Joy in the Morning (6 page)

I mentioned this to Nobby, and she said she knew what I meant.

‘You would think he was the sort of man who would have to grow on a girl – gradually, as it were – wouldn’t you? But no. There was one startled moment when I wondered if I was seeing things, and then – bang – like a thunderbolt.’

‘As quick as that, was it?’

‘Yes.’

And his reactions were similar?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, here’s something I don’t understand. You say you met in May, and we are now in July. Why did he take such a dickens of a time wooing you?’

‘He didn’t exactly woo me.’

‘How do you mean, not exactly? A man either woos or he does not woo. There can be no middle course.’

‘There were reasons why he couldn’t let himself go.’

‘You speak in riddles, young Nobby. Still, so long as he got round to it eventually. And when are the bells going to ring out in the little village church?’

‘I don’t know if they ever are.’

‘Eh?’

‘Uncle Percy doesn’t seem to think so.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He disapproves of the match.’

‘What!’

I was astounded. It seemed to me for an instant that she must be pulling the Wooster leg. Then, scrutinizing her closely, I noted that the lips were tight and the brow clouded. This young Hopwood is a blue-eyed little half portion with, normally, an animated dial. The dial to which I refer was now contorted with anguish, as if she had just swallowed a bad oyster.

You don’t mean that?’

‘I do.’

‘Egad!’ I said.

For this was serious. Nobby, you see, was peculiarly situated. As often occurs, I believe, when Girl A becomes the ward of Bloke B, a clause had been inserted in the contract to the effect that there must be no rot about her marrying without the big chief’s consent till she was twenty-one or forty-one or something. So if Uncle Percy really had an anti-Boko complex, he was in a position to bung a spanner into the works with no uncertain hand.

I couldn’t get it.

‘But why? The man must be cuckoo. Boko is one of our most eligible young bachelors. He makes pots of money with his pen. You see his stuff everywhere. That play he had on last year was a substantial hit. And they were saying at the Drones the other day that he’s had an offer to go to Hollywood. Has he?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, then.’

‘Oh, I know all that. But what you’re overlooking is the fact that Uncle Percy is the sort of man who is suspicious of writers. He doesn’t believe in their solvency. He’s been in business all his life, and he can’t imagine anybody having any real money except a business man.’

‘But he must know Boko’s dashed near being a celebrity. He’s had his photograph in the
Tatler
.’

‘Yes, but Uncle Percy has the idea that an author’s success is here to-day and gone to-morrow. Boko may be doing all right now, but he feels that his earning capacity may go phut at any moment. I suppose he pictures himself having to draw him out of the bread line a year or two from now and support him and me and half a dozen little Boko’s for the rest of our lives. And then, of course, he was prejudiced against the poor darling from the start.’

‘Because of those trousers?’

‘They may have helped, perhaps.’

‘The man’s an ass. Boko’s a writer. He must know that writers are allowed a wide latitude. Besides, though I wouldn’t care to have Jeeves hear me say so, trousers aren’t everything.’

‘But the real reason was that he thought Boko was a butterfly.’

I couldn’t follow her. She had me fogged. Anything less like a butterfly than good old Boko I’ve never set eyes on.

‘A butterfly?’

‘Yes. Flitting from flower to flower and sipping.’

And he doesn’t like butterflies?’

‘Not when they flit and sip.’

‘What on earth has put the extraordinary idea into his head that Boko’s a flitting sipper?’

‘Well, you see, when he arrived in Steeple Bumpleigh, he was engaged to Florence.’

‘What!’

‘It was she who made him settle there. That was what I meant when I said that he couldn’t woo me, as you call it, with any real abandon at first. Being engaged to Florence sort of hampered him.’

I was amazed. I nearly ran over a hen in my emotion.

‘Engaged to Florence? He never told me.’

‘You haven’t seen him for some time.’

‘No, that’s true. Well, I’ll be dashed. Did you know that I was once engaged to Florence?’

‘Of course.’

And now Stilton is.’

‘Yes.’

‘How absolutely extraordinary. It’s like one of those great race movements you read about.’

