‘What on earth do you suppose has happened to that blasted woman?’ demanded Miles. ‘Damnation! I’m absolutely certain she’s never going to turn up at all.’
‘Give her a chance, old lad,’ I tried to placate him. ‘After all it’s hardly past ten p.m.’
‘It’s all your fault,’ returned Miles shortly.
‘My fault?’
‘Yes, you’ve told her the wrong date, time, hotel, and seaside resort, I shouldn’t wonder. You always were absolutely hopeless trying to organize anything, even the jam cupboard at school.’
‘That’s a bit hard, I must say! I’ve gone to all this ruddy trouble, just because you want to kick out Connie like a cold hot-water bottle. And I’ve still got to tell Anemone and Dame Hilda no end of fibs on Monday about you and your wife taking over their room for the night. Not to mention what I shall say when the sordid truth comes out in the divorce court. ‘Except that,’ I reflected,’ I shall, of course, be nicely married by then.’
Miles continued to pace angrily up and down our bedroom in the Surfview Hotel.
The Surfview at Whortleton, like the pier and the railway, had been built for the pleasure of our Victorian ancestors, when they decided there was nothing like sea air to cure everything from the green sickness to the galloping scrofula – and, poor chaps, they hadn’t much else to try with. Life at Whortleton had centred mainly round the lobster pots until these ancestors started trundling up and down the beach in their bathing machines, exclaiming that nothing was quite so healthy as the tang of the ozone, though actually it’s only the smell of rotting seaweed and the local sewage. The management of the Surfview, having hit on just the right decor to keep the ancestors happy between dips, hadn’t seen much reason to change it since, and our room contained a couple of beds with brass knobs, a wardrobe hefty enough to resist armour-piercing shells, a curly stand for your hats and umbrellas, a picture of a stag rather puzzled to find itself on a mountain peak, and a framed notice explaining that if anyone swiped your valuables while in residence it was jolly well your own fault.
‘I’m sorry,’ muttered Miles, kicking the commode. ‘I’m somewhat worked up, that’s all. You can hardly blame me.’
‘Perfectly understandable,’ I agreed sportingly. ‘Let’s go straight down and have another recce for Dolores. Besides,’ I remembered, ‘we’ve got to organize those kippers. There’d be no point in the outing at all if the three of us found ourselves picking the bones out of our teeth downstairs in the dining-room.’
‘You go.’ Miles reached for his briefcase. ‘I have some essential lecture notes to prepare. Don’t forget I start again at St Swithin’s on Monday morning.’
‘You might also have a dummy run at your compromising position,’ I suggested. ‘You could practise on the hat stand.’
Miles raised his eyebrows. ‘I shall be observed with my jacket off. I presume that will be enough?’
‘Well – I’d throw in your collar and shoes for good measure.’
As Miles only grunted I went down to the hall and looked hopefully for Dolores among the palms. There was no one in sight at all, except a thin, grey-haired, solemn looking chap in library glasses picking his teeth behind a desk at the door, whom I gathered was the night porter.
‘I suppose there are still plenty of trains from London?’ I asked him, strolling up in a casual way.
‘Last one arrives on Saturday at ten-ten, sir. Except for the three o’clock, of course.’
‘Oh.’ I looked at my watch. ‘I expect Mrs Grimsdyke will arrive on that ten-ten. Perhaps you would kindly show her up to Mr Miles Grimsdyke’s room, number six?
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘Now, about breakfast.’
‘Ah, yes, sir.’
The porter gravely opened his book.
‘Kippers for one, for me, in number ten. Double kippers for Mr Miles Grimsdyke and this ruddy – Mrs Grimsdyke, in number six.’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘Good lord–’ I felt a wave of alarm. ‘The waiter will actually bring the kippers in, won’t he? I mean, he won’t just leave them on the mat? That is, you follow me they might get cold, mightn’t they? And there’s nothing nastier than a cold kipper, is there?
‘If you would prefer, sir, I shall serve the breakfasts myself.’
‘Would you?’ I took a good look at the chap. ‘Yes, I think that would be just the ticket. I suppose,’ I added, very cunningly, ‘you wear glasses only for reading?’
‘Yes, sir. The doctor tells me I suffer from a degree of myopia, sir.’
