Mufti

by Sapper

  He handed her the cigarette box, and with a faint smile hovering round her lips, she looked up at him.

  “Is your thirdly safe?” she asked.

  “Mrs Green thought it wonderful. A suitable climax to a dramatic situation.”

  “You’ve had a rehearsal, have you?”

  “Just a preliminary canter to see I hadn’t forgotten anything.”

  “And she approved?”

  “She suggested an alternative that, I am rather inclined to think, might be better,” he answered. “It’s certainly simpler…”

  Again she smiled faintly. “I’m not certain that Mrs Green’s simpler alternative strikes me as being much safer than your thirdly,” she murmured. “Incidentally, am I failing again in my obvious duties? It seems to me that Binks sort of expects something…” Another fusillade of tail thumps greeted the end of the sentence.

  “Great Scott!” cried Vane, “I should rather think you were. However, I don’t think you could very well have known; it’s outside the usual etiquette book.” He handed her the india-rubber dog. “A feint towards the window, one towards the door – and then throw.”

  A quivering, ecstatic body, a short, staccato bark – and Binks had caught his enemy. He bit once; he bit again – and then, a little puzzled, he dropped it. Impossible to conceive that it was really dead at last – and yet, it no longer hooted. Binks looked up at his master for information on the subject, and Vane scratched his head.

  “That sure is the devil, old son,” he remarked. “Have you killed it for keeps. Bring it here…” Binks laid it obediently at Vane’s feet. “It should squeak,” he explained to Joan as he picked it up “mournfully and hideously.”

  She came and stood beside him and together they regarded it gravely, while Binks, in a state of feverish anticipation, looked from one to the other.

  “Get on with it,” he tail-wagged at them furiously; “get on with it, for Heaven’s sake! Don’t stand there looking at one another…”

  “I think,” his master was speaking in a voice that shook, “I think the metal squeak has fallen inside the animal’s tummy…”

  “You ought to have been a vet,” answered the girl, and her voice was very low. “Give it to me; my finger is smaller.”

  She took the toy from Vane’s hand and bent over it.

  “Thank goodness somebody takes an intelligent interest in matters of import,” thought Binks – and then with a dull, unsqueaking thud his enemy fell at his feet.

  “My dear – my dear!” His master’s voice came low and tense and pretence was over. With hungry arms Vane caught the girl to him, and she did not resist. He kissed her eyes, her hair, her lips, while she lay passively against him. Then she wound her arms round his neck, and gave him back kiss for kiss.

  At last she pushed him away. “Ah! don’t, don’t,” she whispered. “You make it so hard, Derek – so awfully hard…”

  “Not on your life,” he cried exultingly. “It’s easy that I’ve made it, my darling, so awfully easy…”

  Mechanically she patted her hair into shape, and then she stooped and picked up the toy.

  “We’re forgetting Binks,” she said quietly. She managed to get the circular metal whistle out of the inside of the toy, and fixed it in its appointed hole, while Vane, with a glorious joy surging through him, leaned against the mantelpiece and watched her in silence. Not until the squeaking contest was again going at full blast in a corner did he speak.

  “That was Mrs Green’s simpler alternative,” he said reflectively. “Truly her wisdom is great.”

  In silence Joan went towards the window. For a while she looked out with unseeing eyes, and then she sank into a big easy chair with her back towards Vane. A thousand conflicting emotions were rioting through her brain; the old battle of heart against head was being waged. She was so acutely alive to his presence just behind her; so vitally conscious of his nearness. Her whole body was crying aloud for the touch of his hands on her again – and then, a vision of Blandford came before her. God! what did it matter – Blandford, or her father, or anything? There was nothing in the world which could make up for – what was it he had called it? – the biggest thing in Life.

  Suddenly she felt his hands on her shoulders; she felt them stealing down her arms. She felt herself lifted up towards him, and with a little gasp of utter surrender she turned and looked at him with shining eyes.

