“Of course—”
“You told them that Skeffington was worried?”
“Naturally.”
“Can none of you be trusted?” Martin broke out.
“No, I won’t take that—”
“Can none of you be trusted?” He had quite lost his temper, something so rare for him that Irene and I glanced at each other with discomfort, a discomfort different from just looking on at her husband and my wife snacking. As his voice sharpened, his face lost its colour: while Margaret, whose hot temper had risen to meet his cold one, was flushing, her eyes snapping, looking handsome and less delicate.
“Has everyone got to talk the minute you get hold of a piece of gossip? Has that fool Skeffington got to blurt out the whole story before any of us have had a chance to have a look at it? Has none of you any idea when it’s useful to keep your mouths shut?”
“Don’t you realise Connie Nightingale is a good sort? She and Hanna will have some influence—”
“They’ll have that, without your talking to them before the proper time.”
“Why should you think no one else can judge the proper time?”
“Just from watching the mess you’re all getting into.”
“I must say,” said Margaret violently, “you seem to assume this is a private game of yours. I’m damned if that is good enough for me. You’d better face it, this isn’t just your own private game.”
Speaking more quietly than she had done, but also more angrily, Martin said: “It might be more convenient if it were.”
9: Treat for a Worldly Man
THE next morning, the 28th, Martin was as controlled as usual. Without fuss, without making an explicit apology to Margaret, he did apologise to her, by asking if she could bear to sit round and join the “conference” with Julian Skeffington. “I remember that you’ve shown an interest in the matter,” Martin permitted himself to say, unsmiling but bright-eyed.
Skeffington was due at ten o’clock: Margaret and I had to go back to London that afternoon. It was a bright morning, the sunny interval in the warm cyclonic weather, and the children were playing in the garden. The air was so mild that we left the French windows open, and from the end of the long lawn we could hear them shouting, as they chased each other through the bushes. On the grass there shone a film of dew, gossamer-white in the sunshine, with firm black trails of footsteps across it, like a diagram in a detective story.
When Skeffington came in, punctual to the first stroke of ten, he gazed round the room with what looked like distaste or pity for our sloppiness. Where we had had breakfast in the garden end of the big double room, Irene had not yet cleared away; I was wearing a sweater instead of a jacket. Himself, he stood there beautifully groomed, blue tie pinned down, hair smooth, skin ruddy. Before we had moved from the table he was into his problem.
“I’ve got to admit it,” he told Martin, “I can’t come to terms with some of those chaps of ours.”
“Who in particular?”
“I was dining in the combination room last night, there were only one or two chaps there, I told them that Howard’s case would have to be re-opened.”
“You did, did you?” said Martin.
“I didn’t see any point in beating about the bush,” said Skeffington. “Well, one of those chaps — they were both very junior — said that meant getting a majority of the college. Do you know what he said then?”
Martin shook his head.
“He had the brass to tell me that he didn’t feel very much like helping to form that majority.”
“Who was this?”
“That man Orbell.”
Irene yelped with surprise, Margaret caught my eye. Martin was saying, at his most disciplined, without any sign of irritation: “I can’t help wishing you hadn’t jumped the gun. You know, it might have been better to tackle Orbell later—”
“It couldn’t have been worse,” said Skeffington. “I’m sorry. False move.”
“By the way,” Martin went on, “you spoke to Nightingale the night before, so I heard. I thought we were going to leave that until we’d thought it over?”
“Yes, I spoke to him. I’m not sorry about that. He’s the other man on the committee. After I saw you, I decided I was under an obligation to tell him. It was the straightforward thing to do.”
“I suppose it was the straightforward thing to do.” Martin’s voice was neutral. Just for an instant I saw in his face the temper of the night before. But he knew when to cut his losses. He had realised that it was profitless to scold Skeffington. It was done now. Martin contented himself by saying: “You’re not making it any easier for yourself, you know.”
“That can’t be helped.”
“You understand that it isn’t going to be easy, don’t you?”
“I hadn’t thought much about it. But it’s not going to be a pushover, I see that.”
“Doesn’t Orbell’s reaction show you something?”
“It was a bit of a facer, yes.” Skeffington threw back his head, and his expression was puzzled, irritated, sulky.
“It’s a good deal more than that.” Martin leaned forward into the fireplace, picked up a spill from the holder, twisted it into a knot. Then he looked across at Skeffington and began to speak easily, naturally, and in earnest. “Look, this is what I wanted to talk to you about. I want you to be absolutely clear what the position is. I wouldn’t like you to do any more, I really didn’t want you to do anything at all, before you realise what you’re running yourself in for.”
“I think I know the form,” said Skeffington.
“Do you?” Martin was watching him. “I intend to make sure you do. That’s the whole object of this exercise.”
Skeffington had begun to ask me a question but Martin interrupted: “No, I really want to say this. There are just two courses you can take, it seems to me. Now this evidence has come along, and taking the view of it you do—”
“And you do too,” Margaret broke in.
“Taking that view of it, you’re bound to do something. If you wrote a statement and sent it to the Master saying, for the sake of argument, that some new technical data made it seem to you extremely unlikely that Howard had been responsible for any fraud — that’s all that reasonable men could expect you to do. I think you’re obliged to do that. I’m the last man to run into unnecessary trouble, but if I were you I’m afraid I should have to do that.”
“I should think you damned well would,” said Skeffington.
“And I shouldn’t expect it to have any effect,” said Martin with a grin that was calculating, caustic, and uncharacteristically kind. “You see, the evidence isn’t quite clinching enough to convince anyone who desperately doesn’t want to be convinced. There are quite a number of our friends who desperately don’t want to be convinced. I suppose you have realised that?”
“They’ve got to be, that’s all,” said Skeffington.
“Well, that is the second course. Which means you set yourself, first, to get the case re-opened and then, which I might remind you isn’t the same thing, make the Seniors go back on their decision about Howard. I don’t say it’s impossible—”
“That’s something,” Skeffington said.
“—but it’s going to be very difficult. Some of the steps you’ve taken already have made it slightly more difficult. It’s going to need a certain number of qualities I am not sure you possess.”
Martin said it simply. Skeffington blushed. His haughtiness had left him for an instant: he wasn’t used, as Martin and I and our friends were, to direct personal examination.
“Come clean. What does it need?”
“Obstinacy,” said Martin. “We’re all prepared to credit you with that.”