'One second,' said Petunia's mum.
'Oh, God,' said Stringfellow.
'My daughter's hair's not right at the back.'
I began to feel sorry for the Stringfellow chap, even though he didn't understand the elements of nasal physiology.
'Make-up! Please fix Miss Madder's hair. At the back.'
They got ready to start again, and I was feeling pretty excited at seeing a real film being shot, when there was a shout from the back of 'Tea break!' and everyone knocked off for a cup and a bun.
I didn't have the chance for a word with Melody, because she was kept talking in a corner by Adam Stringfellow. And anyway my attention was divided between Hosegood, who'd gone green, and Quintin Finn, who was asking my opinion of all his pictures.
'Do go and see my next one, dear,' said Quintin. 'I'm a commando major, and it's ever so exciting. There goes the shooting bell again. I do so hope this won't make us late this evening. My chauffeur Roland gets ever so cross if I keep him waiting, the naughty thing.'
'With the permission of Mrs Madder and the man with the chronic hay-fever,' Stringfellow announced, as the bell stopped, 'we will now go again. Quiet everyone, for God's sake. At your marks, Melody? Right. Take five. Action.'
That time they started, but Melody got her lines mixed up.
'Again,' said Stringfellow, with the expression of Sir Lancelot Spratt when the gastroscope bulb went out. 'No wonder people watch television. Take six. Action.'
Poor Melody, possibly rattled by the sight of Hosegood undoing his waistcoat, made a mess of it again.
'In Heaven's name, Miss Madder! You've only to say, "Thank you for a wonderful evening." Do try and concentrate, darling, please.'_
'Don't you talk to my daughter in that tone,' said Mum.
'If you interrupt any more, Mrs Madder, I shall ask you to leave the set.'
She got up. 'You will, will you? And where would any of you be without my daughter, I'd like to know?'
'I'm sorry, Mrs Madder. Deeply sorry. But I am suffering from bad nerves and an inadequate budget and I cannot stand any more nonsense from you or anyone-'
There was a howl beside me, as Hosegood staggered to his feet gripping his epigastrium.
'Damn it!' he gasped. 'It's all the fault of that bloody ginger tart!'
'What did you call my daughter, you swine?' Mum shouted. 'Marry her? Over my dead body!'
And she hit him on the head with a convenient carpenter's hammer.
19
'What am I supposed to do at this performance, anyway?' asked Petunia.
'Nothing, except read Sir Lancelot's little speech. I've sub-edited it a bit, by the way. I didn't think there was much point in your quoting in Latin.'
'Won't I have to talk to a lot of doctors?'
'Only my cousin Miles, and he's been incapable of speech for days. The posh job he's after at St Swithin's is decided next Thursday week.'
Petunia lit a cigarette.
'One thing, I'm not half so scared of doctors and hospitals as I used to be. Not after visiting poor dear Jimmy after his accident.'
'How is the patient, by the way?'
'Oh, fine. The doctors have let him out for convalescence. He's gone to Morecambe.'
It was the middle of September and autumn had come to London, with the news-vendors' placards changing from CLOSE OF PLAY to CLASSIFIED RESULTS and the first fierce winds starting to tear the summer dresses off the trees. I'd just picked up Petunia at her Chelsea flat and was driving her across to Sir Lancelot's meeting in St Swithin's.
'I'll nip in and collect his Lordship and his lolly,' I said, drawing up in Belgrave Square. 'Once you've said your little piece he's only got to hand Sir Lancelot his ten thousand quid, then we can all go off and have a drink. It's as simple as that.'
I found Lord Nutbeam sitting by the fire, sealing the envelope.
'Hello,' I greeted him. 'And how are we feeling this morning?'
I'd become a little worried about my patient in the past few weeks. He'd been oddly subdued and gloomy, and inclined to sit staring out of the window, like in his worst Long Wotton days. But I supposed this was reasonable in a chap who'd just finished a couple of months trying out all the night-clubs in London.
'I am still a little low, thank you, Doctor. A little low. Indeed, I fear I'm hardly up to the strain of presenting my modest donation in person.'
