Permission to Resign by Ann Bridge

Author:Ann Bridge
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781448214112
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2019-11-22T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter VIII

May Bell was, throughout, one of my best advisers. She has a very remarkable mind. It looks at things as detachedly as a man’s; grasps essentials; and yet is lightning quick and delicate as a seismic needle at picking up tiny indications. I think Tyrrell was her idea. Tyrrell, she felt sure, was the prime obstacle to the success of my campaign. And Tyrrell, as Permanent Head of the Foreign Office, had a real ground for his obstructionist attitude about taking Owen back, or he thought he had. He was saying, according to her information, that if Owen had been difficult before, he would be quite intolerable if he came back to the F.O. with a grievance. And it would save everyone trouble if he were pushed into some other good job. She was convinced, and easily convinced me, fresh from my talk with Van, that I ought to see Tyrrell and give him an assurance that if Owen returned to the Foreign Office, his happiness at being back would override all grievances – that he would be in future more and not less coulant than before.

Now, Tyrrell was a pretty stiff proposition. I had only met him once, but I knew a good deal about him. And there was Nevile Bland in the way. I had seen Nevile and Portia on Monday night, and had sounded Nevile gingerly on the subject of seeing Tyrrell, simply because, while I was turning so many other stones, it seemed almost pointed to leave him lying. Nevile had been the perfect private secretary and had given me a thousand excellent reasons for not seeing his chief. It couldn’t be done through Nevile, that was clear. But once May had convinced me that to see Sir William was the next step, I knew I could manage it. There was the ever-loyal and efficient Vincent Baddeley. Him I mobilized by telephone next morning. Would he please arrange for me to see Sir William Tyrrell as soon as possible? I was on the point of leaving for town, and should be at 19 Dean’s Yard by 12.30. Yes, Vincent would send a note over at once.

So, on the morning of Thursday the 22nd, I set off to London for the third time. What do I not owe to Hope Costley-White for her house, so handy to Whitehall, always open to me in those exhausting days? Her telephone at my disposal, meals and a bed always ready, and best of all her extraordinarily steady conviction that I should win in the end. ‘You’ll do it, Mary Anne,’ she would say. ‘I know you’ll do it. You see if I’m not right.’ And then she would throw back her head with her delightful half-mocking laugh – ‘You’re a wonderful woman!’

She met me on the doorstep that morning when I drove up. ‘At last!’ she said. ‘My dear, the telephoning! You’re to go to the Foreign Office at once to see Sir William Tyrrell – Sir Vincent Baddeley has been ringing up every five minutes for the last hour to know if you’ve come.

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