Hot Water (12 page)

'Come on! Come on! Come on!'

The sharp dash which he had just taken had left Blair Eggleston short of breath. He stood panting like a Marathon runner at the winning-post until the Senator, who liked his valets alert, took him by the shoulders and gave him a hearty shake to stimulate his faculties. It nearly removed the young novelist's head from its moorings, but it had the effect of securing his attention.

'Now listen, you pop-eyed defective,' said the Senator.

The task of explaining to your valet that you wish him to make love to your hostess's lady's-maid with a view to ascertaining i43 whether she is a detective in disguise is not an easy one. It might have baffled an ordinary man. Senator Opal was not an ordinary man. He did it in about sixty-five words.

'So there you are,' he concluded. 'Go to it.'

'But...'

'Did you say "But"?' asked the Senator dangerously.

Jane felt compelled to intervene.

'I'm sure,' she said with an apologetic smile, 'you must think it an odd request....'

The Senator would have none of this truckling.

'Never mind what he thinks. Let him go and do it. And what do you mean, "request"?'

'But, Father...'

'Can't waste the whole day talking. If there's anything the poor half-wit doesn't understand, explain it to him.' He turned to Packy. 'I want a word with you,' he said. 'Kiss Jane and come along.'

There are few things which call for so nice an exhibition of tact as the kissing of a girl in the presence of
her fiancé.
Packy did his best to perform the feat in a manner calculated to cause the minimum of disapproval, but he was haunted by a suspicion that he had not quite got the sympathy of his audience.

Abstaining from glancing at young Mr Eggleston, for, after all, he knew what he looked like, he followed the Senator off the terrace.

In suspecting that Blair Eggleston might find matter for criticism in his recent performance, Packy had not erred. In the novelist's manner, as he now gazed at Jane, there was a quite definite suggestion of Othello. He breathed heavily and was, indeed, so overcome by emotion that he even passed the clothes-brush absently through his hair.

'What,' he asked throatily, 'is all this?'

Jane was soothing.

'I know it must have sounded odd, darling. But Father has got it into his head that Mrs Gedge's maid...'

Blair Eggleston waved the clothes-brush impatiently.

'I am not referring to that. This fellow Franklyn.'

'Oh, that. Well, that's a long story. He has come here pretending to be the Vicomte de Blissac....'

'Never mind what he's pretending to be. He kissed you!'

If Jane had been soothing before, she was oil and honey now.

'Yes, I wanted to explain that. It's most unfortunate, but Father seems to think he is the man I'm in love with.'

'I am not surprised, if you are in the habit of behaving towards him as you did just now.'

'But, Blair, don't you see...?'

'He kissed you!'

'Yes. Father insisted. You don't suppose I enjoyed it, do you?'

'I am not so sure.'

'Blair!'

'I certainly did not receive the impression that you had any strong objection.'

'Well, what could I do, with Father looking on? Did you expect me to scream for help? Or perhaps you would have liked me to tell Father that it's really you....'

The remark had a sedative effect. The stern, accusing look in Blair Eggleston's eye, which would have recalled to a reader of the poetry of the late Lord Tennyson the celebrated scene of King Arthur's interview with Guinevere in the convent, gave i45 place to one of positive alarm. An able student of psychology, like all Bloomsbury novelists, Blair had long since read his employer's character like a book. And what he had seen in that book did not encourage him to support any such suggestion.

'On no account!' he said hastily, turning a little green at the mere idea. His relations with Senator Opal had not been of such a nature as to lead him to suppose that the latter would receive with gratification the news that he was engaged to his daughter. 'Do nothing of the kind!'

'Well, then!'

'All the same...' said Blair Eggleston.

He twirled the clothes-brush thoughtfully. With his other hand he endeavoured also to twirl his moustache, his invariable policy when in a dilemma. But there was no moustache to be twirled. In deference to his employer's outspoken statement that he did not propose to have a valet hanging around him festooned with fungus and snorting at him all the time from behind a great beastly soupstrainer (for thus coarsely had the Senator alluded to that neatest of little lip-ornaments), he had regretfully shaved the treasured possession.

