Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘I didn't know you loved a man.'

  'I do. Like a ton of bricks.'

  'And he's in London?'

  'Yes, he's here.'

  'Oh.'

  For a moment Monty was aware of an odd depression. He felt a little aggrieved. His devotion to Gertrude Butterwick was wholehearted, and he had no intention of allowing it to waver, but it did seem to him that a girl who was lunching with a fellow showed a certain lack of tact when she informed the fellow that she loved another fellow, and like a ton of bricks at that. Then the primal jealousy of the male gave way to his natural goodness of heart. He told himself that anyone as attractive as Sandy could scarcely be expected not to have her admirers and, this being so, why shouldn't she confide about them to an old buddy.

  'Nice chap?' he said.

  'Very.'

  'And you've found him?'

  'Yes, I've found him.'

  'Well, best of luck.'

  'Thanks. Of course, there's a catch, as you might say. He's engaged to someone else.'

  'That's bad.'

  'It does present difficulties.’

  'You'll overcome them.'

  'You think so?'

  'Sure of it. Just go on looking as you're looking now, and the thing's in the bag. Unless, of course, she's a sort of Helen of Troy.’

  'Oh, she isn't. She's on the robust side.’

  'You've met her?'

  'No, but I've seen her photograph.'

  'A gargoyle?'

  'Very good looking, as a matter of fact. But the bossy type. A husband wouldn't be happy with her.'

  'You must save him from her.’

  'I'm going to try.'

  'Well, I shall watch your progress with considerable interest.'

  'Thanks.'

  'But you haven't told me yet how you come to be here. Did you say something about an employer?'

  'Yes, I'm working for Grayce Llewellyn.’

  'Any relation to our Llewellyn?'

  'His wife. You remember she was coming to Europe.’

  'Of course, yes. But how did you get the job?'

  'That was what I asked you about your job, if you recall, but you came over all strong and silent. I heard she wanted a social secretary and applied.’

  'And what do you have to do?'

  'The way it's worked out I'm a sort of lady's maid and general help, not. to mention a masseuse. If there's anything to be done for her, I'm called on. For instance, I spent most of the morning rubbing Grayce's back, and this afternoon I've got to get a secretary for Llewellyn. Grayce is making him write the history of Superba-Llewellyn. What's the matter?'

  ‘Matter?'

  'You gave a sort of jump like a shrimp surprised while bathing. As if I'd said something full of significance and meaning. Did I?'

  'You did, as a matter of fact. About Llewellyn wanting a secretary.'

  'Why was that so sensational?'

  Monty decided to reveal all, or nearly all.

  'Because it sounds just the sort of thing I'm after.’ he said. 'You see, I've got a bet on. Somebody has bet me I can't earn my living for a year, and I simply must win it.’

  'But you've been earning your living for a year.'

  'At Superba-Llewellyn, you mean. Yes, but that doesn't count. The opposition got me on a technicality, and I have to start all over again. Can you fix it for me?'

  Sandy was regarding him with frank bewilderment. 'I don't see why not. It must be a big bet.'

  'Very big.'

  'Well, I'll do my best. I know you can drive a car.’

  'Of course.’

  'Grayce specified that.'

  'Doesn't she drive?'

  'No. Nor Llewellyn.’

  'Haven't they a chauffeur?'

  'No. It's one of Grayce's economies. She's a very economical woman. And there's another thing. Have you a lot of aristocratic relations?'

  'Not one. Why?'

  It would weigh with Grayce. Well, I'll tell her you have, anyway. So if she asks you about your cousin the Duke, don't reply "My cousin the what?" Just say how much you're looking forward to your next week-end at the castle.’

  'I will. It's awfully good of you, doing all this for me, Sandy.'

  'Not at all. You will be nice company for me at Mellingham.'

  'Where?'

  'Mellingham Hall, the house Grayce has taken in the country. When we've finished our coffee, I'll go up and see her.'

  'Up?'

  'They've got a suite on the fourth floor. By the way, an amusing thought occurs to me. Shall I share it with you?'

  'Do.'

