• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

By Root 2950 0

arm round the waists of the two men. She did this without at all modifying the fairly unamiable expression on her face. This was the action to which Quiggin now drew attention. Its effect was electric; electric, that is, in the sense of switching on currents of considerable emotional force all round the room. Widmerpool’s face turned almost brick red, presumably in unexpected satisfaction that his wife’s earlier ill-humour had changed to manifested affection, even if affection shared with Roddy Cutts. Roddy Cutts himself – who, so far as I know, had never set eyes on Pamela before that afternoon – showed, reasonably enough, every sign of being flattered by this unselfconscious demonstration of attention. Almost at once he slyly twisted his own left arm behind him, no doubt the better to secure Pamela’s hold.

This was the first time I had seen her, so to speak, in attack. Hitherto she had always exhibited herself, resisting, at best tolerating, sorties of greater or lesser violence against her own disdain. Now she was to be observed in assault, making the going, preparing the ground for further devastations. The sudden coming into being of this baroque sculptural group, which was what the trio resembled, caused a second’s pause in conversation, in any case rather halting and forced in measure, the reverential atmosphere that to some extent had prevailed now utterly subverted. Susan, glancing across at her husband clasped lightly round the middle by Pamela, turned a little pink. Quiggin may have noticed that and judged it a good moment for reintroduction – when they first met he had shown signs of fancying Susan – because he brought our conversation to a close before moving over to speak to her.

‘I’ll have a further word with Bagshaw,’ he said. ‘Then he or I will get in touch with you.’

Siegfried entered with a large teapot. He set it on one of the tables, made a sign to Frederica, and, without waiting for further instructions, began to organize those present into some sort of a queue. Frederica, now given opportunity to form a more coherent impression of Widmerpool’s wife and her temperament, addressed herself with cold firmness to the three of them.

‘Won’t you have some tea ?’

That broke it up. Siegfried remarshalled the party. Hugo took on Pamela. Widmerpool and Roddy Cutts, left once more together, returned to the principles of hire-purchase. Alfred Tolland, wandering about in the background, seemed unhappy again. I handed him a cup of tea. He embarked once more on one of his new unwonted bursts of talkativeness.

‘I’m glad about Mrs Widmerpool… glad she found her way … the foreign manservant here … whoever he is, I mean to say … they’re lucky to have a … footman … these days… hall-boy, perhaps … anyhow he looked after Mrs Widmerpool properly, I was relieved to find… Confess I like that quiet sort of girl. Do hope she’s better. I’m a bit worried about the train though. We’ll have to be pushing off soon.’

‘You’ll have time for a cup of tea.’

‘Please, this way,’ said Siegfried.’ Please, this way now.’

He managed to break up most of the existing conversations.

‘Just like Erry to find that goon,’ said Hugo. ‘He’s worse than Smith, the butler who drank so much, and raised such hell at Aunt Molly’s.’

In Siegfried’s reorganization of the company, Gypsy was placed next to me, the first opportunity to speak with her. All things considered, she might have been more friendly in manner, though her old directness remained.

‘Is this the first time you’ve been here?’

‘No.’

That was at any rate evidence of a sort that she had visited Erridge on his home ground at least once; whether with or without Craggs, or similar escort, was not revealed.

‘Who’s that Mrs Widmerpool?’

To describe Pamela to Gypsy was no lesser problem than the definition of Gypsy to Pamela. Again no answer was required, Gypsy supplying that herself.

‘A first-class little bitch,’ she said.

Craggs joined his wife.

‘JG and I have completed what arrangements can be made at present. We may as well be going, unless you want another cup of tea, Gypsy?’

The