‘You’re making me cry.’
‘I can’t help that. Do you know how they treat Hons, Sally? Like dogs. They have to go into dinner behind the Vice-Chancellor of the County Palatinate of Lancaster.’
‘Well, it’s all over now, darling.’
‘The only bit of sunshine in their lives is the privilege of being allowed to stand at the bar of the House of Lords during debates. And I couldn’t even do that, my time being ear-marked for the cows I was punching in Arizona.’
‘I didn’t know you had ever punched cows.’
‘As a young man, hundreds. I had a beautiful punch in those days, straight and true, like the kick of a mule, and never travelling more than six inches. I also jerked soda, did a bit of newspaper work, which was when I met your father, and had a shot at prospecting in the Mojave Desert. But was I happy? No. Because always at the back of my mind, like some corroding acid, was the thought that I had to go into dinner behind the Vice-Chancellor of the County Palatinate of Lancaster. In the end, by pluck and perseverance, I raised myself from the depths and became what I am today. I’d like to see any Vice-Chancellor of the County Palatinate of Lancaster try to squash in ahead of me now.’
‘It’s like something out of Horatio Alger.’
‘Very like. But I’m boring you. I’m afraid we fellows who have made good have a tendency to go rambling on about our early struggles. Tell me of yourself. How are you doing these days, Sally?’
‘Well, I still go into dinner behind fashion editresses, but aside from that I’m making out pretty satisfactorily.’
‘Trade good?’
‘Not so bad.’
The cab drew up at the ornate portal of Barribault’s Hotel, and they made their way to the grill-room. As they took their seats, Sally was sniffing luxuriously.
‘Heaven!’ she said.
‘Hungry?’
‘I’m always hungry.’
Lord Ickenham looked at her a little anxiously.
‘You’re sure you’re not hard up, Sally?’
‘Not a bit. Busts are quite brisk. It’s odd, when you think how hideous most people are, that so many of them should want to hand their faces down to posterity.’
‘You wouldn’t deceive me?’
‘No, honestly. I’m opulent.’
‘Then why did you send me that SOS? What is the very urgent matter you wanted to see me about, with the “very” underlined?’
Sally was silent for a moment, but only because she was eating caviare. It did not often come her way.
‘Oh, that? It’s about Otis.’
‘My God!’
‘Well, it is. I’m sorry.’
‘Otis again! A thing I’ve noticed all my life is that the nicest girls always have the ghastliest brothers. It seems to be a law of nature. Well, what’s the trouble this time, and what do you want me to do?’
‘I’ll explain about the trouble later. What I want you to do is to ask Pongo to do something for me.’
‘Pongo?’
‘I can’t very well approach him direct,’ said Sally.
There was a sudden flatness in her voice which did not escape Lord Ickenham‘s quick ear. He leaned across and petted her hand.
‘A shame about you and Pongo, Sally.’
‘Yes.’
There was a silence. Lord Ickenham stole a glance across the table. Sally was gazing into the middle distance, her eyes, or so it seemed to him, suspiciously bright and with a disposition to moisture which disquieted him. It is rarely that an uncle is able to understand how a nephew of his can possibly cast a fatal spell and, fond as he was of Pongo, Lord Ickenham could not see him as a breaker of hearts. Yet it appeared plain that his loss had left a large gap in this girl’s life. Her air was the air of one who was pining for Pongo, and it was a relief when the waiter, arriving with truite bleue, broke a tension which had begun to be uncomfortable.
‘Tell me about Otis,’ he said.
Sally smiled a rather twisted smile.
‘You needn’t be tactful, Uncle Fred. I don’t mind talking about Pongo. At least …. No, of course I don’t. Have you seen him lately?’
‘He left me this afternoon. He turned up yesterday and spent the night.’
‘How was he looking?’
‘Oh, very well.’
‘Did he speak about me?’
‘Yes. And when I cursed him for being ass enough to part brass rags with you, he told me the inside story.’
‘About my wanting him to smuggle Alice Vansittart’s jewels into America?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was a fool to get mad. And it was all so unnecessary, as it turned out.’
‘The Vansittart decided on reflection to pay duty?’