  'I was-just thinking that Llewellyn's face would be well worth watching when he sees you and learns that you are going to be his constant companion.'

  The coffee cup shook in Monty's grasp. He had overlooked this point.

  'Oh, my God! The whole thing's off. He'll never consent to my being his secretary.'

  'He will if Grayce tells him to,' said Sandy.

  Chapter Three

  Sandy's absence from the table was not a long one. Returning at the end of perhaps ten minutes, she informed Monty that the preliminary negotiations had been conducted in an atmosphere of the utmost cordiality and escorted him to the suite on the fourth floor, whence, having introduced him, she discreetly withdrew, leaving him to face Mrs. Ivor Llewellyn alone.

  This he did with the rather sinking feeling customary with those who met her for the first time, for there was no mistaking the forcefulness of her personality, and he could well understand even as tough a specimen as his late employer snapping lumps of sugar off his nose at her behest. She was large, as all panther women were in the days when panther women were popular, and in the confined space of a hotel sitting-room seemed even larger. Her eyes were inclined to bulge a little, but people of her acquaintance had no objection to this provided they did not flash, for when they did it was as if lightning had struck an ammunition dump.

  They were not flashing now. It was evident that Sandy had done her spadework well, for she was all amiability. Nevertheless, Monty was not at his ease. It so happened that her impact had been rendered still more overwhelming by the fact that she reminded him of the proprietress of his first kindergarten, whose iron discipline had done so much to embitter his formative years. The same suggestion of volcanic forces lurking behind a placid face. The same eye like Mars to threaten and command. The same unspoken promise of a juicy one over the knuckles with a ruler, should his behaviour call for it. The result of this was to cause him to miss her opening remarks. When he was in shape to listen, she was speaking of Mr. Llewellyn's forthcoming contribution to American letters. And to his gratification she was speaking as though the matter of his own association with the venture had already been settled.

  'Miss Miller tells me she has explained to you about my husband's book, and I am sure you will be able to give him the help we want. I see it as a great romance, the romance of a vast industry growing from practically nothing. When I first came to Hollywood, Llewellyn City was just a lot of shacks. If I told you what my salary was when I started, you wouldn't believe me. Just chickenfeed. And talking of salaries we won't be able to pay you a great deal.'

  She named a figure which struck even Monty, a child in these matters, as not lavish. It was, however, definitely a salary and as such met the conditions laid down by J. B. Butterwick. Try to wriggle out of this J. B. Butterwick, he was saying to himself. He accepted the terms without criticism, and his hostess gave him an indulgent smile to indicate that he had said the right thing.

  'Then that's settled,' she said briskly. 'I will leave you now. I have an appointment with my hairdresser. Don't go. Wait here. I want you to meet my husband. He has gone for a walk. I always like him to take a brisk walk at this time. He should be back quite soon.'

  'And when—?'

  '—do your duties begin? Not for a few weeks. We are going to Cannes before settling into our country house.'

  'Miss Miller told me you had taken a country house.'


  'A place called Mellingham Hall in Sussex. My daughter went there the day before yesterday to look it over. It is a lovely old house in a very quiet village, just right for my husband's work.'

  'It sounds fine.'

  'The very nicest people as neighbours—Lord Riverhead, Lord Woking, Sir Peregrine Voules. It makes such a difference, doesn't it?'

  She left him, and he set himself to review the situation in depth. Thought was easier now that she was no longer there. But though he was glad that she had gone, her departure had this to be said against it, that he was now free to let his mind dwell on the impending reunion with Ivor Llewellyn. This he frankly viewed with concern. Sandy had said that if accepted by the female of the species he had nothing to fear from her mate, but his attitude towards the head of the Superba-Llewellyn studio had always been that of a nervous private of the line towards a short-tempered sergeant, and it required more than a verbal assurance to convince him that marriage, even to Grayce, had supplied the other with the sweetness and light which at Llewellyn City had been so lacking.

