Jonah and Co. (5 page)

The road continued to offer an abominable passage, and when we stopped at a garage in Bordeaux, it was five minutes to three of a beautiful afternoon.

The third
bidon
was discharging its contents into Pong’s tank, and Berry was sitting wearily upon the running-board, with his mouth full and a glass of beer in his hand, when, with an apologetic cough, Ping emerged from behind an approaching tram and slid past us over the cobbles with a smooth rush. The off-side window was open, and, as the car went by, Jonah waved to us.

There was no doubt about it, my cousin was out to win. It was also transparently clear that Adèle and I, at any rate, had lost our money. We could not compete with an average of thirty-six miles an hour.

“Boy!”

“Yes, darling?”

“Is that the last
bidon
?”

“Yes. But Berry won’t have finished for at least ten minutes. Besides—”

“Couldn’t I drive for a bit, just till he’s finished his lunch?”

I stared at my wife. Then —

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t, dear, except that the streets of Bordeaux are rather rough on a beginner.”

“I’ll be very careful,” pleaded Adèle, “and – and, after all, we shall be moving. And it can’t affect the bets. Nothing was said about Berry having to drive.”

I smiled ruefully.

“As far as the bets are concerned, we might as well stay here the night. We’ve got a hundred and fifty miles in front of us, and seven hours – five of them after dark – to do them in. Berry’s shoulder has put the lid on. We shan’t get in before midnight.”

“You never know,” said Adèle.

Berry suspended the process of mastication to put his oar in.

“Let her drive,” he said huskily. “One thing’s certain. She can’t do any worse than I have.”

“You never know,” said Adèle.

A minute later she was in the driver’s seat, and I had folded the rug and placed it behind her back.

As Berry took his seat —

“That’s right,” I said. “Now let in the clutch gently. Well done. Change… Good girl! Now, I shouldn’t try to pass this lorry until—”

“I think you would,” said Adèle, changing into third, and darting in front of the monster.

“Good Heavens!” I cried. Then: “Look out for that tram, lady. You’d better…”

As the tram was left standing, I caught my brother-n-law by the arm.

“
She can drive!
” I said stupidly.

“Nonsense,” said Berry, “I’m willing her.”

“
You fool!
” I shouted, shaking him. “
I tell you she can drive!
” We flashed between two waggons. “
Look at that! She’s a first-class driver, and she’s going to save your stake!
”

“What’s really worrying me,” said Adèle, “is how we’re to pass Jonah without him seeing us.”

There was an electric silence. Then —

“
For-rard!
” yelled Berry. “
For-r-a-r-d!
Out of the way, fat face, or we’ll take the coat off your back.” A portly Frenchman leaped into safety with a scream. “That’s the style. For-rard! Fill the fife, dear heart, fill the blinkin’ fife; there’s a cyclist on the horizon. For-rard!”

To sound the horn would have been a work of supererogation. Maddened by our vociferous exuberance, Nobby lifted up his voice and barked like a demoniac. The ungodly hullaballoo with which we shook the dust of Bordeaux from off our tyres will be remembered fearfully by all who witnessed our exit from that city.

When I had indulged my excitement, I left the terrier and Berry to finish the latter’s lunch and turned to my wife.

Sitting there, with her little hands about the wheel, she made a bewitching picture. She had thrown her fur coat open, and the breeze from the open window was playing greedily with the embroidery about her throat. Her soft hair, too, was now at the wind’s mercy, and but for a little suede hat, which would have suited Rosalind, the dark strand that lay flickering upon her cheek would have been one of many. Chin in air, eyebrows raised, lids lowered, the faintest of smiles hovering about her small red mouth, my lady leaned back with an indescribable air of easy efficiency which was most attractive. Only the parted lips at all betrayed her eagerness…

I felt very proud suddenly.

The road was vile, but Pong flew over it without a tremor. Looking upon his driver, I found it difficult to appreciate that a small silk-stockinged foot I could not see was setting and maintaining his beautiful steady pace.

As I stared at her, marvelling, the smile deepened, and a little gloved hand left the wheel and stole into mine.

I pulled the glove back and kissed the white wrist…

“And I was going to teach you,” I said humbly.

“So was I,” wailed Berry. “I’d arranged everything. I was going to be so patient.”