‘I suppose it’s her profile that does it. She has a lovely profile.’

‘Seen from the left.’

‘Seen from the right, too.’

‘Well, yes, in a measure, seen from the right, too. But would that account for it? I mean, in these busy days you can’t spend your whole time dodging round a girl, trying to see her sideways. I still maintain that this tendency on the part of the populace to get engaged to Florence is inexplicable. And that made Uncle Percy a bit frosty to Boko?’

‘Glacial.’

‘I see. One understands his point of view, of course. He frowns on this in and out running. Florence yesterday, you to-day. I suppose he thinks you are just another of the flowers that Boko is flitting in on for sipping purposes.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘And, in addition, he doubts his earning capacity.’

‘Yes.’

I pondered. If Uncle Percy really thought that Boko was a butterfly that might go broke at any moment, Love’s young dream had unquestionably stubbed its toe. I mean, an oofy butterfly is bad enough. But it can at least pay the rent. I could well imagine a man of conservative views recoiling from one which might come asking for handouts for the rest of its life.

A thought occurred to me. With that Wooster knack of looking on the bright side, I saw that all was not yet lost.

‘How old do you have to be before you can marry without Uncle Percy’s kayo?’

‘Twenty-one.’

‘How old are you now?’

‘Twenty.’

‘Well, there you are, then. I knew that if we looked close enough we should find that the sun was still shining. You’ve only got to wait another year, and there you are.’

‘Yes. But Boko leaves for Hollywood next month. I don’t know how you feel about this dream man of mine, but to me, and I have studied his character with loving care, he doesn’t seem the sort of person to be allowed to go to Hollywood without a wife at his side to distract his attention from the local fauna.’

Her outlook shocked me, causing me to put a bit of austere top-spin on my next crack.

‘There can be no love where there is not perfect trust.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Jeeves, I think. It sounds like one of his things.’

‘Well, Jeeves is wrong. There jolly well can be love without perfect trust, and don’t you forget it. I love Boko distractedly, but at the thought of him going to Hollywood without me I come over all faint. He wouldn’t mean to let me down. I don’t suppose he would even know he was doing it. But one morning I should get an apologetic cable saying that he couldn’t quite explain how it had happened, but that he had inadvertently got married last night, and had I anything to suggest. It’s his sweet, impulsive nature. He can’t say No. I believe that’s how he came to get engaged to Florence.’

I frowned meditatively. Now that she had outlined the position of affairs, I could see that the situation was a tricky one.

‘Then what’s the procedure?’

‘I don’t know.’

I frowned another meditative one.

‘Something must be done.’

‘But what?’

I had an idea. It is often like that with the Woosters. They appear baffled, and then suddenly –
bingo!
– an inspiration.

‘Leave this to me,’ I said.

What had crossed my mind was the thought that by establishing myself at Wee Nooke on his behalf, I was doing Uncle Percy a dashed good turn – so dashed that if he had a spark of gratitude in his composition he ought to be all over me. I could picture him clasping my hand and saying that thanks to me that merger had come off and was there any reward I cared to ask, for he could deny me nothing.

‘What you need here,’ I said, ‘is the suave intervention of a polished man of the world, a silver-tongued orator who will draw Uncle Percy aside and plead your cause, softening his heart and making him take the big, broad view. I’ll attend to it.’

‘You?’

‘In person. Within the next day or two.’

‘Oh, Bertie!’

‘It will be a pleasure to put in a word for you. I anticipate notable results. I shall probably play on the old crumb as on a stringed instrument.’

She registered girlish joy.

‘Bertie, you’re a lamb!’

‘Maybe you’re right. A touch of the lamb, perhaps.’

‘It’s a wonderful idea. You see, you’ve known Boko so long.’

‘Virtually from the egg.’

‘You’ll be able to think of all sorts of things to say about him. Did he ever save your life, when you were a boy?’

‘Not that I remember.’

‘You could say he did.’

‘I doubt if it would go well. Uncle Percy was none too keen on me at that epoch. It would be more likely to strike a chord if I told him that Boko had repeatedly tried to assassinate me, when I was a boy. However, leave it to me. I’ll find words.’

