Galahad at Blandings (24 page)

‘No
kick from me. A guy who can play the piano like Willie can’t go wrong in a
music business. I’ll see to it directly I hit London.’

‘Excellent.
Be large-minded when you’re fixing his salary. Don’t forget he wants to get
married. And an idea strikes me. You’re taking Wilfred to London. Why not take
Miss Simmons, too, and make it a double wedding?’

The
suggestion plainly appealed to Tipton. It was, he agreed, a thought.

‘But
what will Lord Emsworth say when he finds she’s stood him up?’

‘“Bless
my soul!” no doubt, or something like that. No need to worry about Clarence.
These shocks are good for him. They keep him alert and on his toes. It’s
something to do with the stimulation of the adrenal glands. And have no anxiety
about the Empress’s well-being. She’ll be all right. Beach will give her her
calories. He’s done it before and can carry on perfectly well till Clarence
signs up a professional. Go and sound out La Simmons and see how she feels
about it. You’ll probably find her with Wilfred.’

Tipton
was convinced. He bounded off and in an incredibly short space of time was back
with the news that all was well.

‘I sold
her the idea in sixty seconds flat. She’s gone off to pack a suitcase.’

‘Splendid.
Then as I am becoming more and more conscious of the parched feeling that
steals over one at this time in the evening, I will leave you. With, may I say,
my best wishes and heartiest congratulations and all that sort of apple sauce.
An uncle by marriage’s blessing on you, Tipton, if you care to have it.’

III

As Gally made his way to
the drawing-room, where the cocktails were, he was feeling that mellow glow
which comes to men of good will when they have done the square thing by their
fellows. It was always his policy, if he could manage it, to strew a little
happiness as he went by, and there could be no gainsaying that in the last
half-hour or so he had strewn it with a lavish hand. There were those of his
acquaintance who had sometimes spoken with bitterness of his habit of playing
the guardian angel — or, as they were more inclined to put it, of making a pest
of himself by meddling in other people’s affairs, but in this case he felt that
he had meddled to good purpose.

As a
rule his evening cocktail was a thing Gally liked to linger over, but this was
only when he was in congenial company. Today he found himself alone. The
drawing-room was empty when he entered it, and after a quick one of a purely
medicinal nature he trotted off to enjoy another talk with Sandy Callender. She
would, he knew, be interested to hear how his interview with Tipton had come
out.

‘Well,
young Sandy,’ he said, bustling into her office, ‘your faith in me was
justified. Tipton, as you anticipated, was as corn before my sickle. I played
on him as on a stringed instrument. He’s giving Wilfred a good job and Wilfred
and the Simmons are going to London with him to make a double wedding of it. A
nice smooth bit of work, if you ask me. And what have you been doing in my
absence? Sweating away and earning your weekly envelope, I trust?’

‘No, I
had a slack period.’

‘Sitting
and thinking of Sam, no doubt?’

‘As a
matter of fact, I was listening to the six o’clock news on the radio.’

‘Anything
of interest?’

‘Not
much. Austin Phelps has got married.’

‘I hope
he’ll be very very happy. Who the hell is Austin Phelps?’

‘The
tennis player, my good child. You must have heard of Austin Phelps. The Davis
Cup man.

‘Oh, that
chap? Yes, I’ve heard of him. Goes around shouting “Forty love” and “Love
fifteen” and all that sort of thing. Phelps?’ said Gally, his brow wrinkling.
Austin Phelps? There’s something about him I’m trying to remember, something
apart from tennis. Somebody was mentioning him to me only a day or two ago in
some connection. Was he divorced recently? Did he plunge into the Thames to
save a drowning child? Or win a by-election in the Conservative interest? Or
get arrested for drunk driving? Maddening how these things slip from one’s
mind. Phelps? Phelps? Austin Phelps? Ah, perhaps you can tell me, Sam.’

On
Sam’s face, as he came into the room, there had been the purposeful look of a
man about to converse with the girl he loves. It faded as he saw Gally. He was
very fond of that deplorable character, but there are times when the best of
friends are superfluous.

‘Tell
you what?’

‘All
you know about a man called Austin Phelps.’

‘He
plays tennis.’

‘I am
aware of that. But what is there about him that gives me the idea that he is
somehow significant? Has he a side line of any sort?’

‘I
don’t believe so. Just keeps on playing tennis as far as I …

Oh, I
know what’s in your mind. The Drones Club sweep. Don’t you remember I told you
he was the second favourite? Tipton Plimsoll and he were running neck and neck
for a while, but he had some trouble with his girl and the engagement was
broken off. Luckily for me.’

‘Good
God!’ said Gally, his monocle parting from its moorings, and simultaneously
there proceeded from Sandy a cry or scream or wail similar in tone and volume
to that of a stepped on cat, and Sam soared some six inches in the direction of
the ceiling. That cry or scream or wail or whatever it was had affected him
much as if some playful hand had given him a hotfoot. Returning to terra firma,
he touched the top of his head to make sure it was still there and stood
gaping.

‘W — ?‘
he said. He had intended to say, ‘What’s the matter?’ but the sentence refused
to shape itself.

Gally
looked at Sandy. Sandy looked at Gally.

‘Shall
I tell him, or will you?’

‘I’ll
tell him,’ said Sandy. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to get a shock, darling.’

Sam
braced himself to receive it. He had been at Blandings Castle only a short
while, but it had been long enough to enable him to know that anyone enjoying
its hospitality must expect to get shocks. A few possibilities flitted through
his mind. The house was on fire? Empress of Blandings had taken to the bottle
again? Augustus Whipple was a pleasant visitor? Constable Evans had arrived
with a search warrant? There was a wide area of speculation, and he was
prepared for bad news in any form.

In any
form, that is to say, except the one in which it came.

