Galahad at Blandings (5 page)

‘She
wasn’t too pleased.’

‘These
redheads are always easily stirred. But surely that was merely a trifling tiff,
to be cleared up with a kiss and an apology, not the sort of thing to put a
girl permanently off the man she loved?’

‘There
was more.

‘Tell
me more.

‘Well,
you see, there’s this house of mine … When you knew my father, did you ever
stay at his house in Sussex?’

‘Great
Swifts? Dozens of times. Big barracks of a place.’

‘Exactly.
And costs the earth to keep up. My father left it to me, and I want to sell
it.’

‘I
don’t blame you.’

‘So
that I can buy a partnership in a publishing firm. I don’t think I’ve much
future at the Bar, but I know I would be sensational as a publisher.’

‘There’s
money in publishing.’

‘You
bet there is, and I want some of it.’

Gally
sipped his whisky thoughtfully. It was unpleasant to have to discourage his
young friend’s fresh enthusiasms, but he felt it was only kind to warn him that
what he was contemplating was far from being the dead snip he seemed to
suppose it. England, he knew, was full of landed proprietors anxious to unload
their holdings but unable to find takers.

‘It may
not be too easy to sell it. People these days haven’t much use for a big place
like that.’

‘Oofy
has.’

‘Who?’

‘Oofy
Prosser, one of the fellows at the Drones. He’s just got married and his wife
wants a country house not far from London. She’s seen Great Swifts and is crazy
about it.’

‘That
sounds promising. He is rich, this Prosser?’

‘Got
the stuff in sackfuls. His father was Prosser’s Pep Pill; I’m sure I can stick
him for at least twenty thousand pounds if the deal goes through.’

Gally’s
doubts vanished. He had erred, he felt, in supposing the thing not to be a
snip.

‘Well,
as my brother Clarence is so fond of saying, Capital, capital, capital!’ Gally
paused. He had noted a look of gloom on his companion’s face, and it surprised
him that he should be despondent when his prospects were so glittering. ‘If you
don’t think it capital,
why
don’t you think it capital?’

‘Because
there’s a snag. Oofy insists on having the place done up before he’ll part with
a cheque. It’s rather run down.’

‘It was
a little that way in your father’s time. Buckets in most of the rooms to catch
the water coming through the roof and the whole outfit a good deal bitten by
mice. I begin to see your difficulty. Will it cost a lot to have it done up?’

‘I
think I could manage with about seven hundred pounds. But so far I’ve only been
able to save two hundred.’

‘Nobody
you could touch for the rest?’

‘Not a
soul. Well, that was the position of affairs when this thing at the Drones
happened.’

‘You’re
going too fast for me. What thing at the Drones?’

‘The
sweep. They had a sweep there.’

‘On the
Derby?’

‘No, on
which member of the club would be the next to get married. I suppose it was
Oofy’s marriage that gave them the idea.’

A very
sound idea. We had a similar sweep at the Pelican years ago, only there it was
on who would be the next to die.’

‘Rather
gruesome.

‘Oh, we
didn’t mind that at the Pelican. The suggestion was enthusiastically welcomed.
The favourite, of course, was old Charlie Pemberton, who was pushing ninety and
was known to have had sclerosis of the liver since his early days in the
Federated Malay States. I remember how elated your father was when he drew his
name out of the hat. He thought he had it made. But, as so often happens, the
race went to a dark horse. Buffy Struggles, poor fellow. Got run over by a
hansom cab the very day after the drawing. The rankest possible outsider. But
I’m interrupting your story. This sweep, you were saying?’

‘Well,
of course I entered for it.’

‘Of
course,’ said Gally, surprised that any other action should be considered
possible. ‘How much were the tickets?’

‘Ten
pounds.’

‘Ten
pounds?
Shillings, you must mean.

‘No,
pounds. It happened to be at a time when there was an unusual lot of money
about. So I put up my tenner, and Sandy gave me the devil. She said I was just
throwing it away. She had been a bit austere a few weeks previously when,
hoping to bump up my little savings, I speculated on the races and dropped
twenty quid.’

Gally
nodded. He thought he could see where the narrative was heading.

‘And
your ten went down the drain and she said “I told you so“?‘

‘No, I
had the most amazing luck. There were only two entries really in the running — Austin
Phelps, the tennis player, you’ve probably heard of him, his name’s always in
the papers, and Tipton Plimsoll, an American fellow. He’s engaged to a girl
called Something Wedge.’

‘Veronica
Wedge. My niece. So you know our Tipton?’

‘No,
we’ve never met. We don’t even know each other by sight. He’s mostly in America
and hardly ever comes to the club. He’s in America now, but I understand he’s
coming over here very soon and the wedding will take place directly he arrives.’

‘That’s
right. It’s fixed for early in September. Big affair. It’ll be at Blandings,
with the whole county at the reception.’

‘Oh?
Well, naturally, when I drew the Plimsoll ticket and heard next day that
Phelps’s engagement had been broken off for some reason, I thought I was on
velvet.’

‘And
aren’t you?’

‘It
depends on how you look at it. I’m bound to collect the sweep money, which
amounts to over five hundred pounds, but I’ve lost Sandy.’

Gally
shook his head.

‘I
don’t get it. I’d have thought she would have flung her arms round you and
looked up at you with adoring eyes and murmured “My hero!”‘

‘You
don’t know all.’

‘How
the hell can I if you don’t tell me?’

‘I’m
trying to tell you.’

‘Well,
get on with it.’

III

Sam refreshed his drink. He
was an abstemious young man as a rule, but this morning, possibly because of
the disturbances in his love life, possibly because the mere presence of
Galahad Threepwood nearly always turned the thoughts of those with whom he
forgathered in the direction of alcohol, he felt impelled to indulge. He took a
deep draught and resumed.

