Temporary Kings - Anthony Powell [87]
‘Then there was Pat.’
Pat, now married to a don, Professor of Social Science, had been less willing to have her past dredged up. She had replied with a tactful letter saying she preferred not to see Gwinnett.
Sally was dead. That was all he had been able to find out about her.
‘I’d have liked to know more – how and why she died.’
Jacqueline had married a journalist, and was living abroad, where her husband was foreign correspondent to a daily paper. Linda could not be traced.
‘Did you know Pauline?’
‘I never met her. I’ve heard Trapnel speak of her. He thought her depraved. Those were his words. They remained on good terms after parting.
‘I ran Pauline to earth.’
‘What’s she doing?’
‘She’s become a call-girl.’
‘Trapnel said that was where Pauline would end.’
‘Well, not much short of that, I’d say.’
Gwinnett seemed uncertain whether or not to qualify the description. He thought for a moment, then decided against amendment.
‘I went to see her. She told me some facts.’
‘Such as?’
‘What some of her clients like.’
‘Anything out of the usual run?’
‘Not much, I guess.’
‘I’d have thought Trapnel pretty normal.’
‘She said he was.’
Gwinnett changed the subject. I thought he had abandoned it. I was wrong. He was choosing another conversational angle, one of his habits, at times effected in a manner a little disconcerting.
‘Did Lindsay Bagshaw say there’d been some trouble at his place?’
‘I haven’t seen him, but I heard something of the sort. I knew you’d left.’
‘You heard Lady Widmerpool kicked up a racket there?’
‘Her name was mentioned.’
‘As raising hell?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘If you run across Lady Widmerpool, do you mind not telling her my address?’
‘OK.’
‘You heard about Lord Widmerpool being denounced on the radio as a British agent? Lindsay Bagshaw talked his head off about it. I’m not that interested in politics, though I couldn’t but be interested in such a thing happening. Just because of all the Trapnel tie-up with her. What do you think?’
‘He might be in deep water. Hard to say, at this stage.’
Gwinnett hesitated, seeming, as he sometimes did, uncertain of the exact ground he wanted to occupy.
‘Lady Widmerpool – Pamela – I wouldn’t be in her husband’s shoes, if she’s left to decide his fate.’
‘She’s got it in for him?’
‘That’s how it looks.’
‘You’re avoiding her for the time being?’
That was a reasonable question in the circumstances. Gwinnett did not answer it. At the same time he accepted its inferences.
‘Just to duck back to Pauline for a spell – she had dealings with Lord Widmerpool.’
‘Professional ones, you mean?’
‘Sure.’
‘He picked her up somewhere? Answered an ad?’
‘When his wife was living with Trapnel, Widmerpool had her shadowed. As a former girl friend of Trapnel’s, whom he saw once in a while, Pauline’s name was given to Widmerpool.’
‘And he went to see her?’
‘They met somehow.’
‘Continued to meet?’
‘It seems arrangements were made satisfactory to both sides. Pauline later figured at several parties attended by Widmerpool – and the Frenchman, too, who died all that sudden, when Pamela was around.’
‘Pauline told you that?’
Gwinnett nodded. He had a way with him when he sought information. At least information was what he acquired.
‘Was Pamela herself included in these Pauline jaunts?’
‘I don’t know for certain. I don’t believe so.’
Thought of Pamela seemed to depress Gwinnett He fell into one of his glooms. Their relationship was an enigma. Perhaps he was in love with her, in spite of everything. We parted on good terms, the best. Gwinnett spoke as if we were likely to talk together again as a matter of course, do that quite soon. At the same time he parried any suggestion of coming to see us; even arranging another meeting in London. This determination that initiative should remain in his hands was a reminder of Trapnel methods. Possibly