Bachelors Anonymous (5 page)

‘That’s
good.’

‘It
solved the immediate problem. And now perhaps you’ll tell me what Llewellyn
wants and who the hell Llewellyn is.’

Jerry
seemed surprised.

‘Haven’t
you heard of Ivor Llewellyn?’

‘Never.’

‘The
big motion picture man.’

‘Of
course, yes. I’ve seen the name on the screen at the beginning of films. “A
Superba-Llewellyn Production”.’

‘That’s
right.’

‘But
why does he want me, if he does want me? To do what?’

‘To act
as a sort of resident bodyguard, I gathered.’

‘To
guard him from what?’

‘He
didn’t say. He became a bit coy when I approached that point. But if you go to
8 Enniston Gardens, where he lives, and say I sent you, I imagine he’ll tell
you.’

‘Perhaps
secret enemies are after him.’

‘Possibly.’

‘A man
like that must have dozens.’

‘Hundreds.’

‘All
wearing Homburg hats and raincoats.’

‘And
armed with Tommy guns. Though, if you ask me, he just wants someone on the spot
to say “Yes” to him. Anyway, he’ll pay a fat salary, so go and see him.’

‘I
will. And thanks, Jerry.’

‘Not at
all. I shall watch your future progress with considerable interest.’

‘If it
simply means saying “Yes”, he couldn’t get a better man.’

The
inter-office communication buzzed. Jerry leaped to it.

‘Yes,
father? … Right away, father…. Expect me in half a jiffy, father. That was
father, Joe. He wants to see me about something,’ said Jerry, and disappeared
at a speed that seemed to suggest that when the head of the firm sent for
junior partners, he expected quick service.

Joe
remained plunged in thought. He was by nature an optimist, and the slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune which up to the present had played such a large
part in his life had not completely crushed the hope that, as his friend Mac
had said, the sun would one of these days come smiling through. And this
Llewellyn opening seemed to him to indicate that this was just what the sun had
decided to do.

Mr
Llewellyn’s reasons for requiring his services had still to be made clear.
Possibly he wanted someone to dance before him as David danced before Saul, to
entertain him with simple card tricks, or merely to be available to tell
unwelcome callers that he was in conference, but, broadly speaking, he was
plainly in need of a right-hand man, and in Joseph Pickering he would find that
he had made the right selection. He saw himself so endearing himself to Mr
Llewellyn, rendering himself so indispensable to Mr Llewellyn, that the latter
would have no option but to bestow upon him one of the many lucrative jobs
which were at the disposal of a magnate of his eminence. This would enable him,
his finances placed on a sound basis, to marry the girl he loved and live
happily ever afterwards.

He
would first, of course, have to ascertain her name and where she lived, which
might involve a certain amount of spadework, but this could be done with the
aid of private detectives and bloodhounds.

Not a
single flaw could he detect in the picture he had conjured up, and he closed
his eyes, the better to enjoy it.

It was
at this moment that the door opened noiselessly and Sally came in.

2

As Sally advanced into the
room, she was feeling nervous, though she could not have explained why. Nothing
to be nervous about, of course. Nichols and the rest of them had asked her to
call, she had written to say she would be calling, and here she was. All
perfectly straightforward. It was just that there is always something in a
lawyer’s office which gives the lay visitor the uncomfortable feeling that,
though things are all right so far, he may at any moment be accused of soccage
in fief or something of that sort and find it difficult to clear himself.

It did
not make it easier for Sally that the particular lawyer she was visiting
appeared to be asleep, worn out no doubt with toiling over the intricate case
of Popjoy versus the Amalgamated Society of Woolworkers. But she was a
courageous girl, so she said ‘Good morning’, and Joe leaped as if the simple
words had been a red-hot poker applied to the seat of his trousers.

Springing
up and turning, he enabled Sally to see his face, and her relief on discovering
an old acquaintance, where she had anticipated an elderly stranger with a cold
eye and a dry cough, was great. It did not occur to her to look on Joe’s
presence there as peculiar. He had told her he worked in a solicitor’s office,
and this was presumably it.

‘Why,
hullo,’ she said.

Joe was
for a moment speechless. For the first time in the past two weeks he found
himself thinking kindly of Fate. In the matter of three-act comedies Fate might
have let him down with a thud, but it had certainly given of its best now. The
miracle of having found this girl, first crack out of the box as it were,
stirred him to his depths, and he stared at her dumbly. When he recovered
speech, it was of a very inferior quality. He said:

‘Well,
I’ll be…’

“‘Damned”
is, I think, the word you are groping for. I suppose it
is
a
coincidence.’

‘It’s
the most amazing thing that has ever happened in the world’s history.’

It was
not in Joe to be dumb or even incoherent for long. He was a resilient young
man, and already he had begun to recover, and was feeling his customary
effervescent self again. It amazed him that he could ever have been a prey to
depression. For him at this juncture the sun was not merely smiling, it was
wearing a broad grin, like a Cheshire cat.

‘Won’t
you … sit down, as we say in the theatre?’ he said.

‘Thank
you. Had I better start by showing you my birth certificate?’

‘Yes,
do. People are always asking me if I have read any good birth certificates
lately.’

‘It
proves that I am the Sarah Fitch—’

‘Fitch!
Of course. Fitch.’

‘—formerly
of Much Middlefold in the county of Worcestershire whom you’ve been advertising
for.’

‘And
what’s your address?’

‘Where
I’m living now, do you mean?’

‘Exactly.
Obviously you aren’t in the county of Worcestershire, so you must be somewhere
else—as it might be in the metropolis somewhere.’

‘Oh, I
see. I’m at one of those hostel places, 18 Laburnam Road, up Notting Hill way.
Is it important?‘

‘Very,’
said Joe. ‘Very.’