  “Derek, my darling,” she whispered. “Que je t’adore…”

  And then of her own accord, she kissed him on the lips…

  It was Binks’ expression, about a quarter of an hour later, which recalled them to earth again. With an air of pained disgust he regarded them stolidly for a few minutes. Then he had a good scratch on both sides of his neck, after which he yawned. He did not actually say “Pooh,” but he looked it, and they both laughed.

  “Dear man,” she whispered, “wouldn’t it be just too wonderful if it could always be just you and me and Binks?…”

  “And why shouldn’t it be, lady?” he answered, and his arm went round her waist. “Why shouldn’t it be? We’ll just sometimes have to see some horrible outsider, I suppose, and perhaps you or somebody will have to order food every year or so… But except for that – why, we’ll just slip down the stream all on our own, and there won’t be a little bit of difficulty about keeping your eyes in the boat, grey girl…”

  She smiled – a quick, fleeting smile; and then she sighed.

  “Life’s hell, Derek – just hell, sometimes. And the little bits of Heaven make the hell worse.”

  “Life’s pretty much what we make it ourselves, dear,” said Vane gravely.

  “It isn’t,” she cried fiercely. “We’re what life makes us…”

  Vane bent over and started pulling one of Binks’ ears.

  “You hear that, old man,” he said. “The lady is a base materialist, while I – your funny old master – am sprouting wings and growing a halo as a visionary.” Vane looked sideways at the girl. “He manages to make his own life, Joan. He’d be as happy with me in a garret as he would in a palace… Probably happier, because he’d mean more to me – fill a bigger part of my life.”

  Suddenly he stood up and shook both his fists in the air. “Damn it,” he cried, “and why can’t we cheat ’em, Joan? Cheat all those grinning imps, and seize the Blue Bird and never let it go?”

  “Because,” she answered slowly, “if you handle the Blue Bird roughly or snatch at it and put it in a cage, it just pines away and dies. And then the imps grin and chuckle worse than ever…”

  She rose and put her hands on his shoulders. “It’s here now, my dear. I can hear it fluttering so gently near the window… And that noise from the streets is really the fairy chorus…”

  A motor car honked discordantly and Vane grinned.

  “That’s a stout-hearted little fellow with a good pair of lungs on him.” She smiled back at him, and then she pushed him gently backwards and forwards with her hands.

  “Of course he’s got good lungs,” she said. “He toots like that whenever anybody falls in love, and twice when they get married, and three times when…”

  Vane’s breath came in a great gasp, and he pushed her away almost roughly.

  “Don’t – for God’s sake, don’t, Joan…”

  “My dear,” she cried, catching his arm, “forgive me. The Blue Bird’s not gone, Derek – it’s still there. Don’t frighten it – oh! don’t. We won’t snatch at it, won’t even think of making any plans for caging it – we’ll just assume it’s going to stop… I believe it will then… And afterwards – why what does afterwards matter? Let’s be happy while we may, and – perhaps, who knows – we will cheat those grinning imps after all…”

  “Right,” cried Vane, catching her hands, “right, right, right. What shall we do, my dear, to celeb
rate the presence of our blue visitor?…”

  For a moment she thought, and then her eyes lit up. “You’re still on leave, aren’t you?”

  “Even so, lady.”

  “Then tomorrow we will take a car…”

  “My car,” interrupted Vane. “And I’ve got ten gallons of petrol.”

  “Glorious. We’ll take your car, and will start ever so early, and go to the river. Sonning, I think – to that ripping pub where the roses are. And then we’ll go on the river for the whole day, and take Binks, and an invisible cage for the Blue Bird… We’ll take our food, and a bone for Binks and the squeaky dog. Then in the evening we’ll have dinner at the White Hart, and Binks shall have a napkin and sit up at table. And then after dinner we’ll come home. My dear, but it’s going to be Heaven.” She was in his arms and her eyes were shining like stars. “There’s only one rule. All through the whole day – no one, not even Binks – is allowed to think about the day after.”

