by duty. It was a handsome Victorian red-brick building with a turret at each corner and a porch largely constructed of wrought iron, and must have made an impressive sight in the days before the surrounding grove of Scotch firs was chopped down. From a staff on the roof of the porch the regimental standard hung limply in the motionless air. A servant took Polly’s reins and led her away; an other opened the front door as soon as he knocked, led him down a rather dark passage smelling strongly of furniture-polish and slightly of excrement and showed him into a room at the far end. This was the library, so called because part of one wall was given over entirely to bookshelves; elsewhere, sporting trophies, maps, photographs of rows of stern men in uniform and other objects of unimpeachable soldierliness were to be seen. Alexander had happy but sketchy childhood memories of it all.
‘Ah, my dear boy, how nice of you to come.’ Wearing a belted civilian jacket that showed off his slim figure, Tabidze hurried over to meet him and shook him warmly by the hand.
‘What appalling heat. I shouldn’t wonder if there’s a storm on the way. I must say I hope so. Let me make some fresh tea; this stuff’s only fit to be thrown on the rose-beds. Do help yourself to a drink. And try one of those oatcakes with it – it’s an old Northampton thing, I’m told. Well, how’s my worthy friend Major Yakir?’
Pouring out a small glass of Dufftown-Glenlivet while the other busied himself with a quick-kettle, Alexander answered the question and others that followed. He answered them carefully because, from being quite certain what was in store for him and quite unperturbed about it, he had moved to a state of painful anxiety. It was normal for his commanding officer not to be short of things to say, but his normal style was a slightly remorseless pursuit of one point at a time, not this directionless chatter – he had turned now to incoherent reminiscence. Just as uncharacteristically, he had not yet looked his visitor in the eye.
They soon made themselves comfortable (physically at least) in a pair of imitation-leather chairs, one each side of the empty fireplace. Within Alexander’s reach stood a small round-topped table loaded with tea, whisky, oatcakes, chocolates and cigarettes. Tabidze sipped a glass of white wine.
‘Have a chocolate, Alexander – they go well with the whisky too.’
‘No thank you, sir.’
‘Have a cigarette, then.’
‘That I will – thank you, sir.
‘Let’s get down to business at once,’ proceeded Tabidze, though his tone was less ready than his words. ‘I have things to do later today and I’m sure you have too. First of all, this is nothing to do with your court-martial, so we can have that out of the way to start with. But I will tell you that the proceedings are fixed for Tuesday and, in confidence, that the tribunal is disposed to take a lenient view, at least in your case as the most junior. You’re to be awarded a severe reprimand.’
Alexander said nothing, because he thought nothing, about the principle involved (or the one flouted) in determining the sentence before the start of the hearing. The gloom and uneasiness that had lain upon him ever since waking lifted slightly. The court-martial would never take place, but it was pleasant to be vindicated, even in so unimportant a way. He muttered something and looked suitably humble, grateful and so on. Then, looking anxious instead, he asked, merely because it sounded right,
‘What about the others, sir?’
‘Rather less leniency there. Nothing harsh, however.’
He had just started to look relieved when Tabidze thoroughly disconcerted him with the offensive query,
‘What really happened that night?’
(It was offensive because it took for granted that he had been lying before.) He was soon himself again, reflecting as before that none of this was going to matter in a couple of days. He said with the utmost seriousness,
‘I wasn’t there at all. I stayed away after the first time. Oh yes, it was a favourite diversion of Leo’s. He talked the others into it. He must have been mad.’
‘He was a gambler. And you’re not, of course; it doesn’t go with being a dedicated young officer. Which puzzles me a little. I can’t see why you didn’t have to go and tell your squadron commander what was going on. Surely it must have been… entailed on you.’
Colonel Tabidze’s manner had relaxed somewhat, perhaps because he had evidently deferred business after all, unless indeed this discussion of motives was business. At any rate, he now glanced directly at Alexander, who said, with the merest touch of holy simplicity,
‘But I’d given my word of honour, sir. They refused to tell me anything about the game until I had.’
‘But your oath overrides any such commitment.’
‘Major Yakir made the same point. I’m not looking for a justification, your excellency. I only mean to give you my reason.’
‘So you go in for chivalry too. You certainly make life difficult for yourself, don’t you? I mean we must face the fact that a dedicated young officer is constantly being forced to behave in ways that a man of chivalry would find intolerable. And the other way round, of course, as here. Tell me, do you also practise chivalry in your dealings with women?’
Before answering, Alexander crushed out his cigarette in a silver ashtray that was brightly polished in those parts where the plate had not worn away or become corroded. He could not see what the other was up to. Was this elaborate straight-faced ridicule? On all previous form, unlikely. And yet that chatter at the beginning…
‘Well, sir,’ he said finally, ‘perhaps I might put it like this. In that sphere I practise chivalry as far as possible.’
‘That’s not very far, is it?’ said Tabidze with a chuckle, putting his glass down. Then his gaze shifted and he frowned. ‘Which brings me to… My boy, I’ve known you since before you can remember, since I was a dashing young captain, just appointed adjutant to old Colonel Khvylovy. You might remember him. A very upright old chap with teeth that stuck out and a way of snapping his fingers when he was making a point. Anyhow, what I’m trying to say is that I’m an old friend, an old friend of yours and of your family. You must know how highly I regard your father. And your mother too. So, just for a moment, try to forget I’m your commanding officer. And another thing: there’s no reproach or disapproval in what I’m about to say. It’s just advice. A word of warning from an old friend. Can you accept that?’
‘Yes, Uncle Nick.’ Alexander was as full of curiosity as he had ever been in his life.
‘Ah, how many years since! It doesn’t do to think about it. Now this will only take a minute. I’m told, and we needn’t waste time going into who told me – I’m told you’ve been mixing with some exceedingly disreputable company.’
This last phrase happened to coincide with one of Alexander’s periodical previsions of what he was going to be up to almost as soon as this interview was concluded, and struck him as a very useful description of it. His forebodings fell away; the old fool had had his
‘We all go against our better judgement from time to time in our youth. I’m not so sunk in age that I can’t remember behaving foolishly myself. It’s understandable and forgivable; perhaps it’s even necessary. But what’s none of those things is persistence in foolishness. Being swept off one’s feet, carried away, is one thing; to embark on a course of mistaken action and pursue it deliberately is quite another. Are you with me so far?’
‘Yes, sir.’ What sort of person would it have to be who had been unable to keep up with this?
‘Good. Sooner or later, you know, we have to go back, and it had better be sooner than later. There is such a thing as common prudence, after all. You must consider the immense weight of what is after all accepted as how things are supposed to be run. Will you – I beg you – will you give up this disastrous adventure? Please don’t force me to be more specific.’
Alexander hung his head, or more precisely allowed it to droop. ‘You know, sir,’ he said in an interested tone, ‘it’s funny sometimes, the way things work out.’ As he spoke he was telling himself that next week he would be able to bang Mrs Korotchenko in the middle of Northampton market square at midday if he felt like it and if she felt the enterprise would not be too humdrum. ‘You know you ought to do something,’ he twaddled on, deliberately not
