for—’
He did not finish the sentence
because Pamela, placing herself between them, slipped an arm round the waists
of the two men. She did this without at all modifying the fairly unamiable
expression on her face. This was the action to which Quiggin now drew
attention. Its effect was electric; electric, that is, in the sense of
switching on currents of considerable emotional force all round the room.
Widmerpool’s face turned almost brick red, presumably in unexpected
satisfaction that his wife’s earlier ill-humour had changed to manifested affection,
even if affection shared with Roddy Cutts. Roddy Cutts himself – who, so far as
I know, had never set eyes on Pamela before that afternoon – showed, reasonably
enough, every sign of being flattered by this unselfconscious demonstration of
attention. Almost at once he slyly twisted his own left arm behind him, no
doubt the better to secure Pamela’s hold.
This was the first time I had
seen her, so to speak, in attack. Hitherto she had always exhibited herself,
resisting, at best tolerating, sorties of greater or lesser violence against
her own disdain. Now she was to be observed in assault, making the going,
preparing the ground for further devastations. The sudden coming into being of
this baroque sculptural group, which was what the trio resembled, caused a
second’s pause in conversation, in any case rather halting and forced in
measure, the reverential atmosphere that to some extent had prevailed now
utterly subverted. Susan, glancing across at her husband clasped lightly round
the middle by Pamela, turned a little pink. Quiggin may have noticed that and
judged it a good moment for reintroduction – when they first met he had shown
signs of fancying Susan – because he brought our conversation to a close before
moving over to speak to her.
‘I’ll have a further word with
Bagshaw,’ he said. ‘Then he or I will get in touch with you.’
Siegfried entered with a large
teapot. He set it on one of the tables, made a sign to Frederica, and, without
waiting for further instructions, began to organize those present into some
sort of a queue. Frederica, now given opportunity to form a more coherent
impression of Widmerpool’s wife and her temperament, addressed herself with
cold firmness to the three of them.
‘Won’t you have some tea ?’
That broke it up. Siegfried remarshalled
the party. Hugo took on Pamela. Widmerpool and Roddy Cutts, left once more
together, returned to the principles of hire-purchase. Alfred Tolland,
wandering about in the background, seemed unhappy again. I handed him a cup of
tea. He embarked once more on one of his new unwonted bursts of talkativeness.
‘I’m glad about Mrs Widmerpool…
glad she found her way … the foreign manservant here … whoever he is, I mean to
say … they’re lucky to have a … footman … these days… hall-boy, perhaps …
anyhow he looked after Mrs Widmerpool properly, I was relieved to find… Confess
I like that quiet sort of girl. Do hope she’s better. I’m a bit worried about
the train though. We’ll have to be pushing off soon.’
‘You’ll have time for a cup of
tea.’
‘Please, this way,’ said
Siegfried.’ Please, this way now.’
He managed to break up most of
the existing conversations.
‘Just like Erry to find that
goon,’ said Hugo. ‘He’s worse than Smith, the butler who drank so much, and
raised such hell at Aunt Molly’s.’
In Siegfried’s reorganization
of the company, Gypsy was placed next to me, the first opportunity to speak
with her. All things considered, she might have been more friendly in manner,
though her old directness remained.
‘Is this the first time you’ve
been here?’
‘No.’
That was at any rate evidence
of a sort that she had visited Erridge on his home ground at least once;
whether with or without Craggs, or similar escort, was not revealed.
‘Who’s that Mrs
He did not finish the sentence
because Pamela, placing herself between them, slipped an arm round the waists
of the two men. She did this without at all modifying the fairly unamiable
expression on her face. This was the action to which Quiggin now drew
attention. Its effect was electric; electric, that is, in the sense of
switching on currents of considerable emotional force all round the room.
Widmerpool’s face turned almost brick red, presumably in unexpected
satisfaction that his wife’s earlier ill-humour had changed to manifested affection,
even if affection shared with Roddy Cutts. Roddy Cutts himself – who, so far as
I know, had never set eyes on Pamela before that afternoon – showed, reasonably
enough, every sign of being flattered by this unselfconscious demonstration of
attention. Almost at once he slyly twisted his own left arm behind him, no
doubt the better to secure Pamela’s hold.
This was the first time I had
seen her, so to speak, in attack. Hitherto she had always exhibited herself,
resisting, at best tolerating, sorties of greater or lesser violence against
her own disdain. Now she was to be observed in assault, making the going,
preparing the ground for further devastations. The sudden coming into being of
this baroque sculptural group, which was what the trio resembled, caused a
second’s pause in conversation, in any case rather halting and forced in
measure, the reverential atmosphere that to some extent had prevailed now
utterly subverted. Susan, glancing across at her husband clasped lightly round
the middle by Pamela, turned a little pink. Quiggin may have noticed that and
judged it a good moment for reintroduction – when they first met he had shown
signs of fancying Susan – because he brought our conversation to a close before
moving over to speak to her.
‘I’ll have a further word with
Bagshaw,’ he said. ‘Then he or I will get in touch with you.’
Siegfried entered with a large
teapot. He set it on one of the tables, made a sign to Frederica, and, without
waiting for further instructions, began to organize those present into some
sort of a queue. Frederica, now given opportunity to form a more coherent
impression of Widmerpool’s wife and her temperament, addressed herself with
cold firmness to the three of them.
‘Won’t you have some tea ?’
That broke it up. Siegfried remarshalled
the party. Hugo took on Pamela. Widmerpool and Roddy Cutts, left once more
together, returned to the principles of hire-purchase. Alfred Tolland,
wandering about in the background, seemed unhappy again. I handed him a cup of
tea. He embarked once more on one of his new unwonted bursts of talkativeness.
‘I’m glad about Mrs Widmerpool…
glad she found her way … the foreign manservant here … whoever he is, I mean to
say … they’re lucky to have a … footman … these days… hall-boy, perhaps …
anyhow he looked after Mrs Widmerpool properly, I was relieved to find… Confess
I like that quiet sort of girl. Do hope she’s better. I’m a bit worried about
the train though. We’ll have to be pushing off soon.’
‘You’ll have time for a cup of
tea.’
‘Please, this way,’ said
Siegfried.’ Please, this way now.’
He managed to break up most of
the existing conversations.
‘Just like Erry to find that
goon,’ said Hugo. ‘He’s worse than Smith, the butler who drank so much, and
raised such hell at Aunt Molly’s.’
In Siegfried’s reorganization
of the company, Gypsy was placed next to me, the first opportunity to speak
with her. All things considered, she might have been more friendly in manner,
though her old directness remained.
‘Is this the first time you’ve
been here?’
‘No.’
That was at any rate evidence
of a sort that she had visited Erridge on his home ground at least once;
whether with or without Craggs, or similar escort, was not revealed.
‘Who’s that Mrs
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