Page 18 of Cocktail Time

  'I do feel extremely grateful for my good fortune, Mr I.' 'I bet you do. There's nothing like getting married. It's the only life, as Brigham Young and King Solomon would tell you, if they were still with us. And now here's something I was wanting to ask you. I wonder if plighting your troth has affected you as plighting mine many years ago affected me. I remember that I was filled with a sort of yeasty benevolence that embraced the whole human race. I wanted to go about doing acts of kindness to everybody I met. Do you feel the same?'

  'Oh yes, Mr I. I feel just like that.'

  'Splendid! Because there's a little routine job I would like you to do for me. Will your future wife be on the premises during the next hour or so?'

  'I shouldn't think so, Mr I. She went off to this sale in the village hall, and wasn't expecting to get back too soon.'

  'Excellent. Then there will be no one to hear his cries.'

  'Cries, Mr I?'

  'The big chief's. I want you to lock him up in the wine cellar, Bert, and I imagine he'll shout a good deal. You know how people do, when you lock them in wine cellars.'

  It seemed to be Lord Ickenham's fate these days to extract from those with whom he conversed on the telephone what Mr and Mrs Carlisle called groans or gurgles, though for the sound that now came over the wire a precisian might have preferred the term 'gulp'. Whatever its correct classification, it indicated plainly that his words had made a deep impression on Albert Peasemarch. In the manner in which he spoke there was more than a suggestion of Phoebe Wisdom at her most emotional.

  'Do what to Sir Raymond, did you say, Mr I?'

  'Lock him in the wine cellar. I wouldn't call him Sir Raymond, though, now that you are linked to him in such sentimental bonds. It's time you were thinking of him as Ray or Beefy. Well, that's all, Bert. Carry on.'

  'But, Mr I!'

  Lord Ickenham frowned. Wasted, of course, on a Peasemarch who could not see him.

  'You have a rather annoying habit, Bert, when I ask you to do some perfectly simple thing for me, of saying "But, Mr I",' he said, a little stiffly. 'It's just a mannerism, I know, but I wish you wouldn't. What's on your mind?'

  'Well, the question it occurred to me to ask was—'

  'Yes?'

  'Why do you want me to lock Sir Raymond in the wine cellar?'

  Lord Ickenham clicked his tongue.

  'Never mind why. You know as well as I do that the Secret Service can't give reasons for every move it makes. If I were to tell you why, and it got about through some incautious word of yours, a third world war would be inevitable. And I seem to remember you saying that you were opposed to the idea of a third world war.'

  'Oh, I am, Mr I. I wouldn't like it at all. But—'

  'That word again!'

  'But what I was going to say was How do I go about it?'

  'My dear fellow, there are a hundred ways of luring a man into a wine cellar. Tell him you would like his opinion on the last lot of claret. Ask him to come and inspect the ginger ale, because you're afraid the moths have been at it. That part of the thing presents no difficulty. And the locking-in will be equally simple. You just shimmer off while his back is turned and twiddle the key. A child of four could do it. A child of three,' said Lord Ickenham, correcting himself. 'Drake would have done it without missing a drum beat. Snap into it, Bert, and give me a ring when you're through.'

  It was some ten minutes later that the telephone bell rang. When Albert Peasemarch spoke, it was in the subdued voice of a nervous novice who had just done his first murder.

  'Everything has been attended to, Mr I.'

  'He's in storage?'

  'Yes, Mr I.'

  'Capital! I knew I could rely on you not to bungle it. We of the Home Guard don't bungle. It wasn't so hard, was it?'

  'Not hard, no—'

  'But it has taken it out of you a little, no doubt,' said Lord Ickenham sympathetically. 'Your pulse is high, your breathing is stertorous and there are floating spots before your eyes. Well, go and lie down and have a nice nap.'

  Albert Peasemarch coughed.

  'What I was thinking I'd do, Mr I, was take the bus to Reading and catch the train to London, and spend the next week or two there. I would prefer not to encounter Sir Raymond until some little time has elapsed.'

  'From what you were able to gather through the closed door, he seemed annoyed, did he?'

  'Yes, Mr I.'

