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

said, “Can you get down to see me, Purvis? I’ve got something special for you.” And each time it’s ended like this, with me wondering not what’s special about it but what it
is.
The first time was ’thirty-nine. I’d done a few papers that were well thought of. I’d got a good lectureship. And then the war started and the phone rang. “Purvis,” this fellow said, “if you can get here in twenty minutes I’ve got something that will interest you.” I was there with three minutes to spare and an hour to wait. And that led to a folding chair behind a deal-table in an attic without heating and a telephone that never rang. I thought I was supposed to contribute some original thinking to the problems of distribution of goods and services as between high and low priority demand sectors, or in layman’s terms, the problems of trying to stop the army wasting what could be saved and what the civil population could bloody well make use of. I even drafted a paper and this chap rang up cock-a-hoop and said it was just what he wanted but if that was so I must have been under a misapprehension about what he wanted it for. I was in that attic for eighteen months. Then the phone rang again. Same chap, “Purvis,” he said, “I’ve got something I think will get you out of that dead-end you’re in.” I arrived half-an-hour late, deliberately, which put him in a filthy temper because he’d promised to ring this colonel chap that very morning and tell him if I was interested. He sent me off to one of those anonymous areas somewhere near Stan-more which always strike me as vaguely sinister. When I saw the colonel he struck me as sinister too. He said, “We’ve read your paper” but hedged when I said I’d done several and which did he mean.
    ‘The trouble is, Perron, I used to be the sort of man who couldn’t bear to embarrass another by making it plain I saw through him and knew he was talking cock. So I let it go and just concentrated on trying to find out what I was supposed to
do.
I never did from him. But then they sent for me from theWar House. This time it was a mere major. Awfully pleasant chap. He’d actually read my paper on high and low priority demand sectors. I don’t say he’d understood it. But he’d read it. And he called me
Mr
Purvis. He was even articulate about the job. Wrong. But articulate. He made me feel the inspiration for the special joint services advisory staff that he said was being got together to liaise with the various ministries and industry had been my paper and that I’d be one of its kingpins. “One thing,” he said, “we’d want you in uniform. An immediate commission, naturally.” ’
    Purvis’s complexion suddenly went grey, either as a result of acute recollection or of acute physical discomfort. He downed the rest of his rum and poured another.
    ‘I said I couldn’t see what use a commission was. I’d signed the official secrets thing when I went to the attic. Well, as I said, he was an awfully pleasant chap. We didn’t argue, and I went back to the attic and waited. I waited three weeks. When the summons came it wasn’t to the War House but to the office of my benefactor. He congratulated me on making such a good impression on the people he’d recommended me to. He described my new job as the opportunity I’d been waiting for to exercise my talents as an economist for the country’s benefit, an opportunity not to be thrown away on the totally irrelevant issue of what style of dress I exercised them in. I said, “You’re right. Irrelevant is the word. So why the fuss? The army isn’t me. Neither is officer status.” ’
    Purvis sat down; he’d got up to get more lime-juice. He sat crouched, elbows on knees, head lowered and eyes hidden by his free hand. His shoulders began to shake.
    ‘I’m sorry, sergeant, but it’s so bloody funny. What you said about always saying no to a commission brought it all back.’
    He straightened up.
    ‘I’ll tell you