Heavy Weather (7 page)

'That's what Ronnie said.'

'The jovial hunting type. Lady Di. Bluff goodwill, the jolly smile for everyone, and slabs of soup at Christmas time for the deserving villagers. But I don't know. I'm not so sure. I'll tell you this much. When I was a kid I was far more scared of her than I was of Lady Constance.'

'Why?'

'Ah, there you have me. But I was. Still, don't let me take the joy out of your life. For all we know, she may at this very moment be practising "O Perfect Love" on the harmonium. And now, I don't want to hurry you, but the sands are running out a bit. My train goes at two forty-five
..
.'

'What?'

'Two-four-five, pip emma.'

' You aren't going to Blandings today.
..
by the two forty-five?' 'That's right.'

'But I'm going back on the two forty-five.' 'Well, that's fine. We'll travel together.' 'But we mustn't travel together.'

'Why not? Nobody's going to see us, and we can be as distant as the dickens on arrival. Pleasant chit-chat as far as Market Blandings, and cold aloofness from there on, is the programme as I see it. It's silly to overdo this perfect stranger business.'

Sue, thinking it over, was inclined to agree with him. She had had one solitary railway journey that day, and was not indisposed for pleasant company on the way back.

'And if you think, young Susan,' said Monty, who, though chivalrous, could stand up for his rights, 'that I intend to wait on and travel by something that stops and shunts at every station, you err. It's a four hours' journey even by express. We'll just nip round to my flat and pick up my things.
..'

'And miss the train. No, thank you. I can't take any chances. I'll meet you at the station.'

'Just as you like,' said Monty agreeably.
‘I
was only thinking that if you came to my flat. I could show you sixteen photographs of Gertrude.'

'You can describe them to me on the journey.'

'I will,' said Monty. 'Waiter, laddishiong.'

It was as the hands of the big clock at Paddington station were pointing to two-forty that Lady Julia Fish made her way through the crowd on the platform, her progress rendered impressive by the fact that her maid, two porters, and a boy who mistakenly supposed that he had found a customer for his oranges and nut-chocolate revolved about her like satellites around a sun.

Towards the turmoil in her immediate neighbourhood she displayed her usual good-humoured disdain. Where others ran she sauntered. Composedly she allowed one porter to open the door of an empty compartment, the other to place therein her bag, papers, novels, and magazines. She dismissed the maid, tipped the porters, and, settling herself in a corner seat, surveyed the bustle and stir without in an indulgent manner.

The ceremony of getting the two forty-five express off was now working up to a crescendo. Porters flitted to and fro. Guards shouted and poised green flags. The platform rang with the feet of belated travellers. And the train had just given a sort of shiver and began to move out of the station, when the door of the compartment was wrenched open and something that seemed to have six legs shot in, tripped over her, and collapsed into the seat opposite. It was a perspiring young man of the popinjay type, whose face though twisted, was not so twisted that she was unable to recognize 56 in him that Montague Bodkin who had once been so frequent a visitor at the home of her ancestors.

Monty had run it fine. What with hunting for a mislaid cigarette-case and getting held up in a traffic block in Praed Street, he had contrived this spectacular entry only by dint of sprinting the length of the platform at a rate of speed which he had not achieved since his university days.

But though warm and out of breath, he was still the
preux chevalier
who knew that when you have just barked the skin of a member of the other sex apologies must be made.

'It is quite all right, Mr Bodkin,' said Lady Julia as he made them. 'I am sorry I was in your way.'

Monty started violently.

'Gosh!' he exclaimed.

'1 beg your pardon.'

'I
mean - er - hullo, Lady Julia!'

'Hullo, Mr Bodkin.'

' Phew!' said Monty, dabbing agitatedly at his forehead with the handkerchief which so perfectly matched his tie and socks.

H is distress was not caused entirely - or even to any great extent - by the reflection that he had just taken an inch of skin off the daughter of a hundred earls. That, no doubt, was regrettable, but what was really exercising his mind was the thought that Sue being presumably on the train and having presumably observed his rush down the platform would be coming along at any moment to see if he got aboard all right. It seemed to him that it was going to require all his address to handle the situation which her advent would create.

'Fancy running into you,' he said dismally.

'"Over me" would be a better way of putting it. I felt like some unfortunate Hindu beneath the wheels of Juggernaut. And where are you bound for, Mr Bodkin?'

'Eh?
Oh, Market Blandings.'

'You are going to stay with your uncle at Matchingham?'

'Oh, no. I'm booked for the Castle. Lord Emsworth has taken me on as his secretary.'

'But how very odd. I thought you were working with the Mammoth Publishing Company.'

'I've resigned.'

'Resigned?'

'Resigned,' said Monty firmly. He was not going to reveal his Moscow to this woman. 'What made you resign?'

'Oh, various things. There are wheels within wheels.'

'How cosy!' said Lady Julia.

Monty decided to change the subject.

'I hear everything's much about the same at Blandings.'

'Who told you that?'

'Fellow named Carmody, who has been secretarying there. He said everything was much about the same.'

'What a very unobservant young man he must be! Didn't he mention that there had been an earthquake there, an upheaval, a social cataclysm?'

'I beg your. . . What was that?'

'Prepare yourself for a shock, Mr Bodkin. Ronnie is at Blandings, and with him a chorus-girl of the name of Brown, whom he proposes to marry.'

A little uncertain as to the judicious line to take, Monty decided to be astounded.

'No!'

'I assure you.' 'A chorus-girl?'

'Named Sue Brown. You don't know her, by any chance?' 'No. Oh, no. No.'

‘I
thought possibly you might.' Lady Julia looked out of the window at the flying countryside. 'Very trying for a parent. Don't you think so, Mr Bodkin?'

'Oh, most.'

