The Fancy

by Dickens, Monica

  “That’s all right,” said Mr. Bell. “Sit down, there’s a good chap. Harry!” he raised his voice, and Harry came round the partition from the Saloon Bar with more a,” she said. “ blyhlacrity than he had ever given Edward when he stood at the bar with only the width of it between them.

  “Double whisky, Harry,” said Mr. Bell, and glanced enquiringly at the other two.

  “The same for me,” said Edward, and Dick said, after a pause : “I’ll take whisky,” as if it were something new he had thought up. “Only safe drink these days,” said E. Dexter Bell. “I know for a fact that all the gin is doctored, and as for the beer — ye gods! Interesting thing, I met a chap the other day, Who’s by way of being an analytical chemist. He’s been working on some Government tests at the various breweries and he assured me that the average maximum percentage of alcohol content was lower by—let’s see, was it five point five, or five point ought five?—forget my own name next—than two years ago.” He stared at Dick Bennett through his great spectacles and Dick nodded his head slowly, impressed.

  When Harry appeared behind the bar with the drinks, Edward was getting up to fetch them, but Mr. Bell restrained him and Harry lifted a flap and came through with the tray. “There you are, Mr. Bell,” he said, wiping the table, “three doubles and a large soda. How’s business?”

  “Don’t speak of it, Harry, I’m a ruined man.”

  “Aren’t we all?” said Harry, going gloomily away with the tray on which was the money with which Mr. Bell, shocked at the idea, had forestalled Edward’s hand as it went to his pocket. Dick Bennett had previously allocated a certain amount out of petty cash to pay for these drinks, so this upset his calculations. They would have to have a second round to put them straight.

  After talking about anything and everything except rabbits for ten minutes, E. Dexter Bell said : “But we didn’t come here for idle gossip, however pleasant it may be. To work, gentlemen! I want to hear all your progress and plans for this Club. Spare me nothing, however circumstantial. I’m a business man myself and I appreciate business details. I may say I’m interested, extremely interested in your little project, so go ahead, Edwards, and spare me nothing. Tell me exactly how you’re going about it,” he said and then proceeded to tell Edward and Dick, almost without pause, how he would go about it if he were they.

  In all the conversation, Edward was hampered by a ridiculous impulse to call him sir, particularly when he was talking about his rabbits, which made Edward’s own collection seem about as impressive as a schoolboy’s hutchful. Mr. Bell had spoken often in his letters of his champion stud Flemish, one Dexter Royalist. Edward had marked him down as a likely husband for the best of Queenie’s grandchildren, who already at seven months was showing promise of the size after which Edward was striving. But even if his master agreed, Champion Royalist would never look at so humble a bride. Why should he, when groomed and pampered lovelies from harems all over England came in patent travelling boxes to his bridal couch?

  “You know,” Edward said to Dick, when Mr. Bell had left them to see a man about the proverbial dog, ha-ha, “I almost wish we hadn’t got mixed up with this man. He’s right out of our class. If we let him have his way, he’ll try and make the thing too big ; he’ll take it out of the reach of the little breeder and the novice, who are the people we really want to get at.”

  Dick was drawing patterns with a ring of spilt liquid on the table. “On principle, old man,” he said, “I’ve no doubt you’reI believe youan along right, but the way I looked at it, he’s just the man We want to get us going. You can’t run a Club without capital. You heard him offer to put up the money for our first show, if we needed it? He’s a real sportsman.”

  “All the same,” said Edward, “I can’t quite say why, but I don’t like him, you know.”

  “Don’t you?” said Dick, whose accent always broadened into a trace of Yorkshire when he was surprised. Mr. Bell came back. He had flat, important feet and fat thighs that stretched the trousers of his chalk-stripe blue suit. He walked with his hands in his pockets, his legs rather wide apart and had a trick of loosening his shoulders inside his coat as if he were feeling the power of them. Dick Bennett got up to fetch the drinks that they had ordered in his absence, and came back to the table, the glasses looking small and breakable in his huge fists.

  “Oh, not for me,” said Mr. Bell smiling. “I’ve had my ration. Never take two before dinner. Doesn’t do the old system any good, you know.”

