have been indiscreet. He spoke quickly again.

“The old man died years ago, of course,” he said. “He was an old devil,
if ever there was one. Devil incarnate.”

I was a little surprised to hear Farebrother describe Peter Templer’s
father in such uncomplimentary terms, because, when we had met before, he had
emphasised what a “fine old man” he had thought Mr. Templer; been positively
sentimental about his good qualities, not to mention having contributed a
laudatory footnote of personal memoir to the official obituary in
The Times
. I was more interested to talk of Peter than his father, but
Farebrother would allow no further details.

“Said more than I should already. You surprised it out of me by
mentioning the name so unexpectedly.”

“So you’re leaving Command yourself, sir?”

“As I’ve begun being indiscreet, I’ll continue on that line. I’m going
to one of the cloak-and-dagger shows.”

From time to time one heard whispers of these mysterious sideshows
radiating from out of the more normal activities of the Services. In a remote
backwater like the Divisional Headquarters where I found myself, they were
named with bated breath. Farebrother’s apparent indifference to the prospect of
becoming part of something so esoteric seemed immensely detached and
nonchalant.

Nevertheless, the manner in which he made this statement, in itself not
in the least indiscreet, was at the same time perhaps a shade self-satisfied.

“Getting a step too,” he said. “About time at my age.”

It was all at once clear as day that one of his reasons for coming
round to Div. H.Q. was to inform Widmerpool of this promotion to
lieutenant-colonel. The discovery that we had known each other in the past had
removed all coolness from Farebrother’s manner. Now, he seemed, for some
reason, even anxious to acquire me as an ally.

“How do you get on with our friend Kenneth?” he asked. “A bit difficult
at times? Don’t you find that?”

I made no effort to deny the imputation. Widmerpool was grading low in
my estimation at that moment. I saw no reason to conceal hard feelings about
him. Farebrother was pleased at getting this affirmative reaction.

“I’ve no objection to a fellow liking to do things his own way,” he
said, “but I don’t want a scrimmage about every new Army Council Instruction as
soon as it appears. Don’t you agree? In that sort of respect Kenneth doesn’t
know where to stop. Not only that, I found he’s behaved rather badly behind my
back with your Corps’ M.G.A.”

It was news that Widmerpool’s activities behind the scenes had taken
him as far up in that hierarchy as so relatively august a personage as the
Major-General in charge of Administration at Corps H.Q.

“I mention that in confidence, of course,” said Farebrother, “and for
your own guidance. Kenneth can be a little thoughtless at times about his own
subordinates. I daresay you’ve found that. Not that I would say a word against
Kenneth as a man or a staff officer. In many ways he’s wasted in this
particular job.”

“He’s leaving it.”

“He is?”

In spite of a conviction that Widmerpool’s gifts were not being given
sufficient scope, Farebrother did not sound altogether pleased to hear this
matter was going to be put right. He asked the question with more open
curiosity than he had showed until then.

“I don’t think it’s a secret.”

“Even if it is, it will go no further with me. What’s ahead of him?”

“The Cabinet Offices, he told me, though I believe it’s not official
yet.”

Farebrother whistled, one of those crude expressions of feeling he
would allow himself from time to time, which seemed hardly to accord with the
dignity of the rest of his demeanour. I remembered him making a similar popping
sound with his lips, at the same time snapping his fingers, when some beautiful
woman’s name had come into the conversation staying at the Templers’.

“
The Cabinet Offices
, by God,” he said. “Has he been promoted?”

“I gather he goes there in his present rank, but thinks there’s a good
chance of going up pretty soon.”

“I see.”

Farebrother showed a little relief at Widmerpool’s promotion being
delayed, if only briefly. He had plainly been disturbed by what he had heard.

“The Cabinet Offices,” he repeated with emphasis. “Well, that’s very exalted. I only hope
what I’ve come to tell him won’t make any difference. However, as I said
before, better not refer to that until I’ve seen him.”

He shook his head. Widmerpool came back to the room at that moment. He
was fidgeting with the collar of his battle-dress, always a sign he was put
out. It looked as if the interview with A. & Q. had not gone too well.
Seeing Farebrother sitting there was not welcome to him either.

“Oh, hallo, Sunny,” he said, without much warmth.

“I came along to bid you farewell, Kenneth, and now I hear from
Nicholas you’re on the move like myself.”

Widmerpool showed a touch of surprise at Farebrother using my first
name, then remembered we had formerly known each other.

“I forgot you’d both met,” he said. “Yes, I’m going. Did Nicholas tell
you where?”

“Scarcely revealed anything,” said Farebrother.

Not for the first time, I noted his caution, and was grateful for it,
though Widmerpool seemed to want his destination known.

“The Cabinet Offices.”

Widmerpool could not conceal his own satisfaction.

“I say, old boy.”

The comparative enthusiasm Farebrother managed to infuse into this
comment was something of a masterpiece in the exercise of dissimulation.

“It will mean work, morning, noon and night,” said Widmerpool. “But
there’ll undoubtedly be interesting contacts.”

“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.”

Widmerpool went very red.

“I think I know what you mean,” he said, “but they were just as much my
concern as yours.”

“Wouldn’t it have been better form, old boy, to have mentioned to me
you were going to see him?”

“I saw no cause to do so,”

Widmerpool was not at all at ease.

“Anyway,” said Farebrother mildly, “the M.G.A., rightly or wrongly,
feels you misled him about various scraps of unofficial information you
tendered, especially as he had no idea at the time that you were pressing in
other quarters for a certain officer to be appointed to a command then still
vacant.”

“How did he find that out?”

“I told him,” said Farebrother, simply.

“But look here …” said Widmerpool.

He was too furious to finish the sentence.

“The long and the short of it was the M.G.A. said he was going to get
in touch with your General about the whole matter.”

“But I behaved in no way incorrectly,” said WidmerpooL “There is not
the smallest reason to suggest…”

“Believe me, Kenneth, I’m absolutely confident you did nothing to which
official exception could possibly be taken,” said Farebrother. “On my heart.
That’s why I thought it best to put my own cards on the table. The M.G.A. is
sometimes hasty. As you know well, amateur soldiers like you and me tend to go
about our business in rather a different way from the routine a Regular gets
accustomed to. We like to get things done expeditiously. I just thought it was
a pity myself you went and told the M.G.A. all those things about me. That was
why I decided he ought to know more about you and your own activities. I’m sure
everything will be all right in the end, but I believed it right to warn you – as
I was coming to say good-bye anyway – simply that my General might be getting
in touch with your General about all this.”

Farebrother’s quiet, reassuring tone did not at all soothe Widmerpool,
who now looked more disturbed than ever. Farebrother rose to his feet. He
squared his shoulders and smiled kindly, pleased, as well he might be, with the
devastation his few minutes’ conversation had brought about in the promotion of
Widmerpool’s plans. In his own way, as I learnt later, Farebrother was an
efficient operator when he wanted something done; very efficient indeed.
Widmerpool had made a mistake in trying to double-cross him in whatever matter
the visit to the M.G.A. had concerned. He should have guessed that Farebrother,
sooner or later, would find out. Perhaps he had disregarded that possibility,
ruling out the risk of Farebrother turning to a formidable weapon at hand.
However, with characteristic realism, Widmerpool grasped that something must be
done quickly, if trouble, by now probably inevitable, was to be reduced in
magnitude. He was not going to waste time in recrimination.