As he turned the comer, under the white-blue light of a lamp, he bumped straight into Johnnie, who was walking by himself.
He simply stopped and stared at him, and Johnnie stopped and stared back.
‘Good God!’ said Johnnie, affably. ‘What are you doing here, old boy?’
He couldn’t answer, he simply stared.
Johnnie came up to him, a look of concern on his face. ‘What’s the matter, old boy?’ he said. ‘Is anything the matter?’
And Johnnie put out his hands, and touched him, held him. ‘What’s the matter, old boy?’ he said.
He knew at once he was going to cry. It was the firm touch of his old friend’s hand, the sincere, concerned face, the old voice, calling him ‘old boy’ in the old way.
‘Oh, Johnnie, Johnnie!’ he said, and began to cry. ‘Johnnie…’
Johnnie held him closer, drew him into the wall, hid him, like a mother with a child, from passers-by. ‘What’s the matter, old boy?’ he said. ‘You’re all worked up. What are you crying about? Take it easy now, and tell me.’
‘I’m sorry…’ he said, ‘I’ll be all right…’
‘But what’s the matter, old boy?’ said Johnnie. ‘What’ve you been doing with yourself?’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m sorry… I’ll be all right… I thought she’d got you, you see. I thought she’d got you!…’
Chapter Four
‘Who? What? Who’s got me?’ said Johnnie. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘But you came away with her, Johnnie, and didn’t tell me… I thought she’d got you, too.’
Light dawned on Johnnie. ‘Oh, Lord – that bitch…’ he said, ‘I begin to see…’
Yes, she is a bitch, Johnnie, too. That’s the truth… If you only knew… And then I thought she’d got you, too…’
He was staring miserably in front of him, and Johnnie still held him.
‘Listen, George, my boy,’ said Johnnie, ‘I didn’t come away with her. She rang me up last night and suggested coming, and said you didn’t want to come. And she rang me up again today, and said if I was coming she was, and that she’d meet me at the theatre. I had to be polite to your friend, and that’s all there is to it, George. She’s not after me, you know. She’s after someone else…’
‘Yes, I know,’ said George. ‘She’s after Eddie Carstairs, isn’t she?’
‘Oh,’ said Johnnie, smiling, ‘you know that, do you?’ And George smiled faintly back.
‘Oh, yes. I know that. I’m sorry, Johnnie. I thought she’d got you. I’m so happy she hasn’t.’
‘You believe me, don’t you, George?’
‘Of course I do, Johnnie. I’ve been a fool.’
And he looked at Johnnie and believed him utterly, and saw what a fool he’d been.
‘You’ve got all worked up, George, my boy,’ said Johnnie. You’ve got into a state. You musn’t let a woman get you down, you know. There are plenty of others, and she’s not worth it.’
‘No, I know she isn’t. I’m afraid she’s got me down.’
All at once he began to shake and tremble again and to breathe in a hissing way between his teeth.
‘Come on,’ said Johnnie, ‘what you want is a drink.’
‘But I’ve had a lot to drink,’ he said.
‘Never mind. You come and have another. I’ll look after you now.’
‘But how can we have a drink? All the pubs are closed.’
‘Oh, we’ll get a drink,’ said Johnnie, and taking his arm, led him back along the front in the direction from which he had come.
‘Oh, by the way,’ said Johnnie, as they walked along, ‘there’s one thing, while I remember it.’
‘Yes?’
‘She asked me tonight not to tell you she had been down here. She said you’d had a sort of row and you’d be hurt. Does that fit in?’
‘Yes. I suppose she was afraid you’d tell me. Yes. That fits in.’
‘Good. Here we are,’ said Johnnie, and led him up the steps of the Palatial.
‘But we can’t go here,’ he said. ‘Isn’t she in here? Isn’t she in here?’
‘No,’ said Johnnie. ‘She’s not. You’ll be surprised.’
Chapter Five
As he entered into the bright lights, he had an awful feeling of faintness, and his trembling simply would not stop. ‘All right, old boy,’ said Johnnie, ‘you’ll be all right. Take it easy.’