  Dick Bennett looked up worried from the account book in which he was entering the price of the drinks.

  “Oh come on,” said Edward, “since it’s here.”

  “Positively not, Edwards, thanks very much all the same. I must be getting along in any case. I can’t tell you how much I’ve enjoyed meeting you and hearing your plans. We’d better make a date for next week, so that you can keep me au fait with progress.” He had told them that he used often to go to Paris on business ; staring into space and shaking his head sadly, he had added : “Ma pauvre Paree, What have they done to you?”

  Edward finished his drink, offered the third unwanted one to Dick and when he shook his head, drank it himself and stood up. He had told Connie that he would be late, but there was no sense in being too late. He was taking Dick back to supper with him.

  “Which way do you go?” asked Mr. Bell, shrugging himself into a greenish-brown teddy-bear coat with a belt.

  “Church Avenue,” said Edward, taking his mackintosh off the peg. “Along Arthur Road and down the hill.”

  “I’ll walk along with you. It’s on my way,” said E. Dexter Bell, settling his hat at a good angle. Outside the door, he switched on a torch like a lighthouse.

  “I say,” said Edward, “that’s a bit bright, isn’t it? You’ll have the Wardens after you if you go about with a light like that.”

  “Not me,” said Mr. Bell, making the light suddenly dim. “You see, I keep my hand over it when there’s anybody about, and get the full benefit of it in the quiet streets, where you need it. I don’t want to break my neck.”

  “Yes, but a light like that could be seen from the sky,” said Edward, as they turned into a side street and Mr. Bell uncovered the beam. “You’re spoiling the whole blackout.” Three double whiskies had made him feel truculent.

  “Oh, they’re a lot less particular about the blackout than they were,” said Mr. Bell lightly. “Anyway, there’s not a Hun within miles tonight.”

  Dick Bennett was in a quandary. As a part-time Air Raid Warden, even off duty, it was up to him to do something about the searchlight which preceded them down Ar,” she said. “ blyhthur Road ; as treasurer of the Collis Park Domestic Rabbit Club, it was up to him to keep in with Mr. Bell. He struggled with himself. Edward, who was annoyed, had begun to hum. To cover his embarrassment, Dick said heavily : “That’s a very fine torch.”

  “I believe you,” said Mr. Bell. “You wouldn’t find one like it in the shops, I can tell you. You have to know where to go for these things. But I’m not telling. No names, no pack drill, as they say. By the way Edwards, you won’t forget to let me have a look at that form the B.R.C. sent you, before you send it in? You want to be careful how you fill up a thing like that, you know. I might be able to put you right on one or two things. When it’s a question of allocation of rations, you want to know how to deal with these people. Tell you what, I’ll just pop along to your house with you, if you’re only in Church Avenue, and pick it up. Perhaps I could have a look at your stock.”

  Edward let them into the hall of his house, and switched on the spectral blue light. Mr. Bell pretended to have fallen over the umbrella stand and switched on his torch, spot-lighting Connie, who had come out of the kitchen beyond the stairs, to tell Edward and Dick that they were very late and must not be surprised if the fish was spoiled.

  “This is Mr. Bell, dear,” said Edward. “Mr. Dexter Bell.”

  “How d’you do, Mrs. Edwards? “said Mr. Bell. “Forgive the intrusion, but
I’m a fellow-fancier of your husband’s. We’ve been making great plans, Mrs. Edwards, great plans.”

  “How do you do?” said Connie. “The name is Ledward. Won’t you take off your coat?” Another of these dreadful rabbit men. Edward might tell her when he was bringing in strangers. Here she was, caught out in her stringy old green jumper. She never bothered to change for Dick Bennett.

  “Mr. Bell’s only just looked in to fetch a paper and have a squint at the rabbits,” said Edward quickly, before she could think that he had brought him to supper. “Let’s go out to them, shall we? You’d better bring that torch. I hope you don’t mind going through the kitchen.” Dick and Mr. Bell in his teddy-bear coat took up a lot of room in the narrow hall, and Connie had to step inside the living-room doorway to let them go by.

