A Buyers Market - Anthony Powell [116]
In fact, Widmerpool’s instinct on the matter, if not his action, had, in one sense, been sound, so it now appeared; though it was true that his own emotions were still at that time deeply involved, a condition having a natural tendency to sharpen all perceptions in that particular direction. The manner in which jealousy operates is, indeed, curious enough, having perhaps relatively little bearing on the practical menace offered by a rival. Barnby used to describe a husband and lover known to him, who had both combined against a third—or rather fourth—party, found to be intervening. However, that situation was, of course, poles apart from the one under examination. Widmerpool now made an effort to control his voice.
“When did this happen?” he asked, speaking casually.
“I think they actually became engaged in Scotland,” said Miss Walpole-Wilson, pleased with the impression she had made. “But it has not been made public yet.”
There was a pause. Widmerpool had failed to rise above the situation. For the moment he had lost all his good-humour. I think he was cross not only at Barbara’s engagement, but also at the inability he was experiencing to conceal his own annoyance. I felt a good deal of sympathy for him in what he was going through.
“Rather a ridiculous little man,” he said, after a time. “Still, the fortune is a large one, and I have been told it is a nice house. I hope she will be very happy.”
“Barbara has great possibilities,” said Miss Walpole-Wilson. “I don’t know how she will like being an officer’s wife. Personally, I always find soldiers so dull.”
“Oh, not in the Guards, surely?” said Mrs. Widmerpool, baring her teeth, as if in expectation, or memory, of behaviour on the part of Guardsmen infinitely removed from anything that could be regarded as dull, even by the most satiated.
“Of course, one of Barbara’s brothers went into the Army,” said Miss Walpole-Wilson, as if that might be calculated to soften the blow.
Discussion of the engagement continued in a desultory manner. Such matters are habitually scrutinised from angles that disregard almost everything that might be truly looked upon as essential in connection with a couple’s married life together; so that, as usual, it was hard to think with even moderate clearness how the marriage would turn out. The issues were already hopelessly confused, not only by Miss Walpole-Wilson and Mrs. Widmerpool, but also by anarchical litter enveloping the whole subject, more especially in the case of the particular pair concerned: a kind of phantasmagoria taking possession of the mind at the thought of them as husband and wife. The surroundings provided by the Widmerpool flat were such as to encourage, for some reason, the wildest flights of imagination, possibly on account of some inexplicable moral inadequacy in which its inhabitants seemed themselves to exist. Barbara’s engagement lasted as a topic throughout the meal.
“Shall we leave the gentlemen to their port?” said Mrs. Widmerpool, when finally the subject had been picked bone-dry.
She mouthed the words “gentlemen” and “port” as if they might be facetiously disputable as strictly literal descriptions in either case. Widmerpool shut the door, evidently glad to be rid of both women for the time being. I wondered whether he would begin to speak of Barbara or Gypsy. To my surprise, neither girl turned out to be his reason for his so impatiently desiring a téte-â-téte conversation.
“I say, I’ve had an important move up at Donners-Brebner,” he said. “That speech at the Incorporated Metals dinner had repercussions. The Chief was pleased about it.”
“Did he forgive you for knocking his garden about?”
Widmerpool laughed aloud at the