Temporary Kings - Anthony Powell [77]
‘What a nice girl she is. I hear you both met at the Biennale. Russell Gwinnett suggested we should go there together. I must speak to him about it.’
‘Russell Gwinnett’s just been beaten up by Lady Widmerpool.’
Dr Brightman showed keen interest in the story of what had been happening. At the end she gave her verdict.
‘Lady Widmerpool may be what Russell is looking for.’
‘At least she could hardly be called a mother-substitute.’
‘Mothers vary.’
‘You called him gothic?’
‘To avoid the word decadent, so dear to the American heart, especially when European failings are in question. It is rarely used with precision here either. Of course there were the Decadents, so designated by themselves, but think of the habits of Alexander the Great, or Julius Caesar, neither of whom can be regarded as exactly decadent personalities.’
‘Are you implying sexual ambivalence in Gwinnett?’
‘I think not. His life might have been easier had that been so. Of course he remains essentially American in believing all questions have answers, that there is an ideal life against which everyday life can be measured – but measured only in everyday terms, so that the ideal life would be another sort of everyday life. It is somewhere at that point Russell’s difficulties lie.’
We said goodnight. I slept badly. Tokenhouse rang up early again the following morning. He brushed aside reference to the visit to his studio. He was, in his own terms, back to normal, comparative gaieties of the Glober luncheon obliterated entirely.
‘I think you said you were going to be in Venice another day or two?’
I told him when the Conference broke up.
‘In that case we shall not be able to meet again – and I shall not require the package, of which I spoke, posted in England. I find I am falling seriously behind in my work. Got to buckle down, not waste any more time with visitors, if the job is to be properly done. Of course I was glad to see you after so many years, hear your news. Painting is like everything else, it must be taken seriously. No good otherwise. That does not mean I was not pleased we fell in with each other. Let me know if you come to Venice again on a similar peregrination with your intellectual friends.’
‘Did you clear up Widmerpool’s problem?’
‘Widmerpool?’
‘The man who came in while we were looking at your pictures.’
‘Widmerpool? Ah, yes, Lord Widmerpool. For the moment I could not place the name. Yes, yes. I did my best for him. Only a small matter. I don’t know why he seemed so concerned about it. He simply wanted to ascertain the whereabouts of a friend we have in common. By the way, keep it to yourself, will you, that you met Lord Widmerpool at my studio. He asked me to say that. I have no idea why. He rather gave me to understand that he had offered some excuse, other than that he was coming to see me, to avoid some social engagement – I can sympathize with that – and did not want so flimsy a motive to be revealed. Well, I mustn’t waste the whole morning coffee-housing on this vile instrument. Has your Conference settled anything by its coming together? No? I thought not. Goodbye to you, goodbye.’
He rang off. When I saw Gwinnett later in the morning, before one of the sessions, I asked if he had caught up with Pamela. He replied so vaguely that it remained uncertain whether he had managed to find her; or found her, and been sent about his business. He said he was not packing up with the Conference, having decided to stay on for the Film Festival. Then he spoke as an afterthought.
‘There’s something I’d be glad for you to do for me when you get back to England – tell Trapnel’s friend, Mr Bagshaw, whom you mentioned, I’ll be calling him up. Just so he doesn’t think I’m some crazy American dissertation-writer, and give me the brush-off.’
‘He won’t do that. Where are you staying in London?’
Gwinnett named an hotel in Bloomsbury, a former haunt of Trapnel’s.
‘That will be fairly spartan.’
‘I’ll get the atmosphere there. Later I might