A Division Of The Spoils (Raj Quartet 4) Read Free Page B

rapidly?’
    *
    ‘This is Captain Purvis, sergeant,’ Major Beamish said, indicating a thin-faced, mousy-haired, ill-looking man who was dosing himself with brown pills which he washed down with water without quite choking. ‘You an’ ’e are goin’ this evenin’ to a party.’ Beamish, like so many elderly regular officers, spoke a kind of upper-crust cockney.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ Perron said, keeping his thumbs in line with the seams of his trousers.
    Beamish was in a bad temper, either as a result of a thick Saturday night or of lingering resentment at being made to work on a Sunday. He said, ‘Fer God’s sake sit down. It’s too bloody hot fer parade-ground manners.’
    Perron, who stood over six feet in his socks, chose the deepest of three available chairs in deference to Major Beamish whose trunk was short in proportion to his legs and who therefore sat lower at his desk than seemed either fair or suitable for a man of his domineering temperament. Satisfied that his eye-level was now a flattering few inches below Beamish’s, Perron met the officer’s gaze with soldierly frankness.
    ‘D’yer have yer civvies with yer?’
    Before Perron could answer, the other officer – who was now sitting with his eyes closed and his arms folded broke in. ‘Shouldn’t advise civvies in this case.’
    ‘I have my Army Education Corps gear, sir,’ Perron said.
    ‘Those’ll do,’ Purvis said.
    ‘You fill ’im in, Purvis, or shall I?’
    ‘Would you? I’ll interrupt if I don’t think you’ve got it right. Could we have that fan on more?’
    Perron got up and went to the board of switches and turned up the dial that regulated the ceiling fan. Irritably, Beamish re-allocated weights to keep the papers moored to the desk top, then lit a cigarette but did not offer the tin.
    ‘It’s about security fer Zipper and loose talk here in Bombay,’ he began. Perron listened attentively for the ten seconds it took Beamish to pass from the informative to the opinionative mood and then tried to tune in what he called his other ear: the one that caught the nuances of time and history flowing softly through the room, a flow arrested neither by Beamish’s concerns nor his own sense of obligation to further them by putting himself at Beamish’s disposal. Glancing at Purvis he wondered whether that officer also heard the whisper of the perpetually moving stream or whether the expression of concentration was due to the compelling effect of the brown pills. When Purvis’s brows suddenly contracted he decided it must be the latter.
    ‘Are yer still with us, sergeant?’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘Right. Tell ’im about the party, Purvis.’
    For a moment Purvis neither spoke nor moved. Then he opened his eyes.
    ‘God!’ he said, got up and went out of the room.
    ‘Feller’s got squitters,’ Beamish explained.
    ‘Who is Captain Purvis, sir?’
    ‘Damned if I know. Brig didn’t say. Never met ’im in me life till half-an-hour ago. Seems a bit of a wash-out ter me. Chap should be able to keep ’imself fitter than that!’
    A chaprassi came in with a foot-high pile of folders tied up in pink tape and put them by the side of a similar pile on the In side of Major Beamish’s desk. There was a single file in the Out tray. The chaprassi took this with him when he went. Beamish poured himself a glass of water then took the top folder from the nearest of the two piles.
    ‘Smoke if yer want ter,’ he said. ‘While we’re waitin’.’
    Perron murmured his thanks but did not do so. Beamish read the note in the file, initialled it, flung the folder in the Out tray and reached for the next.
    Ten minutes later Purvis came back. Beamish was reading the minute in the last folder of the second pile. Without glancing up he said, ‘Feelin’ better?’
    ‘Frankly, no. I think the sergeant will have to come back to my billet. I’ll put him in the picture there. In any case he’ll need somewhere to change and freshen up for this