  'I can't imagine why. I know dozens of men who would think it heaven to be locked in a wine cellar. Still, no doubt you're right. Time, the great healer, and all that sort of thing. Then this is goodbye for the moment, Bert. A thousand thanks. I will see that word of what you have done reaches the proper quarter. And if you're in London long enough, I'll look you up and we'll have a night out together.'

  Well pleased, Lord Ickenham replaced the receiver and went on to the terrace. He had been there a few minutes, finishing his cigar and enjoying the peace of the summer afternoon, when a car came by and drew up at the front door. Fearing that this might be the County paying a formal call, he had recoiled a step and was preparing to make a dive for safety, when the occupant of the car alighted, and he saw that it was Barbara Crowe.

  CHAPTER 24

  Lord Ickenham would probably have been deeply offended if he had been told that in any circumstances his mind could run on parallel lines with that of Cosmo Wisdom, a young man whose intelligence he heartily despised, but it is undoubtedly the fact that the sight of Barbara Crowe set him thinking, as Cosmo had done, what a consummate ass Raymond Bastable had been to let this woman go. In her sports dress, with the little green hat that went with it, she was looking more attractive than ever, and nothing could have been more warming to the heart than the smile she gave him as he hailed her.

  'Why, Freddie,' she said, 'what on earth are you doing here?'

  'I am staying with Johnny Pearce, my godson, while my wife is in Scotland. She wanted me to go with her, but I would have none of it. So, having some foolish prejudice against letting me run loose, as she calls it, in London, she dumped me on Johnny. But what brings you to these parts?'

  'I've come to see Cosmo Wisdom about making some appearances on television. And Howard Saxby junior wants me to bring Howard Saxby senior back. He's afraid he'll fall into the lake or something. This place of your godson's is a kind of pub, isn't it?'

  'Johnny takes in paying guests, yes.'

  'I'd better book a room.'

  'Plenty of time. I want to talk to you, Barbara. Let us go and seat ourselves under yonder tree. What I was hoping when I saw you get out of that car,' said Lord Ickenham, having settled her in a deck chair and dropping into one himself, 'was that you had come to see Beefy Bastable.'

  Barbara Crowe started.

  'Raymond? What do you mean? Is he here?'

  'Not actually in Johnny's dosshouse. He lives at the Lodge across the park. We might look in on him later. Not just now, for I know he will be occupied for the next hour or so, but after you have had a wash and brush-up.'

  Barbara's cheerful face lost some of its cheerfulness.

  'This is a bit awkward.'

  'Why?'

  'He'll think I'm pursuing him.'

  'Of course he will, and a very good thing, too. It will give him the encouragement he sorely needs. He'll say to himself, "Well, dash my buttons, I thought I'd lost her, but if she comes legging it after me like this, things don't look so sticky after all." It will make his day. And from that to restoring relations to their old footing will be but a step. Why,' asked Lord Ickenham, 'do you laugh in that hollow, hacking way?'

  'Well, don't you think it's funny?'

  'Not in the least. What's funny?'

  'The idea you seem to have that Raymond still cares for me.'

  'My dear girl, he's potty about you.'

  'What nonsense! He's never been near me or phoned me or written to me since... it happened.'

  'Of course he hasn't. You don't realize what a sensitive plant Beefy is. You see him in court ripping t
he stuffing out of witnesses, and you say to yourself, "H'm! A tough guy!" little knowing that at heart he is... what are those things that shrink? ... violets, that's the word I was after... little knowing that at heart he is a shrinking violet. He's not a coarse-fibred chap like me. Every time my Jane broke our engagement, I hounded her with brutal threats till she mended it again, but Beefy would never do that. Delicacy is his dish. He would assume that when you gave him the old heave-ho, it meant that you didn't want to have any more to do with him, and, though it was agony, he kept away. He should have known that little or no importance is to be attached to these lovers' tiffs. That hacking laugh again! What amuses you?'

  'Your calling it a tiff.'

  'I believe that is the expression commonly used. If it wasn't a tiff, what was it?'

  'A terrific row. A pitched battle, which culminated in my calling him a pompous old stuffed shirt.'

  'I wouldn't have thought Beefy would have objected to that. He must know that he is a pompous old stuffed shirt.'

  Barbara Crowe blazed into sudden fury.

