Hearing Secret Harmonies - Anthony Powell [40]
‘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.
‘Hullo, Bernard. Have you heard the Quiggin twins are coming tonight? What do you think about that?’
Shernmaker’s face contorted horribly. Nightmares of boredom and melancholy oozed from him, infecting all the social atmosphere round about. Somebody put a drink in his hand. Tension relaxed a little. A moment later the Quiggin parents appeared. Ada, as customary with her, was making the best of things. If she knew about her daughters attending the party with Widmerpool, she was determined