surprised. Rather thrilled too, I think.’
The respectable,
unpretentious style of Ferrand-Sénéschal’s hotel disavowed the
grand
luxe
attributed to his two-room suite. It was only a few streets
away from the former Jeavons residence in South Kensington, converted by Ted
Jeavons after the war into several small flats, one of which he inhabited
himself. The fact that Ferrand-Sénéschal was on his way to the Conference later
on found no place in the
Détective
story, probably regarded as a
banal detail likely to prejudice inferences that he had come to London with the
sole purpose of participating in an orgy. Dr Brightman reached out for the
paper again. She examined the picture of Pamela.
‘I can add my own
small contribution to the bulletin,’ she said. ‘The lady in question is in
Venice at this moment.’
Gwinnett, who had
been sitting silent, chewing at his thumbnail, shifted forward.
‘She is, Emily? You’ve
seen her?’
This time he sounded
quite excited. Dr Brightman made a gesture to indicate she had enjoyed no such
luck.
‘I was so informed by
a French colleague, who is also attending the Conference. We normally
correspond about Gallo-Roman personal names, with special reference to
Brittany. On this occasion I fear we descended to gossip. My friend must be
unaware of the reference here to Lady Widmerpool, or I’m sure he would have
mentioned it. He had witnessed what he described as an extraordinary incident
at the French Embassy in London, where Lady Widmerpool, quite deliberately,
broke the back of a small gilt chair during supper. That made such an impression,
he immediately recognized her profile seen at Quadri’s.’
‘I’d give something
to meet that lady.’
Gwinnett did not
sound hopeful. Dr Brightman and I assured him there should be no difficulty in
arranging that.
‘You’ve just got to
sit in the Piazza long enough. You see everyone in the world, if you do that.’
‘But I don’t know
Lady Widmerpool.’
‘I’ll introduce you.’
That was said in the
heat of the moment. Afterwards, immediately afterwards, it was to be seen as a
rash offer. I hoped she would not walk into the hotel at that moment. The very
idea of her being in Venice made Gwinnett restless, a state alternating in him
with a kind of torpor. He rose from the table, then paused for a moment, again
unsure what he wanted to do. He came to a decision.
‘I’ll take a stroll
in the Piazza right now. Do you mind if I retain this journal?’
That could not be
refused, since it belonged to him, though I had not yet studied the piece
thoroughly. He folded it again, stood in thought for a moment, said goodnight.
We said goodnight to him in return. It was not impossible that he might see
Pamela Widmerpool in St Mark’s Square. Perhaps he hoped to pick up someone
there in any case. A girl? A man? One felt rather ashamed of these
speculations, as earlier of wondering whether he was an ex-alcoholic. He had
shown no sign whatever of seeking in Venice any sort of dissipation. The notion
that he was bent on some such goal, no doubt quite unfounded, attached to his
withdrawn mysterious air, a little uncommon in an American, anyway in Gwinnett’s
form. As soon as he was gone, Dr Brightman, without any prompting, began to
speak of him.
‘Let me tell you
about Russell Gwinnett.’
‘Please do.’
‘He is a small
fragment detached from the comparatively extensive and cavernous grottoes of
gothic America. He is part of an Old America – the oldest – yet has become in
some respects the New America. I hardly know how to put it.’
‘Halfway between
Henry Adams and Charles Addams?’
‘Not bad. In fact
alpha plus, insomuch as Henry Adams says that true eccentricity is in a tone,
and only the conventional approach loves to assume unconventionality. Russell
is unconventional by nature, not by choice. Even then, only in certain
respects. He is good at such sports as
The respectable,
unpretentious style of Ferrand-Sénéschal’s hotel disavowed the
grand
luxe
attributed to his two-room suite. It was only a few streets
away from the former Jeavons residence in South Kensington, converted by Ted
Jeavons after the war into several small flats, one of which he inhabited
himself. The fact that Ferrand-Sénéschal was on his way to the Conference later
on found no place in the
Détective
story, probably regarded as a
banal detail likely to prejudice inferences that he had come to London with the
sole purpose of participating in an orgy. Dr Brightman reached out for the
paper again. She examined the picture of Pamela.
‘I can add my own
small contribution to the bulletin,’ she said. ‘The lady in question is in
Venice at this moment.’
Gwinnett, who had
been sitting silent, chewing at his thumbnail, shifted forward.
‘She is, Emily? You’ve
seen her?’
This time he sounded
quite excited. Dr Brightman made a gesture to indicate she had enjoyed no such
luck.
‘I was so informed by
a French colleague, who is also attending the Conference. We normally
correspond about Gallo-Roman personal names, with special reference to
Brittany. On this occasion I fear we descended to gossip. My friend must be
unaware of the reference here to Lady Widmerpool, or I’m sure he would have
mentioned it. He had witnessed what he described as an extraordinary incident
at the French Embassy in London, where Lady Widmerpool, quite deliberately,
broke the back of a small gilt chair during supper. That made such an impression,
he immediately recognized her profile seen at Quadri’s.’
‘I’d give something
to meet that lady.’
Gwinnett did not
sound hopeful. Dr Brightman and I assured him there should be no difficulty in
arranging that.
‘You’ve just got to
sit in the Piazza long enough. You see everyone in the world, if you do that.’
‘But I don’t know
Lady Widmerpool.’
‘I’ll introduce you.’
That was said in the
heat of the moment. Afterwards, immediately afterwards, it was to be seen as a
rash offer. I hoped she would not walk into the hotel at that moment. The very
idea of her being in Venice made Gwinnett restless, a state alternating in him
with a kind of torpor. He rose from the table, then paused for a moment, again
unsure what he wanted to do. He came to a decision.
‘I’ll take a stroll
in the Piazza right now. Do you mind if I retain this journal?’
That could not be
refused, since it belonged to him, though I had not yet studied the piece
thoroughly. He folded it again, stood in thought for a moment, said goodnight.
We said goodnight to him in return. It was not impossible that he might see
Pamela Widmerpool in St Mark’s Square. Perhaps he hoped to pick up someone
there in any case. A girl? A man? One felt rather ashamed of these
speculations, as earlier of wondering whether he was an ex-alcoholic. He had
shown no sign whatever of seeking in Venice any sort of dissipation. The notion
that he was bent on some such goal, no doubt quite unfounded, attached to his
withdrawn mysterious air, a little uncommon in an American, anyway in Gwinnett’s
form. As soon as he was gone, Dr Brightman, without any prompting, began to
speak of him.
‘Let me tell you
about Russell Gwinnett.’
‘Please do.’
‘He is a small
fragment detached from the comparatively extensive and cavernous grottoes of
gothic America. He is part of an Old America – the oldest – yet has become in
some respects the New America. I hardly know how to put it.’
‘Halfway between
Henry Adams and Charles Addams?’
‘Not bad. In fact
alpha plus, insomuch as Henry Adams says that true eccentricity is in a tone,
and only the conventional approach loves to assume unconventionality. Russell
is unconventional by nature, not by choice. Even then, only in certain
respects. He is good at such sports as
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