‘Excellent! Long sight perfect, I take it? And I expect you’re an observant sort of chap – I mean, in a hotel, with things going on all round, you have to be, don’t you?’
‘My hobby in the afternoons is bird watching, sir.’
‘That’s absolutely capital. And you must have a pretty sharp memory for faces?’
‘That is essential in my job, sir.’
‘I thought so. Good. Well. Perhaps you’ll see that Mr Miles Grimsdyke has a good breakfast tomorrow morning?’ I slipped the chap a quid. ‘Extremely keen on his breakfast, Mr Miles Grimsdyke.’
‘That is very kind of you, sir. You are one of Lynx’s new men, I take it, sir?’
‘One of – one of what?’
‘The Lynx Detective Agency, sir. They generally use us. I said to the manager only the other day, sir,’ he added with a fatherly smile, ‘we might as well put their sign outside along with the A.A. and R.A.C., sir.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
I stared at him indignantly, though taking my hat off to the chap for rumbling my little scheme.
‘Oh, come, sir.’ The porter gave another paternal smirk. ‘Honeymoons and divorces, you can spot them a mile off. Not that we get anything like the divorce trade we used to, sir. I remember the days – it’s long ago now – when some weekends you couldn’t get in the Snuggery Bar for detectives. They don’t seem to go in for that style of divorce any more, sir. Different class of people taken it up, I suppose. You see it everywhere. Times change. Mind you, I like to see a divorce done proper, with dignity. If I had my way there’d be a little ceremony in the Court, with the judge passing back the bride to her father and the detective at the husband’s side to pocket the ring–’
‘All right,’ I interrupted. ‘I might as well be perfectly frank and confess what we’re up to. But if the blasted co-respondent doesn’t turn up we’ll just have to scratch the fixture and arrange a replay later, won’t we?’
‘Don’t lose heart, sir. There’s still time yet, and some of these ladies are extremely busy in the evenings, sir.’
I pottered round the lounge, looking at my watch. I turned over the magazines and stared at those booklets putting overseas holidaymakers right about Britain, all timbered inns and groaning boards and jolly landlords quaffing it round the dear old stocks. But by ten-thirty I began to feel dully that Dolores was definitely a non-runner.
‘I’m going to have a mooch round outside,’ I told the porter. ‘If a skinny brunette called Dolores shows up, deliver her to number six, with my compliments.’
Being Saturday, the nightlife of Whortleton was reaching its weekly climax. The therapeutic charms of the place had now been rather ousted by other attractions, and all round were establishments dripping with fairy lights providing everything necessary for a happy seaside holiday – rock, fish teas, funny hats, rude postcards, jellied eels, dodgems, insecticides, and palmists. I wandered among the crowds on the prom, and buying a bag of shrimps absently peeled a few leaning against the rail. I felt like Napoleon when the guards cut and ran at Waterloo. All that trouble and nothing to show for it, I reflected moodily, except Miles’ enjoying an extra kipper for his breakfast.
‘Damn Dolores,’ I muttered into the shrimps. ‘I should have known better than bank on one of Basil’s ruddy camp followers.’
I turned to stare out to sea for inspiration.
‘By jove – !’
The end of the pier announced in coloured lights:
THE WHORTLETON PIERROTS
SPECIAL ATTRACTION
THIS WEEK – FAMOUS TV STARS
THE JELLYBONE SISTERS
Five minutes later I was in Gertie’s dressing-room.
‘Why, hello, Doctor!’ she exclaimed, putting down her Guinness. ‘This is a surprise, and no mistake.’
‘Gertrude,’ I said earnestly, without wasting time. ‘I have a rather peculiar request to make of you.’
‘My dear old lad, I really can’t see what you’re complaining about,’ I protested to Miles, after explaining the change of cast. ‘You ought to feel jolly glad that Gertie has agreed to help out, after finishing one extremely exhausting performance on the pier. And I might tell you, she’s only coming as a personal favour to me. Though of course,’ I added, ‘you’ll have to cough up another hundred quid as well.’
‘It all seems very irregular,’ muttered Miles.
‘The whole business is hardly the model of a conventional evening.’
‘I mean this – this Dolores was a professional. She knew what she was doing. Now we are simply placing ourselves in the hands of an unqualified practitioner.’