“I was looking forward to it so much,” I said wistfully.

“Oh, and don’t you think I was?” cried Adèle. “It was so dear of you, lad. I was going to pretend—”

“It was much more dearer of me,” said Berry. “But then, I’m like that. Of course,” he added, “you ought to have driven from Boulogne. Don’t tell me why you held your peace, because I know. And I think it was just sweet of you, darling, and, but for your husband’s presence, I should kiss you by force.”

The car fled on.

There was little traffic, but thrice we came upon cows and once upon a large flock of sheep. We could only pray that Jonah had endured the same trials.

As we slid through Langon, thirty miles distant from Bordeaux, I looked at my watch. Two minutes to four. Adèle noticed the movement and asked the time. When I told her, she frowned.

“Not good enough,” she said simply.

The light was beginning to fail now, and I asked if she would have the lamps lit.

She shook her head.

“Not yet, Boy.”

At last the road was presenting a better surface. As we flashed up a long incline, a glance at the speedometer showed me that we were doing fifty. As I looked again, the needle swung slowly to fifty-five…

I began to peer into the distance for Jonah’s dust. With a low snarl we swooped into La Réole, whipped unhesitatingly to right and left, coughed at cross-streets, and then swept out of the town ere Berry had found its name in the
Michelin Guide
.

Again I asked my wife if she would have the headlights.

“Not yet, Boy.”

“Shall I raise the wind screen?”

“Please.”

Together Berry and I observed her wish, while with her own right hand she closed the window. The rush of the cool air was more than freshening, and I turned up her coat collar and fastened the heavy fur about her throat.

The car tore on.

Lights began to appear – one by one, stabbing the dusk with their beams, steady, conspicuous. One only, far in the distance, seemed ill-defined – a faint smudge against the twilight. Then it went out altogether.

“Jonah,” said Adèle quietly.

She was right.

Within a minute we could see the smear again – more clearly. It was Ping’s tail-lamp.

I began to tremble with excitement. Beside me I could hear Berry breathing fast through his nose.

Half a dozen times we lost the light, only to pick it up again a moment later. Each time it was brighter than before. We were gaining rapidly…

We could not have been more than a furlong behind, when the sudden appearance of a cluster of bright pinpricks immediately ahead showed that we were approaching Marmande.

Instantly Ping’s tail-light began to grow bigger. Jonah was slowing up for the town. In a moment we should be in a position to pass…

In silence Berry and I clasped one another. Somewhere between us Nobby began to pant.

As we entered Marmande, there were not thirty paces between the two cars. And my unsuspecting cousin was going dead slow. A twitch of the wheel, and we should leave him standing…

Then, without any warning, Adèle slowed up and fell in behind Ping.

I could have screamed to her to go by.

Deliberately she was throwing away the chance of a lifetime.

Desperately I laid my hand on her arm.

“Adèle!” I cried hoarsely. “My darling, aren’t you—”

By way of answer, she gave a little crow of rejoicing and turned sharp round to the right.

Jonah had passed straight on.

As Pong leaped forward, the scales fell from my eyes.

Adèle was for the side streets. If she could only rejoin the main road at a point ahead of Jonah, the latter would never know that we had passed him. If…

I began to hope very much that my wife knew the plan of Marmande rather better than I.

Through the dusk I could see that the street we were using ran on to a bridge. It was there, I supposed, that we should turn to the left…

To my horror, Adèle thrust on to the bridge at an increased pace.

“A-aren’t you going to turn?” I stammered. “I mean, we’ll never—”

“I said the road was tricky,” said Adèle, “but I hardly dared to hope they’d make such a bad mistake.” We sailed off the bridge and on to a beautiful road. “Ah, this is more like it. I don’t know where Jonah’s going,
but this is the way to Pau
… And now I think it’ll be safe to have the lights on. You might look behind first to see if they’re coming. You see, if they’d seen us go by, the game would have been up. As it is…”

At half past seven that evening we drove into Pau.

Arrived at our villa, we put the car away and hurried indoors.

It was almost eight o’clock when Ping discharged his passengers upon the front steps.

In silence and from the landing we watched them enter the hall.

When they were all inside, I released Nobby.

