Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (13 page)

She gave a distracted answer to a friend, rudely left him and ploughed her way across the room towards her charge, a dubious eye on the empty wineglass. Miss Pettigrew gave her a beaming welcome.

“Guinevere,” said Miss LaFosse anxiously, “you haven’t been imbibing?”

“Imbibing?”

“The pins aren’t wobbling.”

“The pins?” repeated Miss Pettigrew. She raised her chin haughtily.

“The legs ,” said Miss Pettigrew with much dignity, “are perfectly steady.”

“Demonstrate,” said Miss LaFosse sternly.

Miss Pettigrew walked two steps back and two steps forward again. She managed it with commendable steadiness.

“Thank God!” said Miss LaFosse thankfully.

“Your suspicions,” said Miss Pettigrew reproachfully, “hurt me deeply.”

“No offence,” apologized Miss LaFosse. “My suspicions were not of you but of Tony.”

“A charming youth,” said Miss Pettigrew sentimentally, “if a little erratic. But your suspicions are again quite unfounded. One small drink only was all he offered or I accepted.”

“I know Tony’s drinks,” said Miss LaFosse, still grimly doubtful.

But her curiosity overcame her worry. She could contain her anxiety no longer.

“Where is he?” demanded Miss LaFosse expectantly.

“Where’s who?”

“Tony.”

“In the cloakroom,” said Miss Pettigrew dreamily.

“Oh!” exclaimed Miss LaFosse with a shock of disappointment.

“Where’s Edythe?” she asked hopelessly.

“In the cloakroom,” said Miss Pettigrew sentimentally.

“Oh!” cried Miss LaFosse again, excitement charging her voice. “Oh, Guinevere, don’t say it…don’t say it…”

“Say what?”

“They’re not…together?”

“Why not?” asked Miss Pettigrew. “To the pure, all things are pure.”

“Oh, you darling!” cried Miss LaFosse. “You’re marvellous…you’re wonderful…you’re a miracle. How did you do it? Didn’t I say you would! Oh, I’m so happy! I think you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. Nobody but you could have done it. Tony and Edythe together again.”

Miss Pettigrew looked worldly-wise.

“My dear! All young people quarrel. It means nothing. Once they got together again, it was all quite simple. All they…”

“Of course it was simple…to you. No one else could have brought them together again. You don’t know Tony when he gets a bee in his bonnet…I do. You’re the world’s miracle worker.”

Miss Pettigrew gave it up. If her charming friend liked to talk in riddles, let her talk. She, Miss Pettigrew, didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything. She only knew she had never felt so delightfully gay and irresponsible in all her life before. Let them all talk in riddles if they liked. A habit they obviously liked. What did she care? Nothing.

“As you say,” said Miss Pettigrew benignly.

“Let’s go,” said Miss LaFosse.

Miss Pettigrew felt a stab of apprehension. She turned a wild look towards the door. It seemed remote. She was abruptly invaded with a strong disinclination to attempt the passage.

“My dear,” said Miss Pettigrew with dignity, “if you do not mind I will take your arm. My head is a little dizzy. It is the heat, I think. I am not accustomed to such a crowded room with no windows open.”

“There now!” said Miss LaFosse heatedly. “I knew. What the hell’s Tony been giving you? You were all right when I left you. I’ll take his head off when I see him. He should have known.”

“Oh!” gasped Miss Pettigrew. “Please. It isn’t true…it isn’t possible…I’d never get over the shame. I assure you, the heat. I’m positive the heat.”

“There now, there now,” soothed Miss LaFosse. “Of course it’s the heat. Don’t get upset. You’re quite all right. You’ll be fine when we get outside. The air in this room is lousy.”

Miss LaFosse took firm hold of Miss Pettigrew and piloted her across the room. Voices assailed them on all sides.

“Not going yet?”

“Drunk your fill already?”

“The tap’s still running.”

Miss Pettigrew beamed on them all indiscriminately. Miss LaFosse fended them off with easy rejoinders. They reached the door and escaped.

In the passage Miss Pettigrew stopped and gasped.

“Oh dear! I have failed to thank my hostess for a perfectly charming time. What will she think? I must return.”

“Not on your life,” said Miss LaFosse hastily. “It’ll keep. And in any case it wouldn’t be fair to shock Moira. She’s not accustomed to it.”

Miss Pettigrew felt a great deal better in the cool air of the passage.

“Just as I said, my dear. It was the hot air in the room.”

“You’ve said it,” agreed Miss LaFosse with a twinkle. “They’d talk the hind leg off a donkey in there.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Miss Pettigrew.

