Anthony Powell - Hearing Secret Harmonies

‘With regard to libel,’ said Emily Brightman. ‘I see that neither Lord Widmerpool, nor his late wife, is named in what is evidently a very full index. I am, by the way, hearing all sorts of strange stories about Lord Widmerpool’s behaviour as a university chancellor. He seems to have the oddest ideas how the duties of that office should be carried out.’

I, too, had noticed the omission of the names of the Widmerpools, husband and wife, from the book’s index. That did not mean that their identities were necessarily unrecognizable in the text. Members protested at all this talk about libel.

‘I can’t see that we need be punctilious about the susceptibilities of Lord Widmerpool, whatever Emily feels as to maintaining standards of good taste. Especially as she herself now draws attention to his much advertised broad-mindedness, in various recent statements made by him, on the subject of students at his own university.’

This gave Delavacquerie the opportunity he was waiting for to produce an effective climax to what he had been saying.

‘What you put forward, Mark, is quite true. Only last week I was watching a programme of Lord Widmerpool’s dealing with protest, counterculture, alternative societies, all the things that he is now interested in. That does not entirely meet our problem, which is a rather more delicate one. The fact is that Lord Widmerpool acts as one of the trustees of the fund from which the Magnus Donners Memorial Prize derives.’

This piece of information naturally made a considerable impression. None of the committee came out with an immediate response. My own first thought was how on earth Widmerpool could have come to occupy such a position in relation to this literary prize, or any other. He might be planning to write a book, but, after all, he had been talking of doing that from his earliest days. More than this was needed as explanation. Who could have been insane enough to have made him trustee of the Magnus Donners Prize? Then, when Delavacquerie continued, the reason became plain.

‘Lord Widmerpool, in his early business life, was for quite a long time associated with Donners-Brebner. He did many miscellaneous jobs for Sir Magnus himself. At one time he might almost have been called Sir Magnus’s right-hand man, so I’ve been told, though I’ve never known Lord Widmerpool personally, only seen him at meetings.’

‘The term jackal has been used,’ said Members.

Delavacquerie ignored the comment. He was always determined that the formalities should be observed.

‘Putting in work on organizing this fund for the Donners-Brebner Fellowships was one of the tasks allotted. In that capacity, as benefiting from them myself, I might even be considered in his debt. For some reason when the Prize was, so to speak, detached from the general sum, Lord Widmerpool’s name remained as a trustee.’

Even Members agreed that a ticklish problem was posed. Any hypothetical question of libel sank into the background, compared with the propriety of awarding a substantial monetary prize, administered — at least in theory — by Widmerpool himself, to an author, who had been one of his wife’s lovers, and written the biography of another man, of whom she had also been the mistress. Besides, Gwinnett had not merely been Pamela’s lover, he was considered by some to be at least the indirect cause of her death; even if she herself had chosen that to be so. After quite a long pause, Emily Brightman spoke.

‘I feel dreadfully sure that I am going to vote for Russell getting the Prize, but I do agree that we are faced with a very delicate situation.’

Delavacquerie, who had no doubt given a good deal of thought to the perplexity which he knew would confront the panel, appeared quite prepared for its attitude to be one of irresolution.

‘The first thing to do is for the committee to read the book, decide whether or not you want the Prize to be given to Professor Gwinnett. If you do, I am prepared to take the next step myself. I will approach Lord Widmerpool in person, and ask him where he stands on the matter. It will no doubt be necessary for him to read Death’s-head Swordsman too, before he can make up his mind.’

Members showed uneasiness about that. I felt a little doubtful myself. It seemed going out of the way to meet trouble.

‘But Kenneth Widmerpool may forbid publication. What shall we do then? Why should we be bullied by him? Surely it would be better to leave Widmerpool alone. What can he do?’

Delavacquerie was firm.

‘The question to some extent involves the Company. The directors may not care tuppence what Widmerpool feels in the matter, but they would not wish attention to be drawn to the fact that he is still connected with the Company to that extent, and at the same time objects to publication. I should like to get Lord Widmerpool’s attitude clearly stated, if I have to consult them. His name could be quietly removed. All sorts of things might be done. They can be gone into, when we know his own views. To remove his name right away, for instance, might induce trouble, rather than curtail it.’

That sounded reasonable. Members withdrew his objection. What had worried him, he said, was thought that the award could turn on Widmerpool’s whim. In other respects, the idea that the committee’s choice might cause a stir greatly pleased Members, who always enjoyed conflict.

‘This is a courageous offer, Gibson,’ said Emily Brightman.

Delavacquerie laughed.

‘In not knowing Lord Widmerpool personally, I have the advantage of ignorance. That is sometimes a useful weapon. I am perhaps not so foolhardy as you all seem to think. There are aspects of the Trapnel story with which, in his latest frame of mind, Lord Widmerpool might even welcome association. I mean Trapnel the despised and rejected — insomuch as Trapnel was despised and rejected.’

I felt confidence in Delavacquerie’s judgment, and could grasp some of what he meant. Nevertheless his train of thought was not wholly clear.

‘But even the new Widmerpool will hardly stomach such an association with Gwinnett, will he?’

‘We’ll see. I may be wrong. It’s worth a try.’

Delavacquerie was giving nothing away at this stage. During what remained of the meeting no matter of consequence was discussed. Death’s-head Swordsman had first to be read. That was the next step. Luncheon came to an end. Emily Brightman said she was on her way to the British Museum. Members was going to his hairdresser, before attending another literary prize committee later that afternoon. After saying goodbye to the others, Delavacquerie and I set off for Fleet Street.

‘How do you propose to tackle Widmerpool?’

Delavacquerie’s manner changed a little from its carefully screened air employed at the table.

‘Tell me, Nicholas, did not Pamela Widmerpool take an overdose that she might be available to the necrophilic professor?’

‘That was how things looked at the time. She may have decided to do herself in anyway.’

‘But it might be said that Gwinnett — by, perhaps only indirectly, being the cause of her end — avenged Trapnel for destruction of his novel, and consequent downfall?’

‘You could look at it that way.’

‘In a sense Gwinnett represents Widmerpool’s revenge on Pamela too?’

‘That also occurred to me. The Revenger’s Tragedy . All the same, the point is surely not going to be easy to put, as man-to-man, when you confront Widmerpool?’

‘Nevertheless, I shall bear it in mind.’

‘I never thought Gwinnett would get the book finished. He gave up academic life when all the trouble happened. I last heard of him teaching water-skiing.’

‘A promising profession for a man keen on Death?’