to say about Rousseau, wouldn’t he, eh? Monsieur Henri, eh? Eh?’
‘I’m sure he would, Mr Morley.’ Though I wasn’t sure entirely what it was Freud would have to say. Nor did I entirely care.
‘Hmm.’ He stroked his moustache. ‘The tangles, you see, Sefton. Tangles. Tangles. You see the tangles?’ I saw the tangles. ‘And the deep lush vegetation. Vines. Lianas. Terrible confrontations in deep dusky dells with mysterious hairy beasts. Look at these gashes and wounds here.’
‘Yes.’
‘One doesn’t have to be Viennese, I think, to have a guess, does one?’
‘No, Mr Morley.’ Or rather, What, Mr Morley? (Which is of course the title of his famous series of books of notes and queries, published annually, containing answers to questions posed in the form of the book’s title, thus, ‘What, Mr Morley, is the meaning of the term mah nishtana, which I have heard some of my Jewish neighbours exclaim, and which I believe may be either Hebrew or the Jewish language of Yiddish?’, or ‘What, Mr Morley, is the best way to remove coal dust from my antimacassar?’)
‘Not quite top rank though, is it?’ continued Morley. ‘In all honesty? I think we’ll grant him an accessit, shall we?’
‘A—’
‘Second prize medal. Forgotten all your Latin?’
‘Ahem. Well. That sounds about …’
‘The great untaught, you see, Sefton. All that power and originality combined with sometimes shocking naivety. The child’s perspective, one might say. The sublime cheek by jowl with the ridiculous. One of life’s great mysteries, wouldn’t you say?’
I couldn’t have agreed more.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘Good.’
‘And who’s the article for, Mr Morley?’
‘Sunday Graphic. Just a little jeu d’esprit, as Mr Rousseau himself might say.’
He poured himself a fresh glass of barley water, and stared at me inquisitively.
‘So, my young fellow, how was London?’
‘It was fine, thank you, sir.’ I never spoke to Morley about my other life. It did not seem appropriate.
‘Good. Good. You’ll be delighted to know that in your absence I’ve finished Norfolk.’
‘Finished it?’
‘That’s correct. Aquila non capit muscas and what have you.’
We had only returned from our first adventure around the English counties on Sunday. This was a week later. Which meant that he had written a book … in a week?
It took me a moment to gather my powers of speech.
‘But I thought we were going to …’
‘We have a strict schedule to stick to, Sefton, remember. If we’re going to cover everything by 1940. Uphill all the way, I’m afraid. No time for slacking.’
‘No, of course.’
‘Or shilly-shallying.’
‘No.’
‘Or funking.’
‘No, absolutely. No slacking. No shilly-shallying. No funking.’
‘Precisely! So I took the liberty of writing up most of my notes myself – to save you time. You’ll be copy-editing and proofing this week. We want to have it more or less ready for the presses within two weeks. Photographs and what have you. Excellent photographs, by the way, Sefton – though a little bit more artistic, next time, eh?’
‘More artistic, Mr Morley?’
‘Well, you know. Something a bit more … Man Ray perhaps?’
‘Really? Man Ray?’
‘Yes, you’ve come across him?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Or … I don’t know, maybe not Man Ray, Sefton. But something. We need to capture the public’s imagination, man. Give them something new. Something fresh. Something … unexpected.’
‘I’ll do my best, Mr Morley.’
‘Good! Bit of experimentation, man. But not too much.’
‘Very good, Mr Morley.’
‘And then as I say, we should have everything ready for publication by the end of October. The County Guides – book number one.’
‘That’s … good.’
‘And in the meantime we shall move on swiftly to book number two.’
‘Right. I’ll be staying here then, to do the copy-editing and proofing on book one?’
‘Here?’
‘St George’s? Norfolk?’ I could imagine myself curled up by the fire in the library, leisurely correcting Morley’s proofs, cigarettes and coffee to hand.
‘Not at all, not at all, not at all, Sefton. Not. At. All. No, no, no. We’re all packed and ready to go again, my friend, first thing in the morning. You’re going to have to get accustomed to the pace of life here, old chap. You’ll be editing en route to our next county.’
‘I see.’ I was tired already. ‘Will Miriam be joining us?’
‘She will, indeed. For better and for worse. Until you’ve got the hang of things.’
‘I think I’ve probably—’
‘Also, she needs to … get away for a while. I have spoken to you about Miriam before, Sefton, you will recall.’ He narrowed his eyes rather as he spoke.
‘Yes.’
‘And you have clearly understood my concerns?’
A bit of experimentation
‘Yes, yes, of course, Mr Morley.’
‘Wild.’ He shook his head. ‘Untameable.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say—’
‘And it’ll take a better man than you to tame her, Sefton. With all due respect. There’s talk of another engagement …’
‘I see.’
