to be working five times faster than ever before. He was planning fast: interviews ahead.
And when Charlie came things did not go at all as Jimmy had expected. There was no long discussion. All the pros and the cons were not trundled out. Indeed the preliminaries to the interview were as long as the main discussion itself. Barrow was at his most tortuous. He had a habit of discussing general political news, perhaps because he always knew more of current affairs than any of his colleagues. For the most part the officers lived body and soul within the limits of the high wall; Macmillan could gossip a little on social items, but even he was inclined to concentrate on county news. Some of the other more earnest officers knew something of the disturbances in other parts of the globe, Malaya, Kenya or Korea, because they had friends there, but by and large they were innocent of world, and even of national, affairs. Something had evidently been happening in the United States: it had to do with Communism. There was some scandal about a trial on television. Barrow made reference to it, described it, and condemned it. That took a moment or two and gave time for Charlie to sit back in his chair and stretch out his long legs. He laid his crook beside them. Charlie always carried his crook, rather than the regulation ash walking-stick.
Jimmy sat on the edge of his chair, impatient of the preliminaries, and he looked hard at Charlie while Barrow outlined the reason for their meeting. To give him his due he put the matter very fairly. He did not ask for a decision until he had mentioned Jock’s name. He could almost certainly have won a tactical point by asking for Charlie’s decision on the basis of the accused being an anonymous officer. But he did not try any tricks, and he added, too, that all he wanted now was Charlie’s opinion. The decision must rest with him, and the only question at this stage was whether a formal enquiry should be conducted. Depending on the results of this independent enquiry a report would or would not go up to Brigade, putting the question of court martial. It was a very fair statement, and Barrow was at his best, a barrister in command of his brief. He seemed much concerned: seemed very sincere. He did not add an unnecessary word.
Charlie stroked his moustache, then he pouted.
‘Well there’s no doubt about it, is there?’
‘Please?’ The lines about Barrow’s eyes grew deeper in his anxiety.
Charlie gave a shrug. ‘Well, of course you’ve got to make an enquiry. We can’t have chaps poking corporals in the eye, after all.’
Jimmy’s fingers came together: he pitched forward in the low chair. He was so upset by Charlie’s reaction that it took him a moment or two to find words to express himself, even inadequately. He stuttered and made a false start. Then he came back again.
‘Charlie … of course we know that, but Jock … hell, it’s different. Jock’s always had his own methods.’ He stopped, and twisted. ‘Och. He must have had reason. If the Corporal was to put in a complaint it might be different, but you know what they are with regard to Jock up at Brigade. A thing like this would kill him. It’s dynamite. Surely the way to do it is for the Colonel here to have a word with him …’ Jimmy looked from one to the other. Barrow’s face was a blank. He stared hard at Charlie who was staring at his toes. Barrow said nothing; he just stared at Charlie with a strange amazement. At last Charlie lifted heavy eyelids and rested his baleful eyes on Jimmy.
‘ ’Fraid I can’t agree, old man,’ he said, and Jimmy felt cold.
‘But, Charlie …’
He was interrupted there. Charlie clambered to his feet, addressing Barrow. ‘ ’Course, it’s your decision.’
‘Of course,’ Barrow nodded, recovering himself.
‘It won’t make you very popular, I’m afraid.’
Barrow gave a stiff nod.
‘That’s the fate of a c.o.,’ he said bravely, and Charlie nodded. Jimmy was still groping about him, hopelessly, but the interview was already over.
‘Not nice at all,’ Charlie said, as he knocked along. He explained to Jimmy, at the door, that he had to trundle: there was some sort of kit inspection on that morning. But Jimmy would not let him go. He spoke almost in a whisper, and he made sure the door was closed behind him.
‘Charlie, we can’t let it go like this.’
Charlie shrugged.
‘Charlie, we can’t.’
‘Old chum: we’ve been boiling up to this for some time. It isn’t nice, but it’s one of those things. Old Jock’s on the rocky side. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d brained the chap.’
‘But it’ll finish Jock: it’ll fix him once and for all.’
‘That is a pity.’ Charlie drew himself up, and Jimmy looked down at his desk. Just before he went, Charlie said, ‘Don’t take it too hard, chum. I mean we’ve got to think of the Battalion sometimes. Have you ever seen such a shambles? That cocktail party, eh?’
‘That was half Barrow’s fault.’
Charlie smiled.
‘That’s quite another problem. But it’s Jock who led us into this state when all’s said and done. Did you see how he behaved over that dancing class? What? The old boy’s a warrior and all that but, old chum, it’s about time we had a colonel again, isn’t it? And just a fragment of discipline. How can you look after the Rattrays when you’ve Jock at the top?’
‘D’you think that? D’you really think that?’
‘Yep.’ Fraid I do.’
Jimmy tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘I’ve sometimes thought it,’ he admitted, unwillingly.
‘There you are. It’s rough I suppose. And really I don’t want to be involved. Couldn’t want to less. But maybe some day someone’ll put his nose over the barrack wall and really see what goes on. Then what? Eh? It’s not going to be nice at all.’
Jimmy wavered. ‘Maybe you’re right there. But Jock – well he’s different.’
‘Don’t let it give you ulcers, Jimmy. They’ll do the same to you and me one day. I must be rolling. Bloody kit inspection.’ Bye.’
Simpson, now one move behind events, was anxious to talk things over with Jimmy but he got no further information, and at last he went on his way, leaving Jimmy pacing up and down his little office, biting his lip and scratching his hair.
A few moments later his train of thought was disturbed by noises in the lobby outside, and he recognised Jock’s voice among them. He went out to discover Jock talking to Simpson and Mr Riddick.
Jock was still looking very crumpled, and if he had not been certain before, Jimmy was then certain of the truth of the story. It was written in every crease in Jock’s clothes, in the hang of his coat: it was written straight across his face. Jimmy was shocked by the sight of him.
Jock nodded good-morning to him.
‘Jimmy, what the hell’s going on here?’
But Jimmy had still not had time to recover himself. Mr Riddick in twenty years of loud shouting had never lost his voice, and always with his seniors he had a glibness.
‘Colonel Sinclair, sir, suggests the Commanding Officer ordered him here for interview this morning.’
Jock would never ordinarily have let Mr Riddick speak for him. He was the one man in the Battalion who could send him chasing: but he now made no complaint. He merely nodded and said, ‘The other night after the cocktails.’
Mr Simpson, in his fortnight as Assistant Adjutant, had developed the manner of an aide-de-camp. Everything was difficult if it concerned Barrow. Barrow was always busy.
‘The Colonel didn’t mention it this morning. Perhaps he intended to see Colonel Sinclair later.’
Jimmy looked at him as if he were very far away, then he looked hard at Mr Riddick.
‘I’ll