The Nice and the Good

'I don't know. Do you think he's queer, sort of unconsciously perhaps? I've never heard of his being connected with any woman.'
'That's because he's so devilish discreet and clam-like.'
'He is clam-like. You know he never told me about his being appointed to do that inquiry.'
'He's jolly worried about that inquiry.'
'Then I'm all the more annoyed he didn't tell me! By the way, he thinks we shouldn't tell Willy about that poor chap, what's his name, Radeechy.'
'He's perfectly right. It wouldn't have occurred to me.'
'He thinks of everything. I suppose there's no chance that Radeechy really was a spy or something?'
'None at all. I think John's just rather unnerved at the idea of probing into somebody's private life.'
'I'm afraid I should find it fascinating!'
'I believe it frightens him. He thinks he may discover something – odd.'
'You mean – sexually odd?'
'Yes. He is an old puritan, you know.'
'I know. and I adore it. What do you think he thinks we do. darling?'
'He doesn't think about it.'
'Octavian, do hurry up. I think Ducane would tell me now, I mean about the women, about his past. He will tell me now.'
'You mean you'll ask him?'
'Yes. I'm not afraid of Ducane.'
'Implying I am? Well, maybe I am in a way. He's a man I'd hate to think ill of me.'
'Yes, I know, me too. You don't think it's a bit fishy, his having that manservant?'
'No, I don't. Ducane's not homosexual.'
'Octavian, have you ever met that manservant?'
'No.'
'I shall ask Ducane about that manservant too. He's incapable of telling a lie.'
'He's capable of being embarrassed.'
'Yes, well, maybe I'll just investigate the manservant. I'll call some time when Ducane's out and inspect him.'
'Kate dear, you don't really think '
'No, no, of course not, Ducane's a man who doesn't make muddles. That's one of the marvellous things about him.'
'No muddles? That's a lot to say of any man.'
'No muddles. Which is also why he can't be hurt.'
'And you can't. And I can't.'
'Darling Octavian, I do love it that we tell each other everything.'
'I love it too.'
'God's in His heaven, all's right with the world. Do come to bed, darling.'
'I'm just coming now.'
'Darling, you're so round '
'Are you ready, darling?'
'Yes, I'm ready. Oh darling, just guess what Barbie brought you home for a present – she's saving it for your birthday.'
'What?'
'A cuckoo clock!'

Eight

Ducane faced Peter McGrath, the office messenger, across the desk.

Ducane said silkily, 'I have information which leads me to suppose that you, Mr McGrath, were connected with the recent sale to the press of a scurrilous story concerning Mr Radeechy.'

Ducane waited. It was hot in the room. Outside, London roared quietly. A little silent fly kept circling quickly and alighting on Ducane's hand.

McGrath's very light blue eyes were fixed upon Ducane's face. Then McGrath averted his eyes, or rather rolled them in his head as if he were doing an exercise. Then he blinked several times. He peered at Ducane again and smiled a little confiding smile.

'We – ell, Sir, I suppose it was bound to come out, wasn't it,' said McGrath.

Ducane was irritated by McGrath's light Scottish voice, whose exact provenance he could not diagnose, and by the man's colour scheme. A man had no right to have such red hair and such a white skin and such pallid watery blue eyes and such a sugary pink mouth in the middle of it all. McGrath was in very bad taste.

'Now I require some information from you, Mr McGrath,' said Ducane, shuffling his papers about in a business-like manner and shaking off the fascinated fly. 'I want first of all to know exactly what this story consisted of, which you sold, and then I shall ask you a number of questions about the background to the story.'

'Am I going to get the push?' said McGrath.

Ducane hesitated. In fact McGrath's dismissal was a cer tainty. However, at this moment Ducane needed McGrath's cooperation. He replied, 'That is not my province, Mr McGrath. You will doubtless hear from Establishments if your employment here is to terminate.'

McGrath put two pale hands, lightly furred with long reddish hairs, on the desk and leaned forward. He said confidentially, 'I bet I get the push. Don't you bet?' McGrath's voice, Ducane now noticed, had Cockney overtones.

'We shall require to have, Mr McGrath, a copy of this story.

How soon can you provide this?'

McGrath sat back. With a slight quizzical effort he raised one eyebrow. His eyebrows were a light gingery colour and almost invisible. 'I haven't got a copy,' he said.

'Come, come,' said Ducane.

'I swear I haven't got a copy, Sir. You see I didn't write the story. I'm not much of a hand at the writing. And you know what those journalist laddies are. I just talked and they wrote things down and then they read out to me what they'd written up about it and I signed it. I never wrote nothing myself.'

This is almost certainly true, thought Ducane. 'How much did they pay you?'

McGrath's pale face became as smooth as a cat's. 'A man's financial arrangements are his own affair, Sir, if I may – '

'I advise you to change your tune a little, McGrath,' said Ducane. 'You have acted very irresponsibly and you may find yourself in serious trouble. Why did you sell that story?'

'Well, Sir, a gentleman like you, Sir, just doesn't know what it's like to need the necessary. I sold it for the money, Sir, and I'll make no bones about it. It was a matter of looking after number one, Sir, as I daresay even you do, Sir, in your own way.'

An impertinent fellow, thought Ducane, and I should think a complete rogue. Though Ducane had never fully realized it, one reason why his career as a barrister had been less than totally successful was that he lacked the capacity to conceive of any kind of villainy of which he would not have been capable himself. His imagination reached out into the world of evil simply by prolonging the patterns of his own faults. So that his judgement upon McGrath that he was 'a complete rogue' remained unhelpful and abstract. Ducane could not conceive what it could be like to be McGrath. The sheer opacity to him of this sort of roguery in fact had the effect of making McGrath more interesting to him and in a curious way more sympathetic.

'All right. You sold it for the money. Now, Mr McGrath, I want you to tell me in as much detail as you can what it was you said to the press about Mr Radeechy.'