How a Golden Calf was Set Up,

and Nobby Showed Himself a True Prophet

Five fat weeks had rolled by since Adèle had eased Jonah of sixty pounds, and the Antoinette ring we had given her to commemorate the feat was now for the first time in danger of suffering an eclipse. In a word, a new star had arisen.

“I dreamed about it,” said Daphne. “I knew I should.”

I knitted my brows.

“I wish,” said I, “I could share your enthusiasm.”

“Ah, but you haven’t seen it.”

“I know, but I don’t even want to. If you’d come back raving about a piece of furniture or a jewel or a picture, I should have been interested. But a shawl… A shawl leaves me cold.”

“I agree,” said Jonah. “I’ve learned to appear attentive to the description of a frock. I keep a special indulgent smile for the incoherence inspired by a hat. But when you pipe to me the praises of a shawl – well, I’m unable to dance.”

“Wait till you see it,” said Adèle. “Besides, there were some lovely rugs.”

“That’s better,” said I. “I like a good rug.”

“Well, these were glorious,” said Jill. “They had the most lovely sheen. But, of course, the shawl…”

“If anyone,” said Jonah, “says that ugly word again, I shall scream.”

It was half past nine of a very beautiful morning, and we were breakfasting.

The last two days had been wet. In the night, however, the clouds had disappeared, leaving the great sky flawless, an atmosphere so rare as tempted shy Distance to approach, and the mountains in all the powdered glory of their maiden snow.

Seventy miles of magic – that is what Pau stares at. For the Pyrenees, viewed from this royal box, are purely magical. They do not rise so high – eleven thousand feet, as mountains go, is nothing wonderful. There is no might nor majesty about them – distant some thirty odd miles. They are just an exquisite wall, well and truly laid, and carved with that careless cunning of the great Artificer into the likeness of some screen in Heaven.

Where, then, is the magic? Listen. These mountains are never the same. Today they are very nigh; tomorrow they will stand farther than you have ever seen them. On Monday they will lie a mere ridge above the foothills; on Tuesday they will be towering, so that you must lift up your eyes to find the summits. But yesterday you marvelled at their stablishment; this morning they will be floating above the world. One week the clear-cut beauty of their lines and curves gladdens your heart; the next, a mocking mystery of soft blurred battlements will tease your vision. Such shifting sorcery is never stale. Light, shade, and atmosphere play such fantastic tricks with Pau’s fair heritage that the grey town, curled comfortably in the sunshine upon her plateau’s edge, looks not on one, but upon many prospects. The pageant of the Pyrenees is never done.

As for the wedding garment which they had put on in the night – it made us all late for breakfast.

The door opened to admit Berry.

The look of resignation upon his face and the silence in which he took his seat were highly eloquent.

There was no need to ask what was the matter. We knew. Big with the knowledge, we waited upon the edge of laughter.

As he received his coffee —

“I’m not going on like this,” he said shortly. “It’s insanitary.”

Adèle’s lips twitched, and Jill put a hand to her mouth.

“I can’t think how it is,” said Daphne. “Mine was all right.”

“Of course it was,” retorted her husband. “So was Adèle’s. So was Jill’s. By the time you three nymphs are through, there’s no hot water left.”

“That,” said I, “is where the geyser comes in. The agent was at some pains to point out that it was an auxiliary.”

“Was he, indeed?” said Berry. “Well, if he’d been at some pains to point out that it leaked, stank, became white-hot, and was generally about the finest labour-wasting device ever invented, he’d’ve been nearer the mark. If he’d added that it wasn’t a geyser at all, but a cross between a magic lantern and a money-box—”

“Knack,” said Jonah. “That’s all it needs. You haven’t got the hang of it yet.”

The savagery with which my brother-in-law attacked a roll was almost frightening.

“W-why money-box?” said Jill tremulously.

“Because,” said Berry, “it has to be bribed to devil you. Until you’ve put ten centimes in the metre, you don’t get any gas. It’s a pretty idea.”

Adèle began to shake with laughter.

“You must have done something wrong,” said I.

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“Provided,” he said, “that you are fairly active and physically fit, you can’t go wrong. But it’s a strain on one’s sanity… No, I don’t think I’ll have any omelette. They’re so impatient.”

I decided to apply the spur.