  Vane regarded her with mock gravity. “Not even if we’re arrested for joy riding?” he demanded.

  “But the mascot will prevent that, silly boy,” she cried. “Why would we be taking that cage for otherwise?”

  “I see,” said Vane. “It’s the most idyllic picture I’ve ever even thought of. There’s only one thing. I feel I must speak about it and get it over.” He looked so serious that for a moment her face clouded. “Do not forget – I entreat of you, do not forget – your meat coupon.” And then with the laughter that civilisation has decreed shall not be heard often, save on the lips of children, a man and a girl forgot everything save themselves. The world of men and matters rolled on and passed them by, and maybe a year of Hell is fair exchange for that brief space…

  Chapter 13

  The next morning dawned propitious, and Vane, as he drove his two-seater through the park to Ashley Gardens, sang to himself under his breath. He resolutely shut his eyes to the hurrying streams of khaki and blue and black passing in and out of huts and Government buildings. They simply did not exist; they were an hallucination, and if persisted in might frighten the mascot.

  Joan was waiting for him when he drove up at half past nine, with Binks sitting importantly on the seat beside him.

  “Get right in, lady,” cried Vane, “and we’ll be off to the Land of the Pixies. But, for the love of Mike, don’t put anything on Binks’ adversary in the hood. He hasn’t had his proper morning battle yet, and one squeak will precipitate a catastrophe.”

  Never had he seen Joan looking so charming. Of course she was in grey – that was in the nature of a certainty on such an occasion, but she might have been in sackcloth for all the attention Vane paid to her clothes. It was her face that held him, with the glow of perfect health on her cheeks, and the soft light of utter happiness in her eyes. She was pretty – always; but with a sudden catch of his breath Vane told himself that this morning she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen.

  “I’ve got the cage, Derek,” she said, “and the beautifullest bone for Binks that he’s ever thought of…”

  “You dear,” answered Vane, and for a moment their eyes met. “You absolute dear…” Then with a quick change of tone he laughed. “Jump in, grey girl – and avaunt all seriousness. Do you mind having Binks on your lap?”

  “Do I mind?” she answered reproachfully. “Did you hear that, Binkie? He’s insulting you.”

  But Binks was claiming his share of the Blue Bird and refused to take offence. He just opened one brown eye and looked at her, and then he went peacefully to sleep again. He rather liked this new acquisition to the family…

  And so began the great day. They didn’t go far from the hotel; just under the old bridge and up a little way towards Sonning lock, where the river forks, and the trees grow down to the water’s edge. To every man whose steps lead him on to the Long Trail, there is some spot in this island of ours the vision of which comes back to him when the day’s work is done and he lies a-dreaming of Home. To some it may be the hills in the Highlands with the wonderful purple mist over them growing black as the sun sinks lower and lower; to others a little golden sanded beach with the red sandstone cliffs of Devon rising sheer around it, and the tiny waves rippling softly through the drowsy morning. It is not always thus: sometimes the vision shows them a heaving grey sea hurling itself sullenly on a rockbound coast; a grey sky, and driving rain which stings their faces as they stand on the cliffs above the little cove, looking out into the lands beyond the water, where the strange roads go down…

  And then to some it may be the roar and bustle of Piccadilly that comes back to haunt them in their exile – the theatre, the music and the lights, the sound of women’s skirts; or the rolling Downs of Sussex with the white chalk quarries and great cockchafers booming past them through the dusk.

  To each and every one there is one spot hallowed by special memory, and that spot claims pride of place in day dreams. But when the mind rambles on, and the lumber-room of the past is open – to all who have tasted of its peaceful spell there comes the thought of the River. Spell it with Capitals; there is only one. Whether it be Bourne End with its broad reach and the sailing punts, or the wooded heights by Clevedon; whether it be Boulter’s Lock on Ascot Sunday, or the quiet stretch near Goring – there is only one River. Henley, Wargrave, Cookham – it matters not… They all go to form the River. And it’s one of them, or some of them, or all of them that brings that faint smile of reminiscence to the wanderer’s face as he stirs the fire with his boot.

