wonderment returned in a sharpened form when the party had finished lunch and moved back to the sitting-room upstairs. Here Jimmie had seized him by the arm and borne him off in stagey style to a narrower extension where books of a more consistently solemn, leather-bound aspect were to be seen. Jimmie at once sat himself down on a comfortable-looking old-fashioned chair, did not invite Gordon to find a seat but made no perceptible objection when he did. After shutting his eyes and perhaps dozing for a few seconds he suddenly said to him,
‘It’s very nice of you to come over today and bring that enchanting little girl with you.’
‘Oh, it’s very –’
‘Joanna, that’s my wife, you know – Joanna tells me you’ve got a proposition you want to put to me.’ Also suddenly, Jimmie reopened his eyes, ‘I confess to you I’m all agog to hear what it can be.’
‘Oh. Well, I was rereading The Escaped Prisoner the other day, and I thought –’
‘Do tell me just what your proposition is, dear man.’
‘All right. I’d like to try my hand at a long article or even a short book on you and your work. It’s been eleven years since the –’
‘Who would publish it?’
‘If it ends up as an article I reckon I could get a couple of instalments into The Westminster Review of Books, they rather go in for length. If it extends to a book it would certainly be worth trying it on your old publisher right away. Somebody there seemed very interested when I mentioned the possibility.’
‘I have to say I don’t think many people today would want to sit down and read a whole book about an old back number like me.’
‘I don’t think that’s true, Mr Fane, and you’re –’
‘Jimmie, please.’
‘Jimmie. I reckon you’re due for a revival and I’m not the only one by a long chalk. Those novels aren’t going to stay away for ever.’
‘I haven’t published a book of any sort since 1987, and that wasn’t much better than a potboiler of snippets and cuttings.’
‘Jimmie, you deserve to be back in the public eye and there are strong signs that you’re moving in that direction or why would I, well …’
‘Bother. Quite so. Yes, I suppose it might be taken as such a sign.’
This was not far out. Or it was a possible way of putting it. A way of putting it closer to Gordon’s view of the matter would have been that, on the literary stock exchange, Fanes had been due for a recovery but for the moment could be snapped up cheap pending a strong reissue. He himself would have said he had no definite opinion of the quality of Jimmie’s writing but saw clearly enough that as a figure of the prewar and wartime years and later, with an admittedly heterosexual but still conspicuous personal history, the old fellow could without undue difficulty be made the subject of a publishable set of articles or even a book. And now, or soon, was the time. What Gordon had been going to say was that it had been eleven years since the appearance of the last book on him. Just the right sort of interval.
Again Jimmie’s attention seemed to focus for a moment on Gordon’s moustache before diffusing itself. ‘I imagine I can’t stop you from publishing practically anything you like.’
Gordon nodded reflectively. ‘No, in a sense that’s true. But I hope to have your co-operation in this case.’
‘Even if I give it you, what’s to stop your writing and publishing anything that comes into your head, however untrue or unpleasant?’
‘Short of recourse to the law, you could stop me by refusing to let me quote more than the odd line from your works, which wouldn’t be nearly enough for what I have in mind.’
‘I think I see that,’ said Jimmie. ‘Of course.’ Then he turned animated. ‘Naturally, my dear chap, I’ve not the slightest reason in the world to suppose that any words of yours would be other than irreproachably veracious and well-mannered, I do assure you.’
‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Gordon ventured a smile. ‘Perhaps we can proceed to the next stage.’
‘And what do you see as the next stage?’
‘Well, just a thorough general chat, working out an approach. I’ll need to do some thinking in the meantime, make a note or two.’
‘You mean we should have a sort of preliminary discussion.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Very well. May I insist we conduct our discussion over luncheon somewhere?’
‘That sounds like a good idea.’
‘I do so adore being taken out to luncheon.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Gordon bravely.
‘I’m sure you’ll do me reasonably well, better than I did the Bagshots today.’
Gordon found this remark difficult to answer, so he merely nodded his head in a dependable manner.
‘Perhaps I owe you a small explanation. When I was a young man, it used to be said of me, not only in jest, that when I wiped somebody’s eye it stayed wiped. That unspeakable wine I offered was by way of getting back at Bagshot for the vile Peruvian red he gave us the last time we dined with him. He saw that all right, which was why he didn’t make more of a fuss. Oh, and if you’re worried about young Carlo, that count person, he doesn’t care or notice what he drinks. Where he comes from one can’t afford to.’
‘I see.’
‘I think now we might rejoin the others,’ said Jimmie, rising to his feet. ‘Give me a telephone call, will you?’
Gordon likewise rose. ‘I will. I’ll also send you my c.v.’
‘Send me your what?’
‘My c.v. My curriculum vitae.’ He pronounced the first word like curriculum and the second like vee-tye.
‘Your what?’
Gordon said it again and added, ‘Meaning a dated account of what I’ve done and written if anything and where I’ve worked and such. So you’ll have it by you, what there is of it.’
‘Oh, presumably you mean a curriculum vitae,’ said Jimmie, pronouncing the first word like curriculum and the second like vie-tee.
‘Yes, if you prefer.’
‘I do prefer if it’s all the same to you. Since we’re supposedly talking English rather than Latin or Italian. Yes I agree I know what you meant the first time but then one often infers as much from a grunt or a whinny and that’s no argument for conducting one’s discourse wholly or even partly in a series of approximations and lucky guesses. I hope you take my point?’
‘Yes I do.’ Gordon spoke with some warmth. He was relieved not to be called upon to repeat the phrase in its preferred pronunciation slowly after Jimmie.
‘Good. Can I tempt you to a glass of port?’
‘No thank you.’
‘I think I’ll let myself be tempted. I should give it up but I can’t. No – cannot is false; I will not give it up.’ Jimmie gave a smile that only the literal-minded would have hesitated to call charming. ‘We’ll have some fun with this business.’
‘Indeed we will.’
The rest of the company had split into two, or two and a half. The half was Lady Bagshot, who was sitting near but not with Joanna Fane and Louise and was conscientiously working her way through her half-bottle of vodka. Another drink like the one she had just poured herself would get her there with no more than a heeltap left over. Her current drink, as she took a mouthful, looked quite small beside the vastness of her face. By the window the still-vigilant count let Lord Bagshot go on telling him all