  'He isn't anything of the sort! He's a lamb.'

  A what?'

  'He's the most wonderful man there ever was.'

  'That is your considered opinion?'

  'Yes, Frederick Altamont Cornwallis Twistleton, that is my considered opinion.'

  Lord Ickenham gave a satisfied nod.

  'So, as I suspected, the flame of love still burns! It does, does it not?'

  'Yes, it does.'

  'One word from him, and you would follow him to the ends of the earth?'

  'Yes, I would.'

  'Well, he won't be going there, not at the moment, anyway. My dear Barbara, this is extremely gratifying. If that's how things are at your end, we ought to be able to fix this up in no time in a manner agreeable to all parties. I wasn't sure how you felt. I knew, of course, that Beefy loved you. That habit of his, when he thinks he is alone, of burying his face in his hands and muttering "Barbara! Barbara."'

  'He always called me "Baby".'

  Lord Ickenham started.

  'Beefy did?'

  'Yes.'

  'You're sure?'

  'Quite sure.'

  'Well, you know best. I wouldn't have thought... but that is neither here nor there. Then no doubt it was "Baby! Baby!" that he was muttering. It doesn't really matter. The salient point is that he muttered. Well, I must say everything looks pretty smooth now.'

  'Does it?'

  'Surely? Here, as I see it, are two sundered hearts it will be very simple to bring together.'

  'Not so simple as you think.'

  'What seems to be the difficulty?'

  'The difficulty, my dear Freddie, is that he is determined that Phoebe shall share our little nest, and I'm equally determined that she shan't. That's the real rock we split on.'

  'He wanted Phoebe to live with you?'

  'Yes. There's a parsimonious streak in Raymond. I suppose it comes from having been so hard up when he was starting at the Bar. He was desperately hard up, you know, before he got going. When I suggested that our married life would run much more smoothly if he gave Phoebe a couple of thousand a year and told her to go off and take a flat in Kensington, or a villa in Bournemouth or whatever she fancied, he said he couldn't possibly afford it. And, as they say, one word led to another. Do you ever lose your temper, Freddie?'

  'Very seldom. I'm the equable type.'

  'I wish I were. When moved, I spit and scratch. He kept saying things like "We must be practical" and "Women never realize that men are not made of money", and I couldn't take it. That was when I called him a pompous old stuffed shirt. Yes?' said Barbara coldly. 'Why are you laughing in that hollow, hacking way?'

  'I doubt if those are the right adjectives to describe my little ripple of mirth. They suggest gloom and bitterness, and I am anything but gloomy and bitter. I laughed – musically and with an infectious lilt – because it always entertains me to see people creating, as Albert Peasemarch would say, when there is no necessity.'

  'No necessity?'

  'None whatever.'

  'God bless you, Frederick Ickenham. And who is Albert Peasemarch?'

  An intimate friend of mine. To tell you all about him – his career, his adventures by flood and field, his favourite breakfast food and so on – would take too long. What will probably interest you most is the fact that he will very shortly be marrying Phoebe.'

  'What!'

  'Yes. They fixed it up this afternoon. The expression you are probably groping for,' suggested Lord Ickenham, seeing that his companion was struggling to find speech, 'is "Cor lumme, stone the crows!" – It is the one Bert Peasemarch uses when in the grip of some powerful emotion.'

  Barbara found speech.

  'He's marrying Phoebe?'

  'This surprises you?'

  'Well, it isn't everybody who would want to marry Phoebe, is it? Who is this humble hero?'

  'Beefy's butler. Or perhaps, after what he was saying to me on the telephone just now, I should put an "ex" before the word.'

  'Phoebe's marrying a butler?'

  'Somebody's got to, or the race of butlers would die out. And Bert will be a notable improvement on the late Algernon Wisdom. You spoke?'

  'I said, "Quick, Freddie – your handkerchief!"'

  'Cold in the head?'

  'Crying. Tears of joy. Oh, Freddie!'

  'I thought you might possibly be pleased about it.'

  'Pleased! Why, this solves everything.'

  'Things have a way of getting solved when an Ickenham takes a hand in them.'

  'You mean, you worked it?'