Its loss had cost him a good deal of mental pain, but it seemed to amuse his betrothed.

'Oh, Blair!' said Jane. 'You do look a scream without it.'

And yet, even as she spoke, she was aware subconsciously that the matter went deeper than that. The world is full of men who ought never to shave their upper lip, and Blair Eggleston was one of them. Coming out into the open, as it were, like this, he had revealed himself the possessor of a not very good mouth. A peevish mouth. The sort of mouth that bred doubts in a girl.

He stiffened. He had enough to endure these days without having to listen to girlish persiflage.

'I am glad that you are amused!'

'I was only kidding.'

'I see.'

'Can't you take a joke?'

'I have never,' began Blair weightily, 'been accused of being deficient in a sense of humour....'

'Oh, all right. Let it go. It was only a remark, anyway. Just a random crack. For goodness' sake, let's not quarrel.'

'I have no desire to quarrel....'

'Nor have I. So that's fine.'

There was a pause. Then, abruptly, it became apparent to Blair Eggleston that without any desire on his part to change the subject the main topic of debate had been adroitly sidetracked.

'All the same,' he said, 'I strongly object to this kissing.'

'Well, what can I do?'

'There can be no necessity for it whatever.'

'Can't there? You should have been there the first time. Father was all set to strike Packy with some blunt instrument if he had jibbed.'

'So you have got to Christian names?'

'Oh, Blair!'

Blair Eggleston was not to be checked by any exhibition of feminine irritability. He swelled a little, and waved the clothes-brush with a certain cold dignity.

'I do not think I can be said to be unduly exacting when I complain of this – er – of what is going on. And on one thing I must insist, that you see as little of this man Franklyn as possible. Personally, I am at a loss to understand what he is doing here at all.'

'He has come to try to help me.'

'Why?'

'Because he feels I need help, I suppose.'

'Oddly altruistic behaviour in one who is virtually a complete stranger.'

Pinkness, like the first faint flush of a summer dawn, had come upon Jane Opal.

'You needn't suggest...'

'I am suggesting nothing.'

'What on earth is the sense of saying you're suggesting nothing when you're suggesting it with every word you say?' demanded Jane heatedly. She was a straightforward girl, who disliked evasions. 'That's just the sort of silly, idiotic thing people are always saying in your books.'

'I am sorry if the characters in my books appear to you to be lacking in intelligence.'

'Anyway, you're all wrong. I don't mean a thing to Packy... oh, all right, to Mr Franklyn. Can't you understand that he's the sort of man who comes into a business like this just for the fun of the thing? Besides, he's engaged. You were there when he was telling us about it.'

Blair Eggleston had forgotten this. He looked a little taken aback. He recognized that the fact weakened his position.

'So you see! Now perhaps you realize what a chump you've been.'

Blair could not go as far as this.

'It is possible that I may have allowed myself to become unnecessarily...'

'Anyway, I should have thought you could have trusted me. I'm trusting you.'

'In what way?'

'Letting you go off and flirt with this Medway girl.' The greater urgency of ventilating his grievance in the matter of Packy had caused Blair Eggleston momentarily to forget that he was a man with a mission.

'What
is
all that?' he asked, with agitation.

'It's quite simple. We think Medway may be a detective. And Mr Franklyn said the only way to find out was for someone to make love to her and win her confidence.'

'It would be Franklyn!'

'It was Father's idea that you should be the one to do it.'

Blair Eggleston choked. He had his personal views on Senator Opal and would have enjoyed giving them at some length.

'Well, I won't do it.'

'You must!'

'I positively and definitely refuse.'

'You've got to do it, Blair. You simply must. It's absolutely vital that we should find out about this girl. I do think you might do something to help. You've been about as much good so far as a sick headache.'

What retort Blair Eggleston would have made to this thrust will never be known. It would probably have been something fraught with dignified rebuke, but it must remain among the good things that were never spoken. For at this moment Jane put forward a suggestion that wiped the words from his lips.