I nodded. 'I certainly wouldn't recommend a stuffy meeting if you don't feel equal to it. Though everyone will be frightfully disappointed, of course.'
'Besides, I have a visitor calling at noon, and I shouldn't like to keep him waiting.'
'I'll give it to the Lord Mayor to hand over, then,' I suggested.
'The Lord Mayor? I'd prefer it if you'd just quickly present it yourself, Doctor.'
'Me? But dash it! I'm not nearly important enough.'
'Oh, come, my dear Doctor. I assure you that you are, in my eyes, at any rate. I shall stay here, I think, and read a book. Or perhaps I shall play a few pieces on the piano.'
'Right ho,' I agreed, anxious to be off. 'I'll tell you all the nice things they say in the vote of thanks.'
The meeting itself, like any other of Sir Lancelot's special performances inside or out of his operating theatre, was organized on a grand scale. The old Founders' Hall at St Swithin's could look pretty impressive, with all those portraits of dead surgeons glaring down at you from the walls, not to mention the scarlet robes and bunches of flowers and chaps popping about taking photographs and the television cameras. I'd been a bit worried how the consultants at St Swithin's would react to Petunia as she appeared in a dress cut down to her xiphisternum, but they seemed delighted to meet her and all bowed over her politely as they shook hands. Sir Lancelot himself greeted us very civilly, ushering us to a couple of gilt chairs in the middle of the dais, where he'd arranged the Lord Mayor and some of the most expensive blood-pressures in the City.
'I am indeed sorry to hear Lord Nutbeam is indisposed,' he remarked, 'but I need hardly say your appearance here today, Miss Madder, will attract considerable interest to our cause. May I introduce one of my junior colleagues, Mr Miles Grimsdyke? He is taking the chair.'
Sir Lancelot banged on the table.
'Your Grace, My lord Marquis, My lords, My lord Mayor, ladies and gentlemen,' he began, 'may I invite silence for our Chairman?'
My cousin made an efficient little speech, and if he did dwell rather on the dear old hospital and his unswerving affection and loyalty towards it, I suppose a chap has to advertise. Then the flash-bulbs went off like Brock's benefit night as Petunia got to her feet. She made an efficient little speech too, though I don't think anyone was paying much attention to what she said. Next it was my cue.
'In the regrettable absence of Lord Nutbeam,' I announced, 'I have great pleasure, as his friend as well as his doctor, in presenting this cheque for ten thousand pounds to start so worthy a fund.'
There was applause. I wondered for a second whether to give them the story of the bishop and the parrot as well, but decided against it.
'This is a very proud moment for me,' declared Sir Lancelot, taking the envelope. 'As many of you know, it is well over forty years since I first came to this hospital as a student. In that not so distant age appendicitis was still a desperate operation, tuberculosis was indeed the scourge of our civilization, and pneumonia as often as not a death warrant. It was also an age when any political gentleman trying to interfere with the affairs of our great hospital would get his fingers burnt very smartly indeed.
'With the passing years, these walls which St Swithin's men grow to venerate so deeply have remained much as for the previous two centuries. But inside them has occurred a revolution in therapy as great as during those exciting times when Lister was introducing asepsis, Pasteur founding the science of bacteriology, and John Snow first alleviating the ordeal of the patient and the frustration of the surgeon with ether anaesthesia. Much, of course, remains to be done. Many of our old hospital b
uildings, for example, cry for demolition to ease our lives with a little space to park our cars. But surgical research is the cause nearest the heart of many assembled in this Hall today. It is certainly nearest to my own. I am sure we all have in mind the words of the immortal Martial-_"Non est vivere, sed valere vita est"_-as I gratefully accept this gift-this most generous gift-from Lord Nutbeam to relieve our cares in that direction.'
Everybody clapped again.
I must say, I felt pretty pleased with myself, as it hardly seemed yesterday since Sir Lancelot was kicking me out of the theatre for stamping on his left foot instead of the diathermy pedal under the operating table. Particularly as he went on: 'I feel I must express in public my appreciation-the whole hospital's appreciation-of these young men, Dr Gaston Grimsdyke and his cousin Mr Miles Grimsdyke. It is through their agency that we are honoured this afternoon with the presence of such a charming and distinguished lady of the stage as Miss Melody Madder.'