  'I think something I said to Phoebe, some casual remark about Albert Peasemarch worshipping the ground she trod on, may have been not without its influence.'

  'Freddie, I'm going to kiss you.'

  'There is nothing I would enjoy more, but if you will glance over your shoulder, you will see that we are about to have Howard Saxby senior with us. This frequently happens here. Whatever Hammer Hall's shortcomings, there is never any stint of Howard Saxby senior. I have been wondering what has been keeping him away. It is not often that he denies one his society for such a lengthy period. Hullo, Saxby'

  'Ah, Scriventhorpe.'

  'Cigarette?'

  'No, thank you,' said Mr Saxby, taking needles and a ball of wool from his pocket. 'I would prefer to knit. I'm roughing out a sweater for my little grandson. An ambitious project, but I think something ought to come of it!'

  'That's the spirit. Here's Barbara Crowe.'

  'So I see. It's an extraordinary thing. I was saying to myself, as I came up, "That woman has quite a look of Barbara Crowe." I understand now why there was such a resemblance. What are you doing here, Barbara?'

  'I've come to take you home, young Saxby'

  'I don't want to go home.'

  'Howard junior says you must.'

  'Then I suppose I'll have to. When did you arrive?'

  About ten minutes ago.'

  'I am sorry I was not here to greet you. I have been down at the village hall, watching that sale. You should have been there, Scriventhorpe. That cabinet

  Lord Ickenham sat up alertly.

  'How much did it fetch?'

  'I wish you would not bark at me like that,' said Mr Saxby a little peevishly. 'You've made me drop a stitch. I was telling you about the sale, was I not? It was replete with interest. You have often accused me, Barbara,' Mr Saxby proceeded, 'of being eccentric, and there may be something in the charge, for others have told me the same. But real eccentricity, eccentricity in the fullest sense of the term, flourishes only in Dovetail Hammer. I must begin by saying – you will forgive me, Scriventhorpe, for going over ground which is already familiar to you – that there was recently on these premises an imitation walnut cabinet which was an offence to the eye and worth at the most a few pounds. It was included in this sale of which I speak, and judge of my astonishment—'

  'How much did it fetch?' said Lord Ickenham.
>
  Mr Saxby gave him a cold look.

  'And judge of my astonishment when, after several other objects of equal horror had been put up and knocked down for a few shillings, this cabinet was displayed, and I heard a voice say "Fifty pounds".'

  'Ha!'

  'I wish you wouldn't say "Ha!" in that abrupt way. I've dropped another stitch. It was the voice of that American fellow who is staying at the Hall. Carstairs is, I think, the name.'

  'Carlisle.'

  'Indeed? Flannery knows a man named Carlisle. You've probably heard him speak of him. A most interesting life he has had, Flannery says, with curious things constantly happening to him. He was once bitten by a rabbit.'

  'You don't say?'

  'So Flannery assures me. An angora. It turned on him and sank its teeth in his wrist while he was offering it a carrot.'

  'Probably on a diet,' said Lord Ickenham, and Mr Saxby agreed that this might have been so.

  'But we must not allow ourselves to get mixed up,' he proceeded. 'It was not that Carlisle, the one who was bitten by a rabbit, who said "Fifty pounds", but this other Carlisle, who is staying at the Hall and has never, to the best of my knowledge, been bitten by a rabbit. He said "Fifty pounds", and I was still gasping with astonishment, when another voice said "A hundred". It was that young fellow who was in my office the other day, Barbara, the squirt, the one you sent me here to apologize to. Though what there was to apologize about... However, what is his name? I've forgotten.'

  'Cosmo Wisdom.'

  'Ah, yes. Connected somehow with the motion picture industry. Well, he said "A hundred pounds"!'

  And to cut a long story short,' said Lord Ickenham.

  Mr Saxby never cut long stories short.

  'I could scarcely credit my senses. I must emphasize once again that this beastly cabinet would have been dear at five pounds. Sometimes you will see an imitation walnut cabinet that looks reasonably attractive. Some quite good work done in that line, if you know where to find it. But this one had no redeeming features. And yet these two eccentrics persisted in bidding against each other for it, and might have gone on for ever, had not a peculiar interruption occurred. I don't know if either of you are acquainted with Bastable's sister?'