He took him through the huge lounge, and along to the left through corridors into a large smoking-room, and put him down at a table. He was aware that, in one corner of this room, a lot of men were making a lot of noise, but he was so faint and giddy that that was all he knew. ‘Are you all right?’ said Johnnie. ‘I’m going to hunt up the waiter. Are you all right?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I’m all right.’ And Johnnie vanished.
There was a great roar of laughter, and he looked up at the men in the comer. He at once saw Eddie Carstairs, and a moment later, Albert Drexel and Cornford Hobbs. He had never seen a famous filmstar close to in a room before, and he was so surprised, intrigued and pleased to do so now, that he forgot about his faintness, and stared at them. Then Johnnie came back with the waiter, and there was a large brandy in front of him.
‘Come on, drink up,’ said Johnnie. ‘You’ll soon be better.’
He drank, and began to feel better, and the trembling became less uncontrolled.
‘That’s Cornford Hobbs, isn’t it?’ he said, ‘over there?’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ said Johnnie. ‘Go on, drink up.’
Suddenly he heard a quiet voice which he knew.
‘Well, Johnnie,’ he said. ‘What are you up to?’
And he looked up and saw Eddie Carstairs standing over them.
‘Oh, hullo Eddie,’ said Johnnie. ‘Can I introduce Mr Bone (Mr Carstairs – Mr Bone)?…’
‘Hullo,’ said Eddie Carstairs, smiling and shaking hands. ‘How do you do?’
‘How do you do?’ he said, and smiled back.
‘Mr Bone’s a very old friend of mine, Eddie,’ said Johnnie. ‘And he’s having a fainting attack or something. So I brought him in for a stiff brandy.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Eddie. ‘Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?’
He looked up at his rival, the almost legendary Eddie Carstairs, the terrible man, the owner of the great bloody Rolls, Netta’s ambition, the manager and maker of stars about whom he had heard so much, and he saw the friendly face of a slim, brown-eyed man of about forty, and he smiled back.
‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘Thank you very much. I think I’ll be all right.’
‘Mr Bone,’ said Johnnie, ‘is yet another acquaintance of Miss Netta Longdon’s, Eddie.’
‘Oh, my God,’ said Eddie, suddenly taking a chair and sitting down beside them. ‘That bitch… is he?’
Then, having looked at George again he said to George, ‘I’m terribly sorry. Is she a friend of yours?…’
‘No,’ he said, and smiled again. ‘She’s no friend of mine.’
‘No!’ said Eddie, protestingly and looking and talking at them both. ‘She really is a bitch. She absolutely chases me – doesn’t she, Johnnie?’
‘She certainly does.’
‘No. It’s true,’ said Eddie. ‘Wherever I go she turns up. The bloody woman absolutely haunts me. I only escaped tonight by the skin of my teeth. I said the play wasn’t any good, and we’d got to have a script conference! They’re having a lovely script conference,’ he added, nodding over his shoulder at the men in the corner. ‘Aren’t they?’
Johnnie laughed, Eddie laughed, he laughed.
‘No,’ said Eddie. ‘I don’t know what it is but there’s something absolutely sinister about that woman. She’s sort of scheming. Don’t you agree?… Well, I’m going to the bathroom.’ He rose. ‘Why don’t you come and join us?’
‘Thanks, Eddie,’ said Johnnie, ‘we will.’
‘How are you feeling, George, old boy?’ murmure
d Johnnie. ‘You see what he feels about her – don’t you?’
‘Oh, Johnnie,’ he said, ‘what a fool I’ve been. I’ve got all worked up about nothing.’
His terrible trouble was that he was afraid that he was going to cry. To have got Johnnie back, the old Bob Barton Johnnie, to realize that he had never really lost him – that Johnnie valued their friendship as he did – it was all too much.
‘I think you’d better leave Earl’s Court for good, old boy,’ said Johnnie, ‘hadn’t you?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘I’ll never go back now.’
‘A thoroughly bad lot if you ask me,’ said Johnnie, ‘though it’s not my business.’
‘No, you’re right. She is a bad lot.’
‘Feeling better? You’re looking better.’
‘Yes, much.’ He had stopped trembling now. It was only that he wanted to cry.
A few moments later Eddie Carstairs came back, said, in passing, ‘Come along you two,’ and joined the others.