“Hot air,” explained Miss LaFosse.

“Oh!” said Miss Pettigrew. It dawned. “Hot air…Oh how funny! How extremely funny!”

Miss Pettigrew began to laugh. She laughed and laughed until the tears ran down her face.

“Well,” said Miss LaFosse cheerfully, “you have had one over the eight.”

But she felt very pleased her mild joke had such an appreciative audience. Together they mounted the stairs in hilarious accord. Miss Pettigrew refused further aid. She took firm hold of the banisters and drew herself up.

Outside the bedroom which was being used as the ladies’ cloakroom Miss LaFosse beat a tattoo on the door. Then she opened it.

“Well, well,” said Miss LaFosse. “Do mine eyes deceive me, or is there a man present? Oh, shades of virtue, where hast thou flown?”

“Cheese it,” said Tony.

“Delysia,” cried Miss Dubarry. She was no tidier, in fact, a great deal less tidy than when Miss Pettigrew had seen her depart ostensibly to repair her makeup.

“Edythe,” responded Miss LaFosse. She suddenly smiled tenderly. Miss Dubarry flew to her arms and gave her a hug.

“Delysia. We’re going to be married.”

“No!” cried Miss LaFosse. She embraced Miss Dubarry with equal joy, then firmly removed her friend’s arms and insisted on embracing Tony likewise. Tony did not take it amiss.

“Congratulations, you old sinner. Why the devil did you wait so long?”

Tony grinned.

“I hadn’t the price of a licence.”

“You could always have borrowed it from Edythe.”

“Well,” said Tony seriously, “I thought I’d better wait a bit before showing quite so obviously why I was really marrying her. I mean, it was no use throwing away the ship for a ha’porth of patience.”

“None at all,” agreed Miss LaFosse. “The restraint does you credit.”

“I’m glad you appreciate my manly capabilities,” said Tony modestly.

“Oh, all of them,” said Miss LaFosse earnestly. “I’ll be godmother for the first two, but after that I refuse further responsibility.”

“The thirteenth as well,” begged Tony. “It must have some luck to counteract its fatal number.”

“You darling,” said Miss LaFosse. “You certainly deserve another kiss for that.”

She kissed him again. Tony appeared to enjoy it. Miss Pettigrew, by this time, was beginning to get hardened to so much indiscriminate affection. No one else seemed to mind it, why should she? She was slightly puzzled. The atmosphere did not appear to be quite in keeping with the occasion. Shy smiles and blushes were completely absent from Miss Dubarry’s countenance, and an air of grave awareness of his future responsibility did not mantle Tony. It was very difficult to give voice to all the beautiful and tender sentiments which surely the moment demanded. But she could contain herself no longer.

“Oh,” broke in Miss Pettigrew shyly, in a flutter of romantic enjoyment, “may I…may I offer my congratulations as well.”

“Thanks,” said Tony.

“Young love…” began Miss Pettigrew.

Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry swung towards her. By a certain look in Miss Dubarry’s eye, Miss Pettigrew knew she was about to descend upon her again. She was right. She did. Miss Pettigrew found this wholesale display of affection very bewildering, but extremely gratifying. It was not at all in keeping with the rules for a gentlewoman’s behaviour. It lacked that becoming touch of the ‘English reserve’ so esteemed on the continent, but for once Miss Pettigrew didn’t care a damn for a gentlewoman’s reticence.

Miss Dubarry swooped and gathered Miss Pettigrew in a mighty hug.

“Oh, you dear, dear thing. How can I ever thank you!” Tears actually trembled in her eyes again.

“Oh, Guinevere,” cried Miss LaFosse, equally moved, “what would we have done without you?”

“I can never repay you,” said Miss Dubarry in a quiver of happy emotion. “If there’s anything you ever want, come to me. A wrinkle removed. A change of hair. A fresh face.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” demanded Tony.

“Nothing,” chorused Miss LaFosse and Miss Dubarry.

“Nothing for male ears,” said Miss LaFosse kindly. “A purely feminine matter.”

Miss Dubarry gathered her wraps.

“See you tonight,” said Miss LaFosse.

“We’ll be there,” said Miss Dubarry.

The door closed behind them.

“A very delightful girl,” said Miss Pettigrew, “but a little beyond my comprehension.”

“We’ll scram,” said Miss LaFosse, “before the rest pile up.”

They left the house. Miss LaFosse hailed a passing taxi and bundled Miss Pettigrew inside. She stopped at a florist’s and got out.

“There,” she said cheerfully on return, “I’ve ordered your buttonhole. Who said I had no memory?”