  It’s so wonderful to drift – just once in a while. And those of the River always drift when they worship at her shrine. Only people who make money in tinned goods and things, and are in all respects dreadful, go on the River in launches, which smell and offend people. And they are not of the River…

  “If,” said Joan lazily, “you had suggested paddling to Reading, or punting several miles towards Henley, I should have burst into tears. And yet there are some people who deliberately set out to go somewhere…”

  “There are two things which precluded such an insane possibility,” he said. “The first is Binks; he likes to run about. And the second is that unless I have a kiss within one second I shall blow up…”

  “Of course you’ve known Binks longer than me, so I suppose I mustn’t object to the order of precedence.” She looked at him mockingly, then, with a quick, fierce movement, she took his face between her hands. And an intelligent and bewhiskered old water rat regarded the subsequent proceedings with a tolerant eye.

  “More of ’em at it, my dear,” he told his spouse, in his fastness under a gnarled tree root. “However, there’s no objection to the children having a look if it amuses them.” He cast a discriminating eye round the larder, and frowned heavily. “Hell! you don’t mean to say that we’ve got that damned ham bone again,” he growled. “However, we ought to pick up something when they’ve finished the exhibition and get down to their lunch…” He thoughtfully pulled his left whisker. “And by the way, my love, tell Jane not to go wandering about this afternoon, even if she is in love. There’s an abominable dog of the most dangerous description on the warpath. Let me know when those fools stop.”

  He composed himself for a nap, and the wash of a passing launch which flopped against the punt outside lulled him to sleep… He was a prosaic old gentleman, that water rat, so his peevishness may be forgiven him. After all, a ham bone is a ham bone and pretty poor at that, and when one has been the father of several hundreds, the romantic side of life pales considerably in the light of the possibilities of lunch.

  But up above, in the punt, the fools were busy according to their foolishness, quite unmindful of their disapproving audience. Maybe it is dangerous to try to cheat reality; but success justifies any experiment. And the day was successful beyond their wildest dreams. Binks grubbed about in the bank and incidentally gave the love-sick Jane the fright of her young life; unt
il at last, tired and dirty and happy, he lay down on the grass just above Vane’s head, and went on hunting in his dreams…

  As for the two chief fools, the day passed as such days have always passed since Time began. And the absolute happiness which comes with the sudden touch of a hand, the quick, unexpected glance, the long, passionate kiss, is not to be put on paper. They talked a little about aimless, intimate things; they were silent a great deal – those wonderful silences which become possible only with perfect understanding. And gradually the shadows lengthened, and the grey water began to grow darker… Sometimes from the old bridge came the noise of a passing car, and once an electric canoe went past them in the main stream, with a gramophone playing on board. The sound of the record came to them clearly over the water – the Barcarolle from Les Contes d’Hoffmann, and they listened until it died faintly away in the distance.

  Then at last, with a great sigh Vane stood up and stretched himself. For a long while he looked down at the girl, and it seemed to her that his face was sad. Without a word he untied the punt, and, still in silence, they paddled slowly back towards the hotel.

  It was only as they were drifting under the bridge that he spoke, just one short sentence, in a voice which shook a little.

  “My dear,” he whispered, “I thank you,” and very gently he raised her hand to his lips…

  But at dinner he had banished all traces of sadness from his mood. They both bubbled with the spontaneous happiness of two children. Binks, to his intense disgust, had to submit to the indignity of a table napkin tied round his neck, and all the occupants of the hotel thought them mad. Incidentally they were – quite mad, which was just as it should be after such a day. Only when they were leaving did they become sane again for a moment.

  “Just one more look at the river, my lady,” said Vane to her, “before we start. There’s a little path I know of, leading out of the rose garden where one can’t be seen, and we’ve just got to say our good-bye to the water alone.”