Read Online Stiff Upper Lip by Lawrence Durrell - Free Book Online

to our intense pride. He dined here, he dined there. He was put up for the O.B.E. and the Croix De Guerre—and quite a lot of other decorations. As a social draw he was unequalled, a human magnet. And of course Butch went up to the top of the class. He had to engage a private secretary to keep his now bulging Engagements Book and head off mere climbers with the Retort Civil (but Cutting). He was a happy man.
    But now comes the dénouement —which poor Polk-Mowbray probably refers to as “the pay-off” nowadays. It happened quite suddenly and gracefully. I must say that Veranda must have made a close social study of the Corps and its movements. He chose one of those ghastly holidays—was it Labour Day?—when he could be sure that the whole Corps was sitting on a dais in the main square of the town, perspiring freely and watching the infantry defile—if that is the word. Yes, it was beautifully conceived, perfectly timed. He started by borrowing the official car and a dozen of De Mandeville’s pigskin suitcases. In leisurely fashion, and with that irresistibly endearing smile which had won so many friends and influenced so many people—he made a tour of the Embassies cleaning them out with judgement and discretion. Such selectivity, old man. Only the best seemed to be good enough, just the top jewellery like Polk-Mowbray’s dress studs, Angela’s tiara … the top treasures like the original Leonardo drawings in the Argentine Legation, the two Tiepolos chez the Italians, the first edition of Hamlet in Spalding’s library, the two Mycenaean brooches of the Greek Ambassadress. He even took Nelson’s Dress Sword which was Butch’s only real treasure and on which he always made toast in the winter. And with all this stuff safely stowed in his saddle-bags the fellow evaporated, snuffed himself out, dematerialized.… Well, old boy, you can imagine the rumpus. What an eruption! At first one hardly believed it. Surprised! You could have sluiced us down with frangipani. Many was the hanging head, many the pallid glance. Poor Butch found himself at the bottom of the form again—so did we all. For this terrible house-guest had become firmly identified with our Mission. I don’t know how we lived through the next few months. Butch’s swami was never traced, nor was any single item from all this cultural boodle. Somewhere among the bazaars of India these treasures must be on sale. One blenches to think of it.
    It took Butch years to live down his swami. But the worst of it all was that he never finished his reincarnation course; somehow he hadn’t the heart to go on. Nor has he ever had the heart or the social courage to try another swami. And as he hasn’t mastered the drill he lives—so I understand from common friends—in perpetual terror of being reincarnated as a soldier.



9
    A Smircher Smirched
    It was at the corner of one of those little streets just off Piccadilly that we crashed into each other by the purest accident and flew apart. “Antrobus!” I exclaimed in surprise, and indeed with considerable concern. “Antrobus —you running? I would never have believed it.” Yet he had been running quite hard with his hat held on by hand, his coat-tails flying. I wondered what they would say to this up at the Office. “Quick,” he panted. “No time to explain. Follow me,” and took off once more like a peppered hare. I caught him at the next corner where he had the grace to wait and we started walking very fast indeed. He kept glancing over his shoulder nervously. “I have just committed a Felony,” he said at last. “A real one.” When he made sure that we were not being pursued he drew breath and settled into his normal ambling stride, though he was still somewhat winded. “It came over me in a flash, old man. I felt the sky darken round me when I saw him. I was powerless to control my