  “Hullo, Dick,” she said without enthusiasm. She distinctly smelt whisky in the air.

  Mr. Bell distinctly smelt fish in the kitchen. He stopped short, while Edward was unbolting the back door, and sniffed, “My,” he said, “something smells good. What is it?” I will not ask you to supper, said Edward to himself, pretending not to hear and going out into the back garden. “Come along,” he said, “we’re showing a light if I don’t shut the door.” They stood in the cold, quiet darkness for a moment until Mr. Bell’s torch violated the blackout once more. He flashed it on the first hutch and its occupant, the nervous little grey doe who was like Wendy Holt, shrank against the back wall, blinking.

  “All right, little thing,” said Mr. Bell shading the torch, as he crouched down to look at her. “They don’t like a bright light, you know,” he said to Edward, who had just been going to tell him that. They both squatted in front of the doe, with Mr. Bell going : “Hm … hm …” as he considered her points. “I thought you said you were going all out for size?” he said.

  “Yes, I am, really” said Edward. “I like her though. I don ‘t want to get rid of her.” He knew he should have done so long ago, when he began to concentrate on the Ledward strain. She had never been anything but a loss, because even when her litters were not sickly, she was so nervous that she frequently killed them within the first day or two. She was almost impossible to get into kindle too, as the train journey upset her so much that she would resist the Buck like an out-raged spinster. But although she was not really worth food or hutch space, he refused to part with her. He had recently changed her name to Wendy. Since he had become so fond of the girls on his bench at Canning Kyles, he had named rabbits after all of them. Three of Queenie’s latest litter were called Paddy, Madeleine and Sheila, and the great bouncing young doe, who challenged cats through the wire netting and came back from her honeymoons with a rollicking eye and a tremendous appetite had long ago been changed from Princess to Dinah.

  Mr. Bell got up and moved on to the next cage. “You’re absolutely wrong,” he said, “with a small collection like yours, you must, you simply must cut out the dead heads. If you’re going for size, chuck out anything that doesn’t promise to be big. If it’s coat you’re after same thing applies. Chuck out anything shabby. It’s the only way to get results. That’s just the difference between the amateur and the professional, you see. The amateur so seldom has the courage of his convictions.”

  “Oh, but I do,” said Edward, “it’s only just that particular doe——” He followed Mr. Bell down the line of hutches, trying to justify himself, while Dick Bennett followed behind them, breathing heavily in the darkness.

  “Now this is a good buck!” exclaimed Mr. Bell in surprise, as if Edward didn’t know. He shone the torch full on to the great blinking Masterman, the pride of Edward’s stock. He was only young yet, but he was going to keep him as a stud buck. He had all the qualities necessary for a founder of the Ledward strain.

  “Yes, sir,” said Mr. Bell, and lowered himself on to his fat haunches to have a closer look. Edward couldn’t help being gratified by his admiration, because after all, he did know something about rabbits. Dick Bennett was impressed too. He squatted behind them like a great bear, whistling softly through his teeth. “You haven’t told me about this one, Ted,” he said enviously. “You sly old devil, I’d no idea you’d been keeping something like this up your sleeve.”

  “It’s Masterman. Dick,” said Edward, “you’ve seen him ever so often.”

  “Have I? Surely not. He’s never been as big as this. He must have grown at a tremendous rate then.”

  “He has,” said Edward happily. “I’ve been trying him on a new diet and it seems to be working. As a matter of fact, I’ve written a letter about it for Backyard Breeding. I’m hoping they’ll put it in this week.”

  “Backyard Breeding?” said Mr. Bell, getting up, and yawning to disguise the noise of his bones cracking, “sound paper that. Apropos of what I was saying about chucking out, Edwards, you ought to read my friend Allan Colley ; he’s very hot on selective breeding.”

  “I know,” said Edward. My friend Allan Colley? “Do you know him, then?”

  “Know him? Why, bless your hearI believe youan alongt, we’re like that” said Mr. Bell, crossing two fingers in the beam of his torch. “Known him for ages, met him at shows all over the country. Oh, he’s a great lad is the old collie dog. He’s forgotten more about Flemishes than you or I will ever know. Grand chap!”

