A Question of Upbringing - Anthony Powell [63]
He folded his arms and stared fixedly past me, as if he were looking out into the night in search of further dialectical ammunition, if I were to remain unconvinced by his argument.
“But you wouldn’t use that service yourself?”
“Everyone has his own standards of conduct,” said Widimerpool. “I trust mine are no lower than other people’s.”
“Anyhow,” I said, as I was getting tired of the subject, “what did you do to bring them together?”
“First of all I went to Lundquist,” said Widmerpool, relaxing a little the stringency of his manner; “I explained to him that we all understood that Örn should not have spoken as he did.”
“But we don’t know what Örn said.”
Widmerpool made a nervous movement with his hands to show his irritation; He seemed half-inclined to break off his narrative, but changed his mind, and went on: “I told him that we all knew Örn was a bit of a rough diamond, as Lundquist himself understood, as much – or even more – than the rest of us. It was therefore no good expecting anything very courtly from Örn in the way of behaviour,”
“How did Lundquist take that?”
“He fully agreed. But he emphasised that such defects, attributed by him to inherent weaknesses in the Norwegian system of education, did not alter the fact that his, Lundquist’s, honour had been insulted.”
Widmerpool stopped speaking at this point, and looked at me rather threateningly, as if he was prepared for such a statement on Lundquist’s part to arouse comment. As I remained silent, he continued: “That argument was hard to answer. I asked him, accordingly, if I had his permission to speak to Örn on the same subject.”
“What did he say to that?”
“He bowed.”
“It all sounds very formal.”
“It was very formal,” said Widmerpool. “Why should it have been otherwise?”
Not knowing the answer, I did not take up this challenge; thinking that perhaps he was right.
“I went straight to Örn,” said Widmerpool, “and told him that we all understood his most justifiable annoyance at Lundquist’s service; but that he, Örn, must realise, as the rest of us did, that Lundquist is a proud man. No one could be in a better position to appreciate that fact than Örn himself, I said. I pointed out that it could not fail to be painful to Lundquist’s amour-propre to lose so frequently – even though he were losing to a better tennis-player.”
“Did all this go on in French?”
Widmerpool took no notice of this question; which, both Scandinavians knowing some English, seemed to me of interest. “Örn was more obstinate than Lundquist,” said Widmerpool. “Örn kept on repeating that, if Lundquist wished to play pat-ball with the girls – or little boys, he added – there was plenty of opportunity for him to do so. He, Örn, liked to play with men – hommes – he shouted the word rather loud. He said that, in his own eyes, hommes might be stretched to include Paul-Marie and Jean- Népomucène, but did not include Lundquist.”
Widmerpool paused.
“And he stuck to that?” I asked.
Widmerpool shook his head slowly from side to side, allowing his lips to form a faint smile. He said: “Örn took a lot of persuading.”
“Then he agreed?”
“He agreed that I should come again to-morrow to renew the discussion.”
“You are certainly taking a lot of trouble about them.”
“These things are worth trouble,” said Widmerpool. “You may learn that in time, Jenkins.”
I followed him up the stairs, more than a little impressed. There was something about the obstinacy with which he pursued his aims that could not be disregarded, or merely ridiculed. Even then I did not recognise the quest for power.
The consequence of Widmerpool’s efforts was to be seen a couple of nights later, when Monsieur Örn and Monsieur Lundquist sat together, after dinner, at one of the tables in the garden, finishing off between them a bottle of Cognac: after giving a glass to Madame Leroy, Madame Dubuisson, and myself, and two glasses to Monsieur Dubuisson: everyone else, for one reason or another, refusing the offer. Long after I was in bed and asleep that night, I was woken by the sound of the Scandinavians stumbling up to their room, now apparently on the best of terms. It had been a triumph of diplomacy on Widmerpool’s part. The enterprise he had shown in the matter displayed a side of his character the existence of which I had never suspected. I had to admit to myself that, in