All this while, of course, the old two-seater had been humming along towards Steeple Bumpleigh with the needle in the sixties, and at this point Nobby notified me that we were approaching our destination.

‘Those chimneys through the trees are the Hall. You see that little lane to the left. You go down it, and you come to Boko’s place. Yours is about half a mile beyond it, up another sort of side turning. You really will plead with Uncle Percy?’

‘Like billy-o.’

You won’t weaken?’

‘Not a chance.’

‘Of course, it’s just possible that you may not have to. You see, I thought that if Boko and Uncle Percy could really get together, Uncle Percy might learn to love him. So, though it wasn’t easy, I arranged that Boko should give him lunch to-day. I do hope everything has gone all right. A lot depends on how Boko behaved. I mean, up till now, whenever they have met, he has always been so stiffin his manner. I begged him with tears in my eyes to let himself go and be bright and genial, and he promised he would try. So I’m hoping for the best.’

‘Me, too,’ I said, and – if I remember correctly – patted her little hand. I then drove to the Hall and decanted her at its gates, assuring her that, even if Boko had failed to fascinate at the midday meal, I would see to it that everything came out all right. With a final cheery wave of the hand, I backed the car and headed for the lane of which she had spoken.

All this talking had, of course, left me with a well defined thirst, and it seemed to me, despite a householder’s natural desire to take possession as soon as possible, that my first move had better be to stop off at Boko’s and touch him for the needful. I assumed that the whitewashed cottage standing on the river bank must be the Bokeries, for Nobby had indicated that I had to pass it on my way to Wee Nooke.

I hove to alongside, accordingly, and noting that one of the windows at the side was open I approached it and whistled.

A hoarse shout from within and a small china ornament whizzing past my head informed me that my old friend was at home.

CHAPTER 7

T
he passing of the china ornament, which had come within an ace of copping me on the napper, drew from my lips a sharp ‘Oi!’ and as if in answer to the cry Boko now appeared at the window. His hair was disordered and his face flushed, presumably with literary composition. In appearance, as I have indicated, this man of letters is a cross between a comedy juggler and a parrot that has been dragged through a hedge backwards, and you never catch him at his nattiest in the workshop. I took it that I had interrupted him at a difficult point in a chapter.

He had been glaring at me through horn-rimmed spectacles, but now, as he perceived who it was that stood without, the flame faded behind the lenses, to be replaced by a look of astonishment.

‘Good Lord, Bertie! Is that you?’

I assured him that such was the case, and he apologized for having bunged china ornaments at me.

‘Why did you imitate the note of the lesser screech owl?’ he said, rebukingly. ‘I thought you were young Edwin. He comes sneaking round here, trying to do me acts of kindness, and that is always how he announces his presence. I am never without a certain amount of ammunition handy on the desk. Where on earth did you spring from?’

‘The metropolis. I’ve just arrived.’

‘Well, you might have had the sense to send a wire. I’d have killed the fatted calf.’

I saw that he was under a misapprehension.

‘I haven’t come to stay with you. I’m hanging out at a cottage which they tell me is a little farther down the road.’

‘Wee Nooke?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Have you taken Wee Nooke?’

‘Yes.’

‘What made you suddenly decide to do that?’

I had foreseen that some explanation of my presence might be required, and was ready with my story. My lips being sealed, of course, on the real reason which had brought me to Steeple Bumpleigh, it was necessary to dissemble.

‘Jeeves thought he would like to do a bit of fishing. And,’ I added, making the thing more plausible, ‘they tell me a fancy dress dance is breaking out in these parts to-morrow night. Well, you know me when I hear rumours of these entertainments. The war horse and the bugle. And now,’ I said, licking the lips, ‘how about a cooling drink? The journey has left me a little parched.’

I climbed through the window, and sank into a chair, while he went off to fetch the ingredients. Presently he returned with the jingling tray, and after we had done a bit of stag-at-eve-ing and exchanged some desultory remarks about this and that, I did the civil thing by congratulating him on his engagement.