‘She
couldn’t forgive the stand I took about the syndicate.’

Gally
stirred in his chair, exasperated. An accomplished raconteur himself, he chafed
when others were obscure. He was thinking that if this was his young friend’s
customary way of telling a story, it was madness on his part to suppose that
anything of his, no matter how strong its kitten interest, would have a chance
of acceptance by a discriminating organ like
Wee Tots.
His monocle
flashed fire.

‘What
syndicate? Which syndicate? What do you mean, the syndicate?’

‘I was
approached by a syndicate,’ said Sam, suddenly becoming lucid, ‘who offered me
a hundred pounds for my Plimsoll ticket.’

Gally
started.

‘You
weren’t ass enough to take it?’

‘No.’

‘Good
boy,’ said Gally, relieved. ‘I thought for a moment you were going to tell me
you did.’

Sam
scowled at an inoffensive fly which was stropping its back legs on the syphon.

‘It
might have been better if I had,’ he said morosely. ‘That was what Sandy and I
split up about. She wanted me to close with the offer. Her view was that a sure
hundred was money in the bank, while an uncertain five wasn’t.’

Gally
nodded sagely.

‘Women
are notoriously deficient in sporting blood. They resent one having a flutter
and going for the big stakes. I remember when I was a kid, someone gave me ten
bob on my birthday and influenced by a hot tip from the local hairdresser when
he was cutting my hair I planked the entire sum on the nose of a long-priced
outsider for the Grand National. You never heard such a fuss as the female
members of my family made when the story broke. I couldn’t have got nastier
notices if I’d been caught burgling the Bank of England. My selection wasn’t
placed, unfortunately, which made it worse. So what happened?’

‘Oh, we
argued for hours, and when I remained firm and absolutely refused to take the
syndicate offer, she blew her top.’

‘Girls
with her shade of hair are sadly apt to. I’ve often wondered why Nature,
widely publicised as being infinite in its wisdom, should have made the grave
mistake of creating redheads, always so impulsive and quick on the trigger. If
she had been a brunette or a platinum blonde, this tragedy would never have
occurred. So she gave you back the ring?’

‘She
threw it at me. You may have noticed the slight abrasion on my left cheek.’

‘And
now she’s returned your letters. All because of your larger vision. All because
you very properly saw that more was to be gained by taking a chance. You say
you argued for hours. Had her arguments any sense in them?’

Sam had
been sorely hurt, but he was fair and could give credit where credit was due.

‘Well,
yes, I suppose they had in away. When she was working for his uncle, she saw a
lot of this fellow Plimsoll, and she said he was always getting engaged and
nothing ever came of it. She said it would be the same with your niece.
Apparently girls who get engaged to him have second thoughts.’

‘Veronica
won’t.’

‘What
makes you so sure of that?’

‘The
fact that since Sandy knew him his uncle has died, leaving him millions. My
sister Hermione will see to it that her ewe lamb doesn’t get ideas into her
head. You can take it as certain that whatever false starts Tipton Plimsoll may
have made in the matrimonial race in the past, this time the wedding is going
to come off.’

‘Well,
that’s good, of course, but it doesn’t alter the fact that I’ve lost Sandy.’

‘Are
you sure she’s the right girl for you?’

‘Quite
sure. No argument about that.’

‘Well,
I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’ve found her charming, and I suppose she can’t
help having that feminine streak of caution. The best of girls always want to
play it safe. Yes, I think she’s the mate for you.’

‘But
she doesn’t.’

‘Temporarily,
perhaps. But she’ll come round. You only have to talk to her quietly and
reasonably and she’ll be co-operative all right.’

‘How
can I talk to her? She’s at Blandings Castle and I’m in London.’

Gally’s
eyebrows rose, but such was his personal magnetism that the monocle remained in
its place. He stared at Sam incredulously.

‘You
aren’t proposing to remain in London?’

‘Where
else?’

‘My
dear boy, have you no spirit, no enterprise? You must take the first train to
Market Blandings. I say Market Blandings because I am unfortunately not in a
position to invite you to the castle. My sister Hermione is in charge there,
and for some reason all my sisters have got the idea that if someone’s a friend
of mine, he must be a rat of the underworld. No guest of my inviting would last
a minute in the dear old place. Hermione would get a grip on his trouser seat
and he would find himself flung out on his ear before he had finished
unpacking. No, what you do is go to Market Blandings, take a room at the
Emsworth Arms and lie in wait. Sandy is always bicycling to Market Blandings to
change library books and so on. You’re on the watch, and you spring out at her
from behind a lamp post and go into your sales talk. Girls like being sprung
out at. They take it as a compliment. At your age I was always springing out
at girls I’d had some little disagreement with, and it never failed to lead to
a peaceful settlement.’

‘But
suppose she doesn’t bicycle to Market Blandings?’

‘Then
we must arrange a meeting on Visitors’ Day.’

‘What’s
that?’

‘Thursday
of each week is Visitors’ Day at the castle. You cough up half-a-crown and
Beach, our butler shows you round. The battlements, the portrait gallery, the
amber drawing-room, all that sort of thing. The customers come from Wolverhampton,
Bridgnorth and other centres. All you have to do is join the mob and there you
are. The thing’s in the bag.’

His
enthusiasm began to infect Sam.

‘It
certainly sounds good,’ he agreed. ‘But how do I get hold of Sandy?’

‘I’ll
bring her along.’

‘Where
to?’

‘Yes,
we must fix a meeting place. We’d better make it the Empress’s sty.’

‘The
what?’

‘The
residence of Empress of Blandings, my brother’s prize pig.’