Hearing Secret Harmonies - Anthony Powell [95]
‘The name is spelt like the boy who was at school with us. In fact the bride is that Akworth’s granddaughter.’
‘Granddaughter of Bertram Akworth?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is he still – still on this side?’
‘Who?’
‘Bertram Akworth.’
‘If you mean is he still alive, he’s actually at the wedding. He read the Lesson in church.’
‘He’s – at Stourwater?’
‘If you’re coming to the reception you’ll see him.’
Widmerpool stopped abruptly. I had hoped for that. It looked as if he might now decide not to enter the Castle at all. His absence would make one less potentially unwelcome addition to the wedding party; in fact remove what was probably the least assimilable factor. The young people were likely to mix easily enough with their own contemporaries. At worst Bithel would pass out. He could be put in the cloakroom, until time came to take him away. That sort of thing should easily be dealt with on premises as large as Stourwater. Widmerpool was another matter. Not only would his appearance in a blue robe attract – owing to his age – undue attention, but his nervous condition might assume some inconvenient form. With any luck, now he knew Akworth would be present, he would make for home right away. Instead of doing so Widmerpool began to babble disconnectedly.
‘I’ve know Bertram Akworth for years … years … We were on the board of the same bank together – until he and Farebrother got me off it, between them. Farebrother always had it in for me. So did Akworth. It was natural enough.’
It was certainly natural enough in Akworth’s case; even if surprising that Widmerpool recognized the fact. A moment’s thought ought to have made it obvious that Widmerpool and Sir Bertram Akworth were certain to encounter each other in the City. It seemed to have been more than occasional acquaintance, indeed looking as if they had been engaged in a running fight all their lives. This prolonged duel added to the drama of the original story. If I had known about it, I should have been more than ever convinced that this cross-questioning on Widmerpool’s part was aimed at avoiding a meeting with his schoolboy victim and commercial rival. That was a dire misjudgment. On the contrary, Widmerpool was filled with an inspired fervour, carried away with delighted agitation, at the prospect of a face-to-face confrontation.
‘Bertram Akworth will be there? He will actually be present? It can’t be true. This is an opportunity I have been longing for. I behaved to Akworth in a way I now know to be not wrong – so-called right and wrong being illusory concepts – but what must be deplored as transcendentally discordant, mystically in error, in short, contrary to Harmony. In those days I was only a boy – a simple boy at that – who knew nothing of such experiences as cohabiting with the Elements, as a means of training the will. Moreover, I should have encouraged any breaking of the rules, struck a blow for, rather than against, rebellion, aided the subversion of that detestable thing law and order, as commonly understood. In those days – my schoolboy years – I had already dedicated myself to so-called reason, so-called practical affairs. I allowed no – at least very little – unfettered play of those animal forces that free the spirit, though later I began to understand the way, for example, that nakedness removes impediments of all sorts. Besides, if the universe is to be subjected to his will, a man must develop his female nature as well as the male – without lessening his own masculinity – I knew nothing of that… but Akworth … long misunderstood… should make amends … as with Bith… though not… not…’
Again Widmerpool tailed off, unable to bring himself to mention whatever Murtlock had made him act out in relation to the Bithel penance. What he said about Sir Bertram Akworth was most