Bolt, hiding his light under a bushel for so many years, is now revealed as an existentialist philosopher posing as an ad man: delving in this most thoughtful novel into the underlying nature of humanity: ‘We can all recognise ourselves in these profound lines.’
What utter balls, thinks Sherwyn. Mungo has never had a profound thought in his life, all he’s ever been fit for is advertising slogans like ‘ Buttoning’s Such a Bother ’ – and putting his prick where it doesn’t belong. Not much of a prick, either, pretty pathetic: Sherwyn used to behold it in the showers when he was at the front, when was that, back in ’16? Half the length and half the width of Sherwyn’s own.
The clue of course was in the phrase ‘we can all recognise ourselves blah, blah, blah’. It was a coded message. Epstone was warning him that Vice Rewarded was a roman à clef . He, Sherwyn, was in the book, might take offence, might possibly sue. He was being sounded out.
Sherwyn puts aside his disgusting breakfast – he will lunch at Rules, where at least you can get a good rabbit fricassee – and opens his former friend’s, now enemy’s, novel. It has a plain cream textured jacket in the French style, the paper is thick and the pages uncut: all the marks of a pretentious literary novel, one on which publishers were prepared to spend money.
Presumably Mungo had contributed to the cost. What was he playing at? Did he really have literary aspirations? He must know by now he was an awful writer. He had written one novel while working at Ripple’s with Sherwyn, but no-one was prepared to publish it. While Sherwyn’s career as a writer had blossomed, Mungo had cast himself on the wilder shores of advertising, where he flourished: ‘ For Added Strength and Security Say Yes to Crest Zips! ’ or, more generically, ‘ Down with the Button, Up with the Zip ’ was Mungo’s level.
True, there had been that trouble over the twins, and Sherwyn had seduced Mungo’s dull and skinny ex-wife to be revenged, ‘ but that was in another country, and besides ...’ Mungo had never really liked her. But it probably hadn’t helped. Mungo was the kind who nursed grudges. No-one keeps their mouth shut for ever, as Sherwyn had learned to his cost. Truth always emerged in the bitter throes of anger or divorce.
Something was up and it did not bode well.
Sherwyn let the book fall open where it would, to the pages where perhaps others had read before. And as he half expected, there he was for all to see and giggle over crucified upon the page, referred to as ‘The Dwarf’ along with poor Vivvie ‘The Giantess’, in a cruel account of that memorable proposal scene as long ago related to Mungo by Sherwyn himself. How misplaced that trust had been! Sherwyn read in horror. It was not done kindly: it was intended to humiliate and hurt. The Dwarf? Not only had a friendship been viciously betrayed but his wife’s memory had been insulted and besmirched. True, it had been the briefest of marriages, shattered by her untimely death, but a wife is a wife.
Sherwyn had kept the proposal scene out of his own work (planning to preserve it for the great literary novel he looked forward to writing one day, when the popular Delgano seam finally gave out). It had been a memorable occasion, certainly. But it was so long ago! Had Mungo, the thieving, plagiarising swine, actually taken notes at the time? It was possible, even probable, and it seemed to Sherwyn as he read on, certainly so.
The Past Is Never Over
Vivvie’s twin daughters, Mallory (the plain one) and Stella (the pretty one), were to pore over the passage when the same morning post delivered Vice Rewarded to No 17 Belgrave Square. It came out of the blue and had in fact been sent in error; a typist’s slip as she sent off review copies to everyone on Samuel Epstone’s list, either not noticing, or mischievously ignoring, the instruction ‘not for Ripple family’. But the girls were not to know
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley