‘Bertram Akworth will be there? He will actually be present? It can’t be true. This is an opportunity I have been longing for. I behaved to Akworth in a way I now know to be not wrong — so-called right and wrong being illusory concepts — but what must be deplored as transcendentally discordant, mystically in error, in short, contrary to Harmony. In those days I was only a boy — a simple boy at that — who knew nothing of such experiences as cohabiting with the Elements, as a means of training the will. Moreover, I should have encouraged any breaking of the rules, struck a blow for, rather than against, rebellion, aided the subversion of that detestable thing law and order, as commonly understood. In those days — my schoolboy years — I had already dedicated myself to so-called reason, so-called practical affairs. I allowed no — at least very little — unfettered play of those animal forces that free the spirit, though later I began to understand the way, for example, that nakedness removes impediments of all sorts. Besides, if the universe is to be subjected to his will, a man must develop his female nature as well as the male — without lessening his own masculinity — I knew nothing of that… but Akworth … long misunderstood… should make amends … as with Bith… though not… not…’
Again Widmerpool tailed off, unable to bring himself to mention whatever Murtlock had made him act out in relation to the Bithel penance. What he said about Sir Bertram Akworth was most disturbing. A far more threatening situation than before had now suddenly come into being. It was one thing for Fiona, the bridegroom’s sister, to bring into her brother’s wedding party a crowd of young persons, curious specimens perhaps, but, not long before, closely associated with herself. It was quite another to allow the occasion to be one for Widmerpool to give rein to an ambition — apparently become obsessive with him — that he should make some sort of an apology to a lifelong business antagonist, grandfather of the bride, the boy he had caused to be sacked from school half a century earlier. In his present mood Widmerpool was capable of exploring in public, in much the same manner that he had been expatiating on them to me, all the mystical implications of Sir Bertram Akworth’s youthful desires.
‘If the matter of reporting Akworth has never come up in the years you’ve been meeting him, doesn’t it seem wiser to leave things at that now? It might even be preferable not to go to the reception?’
Widmerpool was not listening.
‘Amazing how long it took me to understand the ritual side of sex. Although I never enjoyed sex much myself, I’d always supposed you were meant to enjoy it. Now I know better. I see now that, even when I was young, I was reaching out for the ritual side, to the exclusion of enjoyment. In objecting to Akworth’s conduct, I was displaying an attitude I later took up in my own mind in relation to Donners and his irregular practices. He, too, may have had his own instinctive reactions in the same field. In those days I knew nothing of the Dionysiac necessities. They were revealed to me all but too late. If Donners was aware of such needs earlier than myself, he fell altogether short in combining them with transcendental meditation, or mystical exercises of a physical kind, other than sexual.’
Widmerpool, absorbed with the case of Sir Magnus, shook his head. By this time we were crossing the causeway, about to pass under the portcullised gate, through which Fiona’s vanguard had already disappeared. Either to catch up with the rest of his company, or from impatience to make contact with Sir Bertram Akworth, Widmerpool pressed forward. This urgency on his part impelled his own entry into the Great Hall well ahead of myself, something I was anxious to manoeuvre, but had seen no way of bringing about. Widmerpool was lost in the crowd by the time I came through the doorway. Caroline Lovell — a niece of ours, married to a soldier called Thwaites — was standing just by. She began some sort of conversation before it was possible to estimate the effect of Fiona’s additions to the party. We talked for a minute or two.
‘Is Alan here?’
Caroline said her husband, having just been posted to Northern Ireland, had been unable to come to the wedding. She looked worried, but was prevented from saying more of this by Jonathan Cutts, who joined us, and began to speak of the Sleaford Veronese — as it once had been — a favourite subject of Caroline’s father, Chips Lovell. The Iphigenia had come on the market again, handled by Jonathan’s firm, and achieved a record price. Neither Jonathan Cutts nor Caroline seemed to have noticed the incursion of Fiona’s friends from the cult; confirming the impression that, once within the lofty dimly lit limits of the Great Hall, they had quickly merged with other less than conventionally clad guests. Certainly there was no clearcut isolation of the group. For a second I caught a glimpse of Bithel; a moment later he disappeared. He had been surrounded by a circle of laughing young men. By this time a fair amount of champagne had been drunk. Widmerpool was nowhere to be seen. No doubt he was searching for Sir Bertram Akworth, but Sir Bertram, too, had disappeared for the moment. I asked Caroline where he had gone.
‘There was a hitch about the car to take Sebastian and Clare to the airport. Sir Bertram’s making some new arrangement, somebody said.’
Flavia Wisebite appeared again at my elbow.
‘Have you seen who’s just come in?’
‘Do you mean Fiona Cutts and her former crowd?’
‘Widmerpool.’
She was overcome with indignation, her face dead white.
‘The dreadful man is wandering about the room in his loathsome clothes. What could have made them invite him? Young people will do anything these days. I’m sure it wasn’t Clare’s choice. She’s such a sweet girl. Sebastian seemed a nice young man too. Surely he can’t have asked Widmerpool? Do you think his father — who used to be an MP — had to have Widmerpool for political reasons. That’s a possibility.’
‘Widmerpool and his lot were brought in by Fiona Cutts, Sebastian’s sister.’
‘Fiona brought them? I see. Now I understand. Do you know who Fiona Cutts has just married — who my goddaughter, little Clare, is going to have for a brother-in-law? An American called Gwinnett. I don’t expect you’ve even heard of him. I have. I know a great deal about Mr Gwinnett. It’s all too dreadful to say. Dreadful. Dreadful.’
Gwinnett, in sight on the far side of the room, was talking in a comparatively animated manner to his new in-laws. Behind them, in a corner, Jeremy Warminster had made contact with one of the prettier girls of the cult, whether or not for the first time was hard to judge. The two of them seemed already on easy terms with each other. A husband and wife, introduced as Colonel and Mrs Alford-Green, came up to speak with Flavia Wisebite. Their friendship seemed to date back to very ancient days, when Flavia had still been married to Cosmo Flitton. Colonel Alford-Green was evidently a retired regular soldier. While they were talking Sir Bertram Akworth reappeared. Hailing the Alford-Greens in his loud harsh voice, he greeted Flavia, too, as one already well known to him.
‘How are you, Rosamund, how are you, Gerald? How nice to see old friends like you both, and Flavia here today. The honeymoon car broke down. All is now fixed. I’ve seen to it. No cause for panic.’
‘We thought you read the Lesson very well, Bertram.’
‘You did, Rosamund? Thank you very much. I’m glad you thought I did it all right. You know I rather pride myself on my reading. It’s a beautiful passage. A great favourite of mine. It was the one on the agenda anyway. A bit of luck. I was very glad. If I’d been asked, I’d certainly have chosen it.’