  It was a moment for stiffening the sinews and summoning up the blood, as recommended by Shakespeare, and he was in the process of doing this, when a key clicked in the door, the door opened and Ivor Llewellyn lumbered in, paused on the threshold, mopped his forehead and stood gazing at him with something of the enthusiasm of one seeing the Taj Mahal by moonlight.

  'Hullo there, Mr. Bodkin,' he said.

  Correction. A word as weak and inadequate as 'said' should never have been employed when such verbs as 'chanted', 'carolled' or even 'fluted' were at the chronicler's disposal. Mr. Llewellyn's vocal delivery had been that of a turtle dove accosting another turtle dove of whom it was particularly fond, and he was now advancing with outstretched hand, plainly entranced by this meeting.

  Monty stared, astounded. He had anticipated an encounter with something resembling a horror from outer space, and the horror from outer space had turned out to be one of the boys, as bubbling over with cheeriness and good will as if he had stepped from the pages of Charles Dickens. He could make nothing of this metamorphosis.

  'Oh, hullo, Mr. Llewellyn.’ he said weakly.

  The hand which had been moving towards him clasped his, and the other of the two with which Mr. Llewellyn was equipped massaged his shoulder affectionately.

  'Nice to see you again, Bodkin. I met my wife down in the lobby, and she tells me you are going to help me with this book of mine. Fine. Splendid. Capital. Listen, Bodkin, little matter I want to take up with you. Can you lend me five hundred pounds?'

  As one of the only two really moneyed members of the Drones Club—Oofy Prosser was the other—Monty had often been given the opportunity of coming to the rescue of financially embarrassed friends and acquaintances, and the urge of these to share his wealth had never occasioned him astonishment. But this was the first time a multi-millionaire had expressed a desire to get into his ribs, and he gazed at Mr. Llewellyn with what the poet Keats would have called a wild surmise, his eyes widening to the dimension of regulation golf balls.

  ‘Eh?' was all he could say, and he had some difficulty in saying that.

  It is easy for a man endeavouring to float a loan to mistake bewilderment for hesitation. Mr. Llewellyn did so, and the friendly exuberance of his manner became tinged with impatience.

  'Come on, come on, come on. Don't just stand there. You must have got five hundred pounds. For a year at the studio you were drawing a thousand dollars a week. You can't have spent it all.'

  Monty hastened to clear himself of the implied charge of being one of those thriftless young men who waste their substance on wine, women and song.

  'No, no, I've got it.'

  'And you'll let me have it?'

  'Of course, of course.'

  'Good boy, Bodkin. You have your cheque book with you?'

  'Oh, yes.'

  'Then no time like the present.'

  While Monty was writing the cheque, Mr. Llewellyn preserved a reverent silence, as if fearing lest the slightest interruption might be fatal to the success of the negotiations, but as soon as he had pocketed it he became his effervescent self again.

  'Thank you, thank you, Bodkin. By the way, how are you? I forgot to ask.'

  'I'm fine. How are you, Mr. Llewellyn?'

  'Not too good. Domestic trouble.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'Not half as sorry as I am. Listen, Bodkin. It probable struck you as odd that a man of my wealth should be borrowing money. Peculiar, you said to yourself. The explanation can be given in a word, or rather two words. Joint account.'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'My wife and I have a joint account. She started it shortly after you joined us at S-L.'

  'Oh?' said Monty, and Mr. Llewellyn frowned.

  'You say "Oh?" Bodkin, in that light and airy tone of .voice, apparently not recognising the significance of those two words, the saddest in the language. What they mean is that I am not able to write a cheque for the smallest amount without having my wife ask "What the hell was this for?" and there is nothing that hampers and shackles a man more. I don't know if she told you that we were off for a few days to the south of France?'

  'Yes. To Cannes she said.'

  'Exactly. You ever been to Cannes?'

  'Fairly often. I met you there, if you remember.’

