‘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 Widmerpool?’
To describe Pamela to Gypsy was no lesser problem than the definition of Gypsy to Pamela. Again no answer was required, Gypsy supplying that herself.
‘A first-class little bitch,’ she said.
Craggs joined his wife.
‘JG and I have completed what arrangements can be made at present. We may as well be going, unless you want another cup of tea, Gypsy?’
The way he spoke was respectful, almost timorous.
‘The sooner I get out, the better I’ll be pleased.’
‘Ought to thank for the cupper, I suppose.’
Craggs looked round the room. Frederica, as it turned out, had gone to fetch some testamentary document for Widmerpool’s inspection. While they had been speaking Roddy Cutts took the opportunity of slipping away and standing by Pamela, who was listening to a story Hugo was telling about his antique shop. She ignored Roddy, who, seeing his wife’s eye on him, drifted away again. Widmerpool drummed his fingers against the window frame while he waited. Until Roddy’s arrival in her neighbourhood, Pamela had given the appearance of being fairly amenable to Hugo’s line of talk. Now she put her hand to her forehead and turned away from him. She went quickly over to Widmerpool and spoke. The words, like his answer, were not audible, but she raised her voice angrily at whatever he had said.
‘I tell you I’m feeling faint again.’
‘All right. We’ll go the minute I get this paper — what is that, my dear Tolland? — yes, of course we’re taking you in the taxi. I was just saying to my wife that we’re leaving the moment I’ve taken charge of a document Lady Frederica’s finding for me.’
He spoke absently, his mind evidently on business matters. Pamela made further protests. Widmerpool turned to Siegfried, who was arranging the cups, most of them odd ones, in order of size at the back of the table.
‘Fritz, mein Mann, sagen Sie bitte der Frau Gräfin, dass Wir jetzt abfahren.’
‘Sofort, Herr Oberst.’
Pamela was prepared to submit to no such delays. ‘I’m going at once — I must. I’m feeling ghastly again.’
‘All right, dearest. You go on. I’ll follow — the rest of us will. I can’t leave without obtaining that paper.’
Widmerpool looked about him desperately. Marriage had greatly reduced his self-assurance. Then a plan suggested itself.
‘Nick, do very kindly escort Pam to the door. She’s not feeling quite herself, a slight recurrence of what she went through earlier. Those passages are rather complicated, as I remember from arriving. Your sister-in-law’s looking for a document I need. I must stay for that, and to thank her for her hospitality.’
Pamela had certainly gone very white again. She looked as if she might be going to faint. Her withdrawal from church, in the light of previous behaviour likely to be prompted by sheer perversity, now took on a more excusable aspect. That she was genuinely feeling ill was confirmed by the way she agreed without argument to the suggested compromise. We at once set off down the stairs together, Pamela bidding no one goodbye.
‘Is the taxi outside?’
‘Parked in the yard.’
‘Your coat?’
‘Lying on some of that junk by the door.’
We hurried along. About halfway to the goal of the outside door, amongst the thickest of the bric-a-brac that littered the passage, she stopped.
‘I’m feeling sick.’
This was a crisis indeed. If we returned to Erridge’s quarters, again negotiating the stairs and passing through the sitting-room, resources existed — in the Erridge manner, unelaborate enough — for accommodating sudden indisposition of this sort, but the sanctuary, such as it was, could not be called near. I lightly sketched in the facilities available, their means of approach. She looked at me without answering. She was a greenish colour by now.
‘Shall we go back?’
‘Back where?’
‘To the bathroom — ’
Pamela seemed to consider the suggestion for a second. She glanced round about, her eyes coming to rest on the two tall oriental vessels, which Lord Huntercombe had disparaged as nineteenth-century copies. Standing about five foot high, patterned in blue, boats sailed across their surface on calm sheets of water, out of which rose houses on stilts, in the distance a range of jagged mountain peaks. It was a peaceful scene, very different from the emergency in the passage. Pamela came to a decision. Moving rapidly forward, she stepped lightly on one of the plinths where a huge jar rested, in doing so showing a grace I could not help admiring in spite of the circumstances. She turned away and leant forward. All was over in a matter of seconds. On such occasions there is no way in which an onlooker can help. Inasmuch as it were possible to do what Pamela had done with a minimum of fuss or disagreeable concomitant, she achieved that difficult feat. The way she brought it off was remarkable, almost sublime. She stepped down from the plinth with an air of utter unconcern. Colour, never high in her cheeks, slightly returned. I made some altogether inadequate gestures of assistance, which she unsmilingly brushed aside. Now she was totally herself again.
‘Give me your handkerchief.’
She put it in her bag, and shook her hair.
‘Come on.’
‘You wouldn’t like to go back just for a moment?’
‘Of course not.’
Her firmness was granite. Just as we were proceeding on towards the outside door, the rest of the party, Widmerpool, Alfred Tolland, Quiggin, Craggs, Gypsy, appeared at the far end of the corridor. Hugo was seeing them out. Widmerpool was at the head, explaining some apparently complicated matter to Hugo, so that he did not notice Pamela and myself until a yard or two away.
‘Ah, there you are, dear. I thought you’d have reached the car by now. I expect you are better, and Nicholas has been pointing out the objets d’art to you. It’s the kind of thing he knows about. Rather fine some of the pieces look to me.’
He paused and pointed.
‘What are those great vases, for example? Chinese? Japanese? I am woefully ignorant of such matters. I intend to visit Japan when opportunity occurs, see what sort of a job the Americans are doing there. I doubted the wisdom of retaining the Emperor. Feudalism must go whenever and wherever it survives. We must also keep an eye on Uncle Sam’s mailed fist — but I am running away with myself. Pam, you must go carefully on the journey home. Rest is what you need.’
She did not utter a word but, turning from them, walked quickly towards the door. Morally speaking, some sort of warning seemed required that all had not been well, yet any such announcement was hard to phrase. Before anything could be said — if, indeed, there were anything apposite to say — Hugo had gently encouraged the group to move on.