Page 92 of The Gathering Storm

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Vivian raised a glass. ‘To Porpoise Books! May the first nine vessels we have launched on a choppy sea bring their cargoes of enlightenment safely to harbour and enrich the minds of the readers.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Molly said. They drank the toast, and she added, ‘And they might as well enrich our pockets while they’re at it. It was a leap of faith on our part to sink so much money and time into them.’

‘But the first month’s sales have been good,’ Charlotte said. ‘And they’ve been awfully well received by the trade?’

‘Yes, I fancy one or two other publishers are kicking themselves that they didn’t think of it first,’ Vivian said. He seemed in buoyant mood.

Porpoise had been launched at the beginning of June with nine titles from eminent thinkers and established literary figures who were sympathetic to the scheme. The books were Practical Economics; A Short History of the World; Collected Essays in Popular Science; A Guide to Communism and Fascism; An Introduction to Modern Architecture; Nineteenth Century Art – an Introduction; Childhood and Society; Beasts and Maidens – A Modern Guide to Greek Mythology; and The Open Door – Social Anthropology Explained.

Already prominent people had expressed approval of the list and an interest in contributing, including H. G. Wells, J. B. Priestley, George Bernard Shaw, George Orwell and Winston Churchill.

‘It’s just the right time for something like this,’ Molly went on. ‘There’s such a desire for self-improvement and self-education among the striving classes these days. The war broke down many barriers to advancement. There’s a hunger for knowledge and for culture.’

Vivian picked up the copy of the Spectator he had been reading aloud from before. ‘“If there is any sense in saying that the culture of the world should be accessible to all without distinctions of wealth, such publications are helping to make it true.”’

‘That’s an accolade worth having,’ Molly said.

‘Further down the line,’ Vivian said, ‘I think there might be a strong argument for an imprint for the classics. Including poetry.’

‘How far back do you have to go before something’s a classic?’ Charlotte asked. ‘The nineteenth century? Obviously Blake, Shelley and Byron are, but Tennyson and Hopkins only died – what? – around forty years ago.’

‘I think he means epic poetry,’ Molly said. ‘Virgil and Horace. Not my pink-cheeked boys.’

‘I think modern poetry belongs in the Porpoise catalogue,’ Charlotte said. ‘It’s self-improvement, surely. Something to do you good, rather than enjoy?’

‘Oh, you wicked girl!’ Molly laughed.

And Vivian said, ‘I’m ashamed to say I half agree with you. You can’t call yourself an educated person without having read the great poets, but to sit down by the fire after dinner with a volume of it? I’d sooner have one of Molly’s novels.’

‘Blatant flattery!’ Molly said.

Vivian turned to Charlotte. ‘I’ve forgotten – why wasn’t Milo able to come this evening?’

Charlotte was caught out by the change of subject. ‘Um – he had a business meeting. He sent his congratulations, of course, with his regrets.’

They didn’t divide after dinner, but Vivian went off to his wine cellar to find a particular cordial, which he had been talking about, to go with their coffee, and Molly took the opportunity to say to Charlotte, ‘You’re looking thinner since I last saw you. And a trifle less blooming, if one might say so. Are you quite well?’

‘Oh, quite,’ Charlotte said, avoiding her eyes.

‘Are you increasing?’ Molly asked bluntly. Then, ‘No, you’d have told me straight away if you were, I’m sure. Is something bothering you? You know you can confide in me.’

Charlotte shook her head. After a bit, she said, ‘I wish Basil was here. He ought to have been raising a glass with us – he seemed to be so much a part of it all, in the early days.’

‘I suppose you haven’t heard from him? No, I imagine there isn’t much of a postal service from Spain, in the circumstances. I couldn’t be more surprised that he went, could you?’

‘I don’t know. He used to talk about having adventures.’

‘Hmm. But he always seemed to me to be wedded to his comfort. I can imagine Basil in a silk shirt sipping a cocktail, but in khaki and biting a cartridge?’ No response. ‘Do they still bite cartridges? I don’t really know much about firearms.’ No response. ‘Charlotte, dear, what’s wrong?’

She looked up at last. ‘It’s seeing you and Vivian together. That’s what I thought marriage would be like. And we used to talk so much before we were married. Or, at least …’

‘Yes?’ Molly encouraged, after a pause.

‘We did, before he went away for that long trip abroad.’ She bit her lip, thinking. ‘He changed, you know. When we first met, he was just – a sort of vagabond, devil-may-care, easy-going. He reminded me a bit of Basil, except he’s much more intelligent and better educated.’

‘Oh dear. I shan’t tell Helen you said that. When I think what those two spent on his education! No, go on, dear, I’m sorry.’