Summer Lightning

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘Well, I fear that bird. He’s my best pal and I know his work. He’s practically handsome. And lissom, to boot.’ A hideous thought smote Ronnie like a blow. ‘Did he ever . . .’ He choked. ‘Did he ever hold your hand?’

  ‘Which hand?’

  ‘Either hand.’

  ‘How can you suggest such a thing!’ cried Sue, shocked.

  ‘Well, will you swear there’s nothing between him and you?’

  ‘Of course there isn’t.’

  And nothing between this fellow Pilbeam and you?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Ah!’ said Ronnie. ‘Then I can go ahead, as planned.’

  His was a mercurial temperament, and it had lifted him in an instant from the depths to the heights. The cloud had passed from his face, the look of Byronic despair from his eyes. He beamed.

  ‘Do you know why I’m going down to Blandings to-night?’ he asked.

  ‘No. I only wish you weren’t.’

  ‘Well, I’ll tell you. I’ve got to get round my uncle.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Make myself solid with my Uncle Clarence. If you’ve ever had anything to do with trustees you’ll know that the one thing they bar like poison is parting with money. And I’ve simply got to have another chunk of my capital, and a good big one, too. Without money, how on earth can I marry you? Let me get hold of funds, and we’ll dash off to the registrar’s the moment you say the word. So now you understand why I’ve got to get to Blandings at the earliest possible moment and stay there till further notice.’

  ‘Yes. I see. And you’re a darling. Tell me about Blandings, Ronnie.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, what sort of a place is it? I want to imagine you there while you’re away.’

  Ronnie pondered. He was not at his best as a word painter.

  ‘Oh, you know the kind of thing. Parks and gardens and terraces and immemorial elms and all that. All the usual stuff.’

  Any girls there?’

  ‘My cousin Millicent. She’s my Uncle Lancelot’s daughter. He’s dead. The family want Millicent and me to get married.’

  ‘To each other, you mean? What a perfectly horrible idea!’

  ‘Oh, it’s all right. We’re both against the scheme.’

  ‘Well, that’s some comfort. What other girls will there be at Blandings?’

  ‘Only one that I know of. My mother met a female called Schoonmaker at Biarritz. American. Pots of money, I believe. One of those beastly tall girls. Looked like something left over from Dana Gibson. I couldn’t stand her myself, but my mother was all for her, and I didn’t at all like the way she seemed to be trying to shove her off on to me. You know – “Why don’t you ring up Myra Schoonmaker, Ronnie? I’m sure she would like to go to the Casino to-night. And then you could dance afterwards.” Sinister, it seemed to me.’

  And she’s going to Blandings? H’m!’

  ‘There’s nothing to h’m about.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. Oh, well, I suppose your family are quite right. I suppose you ought really to marry some nice girl in your own set.’

  Ronnie uttered a wordless cry, and in his emotion allowed the mudguard of the two-seater to glide so closely past an Austin Seven that Sue gave a frightened squeak and the Austin Seven went on its way thinking black thoughts.

  ‘Do be careful, Ronnie, you old chump!’

  ‘Well, what do you want to go saying things like that for? I get enough of that from the family, without having you start.’

  ‘Poor old Ronnie! I’m sorry. Still, you must admit that they’d be quite within their rights, objecting to me. I’m not so hot, you know. Only a chorus-girl. Just one of the Ensemble!’

  Ronnie said something between his teeth that sounded like ‘Juki’ What he meant was, Be her station never so humble, a pure, sweet girl is a fitting mate for the highest in the land.

  And my mother was a music-hall singer.’

  A what!’

  ‘A music-hall singer. What they used to call a Serio. You know – pink tights and rather risky songs.’

  This time Ronnie did not say ‘Juki’ He merely swallowed painfully. The information had come as a shock to him. Somehow or other, he had never thought of Sue as having encumbrances in the shape of relatives; and he could not hide from himself the fact that a pink-tighted Serio might stir the Family up quite a little. He pictured something with peroxide hair who would call his Uncle Clarence ‘dearie’.

  ‘English, do you mean? On the Halls here in London?’

  ‘Yes. Her stage name was Dolly Henderson.’

  ‘Never heard of her.’

  ‘I dare say not. But she was the rage of London twenty years ago.’

  ‘I always thought you were American,’ said Ronnie, aggrieved. ‘I distinctly recollect Hugo, when he introduced us, telling me that you had just come over from New York.’

  ‘So I had. Father took me to America soon after mother died.’

  ‘Oh, your mother is – er – no longer with us?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Ronnie, brightening.

  ‘My father’s name was Cotterleigh. He was in the Irish Guards.’

  ‘What!’

  Ronnie’s ecstatic cry seriously inconvenienced a traffic policeman in the exercise of his duties.