  'So you did. Then you know that the facilities for gambling there are unexampled. Two Casinos, and Monte Carlo just around the corner. I'm devoted to gambling, Bodkin. Roulette is my game. I have a new system I want to try out. But if I drew a cheque on our London account and she asked me what it was for and I said "Playing roulette", she would . . . well, she would express herself very forcibly, in fact you might say the home would be in the melting pot. She disapproves of games of chance. It is not the winning she objects to, but she hates to lose, and of course, however sound your system, occasional losses are unavoidable from time to time. So, as I say, she has set her face against my having a little flutter at the tables, and when she sets her face against something there is nothing to be done about it.'

  'I can imagine.’

  'You're darned right you can imagine. And it's the same thing when she gets her face set for whatever it may be.'

  'Mrs. Llewellyn struck me as having a very strong personality.'

  'Will of iron. Take this history of the Superba-Llewellyn she's making me write. I don't like it, Bodkin, I don't like it. How can you write the history of a motion-picture studio without leaving out all the best bits? If I were to reveal some of the things that went on at S-L in the early days, the things that give such a history grip and interest, I should have the police after me. But do you think I can make her see that? Not a hope. She insists that it must be done, so it will have to be done. It will make it better, of course, working with an old friend like you. What beats me is why you want the job. If I know Grayce, she isn't paying you much.'

  'Not much.'

  'She has an economical streak in her.'

  'Yes, I noticed.'

  'Then how come?'

  If Monty hesitated, it was only for a moment. There was something about this new and improved Ivor Llewellyn that seemed to make the sharing of confidences with him almost obligatory. In Llewellyn City he would never have dreamed of laying bare his personal affairs to him, but now everything was changed.

  He told him all. He told him of his great love for Gertrude Butterwick, of her subservience to her father's edicts and of J. B. Butterwick's non-co-operative attitude, and Mr. Llewellyn listened gravely and attentively.

  ‘I’d think twice about getting married, if I were you,’ he said as the recital came to an end.

  Monty said he thought more than twice. As a matter of fact, he said, he thought about it all the time, and Mr. Llewellyn said he had not got his meaning. What he was intending to convey, he said, was that the holy state was not a thing that prudent young men should jump into with a whoop and a holler as if they were going to the Cannes Casino w
ith their pockets full of money, because there were snags attached to it which became visible only when it was too late. He had in mind principally, he said, the joint account of which he had been speaking.

  'From that to becoming a cipher in the home,' he assured Monty, "is but a step. And one thing more. Let me impress it upon you with all the emphasis at my disposal that if you do get married, don't let it be to someone who has already got. a blasted daughter.'

  Monty said he would be careful not to do this.

  'Wives boss you enough, especially if they started life as panther women, but step-daughters begin where they leave off. My step-daughter Mavis, Grayce's offspring by a former marriage, even bosses Grayce, and she treats me like what are those guys they have in Mexico, spoons or something they're called.'

  'Peons?'

  'That's right. She treats me like a peon. These modern girls! It comes of letting them go to college. That's where they pick it up. I pleaded with Grayce not to send Mavis to Vassar. She'll come back all starched up and thinking she's the queen of Sheba or someone. I said. No good. Wouldn't listen to me. But I mustn't bore you with my troubles. Thanks for that five hundred.'

  'Not at all.'

  'You couldn't make it a thousand, could you?'

  'Of course.'

  'I had an idea you were going to say that. You're all right, Bodkin.'

  'Thank you, Mr. Llewellyn.'

  'Drop the Mister.'

  'Thank you, Llewellyn.'

  ‘Better still, make it Ivor.'

  'Thank you, Ivor.'

  'Or, rather, Jumbo. All my friends on the coast call me Jumbo.'

  'Thank you, Jumbo.'

  'Don't mention it, Bodkin.'

  A beautiful friendship had begun between these two and already was functioning on all twelve cylinders.

  2

  Grayce was not a woman who took her hair lightly and casually. When she employed hairdressers to work on it, she saw to it that they earned their money. The afternoon was well advanced before she was at liberty to leave the premises of Antoine, scalp specialist, whither she had gone after parting from Monty, to join her daughter Mavis for tea. For the last two days Mavis had been down in Sussex, inspecting Mellingham Hall, and they had arranged to meet at one of those tea shoppes which are such a feature of the west end of London.