Austin
Phelps is married,’ said Sandy, and it was as though he had been playing for
the Possibles in that England trial game and one of the Probables had hurled
himself on some particularly tender portion of his anatomy. He tottered and
might have fallen had he not clutched at Gally, who said ‘Ouch!’ and disengaged
himself.

‘It
can’t be helped,’ said Sandy. ‘It’s just one of those things. You mustn’t take
it too hard, angel.’

Sam, as
he looked at her, felt his heart swell. He was conscious of a sudden increase
of a love which had always been substantial. What a helpmeet, he was saying to
himself, what a life partner. Not a word of reproach had she said for his folly
in refusing the syndicate’s offer. Was there another woman in the world’s
history who would not have touched on that at least briefly? Would Helen of
Troy in similar circumstances have been able to restrain herself? Would
Cleopatra? Would Queen Victoria? He very much doubted it, and advancing on her
he took her in his arms and kissed her reverently. It was some time before
either of them became aware that Gally was speaking.

‘I’m
sorry,’ said Sam, feeling that an apology was due. ‘I missed that. You were
saying —?‘

Gally,
momentarily shaken out of his customary calm, was himself again. His monocle
was back in its place, and he was once more the Galahad Threepwood whom years
of membership in the old Pelican Club had trained to resilience.

‘I was
expressing my contrition for having allowed this wallop to ruffle me,’ he said.
‘Twas but a passing weakness. I can now think clearly again. Obviously there is
only one thing to be done. Our course is plain. We approach Clarence. How much
money were you telling me you had managed to save? Two hundred pounds, was it
not? And you require seven. Right. Clarence shall make up the deficit.’

If
somebody had told Sam that he was looking like a startled sheep, he would
probably have been offended. Nevertheless, that was how he was looking, for he
was wondering if he could have heard aright. He had still to learn — what the
female members of this man’s family had discovered in their nursery days — that
there were few things of which Galahad Threepwood was not capable.

‘You’re
going to try to touch Lord Emsworth?’ he gasped.

Gally
frowned.

‘I
dislike that word “try”. It suggests a lack of confidence in my powers.

‘But
you can’t ask him to lend a stranger like me five hundred pounds!’

‘You
are perfectly right. I shall make it a thousand. You will need a margin. One
always does when one is doing up a house. No sense in trying to run the thing
on too slender a budget. And don’t forget that you are not a stranger. You are
the author of the book which has been his constant companion for years. He
loves you like a son.

Sam
remained unconvinced. He had always had a sturdy distaste for being a borrower.

‘I
don’t like the idea of cadging money from Lord Emsworth.’

‘I’ll
do the cadging. No need for you to appear in the negotiations at all.’

‘I
still don’t like it. Do you, Sandy?’

‘Yes,’
said Sandy simply.

‘Of
course she does,’ said Gally. ‘She’s got sense. She knows that when you want a
thousand quid, you can’t be finicky, you have to go to the man who’s got a
thousand quid, no matter what your scruples. And, dash it, my dear fellow, it
isn’t as if we are asking Clarence to make you a birthday present of this
paltry little sum. You’ll be able to pay him back when you sell the house. But
I think I know what’s really bothering you. You’re thinking that being the
author of
Put Me Among The Pigs
isn’t quite enough to sway him, that
something else is needed to give him that extra push which will send him racing
for his fountain pen and cheque book, and possibly you’re right. Anyway, it’s
best to be on the safe side. See you later,’ said Gally, and with the
impulsiveness which was so characteristic of him he dashed briskly from the
room.

It was
some moments before Sam spoke. When he did, it was in a low, rather trembling
voice that showed that life in Blandings Castle had begun to take its toll of
him.

‘Sandy!’

‘Right
here, my king.

‘Have
you known Gally long?’

‘Quite
a time.’

‘Has he
always been as jumpy as this?’

‘More
or less.’

‘Where
do you think he’s gone?’

‘Who
can say? I should imagine he had a sudden inspiration of some kind. His sudden
inspirations always make him quick on his feet.’

‘Well,
I wish they wouldn’t. He made me bite my tongue.

‘Of
course, there’s another angle.’

‘What’s
that?’

‘He may
just have thought we would like to be alone together for a while.’

‘And
how right he was,’ said Sam, instantly forgetting his troubles and problems.

It was
a quarter of an hour before Gally returned. There was always something about
him that reminded those with whom he mixed of a wire-haired terrier. He was
looking now like a wire-haired terrier which after days of fruitless searching
for a buried bone has at last managed to locate it. He had the same air of
quiet triumph.

‘Sorry
to keep you waiting,’ he said.

‘Quite
all right,’ said Sandy. ‘We found lots to do.’ ‘You billed?’

And
cooed. Shall I tell you something, Gally? Sam’s a lamb.’

‘I dare
say, but we need not dwell on that now. What concerns us at the moment is the
lurking-in-sheds side of him.’

Sam
winced.

‘I
would rather you didn’t mention that word “shed” in my presence,’ he said. ‘It
does something to me.

And how
do sheds enter into it?’ said Sandy ‘What, if anything, are you talking about?’

‘I’ll
tell you. You are probably wondering why I left you so abruptly. I went to find
that blot on the body politic Huxley Winkworth.’

‘What
on earth for?’

‘I
found him in the morning—room. He was cataloguing his collection of
lepidoptera, and we had a long talk.’

About
lepidoptera?’

About
letting the Empress out of her sty. You don’t know it, but it is the young
thug’s dearest wish to do this and see what happens. Several times he has
attempted it, but on each occasion he was foiled by the vigilance of Monica
Simmons. Staunch and true, steadfast at her post, she was always there to
baffle him.’

‘Lucky
she was. Lord Emsworth would have a stroke if the Empress got loose.’