Hearing Secret Harmonies - Anthony Powell [76]
‘All she had to do, in plain fact, was to walk out.’
‘That is just what Fiona could not bring herself to do. Murtlock knew that perfectly. He knew she must have some sort of legal dismissal from his service, one afforded by himself.’
‘An honourable discharge?’
‘Even a dishonourable one, I think – since all abandoning of himself and the cult must be wrong – but it had to come from Murtlock. It was no good arguing with her. That was how she felt. We talked it over exhaustively – and exhaustingly – during various meetings.’
Delavacquerie seemed to have established a more effective relationship with Fiona than any up-to-date achieved by her own family.
‘So what happened?’
‘In the end I revealed Gwinnett’s sleazy hotel. The price of that was that Fiona should be free to leave. Even then Murtlock would not allow her to go immediately. He said she could only go when she had taken part in a ceremony that included the presence of Gwinnett.’
‘So it was through you, in a sense, that Gwinnett went to see Widmerpool. He said it was because he wanted to observe gothic doings done in a gothic way.’
‘That was true too. It was a bit of luck for Murtlock – unless he bewitched Gwinnett too, put the idea into his head. I prefer to think it luck. No doubt he always has luck. Those people do. Once I had told Murtlock where to find Gwinnett, Gwinnett himself decided there was a good reason to fall in with what Murtlock wanted all along the line.’
‘Where’s Fiona now? Has she got away from Murtlock yet?’
Delavacquerie looked for a moment a little discomposed.
‘As a matter of fact Fiona’s living in the flat – not living with me, I mean – but it was somewhere to go. In fact it seemed the only way out. She didn’t want to have to live with her parents – obviously she could, for a time anyway, if she felt like doing that – and, if she set up on her own, there was danger that Murtlock might begin to pester her again. A spell of being absolutely free from Murtlock would give a chance to build up some resistance, as against a disease. There’s no one in Etienne’s room. It was her own suggestion. As you can imagine, she’s rather off sex for the moment.’
‘I see.’
That was untrue. I did not in the least see; so far as seeing might be held to imply some sort of understanding of what was really taking place. A complicated situation appeared merely to be accumulating additional complicated factors. Delavacquerie himself evidently accepted the inadequacy of this acknowledgment in relation to problems involved. He seemed to expect no more.
‘When I say we talked things over, that isn’t exactly true either. Fiona doesn’t talk things over. She’s incapable of doing that. That’s partly her trouble. One of the reasons why it was better for her to be in the flat was that it offered some hope of finding out what she was really thinking.’
He abruptly stopped speaking of Fiona.
‘Now tell me your story.’
To describe what had happened at The Devil’s Fingers, now that Fiona was living under Delavacquerie’s roof, was an altogether different affair from doing so in the manner that the story had first rehearsed itself to my mind. Then, planning its telling, there had been no reason to suppose her more than, at best, a sentimental memory; if – which might be quite mistaken – I had been right in suspecting him a little taken with her, when, in connexion with his son, Delavacquerie had first spoken Fiona’s name. Nevertheless, there was no glossing over the incident at The Devil’s Fingers. It had, in any case, been narrated by Gwinnett with his accustomed reticences, and, after all, Delavacquerie knew from Fiona herself more or less what had been happening. That was only a specific instance, though, for various reasons, an exceptional one. If he felt additional dismay on hearing of that night