Bachelors Anonymous (17 page)

2

London looked very
beautiful to Joe as he drove to Fountain Court. Mr Trout had described it as a
veritable fairyland, and he had been, Joe thought, pretty accurate. The streets
were full of delightful-looking people with whom he was sure he would have got
on splendidly if he had only had time to stop and fraternise. The dogs, too,
taking the air on leashes. He would have liked, had speed not been so important,
to have got out and passed the time of day with all of them and with the cats
as well, if there had been any. He was, in a word, feeling in mid-season form
and getting more so every minute.

As he
drove, he mused on Mr Trout, and thought what a capital fellow he was. If that
was the sort of man California produced, one could understand it being known as
the Jewel State of the Union. A purist might shake his head at the old
gentleman’s practice of introducing foreign substances into people’s drinks,
but that was a negligible flaw in an otherwise saintly character, and how
superbly he made amends when he considered the time had come for making them.
Remorse gripped Joe as he thought how churlishly he had denied Mr Trout the
pleasure of telling him all about his childhood, boyhood and college days and
singing him the Bachelors Anonymous theme song.

It was
Mr Trout who opened the door of 3A Fountain Court to him. One might have
supposed that, having said his say, he would have left the premises, but Mr
Trout was one of those men who do not leave premises. They stay on, waiting to
see what is going to happen next.

They
conversed in the hall.

‘You’ve
told her?’ said Joe urgently.

Mr
Trout said he had, and might have added that Joe could have guessed as much
from his beaming countenance.

Pausing
only to say ‘At-a-boy’, Joe asked how she had taken it.

‘She
wept.’

‘Wept?’

‘Tears
of joy. She was overjoyed, Pickering. It was obvious that a great weight had
been lifted from her mind and that the sun had—’

‘Come
smiling through?’

‘The
very phrase I was about to employ. It made me feel very happy, Pickering, to
think that I had been instrumental in joining two sundered hearts together.
Strange how one’s views can change, as it were in a flash. It seems only
yesterday, in fact it was only yesterday, that I thought the great thing with
sundered hearts was to keep them sundered.’

‘So you
think everything’s all right?’

‘Everything
is perfect. True, she is engaged to be married to somebody else, but she is
extremely fond of you. It showed clearly in her manner.’

The
effect of these words on Joe was somewhat similar to that which would have been
produced by a blow on the bridge of the nose by a wet fish. His jaw fell. His
eyes bulged. He tottered and might have fallen had he not clutched at the
umbrella stand.

‘Engaged
to someone else?’ he quavered.

‘Yes.
Owing, I gathered, to a regrettable misunderstanding. You asked her to lunch,
and she was prevented by circumstances over which she had no control from
putting in an appearance. When subsequently you asked her to dinner and in
your turn did not put in an appearance, she assumed that you had done it to
punish her, and being a girl of spirit she resented it. So when this man asked
her to marry him, she accepted him by way of evening the score.

The
whole affair has in it something of the inevitability of Greek tragedy.’

‘And it
wouldn’t have happened,’ said Joe bitterly, removing a hand from the umbrella
stand and waving it, ‘if you didn’t go about the place giving people Mickey
Finns.’

A faint
blush mantled Mr Trout’s cheek.

‘Yes,’
he said, ‘I suppose that is in a measure true. But you must remember that I
thought I was acting in your best interests. And fortunately no harm has been
done.’

‘No
harm?’

‘I am
convinced that you have only to fold her in a close embrace and she will forget
all about this other man to whom she has rashly become affianced. Those tears
of joy told the story. Fold her in a close embrace, and all will be well.’

Joe was
impressed. Had this advice come solely from Mr Trout, he might have ignored it,
reasoning that a veteran member of Bachelors Anonymous could scarcely be
accepted as a fount of wisdom where feminine psychology was concerned. But
Jerry Nichols had said the same thing, and Jerry was a man who knew. Any theory
promulgated by him must have been tested a dozen times and proved correct.

The
strong-arm methods favoured by both counsellors might, of course, be resented,
for he had no official knowledge that his love was returned. Nevertheless, he
was resolved to put his fate to the touch to win or lose it all, as recommended
by the poet Montrose. The phrase ‘Nothing venture, nothing have’ occurred to
him. At the worst, if she drew herself to her full height and said ‘Sir!’ he
would have kissed her and would have that memory to cheer him up in the long
lonely winter evenings. Even if given time for only two or three kisses, he
would be that much ahead of the game.

‘Is she
in there?’ he said, indicating the door of the sitting-room.

‘No,’
said Mr Trout. ‘When I had told my story, she went off in a cab.’

‘What
on earth for?’

‘To see
you, of course. Little knowing that you were on your way to see
her.
Quite
an amusing little mix-up,’ said Mr Trout.

And as
he spoke a key clicked in the door.

3

A key clicking in a door
is one of London’s smaller sounds, not to be compared for volume to the thousand
others which enliven life in that city, but the click of this one could not
have arrested Joe’s attention more immediately if it had been the explosion of
a bomb. He quivered in every limb, and when the door opened and Sally entered
he was about to leap forward and fold her in a close embrace, when she leaped
forward and folded
him
in one, at the same time saying ‘Oh, Joe, Joe,
Joe!’ It was plain that she, like Jerry, believed in skipping red tape and
proceeding at once to the direct action which speaks so much louder than words.

‘Oh,
Joe!’ said Sally.

‘Oh,
Sally!’ said Joe.

‘I’ve
been feeling awful,’ said Sally.

‘Me,
too,’ said Joe. ‘I wish I had a quid for every time I’ve thought of sticking my
head in the gas oven.’

‘Oh,
Joe!’ said Sally.