There was further applause, this time more enthusiastic. Indeed; continued Sir Lancelot, tearing open the envelope, 'it is to these gentlemen that we are indebted for the suggestion of Lord Nutbeam's most munificent-'
He went pink all over. I glanced at him anxiously. I wondered if the poor chap was going to have some sort of fit.
'Grimsdyker he hissed. 'What the devil's the meaning of this?'
'Meaning of what, sir?'
'Look at that, you fool!'
Feeling a bit embarrassed, what with everyone watching and the television cameras, I took the cheque.
'Seems all right to me, sir,' I said, shifting rather from foot to foot. 'Payable to you and signed "Nutbeam." I hope you are not suggesting it can't be met?' I added, a bit dignified.
'I do not doubt that for one moment, considering that it is made out for one pound four and eightpence.'
'Good Lord, sir, so it is! But-but-dash it! I mean to say there must be some mistake-'
'Get out of this hall this instant! You rogue!
You vagabond! You unspeakable idiot! Never let me look again upon your unbearable-'
'I'm sure there's some explanation-' I was aware that an odd sort of silence had fallen on everybody.
'Get out!' roared Sir Lancelot.
'Oh, yes, sir. Right-ho, sir.'
I left the meeting in some confusion. I think it was the Lord Mayor who had enough presence of mind to jump up and start singing _God Save The Queen._
Twenty minutes later I was throwing open Lord Nutbeam's front door, and bumped into the severe bird in striped trousers I'd last seen emerging from Nutbeam Hall. But I didn't intend to pass the time of day with him and burst into the drawing-room, where I was a bit startled to find Lady Nutbeam next to his Lordship on the sofa wearing her old nurse's uniform.
'Look here!' I began at once. 'If this is another of your stupid jokes-'
'My dear Doctor! What on earth's the matter? You look quite beside yourself.'
'I jolly well am beside myself.' I chucked the cheque at him. 'You've made an absolute booby of myself, Sir Lancelot, and the entire staff of St Swithin's, not to mention all sorts of City nobs. I go along to this jamboree, thinking I'd got the ten thousand quid you'd promised-'
'But my dear Doctor! I feel I never promised any such sum at all.'
'But damn it! You did. I told you ten thousand was wanted to start this blasted fund, and you agreed on the nod. Don't tell me you've simply forgotten. Or perhaps you've just omitted to add the noughts?' I added a bit hopefully.
'I indeed remember perfectly well your mentioning the sum,' Lord Nutbeam continued calmly. 'But I fear I never said I would present Sir Lancelot with it all.'
'But hell! Why on earth one pound four shillings and eightpence?'
'Because, my dear Doctor,' replied Lord Nutbeam simply, 'it is all I have left.'
There was a silence.
'Oh,' I said. 'I see.'
'We wondered why everyone was making such a fuss over the presentation,' added Lady Nutbeam.
'Though I assure you, Doctor, it gives me great pleasure to present my all to such a deserving cause as surgical research.' He took his wife's hand. 'I fear I have been overspending rather of late. But Ethel and I have had a lovely summer, haven't we, my dear?'
'And now I'm going out to get a job and we can start all over again,' said Lady Nutbeam.
'The men will be coming for the cars and the furniture this afternoon. Fortunately, I still have a cottage near Nutbeam Hall, and with my books and my piano no doubt we shall be just as happy. Though I fear, Doctor, I can no longer offer you employment in my household, as much as I should like to.'
There didn't seem anything to say.
'Good-bye, my dear Doctor. And my warmest thanks.'
I put my hand in my pocket.
'I-I don't use this very much,' I said. 'I'd rather like you to have it. It might be able to help you out a little.'
I gave him back his gold cigarette case.
Miles was already in his flat when I arrived.
'Oh, Gaston!' said Connie, opening the door.
He didn't look up as I entered.
'You'd better emigrate,' he remarked quietly.
'Yes, I'd better,' I said.
20
It had been raining heavily all day. It had been raining heavily all the day before. In fact it had been raining heavily as long as I could remember, and I was beginning to get the feeling of living under water.