'Still, I suppose it might have been worse. There is rather a consoling ring about that simple name. I mean, Sue Brown doesn't sound like a girl who will bring breach of promise actions when the thing is broken off.'

'Broken off!'

'It might so easily have been Suzanne de Brune.' ' But - er - are you thinking of breaking it off?' 'Why, of course. You seem very concerned. Or is this joy ?' 'No -1 -er - It just occurred to me that it might be a bit difficult. I mean, Ronnie's a pretty determined sort of chap.'

'He inherits it from his mother,' said Lady Julia. It was during the silence which followed this remark that Sue entered the compartment.

At the moment of her arrival Monty was staring out of the window and Lady Julia had leaned back in her seat. There was nothing, accordingly, to indicate any connexion between the two, and Sue was just about to address to her old friend a cordial word of congratulation on his abilities as a sprinter, when the sound of the opening door caused him to turn. And so blank, so icy was the stare of non-recognition which she encountered that she sank bewildered on the cushions with all the sensations of one who, after being cut by the county, walks into a brick wall.

It was not long, however, before enlightenment came. Monty was a young man who believed in taking no chances.

'Nice and green the country's looking, Lady Julia,' he observed. 'Isn't it, Lady Julia?'

His companion gave it a glance.

'Very, considering there has been no rain for such a long time.' 'I should think Ronnie must be enjoying
it
at
Blandings, Lady Julia.'

'I
beg your pardon?'

'I say,' said Monty, spacing his words carefully, 'that your son Ronnie must be enjoying the green of the countryside
at
Blandings Castle. He likes it green,' explained Monty. And with another frigid stare at Sue he leaned back and puffed his cheeks out.

There was a pause. Monty had not wrought in vain. An electric thrill seemed to pass through Sue's small body. Her heart was thumping.

'I
beg your pardon,' she said breathlessly. 'Are you Lady
Julia Fish?' 'I
am.'

'My name's Sue Brown,' said Sue, wishing that she could have achieved a vocal delivery a little more impressive than that of a very young, startled mouse.

'Well, well, well!' said Lady Jul
ia. 'Fancy that. Quite a coinci
dence, Mr Bodkin.'

'Oh, quite. Most.'

'We were just talking about you, Miss Brown.'

Sue nodded speechlessly.

'I am losing a son and gaining a daughter, and you're the daughter, eh?'

Sue continued to nod. Monty, personally, considered that she was overdoing it. She ought, he felt, to be saying something. Something bright and snappy like. . . well, he couldn't on the spur of the moment think just what, but something bright and snappy.

'Yes,' said Lady Julia,
'I
recognize you. Ronnie sent me a photograph of you, you know. I thought it charming. Well, you must come over here and tell me all about yourself. We will get rid of
Mr
Bodkin. . . By the way, you did tell me you had not met Miss Brown?'

'Definitely not. Certainly not. Far from it. Not
at
all.'

' Don't speak in that tone of horrified loathing, M r Bodkin. I'm sure Miss Brown is a very nice girl, well worthy of your acquaintance. At any rate, you've met her now.
Mr
Bodkin, Miss Brown.'

'How do you do?' said Monty stiffly.

' How do you do?’
said Sue with aloofness.

'Mr
Bodkin is coming to Blandings as my brother's secretary.'

'Fancy!' said Sue.

'And now run along and look
at
the green countryside, Mr Bodkin. Miss Brown and I want to have a talk about all sorts of things.'

' I'll go and have a smoke,' said Monty, inspired. 'Do,' said Lady Julia.

Monty Bodkin sat
in
his smoking-compartment, well pleased with himself. It had been a near thing, and it had taken a man of affairs to avert disaster, but he had brought it off. Another half-second and young Sue would have spilled
the beans. He was, as we say,
pleased with himself, and he was also pleased with Sue. She had shown a swift grasp of the situation. There had been a moment when he had feared he was being too subtle, trying the female intelligence, notoriously so greatly inferior to the male, too high. But all had been well. Good old Sue had understood those guarded hints of his, and now everything looked pretty smooth.

He closed his eyes contentedly, and dropped off into a refreshing sleep.

From this he was aroused some half an hour later by the click of the door; and, opening his eyes and blinking once or twice, was enabled to perceive Sue standing before him. 'Ah! Interview over ?'

Sue nodded and sat down. Her face was grave, like that of a puzzled child. Extraordinarily pretty it made her look, felt Monty, and for an instant there stole over him a faint regret for what might have been. T
hen he thought of Gertrude Butte
rwick and was strong again.

‘I
say, I did that distant aloofness stuff rather well, don't you think?' 'Oh, yes.'

'And pretty shrewd of me to grapple with a tricky situation so promptly and give you that instant pointer as to how matters stood?'

‘
Oh, yes.'

'What do you mean, Oh, yes? It was genius.' He looked at her with some intentness. 'You seem a shade below par. Didn't the interview go off well?'

'Oh, yes.'

'Don't keep saying "Oh, yes." What happened?' 'Oh, we talked.'

'Of course you talked, chump. What did you say?'
‘I
told her about myself, and - oh, you know, all that sort of thing.'

'And wasn't she chummy?' She reflected, biting her lip. 'She was quite nice.' ' I know what that means - rotten.'

'No, she seemed perfectly friendly. Laughed a good deal and . . . well, just what you were saying. Lady Di. Bluff goodwill.
But-'

' But you seemed to sense the velvet hand beneath the iron glove ? No, dash it, that's not right,' said Monty, musing. 'The other way about it should be, shouldn't
it?
You got the impression that she was simply waiting till your back was turned to stick a knife in it?'

'A little. It's something about her eyes. She doesn't smile with them. Of course, I may be all wrong.'

Monty looked dubious. He lit a cigarette and puffed at it thoughtfully.