‘Come on,’ said Johnnie, ‘let’s go over.’
‘But I can’t, can I! I don’t know them,’ he said. ‘They won’t want me.’
‘Come on,’ said Johnnie, and they rose.
They were all hooting with laughter about something (he was strangely sober now, and he could see, actually, that they had had quite a lot to drink) and there was a gusty welcome for Johnnie. ‘Well, if it’s not our little Johnnie!…’ Then ‘Mr Drexel – Mr Bone; Mr Bone – Mr Hobbs.’ ‘How do you do, Mr Bone?’ ‘How do you do?’ There were six of them altogether: he didn’t catch the names of the others, but they were friendly men who looked him in the face and smiled, and made him feel at home. He was put next to Mr Hobbs, and the question of drinks arose at once.
‘And what’s yours, Mr Bone?’ asked Mr Hobbs, having asked the others.
‘Oh,’ he said, ‘I don’t know. I don’t really think I want any more.’
‘Now then, now then, none of this,’ said Mr Hobbs, in the rich, inimitable voice, which brought houses down with laughter. ‘This is a birthday party, you know. You can’t start that sort of thing here.’
‘I know what he wants,’ said Eddie Carstairs, who was lying back in his chair. ‘He wants an extremely large, extremely expensive brandy, because he’s been feeling faint, and don’t let him do you out of it,’ he added, looking at George. ‘He’ll twist you if he can.’
There was more laughter at this, as it was evidently a follow-up of some other joke. ‘Very well,’ said Mr Hobbs to the waiter, who had now appeared. ‘A beaker of brandy for Mr Bone, and the same again all round.’
‘A beaker of your most expensive brandy,’ said Eddie Carstairs, and they all laughed again.
It was like a dream. It was too good to be true. This was where she had wanted to be tonight – cheating him and leaving him out in the cold – but it was he who was inside, who had come to the wonderful birthday party instead! It was fairy-like. A battered failure, a stray Earl’s Court boozer, but he was good enough for Johnnie, and it seemed he was good enough for them. They made him welcome, these strong and powerful ones with whom she had schemed to insinuate herself: they made him welcome, and gave him brandy and liked him, and thought she was a bitch!
His brandy came, and he felt better still, and he sat there, listening to their noisy talk and not talking. Among other things he was so profoundly impressed by the mere fact that he was looking at Cornford Hobbs’s face a few feet away in the flesh, that he could hardly open his mouth.
He had seen the man so many times on the films, he admired him as a comedian so much, that he was almost stupefied with delight and interest to see him and talk with him in person.
‘Did you see the show tonight, Mr Bone?’ said Mr Hobbs, suddenly breaking away from the general conversation, and speaking in a confidential tone.
‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘I did.’
‘What did you think of it?’
‘Oh, I thought it was wonderful,’ he said. He was lying, of course, but he knew it must have been wonderful because of all the laughter he had heard, and he was so taken aback by the honour of having his opinion asked that he could think of nothing else to say.
‘Yes,’ said Mr Hobbs. ‘I think we got away with it – if it only wasn’t for this ghastly war.’
‘Yes,’ he said, and then, because he just couldn’t help it, because even if it was the wrong and silly and dumb thing to say, it was sincere, he said, ‘I’ve seen you such a lot on the films, Mr Hobbs. It’s wonderful to meet you here like this.’
‘Well, I don’t know about that,’ said Mr Hobbs. ‘It’s extremely nice to meet you!’ And they both laughed as though they were old friends.
A fresh round of drinks was brought, and the conversation became general again, and he sat listening. Soon the talk got right above his head, but he was still fascinated to listen. But all at once he began trembling again, and Johnnie, coming and sitting next to him, said, ‘How do you feel, George? Do you want to go home? You look rather pale.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think I’d better go.’ And the trembling came on more violently.
Eddie Carstairs had observed what was going on. ‘Is he all right?’ he said.
‘Yes. He’ll be all right,’ said Johnnie. ‘I’ll see him home in a taxi.’
‘I’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘It’ll soon stop. It’s only this trembling.’
‘Well, you’d better go home,’ said Eddie Carstairs. ‘I’ve got the car outside. You can come in that.’