‘No. But I thought of a much better way of slipping the stuff through. I’m not going to tell even you what it was, but it’s a peach of a way. It can’t fail. Alice is crazy about it.’
She spoke with a girlish animation which encouraged Lord Ickenham to hope that her heart was, after all, not irretrievably broken. That bright, moist look had gone from her eyes, leaving in its place a gleam not unlike that of which Pongo had so disapproved, when he had seen it in the eyes of his Uncle Fred.
‘She is, is she?’
‘When I told her, she clapped her hands in glee.’
‘You realize, of course, that it is very wrong to deceive the United States Customs authorities?’
‘Yes, it makes me miserable. Poor darlings.’
‘Still, there it is. So you and Pongo need not have split up at all.’
‘No.’
‘It was silly of him to take your breaking the engagement so seriously. My dear wife broke ours six times, and each time I came up smiling.’
‘I ought to have remembered that Pongo does take things seriously.’
‘Yes. A saintly character, but muttonheaded.’
‘And now he’s gone and got engaged to Hermione, only daughter of Sir Aylmer Bostock and Lady Bostock, of Ashenden Manor, Ashenden Oakshott, Hants. Oh, well. Do you know her, Uncle Fred?’
‘No, I’ve seen her photograph.’
‘So have I. It was in the Tatler. She’s very good-looking.’
‘If you admire that type of looks.’
‘Pongo seems to.’
‘Yes. For the moment you might describe him as being under the ether. But there will be a bitter awakening.’
‘You can’t know that just from seeing her photograph.’
‘Yes, I can. She’ll give him the devil.’
‘Oh, poor angel.’
There was another silence.
‘Well, what is it you want me to ask him to do for you?’ said Lord Ickenham. ‘I may mention that I’m pretty sure he will do it, whatever it is. He’s still damned fond of you, Sally.’
‘Oh, no.’
‘He is, I tell you. He confessed as much, in so many words.’
A dazzling smile flashed out on Sally’s face. The waiter, who was bringing chicken en casserole, caught it head-on and nearly dropped the dish.
‘Did he?’
‘And don’t forget that he still retained enough of the old affection to send you a customer in the shape of Sir Aylmer Bostock.’
‘Was it Pongo who got me that job? How like him,’ said Sally softly. ‘I love him for that. Though unfortunately it was through my doing that bust that poor Otis’s trouble came about.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘Well, to begin at the beginning, I did the bust.’
‘Quite.’
‘And during the process, of course, my sitter and I talked of this and that.’
‘Was his conversation entertaining?’
‘Not very. He was rather inclined to compare my efforts to their disadvantage with those of a sculptor who did a bust of him when he retired.’
‘The one that stands — or stood — in the hall at Ashenden?’
‘Yes. However did you know?’
‘Wait, my child. I shall shortly be telli
ng you a story of my own. Go on. He conversed with you, but you did not find him very entertaining.’
‘No. But he said one thing that gripped my attention, and that was that he had written his Reminiscences and had decided after some thought to pay for their publication. He spoke like a man who had had disappointments. So I said to myself “Ha! A job for Otis.”‘
‘I begin to see. Otis took it on and made a mess of it?’
‘Yes. In a negligent moment he slipped in some plates which should have appeared in a book on Modern Art which he was doing. Sir Aylmer didn’t like any of them much, but the one he disliked particularly was the nude female with “Myself in the Early Twenties” under it. The first thing I knew about it was when he sent the bust back. Lady Bostock brought it round to my studio with a stiff note. And now he’s bringing an action for enormous damages. If it comes off, it will smash Otis’s poor little publishing firm. It’s all rather unfortunate.’
‘Most. But characteristic of Otis.’
‘Poor lamb, he’s dreamy.’
‘Poor fish, he’s a nightmare. I suppose you put up money for his publishing firm?’
‘A certain amount.’
‘Oh, heavens. Well, I’m sorry to say it, my dear, but if what you tell me is correct, any jury will give Bostock Otis’s head on a charger.’
‘I know. If the thing ever comes into court. That’s why I need Pongo’s help. I want him to use his influence with Sir Aylmer to get him to withdraw the suit. He might persuade him to settle for some smallish amount which wouldn’t ruin Otis.’
