Temporary Kings - Anthony Powell [72]
Rosie made a face at the name of Baby Wentworth.
‘Jacky certainly can take it on the chin, Baby and Pamela Widmerpool under the same roof. What about Louis Glober? I seem to know the name. Is he up to the weight of the others? I hope so.’
One of the Americans enquired about Glober.
‘What’s he up to now? Louis Glober hasn’t made a picture in years. The last I heard of him was automobile racing, in fact saw him at the Indianapolis Speedway.’
They talked of Glober and his past exploits. Gwinnett remained silent. I had not caught the name of the Americans, indeed never found that out. The husband began to enlarge on the Glober legend.
‘Did you ever hear of Glober’s Montana caper?’
That looked a possibility as the story of Glober’s meeting with Pamela, but turned out to have bearings of interest chiefly on Glober’s many-sidedness. It explained, too, a Montana connexion.
‘One time Glober was in Hollywood, he went north with a cowboy actor – I’ll think of the name – who was starring in a picture of Glober’s. The Indians were bestowing some sort of a tribal honour on this actor, who’d invited Glober to accompany him, and watch the ceremony. Montana, it seems, went to Glober’s head. That’s how he is. He talked of starting life again up there, buying a defunct cattle business, refinancing Indian leases, that sort of stuff. He was crazy about it all.’
‘Wouldn’t mind that kind of life myself,’ said Stevens. ‘In the open all day.’
‘Oh, darling?’ said Rosie. ‘Do you think so?’
‘Glober stayed up there quite a while, talking of becoming a cattleman. All sorts of yarns came back to the Coast about his doings. There was supposed to have been a gun fight. A rancher found Glober in compromising circumstances with his wife. He pulled a gun, took a shot at Glober, and missed. Glober must have been prepared for trouble, because he had his own gun by him, blazed back, and missed too. They ran out of shells, or the lady herself intervened, so they settled to cut the cards for her. Glober lost, and returned to Hollywood.’
‘His luck was in,’ said Stevens.
The story suggested the monde in which Cosmo Flitton had come to rest. I caught Gwinnett’s eye.
‘That’s all pure Trapnel – the sort of thing X would have loved, but never managed to bring off.’
Gwinnett nodded, without giving any indication whether or not he agreed.
‘When the tale got back to Beverly Hills, Dorothy Parker said Glober planned to take the lead in his next picture himself. It was to be called The Western of the Playboy World.’
The American lady broke in.
‘Louis Glober’s got a fine side too. All that money he gave for the mental health research project, that institution for schizophrenics. It was all done on the quiet. Not a soul knew it was Glober, until — ’
Stevens kicked me under the table. I lost track of the precise history of Glober’s generous act, but caught enough to gather it had been brought about in deliberate secrecy, the teller of the story having happened quite by chance on the magnanimous part Glober had played. I could not at once understand whatever Stevens was signalling. His eyes stared fixedly in front of him. Glancing round in the direction towards which they were set, I was now able to observe Pamela Widmerpool moving between the closely packed tables and chairs. As usual she gave the impression almost of floating through the air. She was apparently looking for someone thought likely to be sitting at Florian’s. At least that was the impression given. Possibly she was merely taking an evening walk, choosing to wander through the crowded caffè to give spice to a stroll, cause a little inconvenience, draw attention to herself. The people at the tables stared at her. As she wove her way amongst them, she paused from time to time to stare haughtily back. Stevens was rather rattled. ‘She’s bloody well making in our direction,’ he muttered. Pamela had hit him in the face the last time I had seen them together,