  “He must be,” said Edward. “I’ve always wanted to meet him.”

  “Well, no reason why you shouldn’t. He might be interested in out little venture. He likes to encourage new enterprise. I might bring him along some day. He lives quite near here as a matter of fact—Raynes Park. He’s got a fine place ; house in its own grounds, and his wife——” he blew a kiss into the air, “what a peach! They entertain a lot.”

  “I’d love to meet him,” said Edward, thrilled to the core and suddenly back in the second eleven, watching the Captain of the school bearing down on him across the field at half-time to congratulate him on a lucky goal. He viewed Mr. Bell in a completely new light.

  “Well, let’s just have a quick dekko at the others while I’m here,” said E. Dexter, “and then I must be off, or my sister will be thinking I’ve gone under a bus.” His sister? Was she the U of “Uanmee”? Come to think of it, he had never spoken of a wife in all his conversation about himself.

  “There aren’t any more,” said Edward. “That’s the lot.”

  “Oh, “he said and turned to go indoors, falling over a dustbin on the way and conveying by his oaths that at “Uanmee” you didn’t have to go past dustbins to get to the rabbits.

  In the kitchen, he began to sniff again, and even opened the oven door to look inside. “I thought so,” he said, smacking his lips. “I know a herring when I smell one. My favourite fruit. Why d’you have Rp to state tha

  Chapter 7

  *

  There were no placards but only, as Dinah had foretold, a lot of looks and remarks about circles under the eyes, when Kitty came back from her honeymoon, looking faintly surprised but otherwise no different.

  Why should she? thought Dinah. It would take more than three days with Leonard Bright to make anyone look different. One week a year was the maximum Leave allowed to Service wives, and Kitty and Len had decided to save four days of it in case he suddenly got Embarkation Leave later on.

  Edward felt sorry for her. There she had been on Wednesday, with her pipes en fête, blushing and giggling among the ribbons, radiantly excited ; and on Monday, almost before they had had time to notice she was gone, there she was back again, perching childishly on her stool and being called Mrs. Bright, with emphatic wit. And that was marriage. To Edward, she symbolised the pathos of every wartime bride. Feeling sentimental about her, he tried to think of ways in which he could lessen what must be the burden of that first day. He inspected some draintaps for her while she was doing the pipes, and she was grateful, unaware that the A.I.D. would be back with them tomorrow with sarcastic enquiries about Mod. 202. All day he kept coming up and asking her if she wanted any help, and once, after she had booked th
ree oil pipes missing on her report, he came trotting back from the dismantling shop where he had taken them to clean, and she had to rub everything out.

  She had expected it to feel queer to come back and work there after three days of being married, but by the end of the day she found it almost impossible to believe that, she had ever been away. The day had been so exactly like other days, no more or less tedious. She had gone through all the usual phases : cold and depressed at first and inclined to wish that whoever it was had never invented the internal combustion engine, softening towards him after tea and a margarine roll at half-past nine had brought her fingers alive at last, bearing up until at about eleven-thirty it became evident that lunch time would never come. quite lively after the hour’s break, but falling away after an early tea into the state that made her shake her watch unbelievingly at half-past four and at intervals afterwards, until at half-past five she struck an interesting patch of work and looked up suddenly to see that it was five to six and she would have to fly for the toilet if she wanted to be out when the bell rang.

  She felt no different. She had to keep telling herself that she was married and looking down at her ring, because she didn’t feel married at all. Going listlessly through an unexcitingly perfect set of pipes, she thought again of the week-end behind her that had made the bad smell in the Redundant Storesining onnher into a married woman, with an Air Force allowance book and a new identity card, and tried to make it seem real. Long before she met Len, she had always visualised her honeymoon as the peak of her life—Paradise at the time and living in beautiful memory for years afterwards, with some fading photographs and a pressed flower, perhaps, and a menu card. Well, she had got the hotel bill, which her mother had described as highway robbery, but as for living through the years, the memory of her week-end honeymoon was already growing faint after one day. The factory and the girls, and even Edward in that familiar maroon tie, seemed much more real. The other was just an interlude : impossible to believe that it could have any effect on the course of her life.