'Do you want me to tell Father that you refuse?'

That faint shade of green came into Blair Eggleston's face once more. Whatever his long line of valets might feel about Senator Opal, none of them had ever looked upon him as a man whose wishes might lightly be ignored. Blair, the latest of the dynasty, would as readily have defied a charging rhinoceros.

He swallowed unhappily.

'Oh, I suppose I'll have to do it.'

'That's the way to talk!'

'But let me tell you that there are moments when I think what I have been – er – let in for, when I ask myself...'

He had no time to reveal what he asked himself, for Packy had come hurrying on to the terrace.

Packy seemed amused.

'I've been having rather a trying time with that poor fish... I beg your pardon – I mean with your respected father. He had three separate schemes to put forward, and each was loonier than the last. It took me quite a while to persuade him that he had better leave all the active work to me.'

Blair Eggleston barked sharply.

'Why the mirthless laugh?' asked Packy, surprised.

'Correct me if I am wrong, but it appears to me that I, though insignificant and of scarcely less use to you all than a sick headache, am about to do a certain share of what you describe as the active work.'

Packy stared.

'What! Holding Medway's hand? You don't call that work? Child's play. And most enjoyable, to boot. Besides, an experience like that will be useful to you in your business. I shouldn't be surprised if you didn't get a plot for a novel out of Medway.'

'Blair's novels haven't any plots.'

'No? Why's that?'

'He thinks they're crude.'

'I must read Blair's novels some day. Not just now. Later.'

'The critics say they have a strange fearless quality.'

'Well, that's always something, isn't it?'

The literary discussion was interrupted by the abrupt departure of the author. With a dark frown on his face, Blair Eggleston was stumping off towards the house.

Packy watched him with concern.

'A little peeved?'

'A little.'

'Did he... I forget what I was going to say.'

'Yes, he did.'

'I was afraid he might.'

Jane sighed.

'Blair can be very difficult.'

'I should imagine so.'

'It's the artistic temperament, I suppose.'

'Probably. Tricky devils, these novelists. The ink gets into their heads.'

'I sometimes wonder...'

'What?'

'Oh, nothing.'

'Pardon me,' said a deprecating voice behind them, 'but are you doing anything just now, Vicomte?'

They turned. It was Miss Putnam who had spoken. She was standing there beaming benevolently through her hornrimmed glasses.

'Mrs Gedge was very anxious that I should show you our leaky cistern.'

It had not been Packy's intention to pass the summer afternoon inspecting leaky cisterns. The suggestion, which would have enchanted a plumber, left him cold. However, he was courteous.

'It will be a real treat,' he said. He turned to Jane. 'Will you join us?'

'I don't think I will, thanks.'

'Girls,' said Packy to Miss Putnam with a regretful shake of the head, 'are very
blasée
nowadays.'

'I thought of going and sitting in the hammock on the lawn.'

'You are probably missing something good, but do just as you please. I will stroll round there later.'

'It will only take a few minutes,' said Miss Putnam apologetically.

'In a few minutes, then,' Packy informed Jane, 'I will be with you.'

D
ESPITE
the fact that he had been reluctant to start upon this sight-seeing expedition concerning which Miss Putnam seemed so enthusiastic, Packy became conscious of a certain pleasurable excitement as he followed the secretary to the upper regions of the house. This cistern, after all, had played an important part in his life. If there had been no leaky cistern, there would have been no falling out between Mr Gedge and the Vicomte de Blissac; and if there had been no such falling out he would not have been here in the Château now. It was as one visiting a historic monument that he came at length to the dark and narrow flight of stairs which seemed to lead to Journey's End.

At the head of these, Miss Putnam paused.

'Be careful, Vicomte. The ceiling is a little low. Though I guess,' she went on, simpering respectfully, 'you don't need to be told that.'

'Not now,' said Packy, rubbing his head.

'I mean, I suppose you have often hidden up here, playing hide-and-go-seek when you were a little kiddy.'