‘That would be the happy ending, of course. But is Pongo persona grata with him?’
‘Surely?’
‘I wonder. It all depends on how he has come out with that bust. Strange that Otis’s future as a publisher, which I don’t care a damn about, and your little bit of money, which I do, should depend on Pongo’s ability to sneak a clay bust into Ashenden Manor and get away with it. Odd. Bizarre, you might say. Life can be very complicated at times.’
‘What do you mean? What bust?’
‘That is the story I am about to relate. Have you had enough to eat? Then let’s go and have our coffee in the lounge. Yes,’ said Lord Ickenham, when they had seated themselves in two of the luxurious armchairs which Barribault’s Hotel provides for its patrons, ‘very complicated indeed. I told you Pongo came to my place last night.’
‘Yes.’
‘Today, after lunch, he started out for Ashenden, to fascinate the old folks. I waved him a tender farewell, and thought that that was the last I should see of him for at least a week. I was wrong. He was back again in under two hours. Deeply agitated. More like a cat on hot bricks than anything human.’
‘But why?’
‘Because, in endeavouring to demonstrate to the Ashenden Manor housemaid how Brazilian natives shoot birds with rude slings, he had happened to break that bust in the hall, of which you were speaking just now.’
‘Oh, golly.’
‘Hullo! You agitated, too?’
‘Of course I’m agitated. Don’t you see, Uncle Fred? Sir Aylmer adores that bust. He’ll be furious with Pongo —‘
‘Thus rendering Pongo in no position to plead for Otis? Yes, that seems to follow. But calm yourself. All may yet be well. His motive in coming to me was to borrow another bust to put on the bereaved pedestal, in the hope that the substitution would not be noticed.’
‘That was bright.’
‘Yes, much too bright for Pongo. It must have been the housemaid who suggested it. He isn’t what I would call a quick-witted chap. I remember so well his confusion of mind when they were asking him his name that day at the Dog Races. He had got as far as “Tw —“ when I was fortunately able to lean across and whisper to him that he was Edwin Smith of 11 Nasturtium Road, East Dulwich.’
‘And what were you?’
‘George Robinson, of number fourteen in the same thoroughfare. Yes, I think we may safely attribute to the housemaid any swift intelligence that was displayed on this occasion. Well, I gave him a bust and he drove off with it. We have no means of knowing as yet, of course, if the simple ruse has proved effective, but I think we may feel reasonably optimistic. He tells me it is darkish in the corner of the hall where the original used to stand, and I don’t suppose Mugsy is in the habit of scrutinizing it too carefully. Just a casual glance in passing, and he toddles off to the garden to enjoy the sunshine.’
‘Why do you call him Mugsy?’
‘We always used to at school.’
‘Were you and Sir Aylmer at school together?’
‘For years.’
‘Then couldn’t you plead with him?’
‘No, I could not. I was telling his nephew, whom I met in the train yesterday, that I once gave young Mugsy Bostock six with a fives bat, and no doubt the incident still rankles. Pongo is the one who must plead.’
‘If everything has gone well.’
‘I feel convinced that it has. He says Mugsy is short-sighted and won’t wear spectacles, and he described the housemaid as staunch and true and not at all the sort to squeal to the big four.’
‘You’re a great comfort, Uncle Fred.’
‘I try to be, my dear. Sweetness and light, that is my slogan.’
‘It was lucky you happened to have a bust handy.’
‘Extraordinarily fortunate. For one reason and another Ickenham Hall has never been very well provided with them. Statues, yes. If you came to me with a hurry call for a nude Venus, I could fill the order without any trouble whatsoever. My grandfather specialized in them. “Home isn’t home,” he used to say, running a thoughtful hand through his whiskers, “without plenty of nude Venuses.” The result being that in certain parts of the grounds you have the illusion of having wandered into a Turkish bath on ladies’ night. But busts, no. We Ickenhams have somehow never gone in for busts. So if it hadn’t been for you providentially leaving one in my care —It is not easy to rise in a single bound from a Barribault armchair, but Sally had done so. Her face was pale, and she was staring with wide, horrified eyes.