“But the agent showed us exactly—”

“Look here,” said Berry, “you enter that bathroom, clothed – after a fashion – and in your right mind. Then you leave it for some matches. On your return you turn on the gas. After wasting four matches, you laugh pleasantly, put on your dressing-gown again, and go about the house asking everyone for a ten-centime piece… This you place in the slot. Then you go out again and try to remember where you put the matches. By the time you’re back, the whole room is full of gas, so you open the window wide and clean your teeth to fill up the time. Long before it’s safe you strike another match. The thing lights with an explosion that shortens your life… In about two minutes it emits a roaring sound and begins to shake all over. By now all the taps are red-hot, and, by the time you’ve burnt yourself to hell, you’re wondering whether, if you start at once, you’ll have time to leave the house before the thing bursts. Finally, you knock the gas off with the cork mat…

“After a decent interval you start again. This time you turn on the water first. Stone cold, of course. When you’ve used enough gas to roast an ox, you hope like anything and reduce the flow.” He paused to pass a hand wearily across his eyes. “Have you ever seen Vesuvius in eruption?” he added. “I admit no rocks were discharged – at least, I didn’t see any. There may be some in the bath. I didn’t wait to look… Blinded by the steam, deafened by the noise, you make a rush for the door. This seems to have been moved. You feel all over the walls, like a madman. In the frenzy of despair – it’s astonishing how one clings to life – you hurl yourself at the bath and turn on both taps… As if by magic the steam disappears, the roaring subsides, and two broad streams of pure cold water issue, like crystal founts, into the bath. Now you know why I’m so jolly this morning.”

With tears running down her cheeks —

“You must have a bath in the dressing-room,” wailed Daphne. “The others do.”

“I won’t,” said Berry. “It faces North.”

“Then you must have it at night.”

“Not tonight,” I interposed. “Nobby’s bagged it.”

With the laugh of a maniac, my brother-in-law requested that the facts should be laid before the Sealyham, and the latter desired to waive his rights.

“Of course,” he concluded, “if you want me to become verminous, just say so.”

There was a shriek of laughter.

“And now be quick,” said Daphne, “or we shall be late for the meet. And I particularly want to see Sally.”

Sarah Featherstone was the possessor of the coveted shawl.

We had met her by chance upon the boulevard two days before. No one of us had had any idea that she was not in Ireland, whither she had retired upon her marriage, and where her passion for hunting kept her most of the year, and when we learned that she had already spent six months in the Pyrenees, and would be at Pau all the winter, we could hardly believe our ears. Her little son, it appeared, had been ailing, and the air of the Pyrenees was to make him well. So their summer had been passed in the mountains, and, with three good hunters from Ireland, the winter was to be supported under the shadow of the healing hills.

“It hurts me to think of Ireland, but I’m getting to love this place. I want the rain on my face sometimes, and the earth doesn’t smell so sweet; but the sun’s a godsend – I’ve never seen it before – and the air makes me want to shout. Oh, I’ve got a lot to be thankful for. Peter’s put on a stone and a half to date, George’ll be out for Christmas, and, now that you’ve come to stay…”

We were all glad of Sarah – till yesterday.

Now, however, she had set up a golden calf, which our womenkind were worshipping out of all reason and convenience.

At the mention of the false prophet’s name, Jonah and I pushed back our chairs.

“Don’t leave me,” said Berry, “I know what’s coming. I had it last night until I fell asleep. Then that harpy” – he nodded at Daphne – “dared to rouse me out of a most refreshing slumber to ask me whether I thought ‘ the Chinese did both sides at once or one after the other.’ With my mind running on baths, I said they probably began on their feet and washed upwards. By the time the misunderstanding had been cleared up, I was thoroughly awake and remained in a hideous and agonising condition of sleepless lassitude for the space of one hour. The tea came sharp at half past seven, and the shawl rolled up twenty seconds later. I tell you I’m sick of the blasted comforter.”

A squall of indignation succeeded this blasphemy. When order had been restored —

“Anyway,” said Jill, “Sally says the sailor who sold it her ’ll be back with some more things next month, and she’s going to send him here. He only comes twice a year, and—”

“Isn’t it curious,” said Jonah, “how a sailor never dies at sea?”

