‘She was a driver in the ATS when I first met her.’
‘Then we both went into secret shows, different ones, and always kept in touch — but for God’s sake don’t let’s talk about the war. Such a boring subject.’
Sillery shouted assent to that, showing distinct signs of displeasure at this interchange. What was the good of presenting Ada Leintwardine as a woman of mystery, if she shared a crowd of acquaintances in common with another guest? Besides, long experience of extracting information out of people must have warned him she was not prepared to furnish anything of great interest that evening, unless matters took an unexpected turn. Grasp of the fact was to Sillery’s credit, in some degree justifying the respect paid him in such traffickings by Short and others. He rose once more from his chair, again throwing himself to the floor with surprising suppleness of movement, to scrabble further at the stuff in the cupboard.
‘You’re sure you’ve got the right notebooks now, Ada? I’m putting away the ones you brought back, ere worse befall. Don’t want to lose them, do we?’
Miss Leintwardine chose this moment of Sillery’s comparative detachment on the floor to announce something probably intended to take a less abrupt form. Possibly she had even paid the visit for this purpose, the diaries only an excuse. Since she had not found Sillery alone, she had to take the best opportunity available.
‘Talking of J. G. Quiggin, you’ve heard about this new publishing firm of his?’
She spoke rather self-consciously. Sillery, swivelling round where he squatted orientally on a hole in the carpet, was attentive to this.
‘Have you any piquant details, Ada? I should like to know more of JG’s publishing venture.’
‘I’m rather committed myself. Perhaps you heard that too, Sillers?’
Whatever this meant, clearly Sillery had not heard. He sat up sharply. Miss Leintwardine’s manner of asking the question strongly suggested he had been given no opportunity to hear anything of the sort
‘How so, Ada?’
‘As it happens, I’m joining the firm myself. I’ve been reading manuscripts for them since they started. I thought I told you.’
‘No, Ada, no. You never told me.’
‘I thought I had.’
This showed Sillery in the plainest terms he was not the only one to discharge bombshells. He took it pretty well, though there could be no doubt he was shaken. His eyes showed that.
‘Craggs brought in the goodwill of Boggis & Stone, together with such Left-Wing steadies as survive. Of course the new firm won’t be nearly so limited as Boggis & Stone. We’re hoping to get the young writers. We’ve signed up X. Trapnel, for example.’
She spoke all this quickly, more than a little embarrassed, even upset, at having to break the news to Sillery. He did not say anything. She continued in the same hurried tone.
‘I was wondering whether the possibility wasn’t worth exploring for publication of your own Journal, Sillers. You haven’t decided on a publisher yet, have you? There’s often something to be said for new and enterprising young firms.’
Sillery did not pledge himself on that point.
‘Does this mean you’re going to live in London, Ada?’
‘I suppose so, Sillers. I can’t very well commute from here. Of course it won’t make any difference to my work for you. I shall always have time for that. I do think it should be an interesting job, don’t you?’
Again Sillery made no pronouncement on such expectations. His face provisionally suggested that the future for those entering publishing offices was anything but optimistic. There could be no doubt the whole matter was intensely displeasing to him. His annoyance, together with Miss Leintwardine’s now very definitely troubled manner, confirmed that in a peculiar way they must have been having some sort of flirtation, an hypothesis scarcely to be guessed by even the most seasoned Sillery experts. The girl’s nervousness now confession had been made, well illustrated that odd contradictory feminine lack of assurance so typical of the moment when victory has been won — for there could be little doubt that progression on to the staff of Quiggin & Craggs represented a kind of victory over Sillery on her part, escape from his domination. It looked as if she had half dreaded telling him, half hoped to cause him to suffer. Sillery had been made the object of a little affectionate feminine sadomasochism. That was the grotesque presumption. She jumped up.
‘I must go now, Sillers. I’ve got an awful lot of work waiting at home. I thought I’d just bring those wrong notebooks along as they were worrying me.’
She laughed, almost as though near tears. This time Sillery made no effort to detain her.
‘Goodnight, Ada.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Short. Goodnight, Mr Jenkins. Goodnight, Sillers.’
However much put out by her unexpected arrival, refusal to discuss the Widmerpools, final news that she was abandoning him, Sillery’s usual resilience, his unyielding capacity for making the best of things, was now displayed, though he could not conceal relief at this withdrawal. He grinned at Short and myself after the door closed, shaking his head whimsically to show he still retained a sense of satisfaction in knowing such a wench. Short, on the other hand, was anxious to forget about Miss Leintwardine as soon as possible.
‘Tell us something about your diaries, Sillers. I’m more interested than I can say.’
Sillery, anyway at that moment, did not want to talk about the diaries. Ada Leintwardine was still his chosen theme. If she had displeased him, all the more reason to get full value out of her as an attendant personality of what remained of the Sillery court.
‘Local doctor’s daughter. Clever girl. Keen on making a career in — what shall we say? — the world of letters. Writing a novel herself. All that sort of thing. Just the person I was looking for. Does the work splendidly. Absolutely reliable. We mustn’t have pre-publication leaks, must we? That would never do. I hope she’s aware of Howard Craggs’s little failings. Just as bad as ever, even at the age he’s reached, so I’m told. All sorts of stories. She must know. Everyone knows that.’
His manner of enunciating the remark about pre-publication leaks made one suspect Sillery meant the opposite to what he said. Pre-publication leaks were what he aimed at, Miss Leintwardine the ideal medium for titbits proffered to stimulate interest. The Diary was to be Sillery’s last bid for power, imposing his personality on the public, as an alternative to the real thing. However, he had no wish to talk to Short about this. If the Journal was of interest, it was likely Sillery would have published its contents, at least a selection, before now. Even if the interest were moderate, there would be excitement in preparation and advance publicity, whetting the appetite of the public. When, in due course, Short and I left the rooms — Sillery admitted he went to bed now earlier than formerly — it was only after solemn assurances we would call again. Outside, the night was mild for the time of year.
‘I’m staying in college,’ said Short. ‘Sillers is always talking of my becoming an Honorary Fellow, I don’t know how serious he is. I’ll walk with you as far as the gate. Sillers is wonderful, isn’t he? What did you make of that young woman? I didn’t much care for her style. Too florid. Still, Sillers must need a secretary if he has all that diary material to weld into order. Rather inconsiderate of her to give up work for him, as she seems to be doing. Interesting your knowing Widmerpool. I wouldn’t have thought you’d much in common. I believe myself he’s got a future. You must lunch with me one day at the Athenaeum, Nicholas. I’m rather full of work at the moment, but I’ll tell my secretary to make a note.’