The Military Philosophers - Anthony Powell [89]
‘I wish Pamela would turn up,’ he said. ‘I shall be late if she doesn’t arrive soon. I can’t very well leave until she comes – ah, thank God, there she is.’
Pamela Flitton came towards us. Unlike the night at The Bartered Bride, she had this evening taken no trouble whatever about her clothes. Perhaps that was untrue, and she had gone out of her way to find the oldest, most filthy garments she possessed. She was almost in rags. By this time the party had advanced too far for it to be obvious to a newcomer whom to greet as host. She had in any case obviously not bothered about any such formalities.
‘Hullo, my dear,’ said Widmerpool. ‘I didn’t guess you’d be so late.’
He spoke in a conciliatory voice, making as if to kiss her.
She allowed the merest peck.
‘I’ll just introduce you to His Excellency,’ he said. ‘Then I’ll have to fly.’
Pamela, who was looking very pretty in spite of her disarray, was having none of that.
‘I don’t want to be introduced,’ she said. ‘I just came to have a look round.’
She gave me a nod. I made some conventional remark about their engagement. She listened to this rather more graciously than usual.
‘I think you ought to meet the Ambassador, dearest.’
‘Stuff the Ambassador.’
The phrase recalled Duport. Widmerpool laughed nervously.
‘You really oughtn’t to say things like that, darling,’ he said. ‘Not when you’re at a party like this. Nicholas and I think it very amusing, but someone else might overhear and not understand. If you really don’t feel like being introduced at the moment, I shall have to leave you. Nicholas or someone can do the honours, if you decide you want to meet your host later. Personally, I think you should. If you do, make my apologies. I shall have to go now. I am late already.’
‘Late for what?’
‘I told you – I’m dining with the Minister.’
‘You’re giving me dinner.’
‘I only wish I was. Much as I’d love to, I can’t. I did explain all this before. You said you’d like to come to the party, even though we couldn’t have dinner together after. Besides, I’m sure you told me you were dining with Lady McReith.’
‘I’m going to dine with you.’
I was about to move away and leave them to it, feeling an engaged couple should settle such matters so far as possible in private, but Widmerpool, either believing himself safer with a witness, or because he foresaw some method of disposing of Pamela in which I might play a part, took me by the arm, while he continued to speak persuasively to her.
‘Be reasonable, darling,’ he said. ‘I can’t cut a dinner I’ve gone out of my way to arrange – least of all with the Minister.’
‘Stand him up. I couldn’t care less. That’s what you’d do if you really wanted to dine with me.’
She was in a sudden rage. Her usually dead white face now had some colour in it. Widmerpool must have thought that a change of subject would cool her down, also give him a chance of escape.
‘I’m going to leave you with Nicholas,’ he said. ‘Let me tell you first, what you probably don’t know, that Nicholas used to be a friend of your uncle, Charles Stringham, whom you were so fond of.’
If he hoped that information would calm her, Widmerpool made a big mistake. She went absolutely rigid.
‘Yes,’ she said, ‘and Charles isn’t the only one he knew. He knew Peter Templer too – the man you murdered.’
Widmerpool, not surprisingly, was apparently stupefied by this onslaught; myself scarcely less so. She spoke the words in a quiet voice. We were in a corner of the room behind some pillars, a little away from the rest of the party. Even so, plenty of people were close enough. It was no place to allow a scene to develop. Pamela turned to me.
‘Do you know what happened?’
‘About what?’
‘About Peter Templer. This man persuaded them to leave Peter to die. The nicest man I ever knew. He just had him killed.’
Tears appeared in her eyes. She was in a state of near hysteria.