“Oh, how kind you are!” whispered Miss Pettigrew, tears in her eyes.

“After what you’ve done for Edythe!” said Miss LaFosse. “What’s a buttonhole?”

“But,” began poor Miss Pettigrew, “I assure you I don’t…”

“No depreciation,” said Miss LaFosse. “I won’t hear it.”

They arrived at Onslow Mansions. They went into the building, rode up in the lift, walked along to Miss LaFosse’s door and Miss LaFosse inserted her key in the lock.

Miss Pettigrew had a strange sensation of coming home. The afternoon’s visit had been an exciting, thrilling experience, food for thought for many a day, but it was nothing like the feeling as of content after a good meal which invaded her the minute she crossed Miss LaFosse’s threshold again. The sense of simple joy was so poignant it was almost pain. She would not let herself think of tomorrow when all this would only be a dream. This was today.

Miss Pettigrew bustled in. She turned on the electric light: switched on the electric fire: punched cushions to plump invitation. All the lights had deep crimson shades so that the room was filled with a comfortable, red, glowing look of warmth.

Miss LaFosse flung off her fur coat.

“Thank God for a moment’s peace.”

She sank into a comfortable chair in front of the fire.

Miss Pettigrew took off her fur coat and laid it aside with a great deal more care. The borrowed gown gave her a luxurious feeling of importance. She could not help walking with a new show of dignity. The rich, black velvet compelled a sense of majesty.

“Sit down, Guinevere,” said Miss LaFosse. “You’ll tire yourself out.”

“I’m not a bit tired,” said Miss Pettigrew blissfully. “I’m much too excited to be tired.”

“Legs O.K.?”

“My legs,” said Miss Pettigrew with renewed dignity, “were always all right. My head was only a little fuddled with the heat, that is all.”

“Have it your own way,” said Miss LaFosse with a grin.

Miss Pettigrew came and sat beside her happily. The electric fire sent out a glow of warmth after the chill, dark November streets. She and Miss LaFosse were alone in the room with a comfortable, cosy sense of intimacy. Curtains drawn, doors shut, chairs drawn up to the fire. She felt it was about the happiest moment in the whole of a marvellous day. But she only wanted it to be a breathing space. There was a great many years stretching ahead of her which would be simply packed with quiet, uneventful periods. At the present time peace was decidedly not her desire. Quite the reverse. Something must happen again soon. If it didn’t she would feel cheated, but surely the fates had been far too kind to her so far to turn round and desert her now. Something would happen. She would be sensible and enjoy this relaxation while it lasted to allow her to recuperate before events started happening again.

“I don’t know about you,” said Miss Pettigrew daringly, “but I could just do with a nice cup of tea.”

“Oh!” said Miss LaFosse.

“The other drinks were very nice for a change,” said Miss Pettigrew earnestly, “and certainly give one delightfully odd feelings, but I always say you can’t beat a really nice…cup…of…tea.”

“You’re quite right,” said Miss LaFosse kindly. “I shall go and make one.”

“Sit still,” said Miss Pettigrew firmly. “If you only knew how I…how I enjoy doing it…particularly for some one who appreciates it.”

Miss LaFosse allowed her to have her own way.

Miss Pettigrew hurried into the kitchen. She moved around in a happy swirl of busy domesticity. It was so different working for Miss LaFosse. A pang shot through her heart. How blissful to own a place like this for oneself! Never to work for any one else again: never to sit on the outskirts while others basked in the centre: never to be ignored, looked down on, disregarded. She pushed the feeling away. Her day was not yet over. Obviously it was not over. Miss LaFosse had planned for the night as well, or why the flowers from the florists?

The electric kettle boiled. Miss Pettigrew made the tea. She put it on a tray with some biscuits and carried it to the waiting Miss LaFosse.

“You’re quite right,” said Miss LaFosse; “this tea is definitely refreshing.”

Above her own fragrant cup Miss Pettigrew beamed contentedly.

“I always say, a nice, refreshing cup of tea and you’re set up for hours.”

“What time is it?” asked Miss LaFosse.

“Nearly seven,” said Miss Pettigrew.

“Ah!” said Miss LaFosse luxuriously. “Hours before I need change.”

“I understand,” said Miss Pettigrew with careless sophistication, “that you sing at a night club.”

“That’s right. The Scarlet Peacock. Nick’s place, you know.”

“Oh!” said Miss Pettigrew with foreboding.

“Didn’t Tony and Edythe look happy?” sighed Miss LaFosse. Her face took on a dreamy, ruminating look of the female ripe for a little male attention. Miss Pettigrew’s heart sank still lower.