'Go away,' said Grayce.
'What do you mean, go away? I've only just come in. Hullo, Bodkin. Have a nice drive?'
'A very profitable drive.’ said Grayce bitterly. 'He's got away with my pearls, as I told you he would.'
'Well, well.'
'Is that all you can say?'
'Nothing wrong with it, as far as I can see. If this house is not open for having "Well, well" said in it, I ought to have been informed.’
If Grayce had not known how impossible it was that her husband could have obtained the materials, she would have leaped to the conclusion that he had been drinking. As it was, she attributed his words to the slowness of intellect which had so often led her to address him as a moron. In spite of his success in the motion picture industry she had always held the view that if he had had an ounce more sense, he would have been halfwitted. All his other wives, oddly enough, had felt the same.
'It does not seem to interest you that I have lost a rope of pearls worth fifty thousand dollars.'
'Ha!'
'What did you say?'
'Just Ha.’
'Why did you say Ha?'
'Because I felt like saying Ha, and when I feel like saying Ha, I say Ha. That's the sort of man I am. Bluff, frank, straightforward. No beating about the bush. What's all this nonsense about Bodkin pinching pearls?'
'Perhaps you would care to hear his story?'
'Capital, capital. Carry on, Bodkin.'
'It will be simpler if I tell it. He says that on the way to Brighton he was held up and robbed.'
'Precisely what I warned you might happen. Going to Brighton nowadays is like walking through Central Park at midnight; there are thugs behind every bush.’
Out in the hall the telephone rang.
'Answer that, Bodkin.’ said Mr. Llewellyn. 'If it's for me, say I'm out.'
'Stay where you are, Bodkin.’ said Grayce. Monty stayed where he was.
'The story Mr. Bodkin tells,’ said Grayce, 'is this. He was driving along, and suddenly Adair appeared from the back of the station wagon and held him up with a pistol.’
'Very good,’ said Mr. Llewellyn like a pleased literary critic. 'A very good story indeed. Adair? You mean that man of mine?'
'Yes.’
'Well, that clears everything up nicely. I never trusted that fellow. Obviously Bodkin is more to be pitied than censured. What can you do if a guy's holding you up with a gun? Yes, I call that an excellent story.'
'If one believed it.’
'Don't you believe it?'
'No, I do not.’
'You're hard to please. It sounds just right to me. Get out, half portion, we're in conference.'
The last words were addressed to Sandy, who had burst into the room waving a sheet of paper, a very different Sandy from the stricken girl who had wept at Mr. Llewellyn's side on the rustic bench. Her eyes were sparkling, her nose twitching, her whole frame vibrating. She looked like a girl in a television commercial who has just been persuaded by a friend to try somebody's shampoo with all its locked-in goodness.
'Monty!' she cried,
Mr. Llewellyn had a paternal fondness for Sandy, but he could not allow this sort of thing.
'You can't go rushing around shouting "Monty".’ he said severely. 'If you have anything to communicate to Bodkin, send him an inter-office memo.’
'But there's a telegram for him. I've just been taking it down on the telephone.'
'Type it out in triplicate and deliver it later.’
It's from Gertrude Butterwick, Monty. She's broken off the engagement.'
Monty came to life with a jerk that threatened to dislocate his spine. He seemed to expand like a flower watered by some kindly gardener. Such was his emotion that he quite forgot that he was in the presence of Mrs. Ivor Llewellyn.
'Sandy!'
'I thought you'd be pleased.'
' "Pleased" doesn't express it by a mile and a quarter. Do you realise what this means? We can get married.'
'I can hardly wait.'
‘I love you, Sandy.'
'Me, too. I mean I also. I mean I love you.'
'Oh joy, oh bliss!'
'Mr. BODKIN!' said Grayce.
'Don't interrupt,' said Mr. Llewellyn. 'Haven't you any respect for two young hearts entwined in Springtime? Well, this is certainly the happy ending. I had a feeling everything would come right in the last reel. Old-fashioned, yes, but it still sells tickets.'
The telephone rang in the hall.
'Answer that, Bodkin. No, I'll go myself. It may be the vicar wanting a subscription to the church organ fund, and feeling the way I do I'll be happy to oblige him.'
He went out, to return a moment later.
'For you, Grayce. Mavis. Fortunate to be alone,' he said as the door closed. 'Gives me a chance to have a word with you in private, pint size. Bodkin told me about that treatment you submitted, and I've been giving it a lot of thought and I've come to the conclusion it's the goods. For some reason I was against it when he gave me the outline, but now I'm sold on it. I'm a strong man, and a strong man is never afraid to change his mind. When Grayce comes back. I shall say to her "Grayce" . . .