  ‘But this is fine! This is the goods! It doesn’t matter to me, of course, one way or the other. I’d love you just the same if your father had sold jellied eels. But think what an enormous difference this will make to my blasted family!’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘But it will. We must get him over at once and spring him on them. Or is he in London?’

  Sue’s brown eyes clouded.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  ‘Eh? Oh? Sorry!’said Ronnie.

  He was dashed for a moment.

  ‘Well, at least let me tell the family about him,’ he urged, recovering. ‘Let me dangle him before their eyes a bit.’

  ‘If you like. But they’ll still object to me because I’m in the chorus.’

  Ronnie scowled. He thought of his mother, he thought of his Aunt Constance, and reason told him that her words were true.

  ‘Dash all this rot people talk about chorus-girls!’ he said. ‘They seem to think that just because a girl works in the chorus she must be a sort of animated champagne vat . . . .’

  Ugh!’

  ‘Spending her life dancing on supper-tables with tight stockbrokers. . . .’

  ‘And not a bad way of passing an evening,’ said Sue meditatively. ‘I must try it some time.’

  ‘. . . with the result that when it’s a question of her marrying anybody, the fellow’s people look down their noses and kick like mules. It’s happened in our family before. My Uncle Gaily was in love with some girl on the stage back in the dark ages, and they formed a wedge and bust the thing up and shipped him off to South Africa or somewhere to forget her. And look at him! Drew three sober breaths in the year nineteen-hundred and then decided that was enough. I expect I shall be the same. If I don’t take to drink, cooped up at Blandings a hundred miles away from you, I shall be vastly surprised. It’s all a lot of silly nonsense. I haven’t any patience with it. I’ve a jolly good mind to go to Uncle Clarence to-night and simply tell him that I’m in love with you and intend to marry you and that if the family don’t like it they can lump it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t.’

  Ronnie simmered down.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘I’m sure I am. If he hears about me, he certainly won’t give you your money. Whereas, if he doesn’t, he may. What sort of a man is he?’

  ‘Uncle Clarence? Oh, a mild, dreamy old boy. Mad about gardening and all that. At the moment, I hear, he’s wrapped up in his pig.’

  ‘That sounds cosy.’

  ‘I’d feel a lot easier in my mind, I can tell you, going down there to tackle him, if I were a pig. I’d expect a much warmer welcome.’

  ‘You were
rather a pig just now, weren’t you?’

  Ronnie quivered. Remorse gnawed the throbbing heart beneath his beautifully cut waistcoat.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’m frightfully sorry. The fact is, I’m so crazy about you, I get jealous of everybody you meet. Do you know, Sue, if you ever let me down, I’d . . . I don’t know what I’d do. Er-Sue!’

  ‘Hullo?’

  ‘Swear something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Swear that, while I’m at Blandings, you won’t go out with a soul. Not even to dance.’

  ‘Not even to dance?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Especially this man Pilbeam.’

  ‘I thought you were going to say Hugo.’

  ‘I’m not worrying about Hugo. He’s safe at Blandings.’

  ‘Hugo at Blandings?’

  ‘Yes. He’s secretarying for my Uncle Clarence. I made my mother get him the job when the Hot Spot conked.’

  ‘So you’ll have him and Millicent and Miss Schoonmaker there to keep you company! How nice for you.’

  ‘Millicent!’

  ‘It’s all very well to say “Millicent!” like that. If you ask me, I think she’s a menace. She sounds coy and droopy. I can see her taking you for walks by moonlight under those immemorial elms and looking up at you with big, dreamy eyes . . .’

  ‘Looking down at me, you mean. She’s about a foot taller than I am. And, anyway, if you imagine there’s a girl on earth who could extract so much as a kindly glance from me when I’ve got you to think about, you’re very much mistaken. I give you my honest word . . .’

  He became lyrical. Sue, leaning back, listened contentedly. The cloud had been a threatening cloud, blackening the skies for a while, but it had passed. The afternoon was being golden, after all.

  Ill

  ‘By the way,’ said Ronnie, the flood of eloquence subsiding. A thought occurs. Have you any notion where we’re headed for?’

  ‘Heaven.’

  ‘I mean at the moment.’

  ‘I supposed you were taking me to tea somewhere.’

  ‘But where? We’ve got right out of the tea zone. What with one thing and another, I’ve just been driving at random – to and fro, as it were – and we seem to have worked round to somewhere in the Swiss Cottage neighbourhood. We’d better switch back and set a course for the Carlton or some place. How do you feel about the Carlton?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Or the Ritz?’

  ‘Whichever you like.’

  ‘Or-gosh!’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Sue! I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘Beginner’s luck.’

  ‘Why not go to Norfolk Street?’

  ‘To your home?’

  ‘Yes. There’s nobody there. And our butler is a staunch bird. He’ll get us tea and say nothing.’

