Anthony Powell - Hearing Secret Harmonies

‘Donners-Brebner can presumably extend their hospitality that far.’

‘Of course.’

‘Who are to be Widmerpool’s guests?’

‘Whom do you think?’

The answer was not so easy as first appeared. Whom would Widmerpool ask? I made several guesses at personalities of rather his own kind, figures to be judged useful in one practical sphere or another. In putting forward these names, I became aware how little I now knew of Widmerpool’s latest orientations and ambitions. Delavacquerie shook his head, smiling at the wrongness of such speculation.

‘I told you Lord Widmerpool had greatly changed. Let me give you a clue. Two ladies.’

I put forward a life peeress and an actress, neither in their first youth.

‘Not so elderly.’

‘I give it up.’

‘The Quiggin twins.’

‘The girls who threw paint over him?’

‘The same.’

‘But — is he having an affair with both of them?’

Delavacquerie laughed. He was pleased with the effect of the information he had given.

‘Not, I feel fairly sure, in any physical sense, although I gather he has no objection to girls who frequent his place — boys too, Etienne assures me — being good to look at. If the weather is warm, undressing is encouraged. I doubt if he contemplates sleeping with either sex. You know Widmerpool is not far from making himself into a Holy Man these days, certainly a much venerated one in his own circle.’

‘What will Gwinnett think of this, if he comes to the dinner himself? I imagine it is quite possible he will. Have you heard from him about getting the Prize? I wrote a line of congratulation, but have had no reply.’

That Gwinnett had not replied was no surprise. It did not at all diverge from the accustomed Gwinnett manner of going on. If anything, lack of an answer suggested that Gwinnett’s harassing London experiences had left him unchanged.

‘Professor Gwinnett wrote to me, as secretary of the Prize committee, to say he would take pleasure in travelling over here to receive the Prize in person.’

‘That will add to the drama of the dinner.’

‘He said he was on the point of visiting this country in any case. He would speed up his plans.’

‘Was Gwinnett pleased his book was chosen?’

‘Pleased — far from overwhelmed. He wrote a few conventional phrases, saying he was gratified, adding that he would turn up for the dinner, if I would let him know time and placc. No more. He was not at all effusive. In fact, from my own experience of Americans, his appreciation was restrained to the point of being brusque.’

‘That’s his line.’

The publishers issued Death’s-head Swordsman just in time to be eligible for the Prize, though not at an advantageous moment to receive much attention from reviewers. That was inevitable in the circumstances. Such notices as appeared were favourable, but still few in number by the time of the Magnus Donners dinner, which took place, as usual, in the New Year.

‘I’m asking the committee to come early,’ said Delavacquerie. ‘It’s going to be rather an exceptional affair this year. Last-minute problems may arise.’

When I arrived he was moving about the dining-room, checking that seating was correct. Emily Brightman and Mark Members had not yet turned up.

‘Professor Gwinnett is on Matilda’s right, of course, and I’ve put Isobel on his other side. Emily Brightman thought it might look too much as if she had been set to keep an eye on him, if she were next door. Emily is sitting next to you, Nick, and a Donners-Brebner director’s wife on the other side. Let me see, Mrs —’

The winner of the Prize was always beside Matilda Donners, at a long table, which included judges, representatives of the Company, and wives of these. At the end of dinner Delavacquerie’s duty was to say a few words about the Prize itself. One of the judges’ panel then introduced the recipient, and spoke of his book. Members, a compulsive public speaker, had been easily persuaded to undertake this duty. Brevity would not be attained, but it was more than possible that, having known Trapnel personally, he would in any case have risen to his feet. To tell the story of the borrowed five pounds would be tempting. Members had once before ‘said a few words’, after the scheduled speeches were at an end, followed by Alaric Kydd, who also felt that a speech was owed from him. Kydd had been expatriate for some years now, so there was no risk of that tonight. Delavacquerie took a last look round the tables.

‘I’ve placed Lord Widmerpool and the Miss Quiggins out of the way of the winner of the Prize and the judges. In the far corner of the room by the other door. I think that is wise, don’t you? A quiet table. Elderly reviewers and their wives or boyfriends. No young journalists. That’s just being on the safe side.’

‘I doubt if the present generation of young journalists remember about Gwinnett’s connexion with Widmerpool. They may recall that the Quiggin twins threw paint over him. Even that’s back last summer, and ancient history. What sort of form is Gwinnett himself in? *

‘I haven’t seen him.’

‘Didn’t he call you up on arrival?’

‘I’ve heard nothing from him since his reply to my second letter. I suggested we should make contact before this dinner. He answered that he had all the information he needed. He would just turn up at the appointed time.’

‘Where’s he staying?’

‘I don’t even know that. I offered to fix him up with an hotel. He said he’d make his own arrangements.’

‘He’s being very Gwinnett-like. I hope he will turn up tonight. On second thoughts, it might be better if he did not appear. We can easily go through the motions of awarding the Prize in absentia . The presence of the author is not required for voicing correct sentiments about his book. Various potential embarrassments might be avoided without Gwinnett himself.’

‘Gwinnett will be here all right. He writes the letter of a man of purpose.’

I agreed with that view. Gwinnett was, without doubt, a man of purpose. Before we could discuss the matter further Emily Brightman came in, followed a moment later by Members. She was dressed with care for her role of judge, a long garment, whitish, tufted, a medal hanging from her neck that suggested a stylish parody of Murtlock’s medallion. Delavacquerie fingered this ornament questioningly.

‘Coptic, Gibson. I should have thought a person of your erudition would have recognized its provenance immediately. Is Lenore coming tonight, Mark?’

‘Lenore was very sad at not being able to attend. She had to dash over to Boston again.’

‘Congratulations on your own award.’

Members bowed. He was in a good humour. Emily Brightman referred to the poetry prize he had just received — nothing so liberal in amount as the Magnus Donners, but acceptable — for his Collected Poems , a volume which brought together all his verse from Iron Aspidistra (1923) to H-Bomb Eclogue (1966), the latter, one of the few poems Members had produced of late years.

‘Thank you, Emily.’

‘You have heard that the Quiggin twins are to be here tonight?’

‘Rather hard on JG and Ada, who are also coming. They’ve done their best for those girls. The only reward is that they throw paint over Kenneth Widmerpool, and then turn up with him at their parents’ parties.’

The disapproval with which Members spoke did not conceal a touch of excitement. If the Quiggin twins were to be present there was no knowing what might not happen. The room began to fill. L. O. Salvidge, an old supporter of Trapnel’s (he had taken some trouble to give Death’s-head Swordsman a send-off review), brought a new wife, his fourth. Wearing very long shiny black boots, much blue round the eyes, she was a good deal younger than her predecessors. Tliey were followed by Bernard Shernmaker, who, in contrast with Salvidge, had always remained unmarried. Shernmaker, by not reviewing Gwinnett’s book had still avoided committing himself about Trapnel. He was in not at all a good temper, in fact seemed in the depths of rage and despair. If looks were anything to go by, he was never going to write a notice of Death’s-head Swordsman . Members, as an old acquaintance, did not allow Shernmaker’s joyless façade to modify his own consciously jocular greeting.