‘You’ve nothing whatever to worry about,’ I assured the idiot. ‘I’ve explained the drill, and an old trouper like Gertie would certainly never let you down. Think of it this way,’ I went on. ‘All that sweetness you’re spreading with your hundred quid – a nice little nest-egg for the poor dear when her ligaments finally calcify, and the terrible morning arrives when she finds she can no longer pick up her handkerchief with her teeth backwards. She’ll remember you with gratitude for years and years, and probably embroider you little presents for Christmas.’
Miles groaned. ‘To think! I am obliged to spend the night with a female contortionist. It really is too much.’
I was about to point out he was only obliged to have breakfast with a female contortionist, when a knock came on the door.
‘Yes?’
The grey-haired night porter appeared.
‘Mrs Grimsdyke, sir,’ he announced solemnly.
‘Why, hello,’ said Gertie, standing in the doorway and staring at both of us, rather like the stag in the picture.
‘Say something in front of the porter,’ I muttered to Miles. ‘She’s supposed to be your loving wife, not the char come to do the floors.’
‘Er - good evening, my dear,’ said Miles. ‘How are you, my dear, I trust you are well, my dear? Don’t you think we are having excellent weather, my dear? Though perhaps somewhat chilly in the evenings for this time of the year, my dear?’ He licked his lips, seeming to have come to the end of his love-talk. ‘Perhaps you would care for some refreshment, my dear?’
‘Thanks ever so, I’d love a Guinness,’ smiled Gertie, looking relieved.
‘One Guinness,’ I told the porter.
‘Very good, sir. If I may say so, sir, that was a very useful little speech of your client’s, sir. Fair sticks in the memory, that does, sir.’
‘Thank you, porter.’
‘I am glad, sir, to see we are setting about our new position in the proper way.’
‘Very kind of you, porter.’
‘I feel, sir, we shall in time get quite to the top of our tree, sir.’
‘Get that fool out of here,’ muttered Miles.
‘One Guinness,’ I repeated.
‘Certainly, sir.’
‘Well,’ said Gertie, taking off her hat as the door shut.
‘It is extremely kind of you to agree to take part in these somewhat distasteful proceedings,’ began Miles at once.
‘Distasteful?’ Gertie threw me a glance. ‘I hope there’s going to be nothing distasteful about it, I must say.’
‘I mean, these somewhat degrading proceedings.’
‘Well, I like that! I’m not going to degrade myself for anybody, let me tell you for a start. I’ve been top of the bill now for longer than I’d like to–’
‘What I mean, madam,’ interrupted Miles, ‘is that I don’t do this sort of thing every night.’
‘Oh? And I do, I suppose?’
‘No, no, of course you don’t! I am only trying to explain it is an extremely unusual situation for me.’
‘And what do you suppose it is for me, may I ask?’
‘Gaston, you will kindly entertain the lady.’ Miles sat abruptly at the dressing table. ‘I have my notes to complete.’
There was another knock on the door.
‘Your Guinness, madam.’
‘Oh, ta,’ said Gertie, brightening up again.
‘Will there be anything more, sir?’
‘Not at all. You can leave me to run the show till breakfast.’
‘I’m sure I can, sir. Good night, sir. Good night all.’
‘Good night.’
My cousin sat with his back to us, silently writing his notes. Gertie curled on the bed and drank her Guinness. I leant against the commode and tried to make light conversation. By eleven-thirty I felt it was high time for the redeployment of forces.
‘You take your little case and toddle along to number ten,’ I told Gertie. ‘I’ll set my alarm for seven, then creep down the passage and give you a call. You simply put on your dressing gown and we’ll do a quick switch. Once the kippers are served, you can nip back to number ten and eat your own in peace.’
Gertie looked doubtful.
‘I hope there isn’t going to he any monkey business.’
‘Monkey business? Good lord, of course not.’
‘I know that type,’ she added, nodding towards Miles.
‘Oh, he’s perfectly harmless,’ I assured her. ‘He’s just a little edgy at the moment.’
‘I’m not so sure I fancy being all alone with him, that’s straight.’
‘But the porter with the kippers will be there to chaperone you,’ I pointed out.
‘I still don’t like it. I had a nasty experience once at Hastings.’
‘It would be best if the lady now left us for her own apartments,’ said Miles wearily, getting up.