‘No – don’t bother, Eddie,’ said Johnnie. ‘I can easily take him in a taxi.’
‘No – the car’s outside. Come on. We’ll see him home together.’
‘What’s all this about going home?‘ said Mr Hobbs. ‘Who’s going home?’
‘We’re seeing Mr Bone home,’ said Eddie Carstairs, he’s not feeling too good.’
‘Seeing Mr Bone home. Fine! Can we come too?’
‘Yes. You can come,’ and all at once the thing to do was to see Mr Bone home. Nothing else would do. ‘I’m sorry you’ve got to go,’ said Mr Hobbs in his ear. ‘I expect you’ve got a chill or something?’
‘Yes, I think I must have,’ he said. ‘I’m all right, but it’s just this trembling.’
There were a lot of cracks as they got out their hats and coats from the cloak-room, and then decided they didn’t want them and put them back, and they all flowed out of the revolving doors into the night, where they found themselves, as people will coming out into the night, decidedly drunker than they had been previously.
There was a lot of argument as to who should sit where, but at last they had all, except him, crowded into the back, and Eddie Carstairs went to the driver’s seat, and said, ‘You come and sit here, Mr Bone – don’t bother about them.’ And George Harvey Bone – the guest of honour – climbed into the great bloody Rolls and sat beside its owner.
Chapter Six
But it wasn’t a great bloody Rolls any more, because he was inside it at its owner’s invitation: it was a warm, infinitely fascinating and voluptuous piece of mechanism which backed quietly and slid forth like a liner.
‘Where are you staying, George?’ said Johnnie from behind, and he said he didn’t know exactly; but he could find it: it was a room in a little street near the Little Castle Hotel.
There was a great deal of argument behind as to where the Little Castle Hotel lay, some saying it was in Kemp Town, others saying it was in Hove, and one jovially dissentient voice hotly declaring it was in Edinburgh, but Johnnie said he knew it: it was just off Castle Square, and Eddie Carstairs drove ahead in silence.
His trembling had stopped again, and he felt weak and happy and dazed. He watched Eddie Carstairs using the gears, and marvelled at their quietness and precision; and he said, not seeking to please, not even conscious of himself: ‘What a wonderful car – isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is nice, isn’t it?’ said Eddie Carstairs. ‘I’ve had it three years now and I’m still cra
zy about it.’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s wonderful.’
He sat there, this enormous, ill, simple-minded man who had suffered so much mentally – he sat there, in the late lights of Brighton chasing through the darkness of the car, looking now at the driver’s steering, now at the street, weak, happy, and at peace, his blue unhappy hunted eyes staring out, harmless, bewildered, hopeful, grateful. All the years and sorrow seemed to slip away from those eyes, and there was the little boy again, the little boy who had been hurt, and was being given a treat. He was unaware of his pathos, his simplicity, the fact that he had a charm – a charm which made him entirely acceptable to all who valued such things. He was only infinitely grateful to Johnnie, and to this once dreaded and hated man who had come out of a hotel to see him home, and to the friendly accepting men behind.
They were still making a great deal of noise behind, but Eddie Carstairs remained quiet. All at once, however, he broke the silence.
‘Well, George,’ he said, not looking at him, for he was taking a comer with care, ‘I suppose you’ve been having a lot of thick nights lately, haven’t you?’
He was so amazed and nattered to hear himself called ‘George’ in that off-hand yet friendly way, that he hardly knew how to answer.
‘Yes, I have,’ he said. ‘I have really.’
‘One has to stop sometimes, doesn’t one?’ said Eddie, ‘or it gets one down.’
‘Yes, one has,’ he said. ‘Though it’s not really late nights so much with me. I just seem to have got into a state…’
‘What sort of a state?…’ said Eddie Carstairs after another pause, in his quiet voice…
‘Oh – just a state…’
‘Not a woman, I hope,’ said this remarkable man… And there was another pause…
‘Oh, well… perhaps… sort of…’
‘Because that’s not worth it. You take my word for it,’ said Eddie Carstairs, and from behind, Johnnie’s voice suddenly said, ‘Yes, he’s right there, George. He’s certainly right there, you know.’
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