He was
relieved to know that there would now be no need for the detectives and
bloodhounds whose services he had been planning to engage. Detectives and
bloodhounds come high.

‘Cigarette?’
he said hospitably.

‘Thanks,’
said Sally, and laughed.

‘What’s
the joke?’ Joe asked.

‘I was
just thinking what Miss Carberry would say if she saw me now.’

‘You
look all right to me.’

‘Yes,
but I’m smoking.’

‘Ah,
yes, I remember you told me about her.’

‘She
caught me with a cigarette once and lectured me till I felt as if I had
confessed to murder, arson, mutiny on the high seas and keeping a dog without a
licence. So this is where you work,’ said Sally, looking about her. ‘Pretty
snug.’

Joe
coughed.

‘I’m
afraid I must advance a small correction. I don’t work here. My overlords are
Shoesmith, Shoesmith, Shoesmith and Shoesmith, who operate a bit farther east.
I am just a waif washed up at the doorstep of Nichols, Erridge, Trubshaw and
Nichols. They let me come in sometimes to get out of the cold when there’s a
snowstorm outside. As a matter of fact I looked in to see my friend Jerry
Nichols. He was summoned to the presence of the big chief a moment ago, but
ought to be back soon, and he, I fancy, is the man you want to see if you have
important legal business. Have you important legal business? Not that I wish to
pry into your affairs.’

‘No, I
noticed that. It’s important to me all right. If I’m the Sarah Fitch they have
been advertising for.’

‘Bound
to be. Birth certificate and everything.’

‘And
unquestionably formerly of Much Middlefold in the county of Worcestershire.’

‘Ask
me, the thing’s a walkover. No contest. They will be dust beneath your chariot
wheels. You must tell me all about it at lunch.’

‘Lunch?’

‘I
forgot to mention that. You are lunching with me at Barribault’s grill room at
one o’clock. Unless you elect to put in what Shoesmith, Shoesmith, Shoesmith,
Shoesmith, Erridge, Trubshaw and both the Nicholses would call a rebuttal.’

‘No
rebuttal,’ said Sally. ‘That’ll be fine.’ And squashed out her cigarette. She
had been planning a roll and butter and a cup of coffee at some wayside tea
shoppe, and, though she had never been to Barribault’s world-famous restaurant,
she knew its reputation.

‘If I’m
late,’ she said, ‘wait awhile.’

‘Till
the sands of the desert grow cold,’ said Joe.

Jerry
came back into the room. He had a relieved look, as if his interview with his
father had turned out unexpectedly well. Mr Nichols senior was a perfectionist
who, when his son’s conduct called for rebuke, never hesitated to speak his
mind.

‘Oh,
there you are, Jerry,’ said Joe. ‘How was Pop?’

‘Very
amiable. He only wanted to give me some instructions about a Miss Fitch in case
she blew in.

‘This
is Miss Fitch, if you mean the one who was formerly of Much Middlefold in the
county of Worcestershire.’

‘No,
really?’

‘Absolutely.
Birth certificate and everything.’

‘Good
morning, Miss Fitch. I’m Mr Nichols.’

‘Junior.’

‘I’m
one of the partners.’

‘Junior,’
added Joe, ‘and if you had come in a day or two earlier, he wouldn’t have even
been that. A splendid fellow, nevertheless, in whom you can place every
confidence. I know of no one I would rather show my birth certificate to. Well,
as you will have lots to talk about, I’ll leave you. Barribault’s grill room at
one o’clock, to refresh your memory, Miss Fitch. I’ll book a table. Goodbye,
Jerry,’ said Joe, and was gone.

3

‘That was Joe Pickering,’
said Jerry.

‘I
know. I interviewed him for my paper. ‘

‘A
shame about his play, wasn’t it.’

‘Ruined
by that Dalrymple woman. ‘

‘Oh,
really?’

‘She
pinched lines and upset balances.’

‘Too
bad.’

‘That’s
not the way to win to success.’

‘No,’
said Jerry. ‘And now—er—,’ he added, feeling that, delightful though this
exchange of views on the drama was, his father would have something to say if
he caught him exchanging them, ‘Shall we— er—?’

‘Get
down to what I suppose you would call the
res?
Yes, we ought to,
oughtn’t we? Why did you want me to come here?’

‘It was
with reference to the will of the late Miss Letitia Carberry.’

Sally
gasped.

‘Late?’

‘I’m
afraid so.’

‘Oh, I
am
sorry. I was so fond of her, and she was always so kind to me. What was it?’

‘Heart,
I believe.’

‘Oh,
dear.’

‘Would
you like a glass of water?’

‘No,
thanks. I’m all right.’

There
was a silence. Jerry was wishing that the task of breaking the distressing news
had been placed in the hands of Alexander Erridge or B. J. Trubshaw. A tear was
stealing down Sally’s cheek, and crying women always made him feel as if he
were wearing winter woollies during a heat wave. But he reminded himself that
business was business and that he was a hard-headed partner in a prominent
legal firm, and continued.

‘Miss
Carberry was a very wealthy woman.’

‘I
know. I used to have to write all the letters about her investments.’

‘You
were employed by her?’

‘For
two years, as a secretary.’

‘And
your relations were always friendly?’

‘I was
telling Mr Pickering that she was more like a sort of aunt than an employer.’

‘Then
that accounts for it.’

‘It?’

‘You
are
the daughter of the Reverend Herbert Fitch, vicar of Much Middlefold?’

‘In the
county of Worcestershire? I certainly am.’

‘May I see,
that birth certificate for a moment?’

‘Here
it is.’

‘Seems
all in order, and as there must be dozens of people in .Much Middlefold who
will vouch for you, there doesn’t appear to be any need for a lengthy …
what’s the word?’