‘Okey-doke, dearie.’ Gertie got off the bed. ‘No offence intended, I’m sure, as long as you’re a good boy.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘What on earth – ?’ I murmured.
The porter appeared.
‘Mrs Grimsdyke,’ he announced.
‘Why, it’s Cissy,’ exclaimed Gertie, as her sister walked in. ‘How nice of you to call.’
‘Oh, Gert,’ cried her sister. ‘Are you all right? I’ve been worrying myself proper stiff ever since you left the digs. I said to myself, I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to Gert, I wouldn’t, not after I’d told her to have a go. Though of course, we can all do with the lolly, can’t we? I mean to say, we know the doctor here’s a proper gentleman. But we don’t know if it goes for his friend, do we? Remember what happened in Hastings? With people these days you never can tell–’
‘Another Guinness,’ I told the porter briefly.
‘Very good, sir. If I may say so, sir, I think we are quite right having a second string to our bow. With the courts these days we never can tell, sir.’
‘Thank you, porter. That Guinness, please.’
‘At once, sir.’
‘What in the name of the devil’s all this?’ demanded Miles, starting to jump about rather.
‘That’s him, is it?’ asked Cissy, inspecting my cousin doubtfully.
‘My sister Cissy,’ Gertie introduced her. ‘She’s a proper miracle on the parallel bars.’
‘Anyway, I said to myself,’ Cissy went on, not seeming to find Miles worth further attention, ‘if Gertie wants to get out of it I’m game to try – after all, a hundred pounds is a hundred pounds, especially these hard times – so I remembered the name was the same as the doctor’s and said I was Mrs just in case.’
‘Stop it!’ barked Miles.
‘Coo, listen to him!’ exclaimed the sisters, with pained glances.
‘I said stop it,’ repeated Miles angrily. ‘This foolishness cannot be allowed to continue. Gaston! Do something! At once. One of these women will have to go.’
‘Did you hear that?’ demanded Gertie indignantly.
‘He called us women,’ agreed Cissy.
‘Well, I never.’
‘In our profession we’re accustomed to being addressed as ladies, thank you.’
‘Cheek, if you ask me.’
‘Oh, God,’ muttered Miles,
‘Look here, Gertie,’ I chipped in. ‘We can get this sorted out in no time. After all, you’re only doing the performance as a favour to me, aren’t you? Neither of you need give a hoot about this chap, and if he has got rather nasty manners and worse intentions you’ll never have to set eyes on him once you’ve got his cash in your hand-bags.’
‘That’s true, dearie,’ both girls conceded, very fairly. ‘Now let’s decide quickly which one of you is going to stay for breakfast. Then she can retire to her own room straight away and lock the door. And pile all the furniture up against it, too, if she feels like it.’
‘I’ll do it, Gert,’ said Cissy.
‘No, I’ll do it,’ insisted Gertie. ‘You never did like sleeping in strange beds.’
‘Good,’ I agreed smartly. ‘Gertie gets the part. Now if you, Cissy, will kindly make your way home–’
There was a knock on the door.
‘That’ll be your Guinness,’ I said.
The porter appeared.
‘Mrs Grimsdyke,’ he announced.
‘You’d better make it three Guinnesses,’ I told him.
‘Why, Joan! Isn’t that nice?’ said the two Jellybone sisters. ‘Come in, dearie, and sit down.’
‘If there’s any room,’ I added.
‘No, sir,’ said the porter, shaking his head from the doorway. ‘I am disappointed, sir. Frankly, we are overdoing it, sir. Two ladies lends a little variety and added interest to the subsequent proceedings. But three would simply make a nasty crowd in the witness-box, sir.’
‘The Guinness,’ I reminded him.
‘Immediately, sir.’
‘Gaston,’ hissed Miles. ‘Gaston – get these females out of here. All of them. I intend to return home instantly.’
‘Oo, so you’re the dirty old man, are you?’ said Joan, giving Miles a wink. ‘Well, I never. You meet all kinds at the seaside, don’t you? I thought of you and Cissy all alone in this hotbed,’ she went on earnestly to her sisters, ‘and it made me go all queer inside. I said to myself, even if Cissy and me did win when we tossed for it, I’ll come along and do the dirty work all the same. And anyway, everyone says the beds here are that damp it’s a wonder you don’t find seaweed growing in them, and that would never do with your rheumatism, Gertie, especially as we’ve got the show to think about. So I said–’
‘Get out!’ shouted Miles suddenly. ‘I – I mean if you ladies would be so kind as to… to… to…’
He sank on to the bed, holding his head.
