—

‘Do you consider,’ asked Brideshead, ‘that there is anything vicious in my brother’s connexion with this German?’

‘No. I’m sure not. It’s simply a case of two waifs coming together.’

‘You say he is a criminal?’

‘I said “a criminal type”. He’s been in the military prison and was dishonourably discharged.’

‘And the doctor says Sebastian is killing himself with drink?’

‘Weakening himself. He hasn’t D.T.s or cirrhosis.’

‘He’s not insane?’

‘Certainly not. He’s found a companion he happens to like and a place where he happens to like living.’

‘Then he must have his allowance as you suggest. The thing is quite clear.’

In some ways Brideshead was an easy man to deal with. He had a kind of mad certainty about everything which made his decisions swift and easy.

‘Would you like to paint this house?’ he asked suddenly. ‘A picture of the front, another of the back on the park, another of the staircase, another of the big drawing-room? Four small oils; that is what my father wants done for a record, to keep at Brideshead. I don’t know any painters. Julia said you specialized in architecture.’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I should like to very much.’

‘You know it’s being pulled down? My father’s selling it. They are going to put up a block of flats here. They’re keeping the name – we can’t stop them apparently.’

‘What a sad thing.’

‘Well, I’m sorry of course. But you think it good architecturally?’

‘One of the most beautiful houses I know.’

‘Can’t see it. I’ve always thought it rather ugly. Perhaps your pictures will make me see it differently.’

This was my first commission; I had to work against time, for the contractors were only waiting for the final signature to start their work of destruction. In spite, or perhaps, because, of that – for it is my vice to spend too long on a canvas, never content to leave well alone – those four paintings are particular favourites of mine, and it was their success, both with myself and others, that confirmed me in what has since been my career.

I began in the long drawing-room, for they were anxious to shift the furniture, which had stood there since it was built. It was a long, elaborate, symmetrical Adam room, with two bays of windows opening into Green Park. The light, streaming in from the west on the afternoon when I began to paint there, was fresh green from the young trees outside.

I had the perspective set out in pencil and the detail carefully placed. I held back from painting, like a diver on the water’s edge; once in I found myself buoyed and exhilarated. I was normally a slow and deliberate painter; that afternoon and all next day, and the day after, I worked fast. I could do nothing wrong. At the end of each passage I paused, tense, afraid to start the next, fearing, like a gambler, that luck must turn and the pile be lost. Bit by bit, minute by minute, the thing came into being. There were no difficulties; the intricate multiplicity of light and colour became a whole; the right colour was where I wanted it on the palette; each brush stroke, as soon as it was complete, seemed to have been there always.