Temporary Kings - Anthony Powell [42]
‘I’m staying here.’
‘In the Palazzo – with Mr Bragadin?’
‘Of course.’
‘Both of you?’
Ada allowed too much unconcealed curiosity to echo in that question for Pamela’s taste. Her face hardened. She began to frown. As it turned out, that seemed more from contempt for Ada’s crude inquisitiveness, than from displeasure at what she wanted to know. Whatever Pamela’s feelings about her husband, she was not prepared to plunge into the heart-to-heart talk about him which Ada’s question posed. Ada’s tone sounded as if she too had heard Pamela’s name connected with the Ferrand-Sénéschal affair. It was more than a conventional enquiry to a wife about her husband. The conventional assumption would in any case have been that Pamela was not accompanied by Widmerpool. Ada was no doubt dying to learn how he was taking this new scandal involving his wife’s name; Pamela, perfectly grasping what her friend was after, not at all inclined, there and then, to make a present of the latest news. Instead, she gave Ada a look, hard, understanding, half-threatening, which declared for the present a policy of adjournment in relation to more exciting items.
‘He’s arriving today.’
‘In Venice?’
‘Yes.’
This manner of stating Widmerpool’s movements recalled the habit of referring always to ‘him’, rather than using a name. Ada’s question was at least answered.
‘That awful night-flight? I was a wreck when I arrived at four in the morning.’
Pamela laughed derisively.
‘He wasn’t man enough to take the night-flight this time. He’s on a plane as far as Milan, from there by train.’
Ada was persistent.
‘Is he feeling worried then?’
‘Why should he be?’
‘I don’t know. I just wondered. He always has such a lot on his plate, as he himself always says. I must congratulate him on becoming a lord – and you too, darling.’
‘Oh, that?’
‘Aren’t you pleased?’
Pamela did not bother to answer.
‘I’m longing for a talk.’
Pamela did not answer that either. She began to frown again. It did not look as if she herself were longing for a talk at all. Her bearing suggested quite the contrary. In spite of such discouragement, Ada rattled on. She was, after all, used to Pamela and her ways. An affection of simplicity was simply part of Ada’s tactic. She judged, probably rightly, that even if Pamela’s prevailing aspect did not at present show a good disposition towards old acquaintance, that could in due course be overcome.
‘How long are you both staying in Venice?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ve a story I must tell you.’
Ada lowered her voice. Gwinnett, finished with the Longhis, had proceeded on to examination of the Tiepolo. He was moving steadily in our direction. At any moment now opportunity would be offered for putting him in touch with Pamela. Obligation to effect an introduction, so that he could relate her to his work on Trapnel, was not to be ignored. On the other hand, was this the right moment? From Gwinnett’s point of view the risk was considerable. Head-on presentation might – almost certainly would – result in one of Pamela’s sudden capricious antagonisms, possibly aversion so keen that all further enquiry in her direction would be at an end. Nevertheless, in whatever manner Gwinnett were to approach her, that eventuality had to be faced. There was no way of guarding against their temperaments proving mutually antipathetic. This was as good a chance as likely to occur. In the case of flat refusal to cooperate, he would have to do the best he could. To bring them together in this neutral spot, even if Gwinnett did not, here and now, speak of Trapnel – an awkward subject to broach in the first few seconds after introduction – circumstances would at least allow him to absorb something of Pamela’s personality, useful material for his book he might never secure again, if opportunity were missed. Before I could make up my mind how best to act, Glober, left on his own by Ada’s monopoly of Pamela, Shuckerly’s of Dr Brightman, began to speak of the ceiling again.
‘The way the painter’s contrived to illuminate those locations of dark pigmentation