‘Oh,
Sally!’ said Joe.

A man
of more delicacy than Mr Trout would have withdrawn softly at this point,
feeling that the tender scene was one that did not demand the presence of an
audience, but Mr Trout’s slowness at leaving premises was equalled by his
reluctance to withdraw from tender scenes. He stood there drinking in this one
with a benevolent smile.

It was
a smile which conveyed only benevolence, but there was in his eyes anxiety and
concern, for he was feeling that everything was not so simple as the two
principals appeared to think. And when he heard Joe speaking enthusiastically
of visits to registry offices and Sally falling in eagerly with the suggestion,
he called attention to himself with one of those dry coughs in which lawyers
specialise.

‘Are we
not forgetting something?’ he said.

Joe
started violently. He had had no notion that Mr Trout was among those present.
He had supposed that on seeing Sally he would have realised that his company
was not desired. But, as has been shown, it would have come as a surprise to
him to learn that his company was ever not desired. He was as difficult to
dislodge as a family spectre.

‘Good
Lord!’ said Joe. ‘Are you still here?’

‘Still
here,’ Mr Trout assured him. ‘And when you speak of immediate visits to
registry offices with Miss Fitch, I think it is only fitting to remind you that
she is engaged to be married to someone else.’

He had
anticipated that the point he was raising would have a damping effect, and he
was right. It did have a damping effect. Joe blinked and released Sally, and
Sally collapsed on the umbrella stand.

‘Who is
this fellow you’re engaged to?’ Joe demanded.

‘Jaklyn
Warner,’ said Sally, and Joe had to rebuke her.

‘No,
this is serious, darling,’ he said. ‘Don’t cloud the issue by being funny. Who
are you really engaged to?’

‘Jaklyn
Warner.’

‘But
you can’t be. You’ve never met him.’

‘I’ve
known him for years.’

‘Then
you must realise the utter impossibility of marrying him.’

‘Who is
this Mr Warner?’ asked Mr Trout. ‘Eh? Oh, I was not aware. Who is this Sir
Jaklyn Warner?‘

It was
a question which Joe felt fully competent to answer.

‘He is
London’s leading louse, a worm, a chiseller, a rat, a sponger, never done a
stroke of work in his life, supports himself by borrowing money, which of
course he never pays back.’

Mr
Trout nodded sagely.

‘I know
the type. Young men like that abound in Hollywood. They live on cocktails and
appetisers at parties to which they have not been invited. They roam the
streets of Beverly Hills till they hear music and see a string of coloured
lanterns, and then they go in and eat sausages on little sticks. I am
surprised, Miss Fitch, that you should have plighted your troth to one of
these.’

‘I was
engaged to him once before. When I lived in Worcestershire.’

‘Well,
that’s no reason why you should make a habit of it,’ said Joe severely. He was
much moved. ‘You must get in touch with him immediately and break the
engagement.’

‘Oh, I
couldn’t.’

‘Why
not?’

‘He
would be certain to cry, and I couldn’t bear it.’

‘A
dilemma,’ said Mr Trout. ‘Definitely a dilemma. ‘

‘But I
see a way round it,’ said Joe. ‘Has he a telephone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then
it’s perfectly simple. You just ring him up and say “Is that you, Jaklyn? I’m
phoning to say it’s all off. I’m marrying Joe Pickering.”’

Mr
Trout frowned, clicked his tongue and tut-tutted.

‘I
could not endorse that procedure.’

‘Why not?’

‘The
party of the second part would bring an action for breach of promise.’

‘Men
don’t bring actions for breach of promise.’

‘Men of
Sir Jaklyn Warner’s stamp do.’

‘That’s
true. I wouldn’t put it past him.’

‘They
have no shame. And we do not want Miss Fitch to run the risk of being mulcted
in substantial damages.’

‘Then
what do you suggest?’

‘That I
go and see this man. The situation is beyond the scope of a layman. It needs a
practised lawyer.’

‘I call
that a splendid idea,’ said Sally, and Joe, though his personal tastes ran more
in the direction of knocking Jaklyn down and jumping on him with hobnailed
boots, had to admit that it was reasonable.

‘I have
handled many similar cases in Hollywood. My clients have often complimented me
on my gifts of persuasion. But we must of course not lose sight of the fact
that in the matter under advisement we shall be facing difficulties. I cannot
guarantee success. I gather from the luxuriousness of this flat that you are
wealthy, Miss Fitch. When I was in the living-room I noticed a Corot over the
mantelpiece which must be worth a considerable sum. This Warner will not resign
his claims willingly. One can only do one’s best. But I will go and see him.’

‘Now?’

‘At
once.’

‘I’ll
come with you.’

‘No. I
must be alone.’

‘Then
I’ll wait in the street,’ said Joe.

‘I see
no objection to that,’ said Mr Trout.

‘Tell
me,’ said Joe as they started their journey. ‘How do you propose to conduct
these negotiations?’

‘Just
as I have invariably conducted negotiations of this nature,’ said Mr Trout.
‘From what you tell me of this Warner he appears to be no different from the
impecunious young men of Hollywood with their diet of dry Martinis and sausages
on little sticks. I have always found them amenable to a money offer and I have
no doubt Sir Jaklyn Warner will be the same.’

‘You
mean to buy him off? ‘

‘Precisely.’

‘H’m.’

‘You
have doubts?’

‘I was
only thinking it’s going to cost a bit.’

‘Money
well spent.’

‘Yes,
of course. No argument about that. The catch is that I haven’t any money. But
if you’ll chalk it up on the slate, I’ll repay you later. I shall have some
coming in soon.’

The
visibility in the cab was not good, but Mr Trout’s benevolent smile did much to
light it up.