A Buyers Market - Anthony Powell [95]
“Oh, I hardly think Mr. Widmerpool would be staying at Stourwater,” she said; adding almost immediately: “Though I don’t in the least know why I should declare that. Anyway … he seemed to be driving away from the castle when we last saw him.”
This last sentence was the product of instinctive kindness of heart, or fear that she might have sounded snobbish: the latter state of mind being particularly abhorrent to her at that moment because the attitude, if existent, might seem applied to an establishment which she could not perhaps wholly respect. She looked so despairing at the idea of Widmerpool possessing, as it were, an operational base in extension to the cottage from which he, and his mother, could already potentially molest Hinton, that I felt it my duty to explain with as little delay as possible that Widmerpool had recently taken a job at Donners-Brebner, and had merely come over that afternoon to see Sir Magnus on a matter of business. This statement seemed, for some reason, to put her mind at ease, at least for the moment.
“I was really wondering whether we should ask Mr. Widmerpool and his mother over to tea,” she said, as if the question of how to deal with the Widmerpools had now crystallised in her mind. “You know Aunt Janet likes an occasional talk with Mrs. Widmerpool—even though they don’t always see eye to eye.”
What followed gave me the impression that Lady Walpole-Wilson’s sudden relief may have been to some extent attributable to the fact that she had all at once arrived at a method by which the Widmerpools might be evaded, or a meeting with them at least postponed. If this was her plan—and, although in many ways one of the least disingenuous of women, I think she must quickly have devised a scheme on that occasion—the design worked effectively, because, at this suggestion of her mother’s, Eleanor at once clenched her teeth in a manner that always indicated disapproval.
“Oh, don’t let’s have them over when Aunt Janet is here,” she said. “You know I don’t really care for Mr. Widmerpool very much—and Aunt Janet has plenty of opportunity to have her gossips with his mother when they are both in London.”
Lady Walpole-Wilson made a little gesture indicating “So be it,” and there the matter seemed to rest, where, I suppose, she had intended it to rest. Disturbed by mixed feelings set in motion by benevolence and conscience, she had been no doubt momentarily thrown off her guard. Comparative equilibrium was now restored. We drove on; and, by that evening, Widmerpool was forgotten by the rest of the party at Hinton Hoo. However, although nothing further was said about Widmerpool, other aspects of the visit to Stourwater were widely discussed. The day had left Sir Gavin a prey to deep depression. The meeting with Prince Theodoric had provided, naturally enough, a reminder of former grandeurs, and the congenial nature of their reunion, by agreeable memories aroused, had no doubt at the same time equally called to mind the existence of old, unhealed wounds.
“Theodoric is a man of the middle of the road,” he said. “That, in itself, is sympathetic to me. In my own case, such an attitude has, of course, been to a