‘Feeling poorly, dearie?’ asked Gertie solicitously.
‘He’s had a turn,’ observed Cissy.
‘Just a bit of nervous strain,’ I explained, hastily filling a glass with water.
‘Of course I was forgetting, you’re a doctor,’ said Joan. ‘The poor thing! Is he going to be all right?’
‘Here, let me undo his collar,’ suggested Gertie.
‘Lie him down here, Doctor, and I’ll put some of my cologne on his temples,’ added Cissy, opening her handbag.
‘Do you think if we did a bit of our act it might cheer him up?’ asked Gertie.
‘That’s it, girls,’ Joan got on the floor. ‘Let’s show him the reverse handstand pyramid.’
I splashed water in Miles’ face. The girls did the reverse handstand pyramid. I fanned him with the hand-towel. As the girls switched to scratching the backs of their necks with their toes I finally got Miles sitting up, looking rather pale.
‘Don’t worry, old lad,’ I muttered, now feeling thoroughly sorry for the poor chap. ‘Give me half a jiffy and I’ll have all this straightened out.’
‘Gaston…you’ve got to get rid of these…these…refugees from the Wolfenden Report. You’ve got to get rid of them at once,’ was all he could mutter.
‘Ladies,’ I announced to the Jellybone Sisters, ‘we think your act’s absolutely terrific, but my friend here has changed his mind about the evening.’
‘Changed his mind?’ Gertie glanced up from between her heels.
‘Yes. He’s decided he’s not going on with the divorce proceedings any longer.’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Cissy.
‘He’ll pay the fee, naturally,’ I added hastily. ‘But for the moment he wants to be alone, until he feels a bit stronger.’
There was a knock on the door.
‘What on earth–’
The porter appeared.
‘Mrs Grimsdyke,’ he announced.
In strode Dolores, with a mastiff.
‘Another Guinness,’ I said briskly.
‘Certainly, sir. And – I regret to say so, sir – this is taking sledgehammers to crack nuts good and proper, sir.’
‘Who on earth are all these people?’ exclaimed Dolores.
‘Sort of cabaret act. To pass the evening. No telly here, you know. That’s my friend,’ I added. ‘The pale chap on the bed.’
‘What a lovely doggie,’ said the Jellybone sisters, untangling themselves and patting the thing.
‘And where the devil did you get to, may I ask?’ I demanded, eyeing Dolores pretty severely.
‘Darling, it was hell in the kennels today. I’d never have made it at all if Miss Treadburn hadn’t given me a lift in her car. As it is, I had to bring one of the boarders with me. You’d never imagine the crush this weekend, with absolutely everyone going on their holiday. We even had an alligator, if you please.’
‘Quite,’ I interrupted, feeling it was urgent to cut down the establishment of co-respondents a bit. ‘Thank you, ladies,’ I told the Jellybone Sisters, who seemed to have finished the midnight matinée. ‘You’ve been very sweet, and if you’d now be kind enough to push off once my friend has written you a cheque–’
‘Yes, of course, cheque,’ mumbled Miles, feeling for his pen.
‘I must say, I didn’t expect a party,’ observed Dolores. ‘It’s a bit unusual, but I’m for anything to break the monotony. Dingo, don’t bite the gentleman.’ The dog was sniffing Miles, though he didn’t look to me particularly appetising at the moment. ‘Where do you want me to sleep?’ she added, slipping off her coat.
‘We’ll go into that when I’ve cleared the stage for the next scene.’
‘Oh, very well, darling. You know best. Have you got a cigarette? I’m simply dying for one.’
‘In a second, damn it!’ I told her testily, trying to help Miles write the cheque. ‘Just as soon as we’re alone,’
There was a knock on the door.
‘Mrs Grimsdyke,’ announced the porter resignedly. ‘Then you’d better make it five Guinnesses,’ I exclaimed. ‘Oh, hello,’ was all I could think of adding, with a stupid sort of grin. ‘You don’t care much for Guinness, Connie, do you?’