“Most strange,” said Berry. “The best way will be to ask him to stay here. Then he can have a bath in the morning, and we can bury him behind the garage.”

With that confident accuracy which waits upon a player only when it is uncourted, Jill cracked her ball across the six yards of turf and into the hole.

“Look at that,” said Adèle.

Jonah raised his eyes to heaven.

“And the game,” he said, “means nothing to her. It never has. Years ago she and I got into the final at Hunstanton. She put me dead on the green at the thirteenth, and I holed out. When I turned round to say we were three up, she wasn’t there. Eventually I found her looking for her iron. She’d laid it down, to start on a daisy chain.”

“I only put it down for a second,” protested Jill, “and you must admit the daisies were simply huge.”

“What happened?” said Adèle, bubbling.

“The daisy chain won us the match. She was much more interested in the former, and actually continued its fabrication between her shots.”

We passed to the next tee.

As I was addressing the ball —

“Don’t top it,” said Jill.

“Have I been topping them today?”

“No, Boy. Only do be careful. I believe there’s a lark’s nest down there, and it’d be a shame—”

“There you are,” said Jonah.

“Now,” said I, “I’m dead certain to top it.”

“Well, then, drive more to the right,” said Jill. “After all, it’s only a game.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said I.

Of course, I topped the ball, but at the next hole my grey-eyed cousin discovered that our caddie had a puppy in his pocket, so we won easily.

As we made for the clubhouse —

“Only ten days to Christmas,” said Adèle. “Can you believe me?”

“With an effort,” said I. “It’s almost too hot to be true.”

Indeed, it might have been a June morning. The valley was sleepy beneath the midday sun; the slopes of the sheltering foothills looked warm and comfortable; naked but unashamed, the woods were smiling; southward, a long flash spoke of the sunlit peaks and the dead march of snow; and there, a league away, grey Pau was basking contentedly, her decent crinoline of villas billowing about her sides, lazily looking down on such a fuss and pother as might have bubbled out of the pot of Revolution, but was, in fact, the hospitable rite daily observed on the arrival of the Paris train.

“I simply must get some presents,” continued my wife. “We’ll start tomorrow.”

I groaned.

“You can’t get anything here,” I protested. “And people don’t expect presents when you’re in the South of France.”

“That’s just when they do,” said Adèle. “All your friends consider that it’s a chance in a lifetime, and, if you don’t take it, they never forgive you.”

“Well, I haven’t got any friends,” said I. “So that’s that. And you used to tell me you had very few.”

“Ah,” said Adèle, “that was before we were engaged. That was to excite your sympathy.”

I appealed to my cousins for support.

“Nothing doing,” said Jonah. “If you didn’t want this sort of thing, what did you marry for? For longer than I can remember you’ve seen your brother-in-law led off like an ox to the shambles – he’s there now – financially crippled, and then compelled to tie up and address innumerable parcels, for the simple reason that, when they’re at the shops Daphne’s faculty of allotment invariably refuses to function.”

Jill slid an arm through her brother’s, patted his hand affectionately, and looked at Adèle.

“If Boy breaks down,” she said sweetly, “I’ll lend you my ox. He’s simply splendid at parcels.”

“You’ve got to find something to do up first,” said I. “This isn’t Paris.”

A colour was lent to my foreboding within the hour.

As we sat down to luncheon —

“Yes,” said Berry, “my vixen and I have spent a delightful morning. We’ve been through fourteen shops and bought two amethyst necklets and a pot of marmalade. I subsequently dropped the latter in the Place Royale, so we’re actually twelve down.”

“Whereabouts in the Place Royale?” I inquired.

“Just outside the Club. Everybody I knew was either going in or coming out, so it went very well indeed.”

There was a gust of laughter.

“N-not on the pavement?” whimpered Jill.

“On the pavement,” said Daphne. “It was dreadful. I never was so ashamed. Of course I begged him to pick it up before it ran out. D’you think he’d do it? Not he. Said it was written, and it was no good fighting against Fate, and that he’d rather wash his hands of it than after it, and that sort of stuff. Then Nobby began to lick it up… But for Fitch, I think we should have been arrested. Mercifully, we’d told him to wait for us by the bandstand, and he saw the whole thing.”