authority,
to have been on offer from lovers at different times. Her disregard for
anything of the kind, provided its active expression remained within not too
outrageous bounds, was one of his wife’s few characteristics potentially
advantageous to Widmerpool’s public life. He could convincingly point to her
behaviour as embodiment of contempt for ‘The Establishment’, an abstraction
increasingly belaboured by him in speeches and articles. In fact, considering
the Life Peerage in the light of Pamela’s past conduct, so far from its
creation – as Cutts put forward – assuring an irreducibly solid foundation for
a marriage often rocked by upheaval, the reverse appeared more likely, similar
landmarks in her husband’s career having been emphasized in the past by
proportionately augmented scandals. A Life Peerage, as an extreme example of
Moreland’s conviction that matrimonial discord vibrates on an axis of envy,
rather than jealousy, could even portend final severance.
To explain all that,
even a small part of it, to Gwinnett, ill hope of enlarging his view of the Widmerpools
in relation to Trapnel, was not easy; certainly not within the time allotted
for sitting under the Veroneses. Nothing about the Trapnel story was simple.
Although Gwinnett was quick to grasp things, nothing about his own personality
was simple either. He was an altogether unfamiliar type. He himself seemed
almost painfully aware of our mutual difficulties of intercommunication. That
made things no easier. There was an innate awkwardness about him. Now, for
instance, he stood by the table, unable to make up his mind whether or not to
accept Dr Brightman’s invitation to sit with us.
‘What will you drink?’
Without answering, he
caught a passing waiter and ordered a citronade. On such a night nothing was
more natural than to prefer a cooling soft drink to something stronger, yet
again one speculated for some reason about the possibility of an alcoholic
past. Something about him suggested rigid control, concealment, an odd way of
life. He had the air of punishing himself, possibly for his own supposed social
inadequacies. When he sat down, all Dr Brightman’s briskness was required to
dispel the threat he brought of damped conversation. He had been carrying a
newspaper under his arm, which he laid on the table. It was French, the name
folded out of sight.
‘We were talking of
courts and harems, Russell,’ said Dr Brightman. ‘Those who need them. I’m sure
you must have experienced friends like that’
Gwinnett smiled, but
did not comment. The relationship between himself and Dr Brightman appeared
good, the best yet, so far as observable. There was none of the coyness that
might be suggested by the idea of a distinguished female professor becoming
friends with a young academic colleague of the opposite sex. You felt they
liked each other, had perhaps learnt from each other, would not for a second
hesitate to be tough with each other, if required by circumstance. There was no
suggestion of sentimental feelings, a kind of mother/son relationship, just
because Dr Brightman had been far from home, Gwinnett something of an oddity in
his own surroundings.
‘Talking of harems’,
she said, ‘the owner of the Palazzo we’re invited to visit tomorrow bears the
famous name of Bragadin, and claims to be descended from Casanova’s patron,
though not, of course, in the legitimate line.’
Gwinnett showed no
great interest in that. I asked which of the several Bragadin palaces this was.
I had not studied the extra-mural programme carefully, preferring these
excursions to come as a series of bracing surprises.
‘One never open to
the public. Our Conference is greatly favoured. There’s a Tiepolo ceiling there
on which I’ve longed to gaze for years. In fact the hint that Conference
members might gain access was the chief weapon of Mark’ Members in overcoming
any hesitation in agreeing
to have been on offer from lovers at different times. Her disregard for
anything of the kind, provided its active expression remained within not too
outrageous bounds, was one of his wife’s few characteristics potentially
advantageous to Widmerpool’s public life. He could convincingly point to her
behaviour as embodiment of contempt for ‘The Establishment’, an abstraction
increasingly belaboured by him in speeches and articles. In fact, considering
the Life Peerage in the light of Pamela’s past conduct, so far from its
creation – as Cutts put forward – assuring an irreducibly solid foundation for
a marriage often rocked by upheaval, the reverse appeared more likely, similar
landmarks in her husband’s career having been emphasized in the past by
proportionately augmented scandals. A Life Peerage, as an extreme example of
Moreland’s conviction that matrimonial discord vibrates on an axis of envy,
rather than jealousy, could even portend final severance.
To explain all that,
even a small part of it, to Gwinnett, ill hope of enlarging his view of the Widmerpools
in relation to Trapnel, was not easy; certainly not within the time allotted
for sitting under the Veroneses. Nothing about the Trapnel story was simple.
Although Gwinnett was quick to grasp things, nothing about his own personality
was simple either. He was an altogether unfamiliar type. He himself seemed
almost painfully aware of our mutual difficulties of intercommunication. That
made things no easier. There was an innate awkwardness about him. Now, for
instance, he stood by the table, unable to make up his mind whether or not to
accept Dr Brightman’s invitation to sit with us.
‘What will you drink?’
Without answering, he
caught a passing waiter and ordered a citronade. On such a night nothing was
more natural than to prefer a cooling soft drink to something stronger, yet
again one speculated for some reason about the possibility of an alcoholic
past. Something about him suggested rigid control, concealment, an odd way of
life. He had the air of punishing himself, possibly for his own supposed social
inadequacies. When he sat down, all Dr Brightman’s briskness was required to
dispel the threat he brought of damped conversation. He had been carrying a
newspaper under his arm, which he laid on the table. It was French, the name
folded out of sight.
‘We were talking of
courts and harems, Russell,’ said Dr Brightman. ‘Those who need them. I’m sure
you must have experienced friends like that’
Gwinnett smiled, but
did not comment. The relationship between himself and Dr Brightman appeared
good, the best yet, so far as observable. There was none of the coyness that
might be suggested by the idea of a distinguished female professor becoming
friends with a young academic colleague of the opposite sex. You felt they
liked each other, had perhaps learnt from each other, would not for a second
hesitate to be tough with each other, if required by circumstance. There was no
suggestion of sentimental feelings, a kind of mother/son relationship, just
because Dr Brightman had been far from home, Gwinnett something of an oddity in
his own surroundings.
‘Talking of harems’,
she said, ‘the owner of the Palazzo we’re invited to visit tomorrow bears the
famous name of Bragadin, and claims to be descended from Casanova’s patron,
though not, of course, in the legitimate line.’
Gwinnett showed no
great interest in that. I asked which of the several Bragadin palaces this was.
I had not studied the extra-mural programme carefully, preferring these
excursions to come as a series of bracing surprises.
‘One never open to
the public. Our Conference is greatly favoured. There’s a Tiepolo ceiling there
on which I’ve longed to gaze for years. In fact the hint that Conference
members might gain access was the chief weapon of Mark’ Members in overcoming
any hesitation in agreeing
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