I looked through the window of the clinic, which was constructed largely of old petrol tins. There was the River Amazon, very muddy and full of crocodiles. Beyond were some trees. Behind were some trees, and all round were more trees. It struck me what a damn silly song it was they used to sing about the beastly things.
I wondered whenever I'd see London again. I'd had a pretty miserable week while Miles fixed me up with the oil company, mooching round saying good-bye to things I'd hardly thought twice about before, such as Nelson's Column and the swans on the Serpentine. I'd already forgotten how long I'd been in Brazil, the only newspapers coming with the weekly launch, but I supposed it was only a couple of months. That meant another four years or so before I would ever again taste a mouthful of good old London fog. I wondered if Miles had got his job. I wondered if Sir Lancelot had got his cash, I wondered who had won the November Handicap. I wondered if I were going steadily potty, and would see my old chums again only between a couple of those chaps in neat blue suits you sometimes saw lurking round St Swithin's.
My reflections were interrupted by a cry behind me of, 'Hello, Grimalkin, old thing!
How'd you like another little game of rummy?'
I turned to face Dr Janet Pebbley, my professional colleague.
'I suppose so. There doesn't seem anything else much to do for the next five years.'
'Gosh, you're funny! But I always say, there's nothing like a game of cards for passing the time. When my friend Hilda and I were doing our midder at the Femina, I always said to her, "Hilda," I said, "let's have another little game of rummy, and I bet they'll be popping like corks again all over the place before we've even had time to notice it."'
Janet Pebbley and I had arrived together to share the job of looking after the locals' bad feet and yellow fever inoculations, and she was the only Englishwoman I had to talk to. In fact, she was the only person in the whole of Brazil I had to talk to except myself, and I'd tried that a few times already. Personally, I'm generally in favour of female doctors, who these days all wear nice hair-dos and nice nylons, but Janet was one of the standard type whose psychological development became arrested somewhere about the hockey stage. She was a tall, pink-faced girl, qualified a few years before from the London Femina, who looked as if she could rearrange Stonehenge single-handed.
The trouble was, I was falling in love with her.
I suppose that psychiatrist in Wimpole Street would have explained it as a conflict between my id and my super-ego, but as far as I was concerned I knew it was a damn silly thing to do. But seeing Jane
t every day, I somehow had no alternative. It's like when they stick a pair of rats in a cage in the physiology laboratory. When she emerged from her tiny bungalow for breakfast every morning with a hearty cry of, 'Hello, there, Grimalkin! How's the old liver today?' I knew perfectly well I should lock myself in and tell her to call me in five years' time. But I didn't. I sat at the table, eyeing her like a hungry cat in a cheesemonger's.
'What are you going to do, Grimalkin?' she asked, when we'd finished our meal of pork and beans that evening. 'When your contract's up and you go home, I mean.'
I looked past the oil-lamp through the clinic window, where insects nobody had ever heard of before were jostling in the darkness. It was still raining, of course.
'I don't think I can see quite as far ahead as that.'
'I can. This five years will pass in a flash. An absolute flash. As I said to my friend Hilda the very day we were starting together at the Femina, time always does flash by if you will it to. You know what I'm going to do?'
'No?'
'I'll have a bit of money saved up then.
We'll both have, won't we? Nothing to spend it on here except fags. First I'm going to have a jolly good tramp all over Scotland.
Then I'm going to settle down in practice somewhere in the Midlands. My friend Hilda's up there, and strictly between _entre nous_ she could fix an opening.' She made a little squiggle with her finger on the tablecloth. 'Two openings, if she wanted to.'
I realized I'd taken her other hand.
Janet-'
'Yes?'
'You're jolly nice, you know.'
'Go on with you, Grimalkin.'
'But you are. Honestly. The nicest girl I can remember. Janet, I-'
But luckily the old super-ego fell like a trip-hammer.
'Yes, Grimalkin?'
'Nothing,' I said.
'You're not looking very bright tonight.'
'The heat, you know. The rain. Bit worked up.'
'How'd you like a nice game of rummy? It will help you to unwind.'
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