‘Uncle Fred! You didn’t give him that one?’
‘Yes. Why, what’s wrong?’
Sally dropped back into her chair.
‘It had Alice’s jewels in it,’ she said in a toneless whisper.
‘What!’
‘Yes. I slipped them in at the top of the plaster, and Alice was going to call for the bust next week and take it to America. That was the “way” I was telling you I thought of.’
‘Well, dash my wig and buttons!’ said Lord Ickenham.
There followed a pregnant silence. Having dashed his wig and buttons, Lord Ickenham, though nobody could have called him an unresourceful man, seemed at a loss. He scratched his chin, he twirled his moustache, he drummed with his fingers on the side of his chair, but without obtaining anything in the nature of an inspiration.
Finally he rose.
‘Well, it’s no good saying I’m sorry, my dear. Nor is there much to be gained by pointing out that I meant well. What you want is a policy, not remorseful bleatings. I think I’ll take a turn up and down outside. The fresh air may assist the flow of thought. And the flow of thought would certainly seem to need all the assistance it can get.’
He went out through the revolving door, his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back. When he returned some minutes later, it was with a message of hope. His face had cleared and he was his old bright self again.
‘It’s all right, my child. This little difficulty can be very simply adjusted. It just needed concentration. You did tell me Mugsy had returned that bust you did of him? You have it at the studio?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then all is well. We will go down to Ashenden tomorrow in the car, taking it with us, and I will substitute it for the one now in residence.’
‘But —’
‘Don’t say “But.”‘
‘How —?‘
‘And don’t say “How.” It’s the sort of thin
g the boys in the back room used to say to Columbus when he told them he was going to discover America, and look how silly he made them feel. I’ll find a way. Don’t bother your head about the trifling details, leave them to me. You go home and pack a few necessaries and get a good night’s rest, while I remain and iron out the one or two points I haven’t got quite straight yet. More coffee? No? Then off you go. Bless my soul,’ said Lord Ickenham with boyish relish, as he escorted her to the door, ‘what a providential thing that this should have happened.
Something on these lines was just what I was needing, to stimulate me and bring back the flush of youth. I feel as I did when Pongo and I started out last spring for Blandings Castle in the roles of Sir Roderick Glossop, the brain specialist, and his nephew Basil. Did he ever tell you about that?’
‘No.’
‘Odd. I should have thought it would have been one of his dearest memories. You shall have the whole story tomorrow on the journey down. Well, good night, my dear,’ said Lord Ickenham, assisting Sally into her taxi. ‘Sleep well, and don’t worry. You can trust me to look after everything. This is the sort of situation that brings out the best in me. And when you get the best in Frederick Altamont Cornwallis, fifth Earl of good old Ickenham, you’ve got something.’
5
It was the custom of Lady Bostock, when the weather was fine, to sit in a garden chair on the terrace of Ashenden Manor after luncheon, knitting socks for the deserving poor. A believer, like Lord Ickenham, in spreading sweetness and light, she considered, possibly correctly, that there is nothing that brings the sunshine into grey lives like a sock or two.
On the day following the events which have just been recorded the weather was extremely fine. Soft white clouds floated across a sky of the purest blue, the lake shone like molten silver, and from the adjacent flower-beds came the murmur of bees and the fragrant scent of lavender and mignonette. It was an afternoon to raise the spirits, lighten the heart and set a woman counting her blessings one by one.
Nor did Lady Bostock omit to do this. She recognized these blessings as considerable. It was pleasant to be home again, though she had never really enjoyed life in the country, preferring Cheltenham with its gay society. Mrs Gooch, the cook, had dished up an inspired lunch. And ever since the assignment of judging the bonny babies at the fete had been handed to his nephew William, Sir Aylmer had been in a mood which could almost be called rollicking, a consummation always devoutly to be wished by a wife whose life work it was to keep him in a good temper. She could hear him singing in his study now. Something about his wealth being a burly spear and brand and a right good shield of hides untanned which on his arm he buckled — or, to be absolutely accurate, ber-huckled.
Uncle Dynamite Page 6