'No,' said Packy. He hoped his companion was not going to dwell too much on the dear old days at the Château. 'This is my first visit. Rather like Hell, isn't it?' i53

The secretary smirked, as Virgil might have done had Dante essayed a mild pleasantry while he was conducting him through the Inferno.

'It is not very pleasant,' she agreed. 'I suppose as a little kiddy you might have been scared to come up here.'

'I was never a very little kiddy,' said Packy, to correct an apparent misapprehension. Always rather an out-size kiddy. Big bones. Lots of firm flesh.'

Miss Putnam appeared to think this over, for she was silent for a while. Then she waved her hand in the direction of the asthmatic gurgle which was punctuating their conversation.

'This,' she said, 'is the cistern.'

It was the first time Packy had been formally introduced to a cistern, and he was not quite sure of the correct etiquette. He bowed slightly and eyed the repellent object with interest.

'It leaks,'said Miss Putnam.

'You are sure of this?'

'It leaks all the time.'

'Not on Sundays?'

'Mrs Gedge wanted you to see it before she sent for the plumber. Naturally she is a little annoyed. The Vicomtesse assured her that everything was in perfect order.'

'She's like that. A great kidder.'

'Well, if you are satisfied...'

'Oh, quite. I consider that Mrs Gedge has a cast-iron case. She has caught Mother bending and will, I trust, soak it to her good.'

They descended the stairs. Packy would have been quite content to descend them in silence, but Miss Putnam became chatty again.

'I do so envy you having been in this lovely home as a kiddy, Vicomte. What memories you must have!' i54

'Oh, yes.'

'You don't speak very enthusiastically.'

'I am never fond of talking of those days,' said Packy, who felt that this sort of thing must be firmly dealt with at the outset. 'Mine, you see, was not a happy kiddyhood. Lonely. Neglected. I prefer to forget it.'

'How very sad.'

'Oh, I'm all right now. I've perked up a lot recently.'

'How idiomatically you speak English, Vicomte.'

'Yes?'

'I am sure nobody would take you for a Frenchman.'

Here, again, in Packy's opinion, was a trend of thought that called for prompt measures.

'I was educated at an English school.'

'Where was that?'

'Aytong.'

'Aytong?'

'E-t-o-n.'

'Oh, Eton? That accounts for it, doesn't it?'

Packy hoped so.

'But what seems so odd to me is that you speak English so like an American.'

Packy was beginning to dislike this woman. At first, she had seemed to him a fragile, timid little thing whom it was a pleasure to put at her ease and generally behave like a great, big, strong – but kindly- man to. Now, she began to give evidences of possessing many of the less attractive qualities of a Class A gumboil.

'I have travelled in America much. Ah, mademoiselle,' said Packy, with Gallic fervour, 'how great a country!'

'I am glad to hear you say so, being American myself

'You are from Les Etats Unis?' i55

'I have lived there all my life.'

'Ah? You were a little kiddy there?'

'Did you find it very difficult, Vicomte, learning English?'

'Oh, no.'

'I have never been able to manage foreign tongues. I found it a great handicap when I was in Mexico a year or two ago.'

'Yes?'

'Oh, yes. I would have given anything to meet somebody I could have talked to in my own language.'

'I know the feeling.'

'You have it yourself sometimes, I guess, even though you speak English so well?'

'Oh, frequently.'

They passed through the hall and came out on to the steps which led to the gravel drive in front of the Château.

'Oh!' said Miss Putnam.

What had caused the exclamation was the sudden appearance of an ancient taxi-cab. It had rounded the corner of the drive and was bowling briskly towards them.

'This must be the Duc.'

'The who?'

'The Duc de Pont-Andemer,' explained Miss Putnam. A telegram arrived from Mrs Gedge saying that he would be arriving to-day.'

Her woman's instinct had not deceived her. The cab came to a grinding halt at the steps. Its door opened. And from it, hopping in an aristocratic way, there emerged a gentleman of distinguished mien.

'Good afternoon,' said the new-comer, advancing with a sunny but dignified smile. 'Permit me, shall it not, to introduce myself. I am the Duc de Pont-Andemer.'