Free Black Mischief by Evelyn Waugh

very
closely.’
    ‘Very
interesting.’
    ‘No
doubt.’
    ‘I
never thought things would turn out quite in this way, did you?’
    ‘I
can’t say I’ve given the matter any thought.’
    ‘Well,
fundamentally it is an issue between the Arabs and the christianized Sakuyu.’
    ‘I
see.’
    ‘I
think the mistake we made was to underestimate the prestige of the dynasty.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘As a
matter of fact, I’ve never been satisfied in my mind about the legitimacy of
the old Empress.’
    ‘My
dear young man, no doubt you have some particular interest in the affairs of
this place. Pray understand that I know nothing at all about it and that I feel
it is too late in the day for me to start improving my knowledge.’
    The old
man shifted himself in his chair away from Basil’s scrutiny and began reading
his book. A page came in with the message: ‘No reply from either of those numbers,
sir.’
    ‘Don’t
you hate London?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘Don’t
you hate London?’
    ‘No, I
do not. Lived here all my life. Never get tired of it. Fellow who’s tired of
London is tired of life.’
    ‘Don’t
you believe it,’ said Basil.
    ‘I’m
going away for some time,’ lie told the hall-porter as lie left the club.
    ‘Very
good, sir. What shall I do about correspondence?’
    ‘Destroy
it.’
    ‘Very
good, sir. ‘ Mr Seal was a puzzle to him. He never could forget Mr Seal’s
father. He had been a member of the club. Such a different gentleman. So spick
and span, never without silk hat and an orchid in his buttonhole. Chief
Conservative Whip for twenty-five years. Who would have thought of him having a
son like Mr Seal? Out of town until further notice. No letters forwarded he
entered against Basil’s name in his ledger. Presently the old gentleman emerged
from the smoking-room.
    ‘Arthur,
is that young man a member here?’
    ‘Mr
Seal, sir? Oh yes, sir.’
    ‘What
d’you say his name is?’
    ‘Mr
Basil Seal.’
    ‘Basil
Seal, eh? Basil Seal. Not Christopher Seal’s son?’
    ‘Yes,
sir.’
    ‘Is he
now? Poor old Seal. ‘Pon my soul, what a sad thing. Who’d have thought of that?
Seal of all people …‘ and lie shuffled back into the smoking-room, to the
fire and his muffins, full of the comfort that glows in the hearts of old men
when they contemplate the misfortunes of their contemporaries.
    Basil
walked across Piccadilly and up to Curzon Street. Lady Metroland was giving a
cocktail party.
    ‘Basil,
‘ she said, ‘you had no business to come. I particularly didn’t ask you.’
    ‘I
know. I only heard you had a party quite indirectly. What I’ve really come for
is to see if my sister is here.’
    ‘Barbara?
She may be. She said she was coming. How horrible you look.’
    ‘Dirty?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Not
shaven?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well,
I’ve only just woken up. I haven’t been home yet.’ He looked round the room. ‘All
the same people. You don’t make many new friends, Margot.’
    ‘I hear
you’ve given up your constituency?’
    ‘Yes,
in a way. It wasn’t worth while. I told the P.M. I wasn’t prepared to fight on
the tariff issue. He had a chance to hold over the bill but the Outrage section
were too strong so I threw in my hand. Besides, I want to go abroad. I’ve been
in England too long.’
    ‘Cocktail,
sir.
    ‘No,
bring me a Pernod and water will you? … there isn’t any? Oh well, whisky.
Bring it into the study. I want to go and telephone. I’ll be back soon,
Margot.’
    ‘God,
what I feel about that young man,’ said Lady Metroland.
    Two
girls were talking about him.
    ‘Such a
lovely person.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘Just
gone out.’
    ‘You
don’t mean Basil Seal?’
    ‘Do I?’
    ‘Horrible
clothes, black hair over his face.’
    ‘Yes,
tell me about him.’
    ‘My
dear, he’s enchanting … Barbara Sothill’s brother, you know. He’s been in hot
water lately. He’d been adopted as candidate somewhere in the West. Father says
he was bound to get in at the next election.