He would have spoken further, but the door had flown open and Grayce was with them again. Her emotion, noticeable even before, had reached new heights. She came to the point without preamble.
'Mavis says James Ponder says my pearls are phonies!'
Mr. Llewellyn's calm was monumental. He stifled a yawn, and went so far as to flick a speck of dust from his coat sleeve.
'You hardly needed to be told that, did you?' he said mildly.
'What do you mean?'
'I was afraid he was bound to spot them. Even I could see they were Japanese cultured, and I'm no expert. If you had consulted me, I would have told you you couldn't get away with it.'
'What are you talking about? Are you suggesting that I—?'
'What other explanation is there? I know how your mind worked. You had to hand the things over to Mavis when she married, and you thought that if you couldn't have them, you might as well sell them and get the money. You said to yourself that Mavis would never know the difference. You couldn't have expected she would marry a man high up in the jewellery business. You couldn't have expected a girl like her would marry anyone. So you gave it the old college try, and it went wrong. It's like what a school-marm I once knew used to say about the best-laid plans of mice and men finishing up on the cutting-room floor. And now I suppose I've got to buy another rope of pearls, to keep Mavis quiet. Of course I'm quite willing to ante up to get you out of a jam, but let this be a lesson to you not to try to cut corners. Go, woman, and sin no more. I guess I'll lie down for a while and catch up with my sleep.’ said Mr. Llewellyn, as he made for the door.
'Come back!' shrieked Grayce, but he had gone. She followed him out with flashing eyes, and silence like a poultice came to heal the blows of sound.
'What do you suppose Whistler's Mother will do to him?' said Monty, concerned. He was fond of Mr. Llewellyn, and he feared for his well-being.
'I don't like to think,' said Sandy.
'He has the advantage in reach, but she must be a tough customer when it comes to infighting. Her footwork, too, is probably better than his.'
'I wonder why he married her.'
'He explained that. He was at a loose end, and it was something to do.'
There was a meditative pause. The thoughts of both of them were at the ringside.
'Did you ever see Passion In Paris?' said Monty.
'No. Did you?'
'No. But Llewellyn told me that in the course of the shooting she used up three directors, two assistant directors and a script girl. They were never themselves again.'
'Why a script girl?'
'I see her as an innocent bystander drawn into the hostilities against her will.'
There was another meditative pause.
'A timid little creature with spectacles, don't you think?'
'Who?'
'Th
e script girl.'
'Why spectacles?'
*Why not spectacles?'
There was a third meditative pause.
'I hope all this hasn't discouraged you,' said Sandy.
'How do you mean?'
'This glimpse into married life. Because I won't be like Grayce.'
'You couldn't be.'
'I do think I'll make you happy, don't you?'
'Ecstatic'
'I won't be bossy, like Gertrude.’
'How did you know Gertrude was bossy?'
'Feminine intuition. I don't like her.'
'You've not met her.'
'No, but I've read her telegram.'
'Good Lord, what with one thing and another I've not read it myself. What did it say?'
'Better not ask.'
'It might be wiser.'
'What I'm stressing is that I'm not the Gertrude type.'
'You're the sweetest, most wonderful thing this side of outer space.'
'That's the right spirit.'
The door opened. Mr. Llewellyn appeared. He was yawning, but intact. His manner radiated cheerfulness.
'Well, kids.’ he said, 'And how's love in Springtime?'
They assured him that love in Springtime was fine, and he said he was glad to hear it. He went to the sofa, removed his shoes and lay down with a grunt of contentment.
'Matter of fact,’ he said, 'everything's fine. Grayce is getting a divorce.'
'What!'
'Pure routine. All my wives have done it. They come and go, they come and go. Ever seen a soiled glove? That's what they cast me off like sooner or later. Thank God.’ added Mr. Llewellyn piously.
'But what happened?' cried Sandy.
'Tell us all about it,' said Monty.
But deep breathing from the sofa told that Mr. Llewellyn was beyond the reach of questions.
There was a fourth meditative pause.
'So long as he's happy, bless his heart,' said Sandy.
'He's happy all right.’
'Do you think he'll stop getting married now?' Monty shook his head.
'Stop? You little know our Llewellyn. Rising to n heights of endeavour, hell try for the record.'
And a snore from the sofa seemed to suggest that A Llewellyn endorsed this view.
P. G. Wodehouse, Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkin
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