  ‘I’d like to meet a staunch butler.’

  ‘Then shall we?’

  ‘I’d love it. You can show me all your little treasures and belongings and the photographs of you as a small boy.’

  Ronnie shook his head. It irked him to discourage her pretty enthusiasm, but a man cannot afford to take risks.

  ‘Not those. No love could stand up against the sight of me in a sailor suit at the age of ten. I don’t mind,’ he said, making a concession, ‘letting you see the one of me and Hugo, taken just before the Public Schools Rackets Competition, my last year at school. We were the Eton pair.’

  ‘Did you win?’

  ‘No. At a critical moment in the semi-final that ass Hugo foozled a shot a one-armed cripple ought to have taken with his eyes shut. It dished us.’

  ‘Awful!’ said Sue. ‘Well, if I ever had any impulse to love Hugo, that’s killed it.’ She looked about her. ‘I don’t know this aristocratic neighbourhood at all. How far is it to Norfolk Street?’

  ‘Next turning.’

  ‘You’re sure there’s nobody in the house? None of the dear old Family?’

  ‘Not a soul.’

  He was right. Lady Constance Keeble was not actually in the house. At the moment when he spoke she had just closed the front door behind her. After waiting half an hour in the hope of her nephew’s return, she had left a note for him on the hall table, and was going to Claridge’s to get a cup of tea.

  It was not until he had drawn up immediately opposite the house that Ronnie perceived what stood upon the steps. Having done so, he blenched visibly.

  ‘Oh, my sainted aunt!’he said.

  And seldom can the familiar phrase have been used with more appropriateness.

  The sainted aunt was inspecting the two-seater and its contents with a frozen stare. Her eyebrows were two marks of interrogation. As she had told Millicent, she was old-fashioned, and when she saw her flesh and blood snuggled up to girls of attractive appearance in two-seaters, she suspected the worst.

  ‘Good afternoon, Ronald.’

  ‘Er – hullo, Aunt Constance.’

  ‘Will you introduce me?’

  There is no doubt that peril sharpens the intellect. His masters at school and his tutors at the University, having had to do with Ronald Overbury Fish almost entirely at times when his soul was at rest, had classed him among the less keen-witted of their charges. Had they seen him now in this crisis they would have pointed at him with pride. And, being the sportsmen and gentlemen that they were, they would have hastened to acknowledge that they had grossly underestimated his ingenuity and initiative.

  For, after turning a rather pretty geranium tint and running a finger round the inside of his collar for an instant, as if he found it too tight, Ronnie Fish spoke the only two words in the language which could have averted disaster.

  ‘Miss Schoonmaker,’ he said, huskily.

  Sue at his side gave a little gasp. These were unsuspected depths.

  ‘Miss Schoonmaker!’

  Lady Constance’s resemblance to Apollyon straddling right across the way had vanished abruptly. Remorse came upon her that she should have wronged her blameless nephew with unfounded suspicions.

  ‘Miss Schoonmaker, my aunt, Lady Constance Keeble,’ said Ronnie, going from strength to strength, and speaking now quite easily and articulately.

  Sue was not the girl to sit dumbly by and fail a partner in his hour of need. She smiled brightly.

  ‘How do you do, Lady Constance?’ she said. She smiled again, if possible even more brightly than before. ‘I feel I know you already. Lady Julia told me so much about you at Biarritz.’

  A momentary qualm lest, in the endeavour to achieve an easy cordiality, she had made her manner a shade too patronizing, melted in the sunshine of the older woman’s smile. Lady Constance had become charming, almost effusive. She had always hoped that Ronald and Millicent would make a match of it: but, failing that, this rich Miss Schoonmaker was certainly the next best thing. And driving chummily about London together like this must surely, she thought, mean something, even in these days when chummy driving is so prevalent between the sexes. At any rate, she hoped so.

  ‘So here you are in London!’

  Yes.’

  You did not stay long in Paris.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘When can you come down to Blandings?’

  ‘Oh, very soon, I hope.’

  ‘I am going there this evening. I only ran up for the day. I want you to drive me back, Ronald.’

  Ronnie nodded silently. The crisis passed, a weakness had come upon him. He preferred not to speak, if speech could be avoided.

  ‘Do try to come soon. The gardens are looking delightful. My brother will be so glad to see you. I was just on my way to Claridge’s for a cup of tea. Won’t you come too?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ said Sue, ‘but I really must be getting on. Ronnie was taking me shopping.’

  ‘I thought you stayed in Paris to do your shopping.’

  ‘Not all of it.’

  ‘Well, I shall hope to see you soon.’

  ‘Oh,
yes.’

  At Blandings.’

  ‘Thank you so much. Ronnie, I think we ought to be getting along.’

  ‘Yes.’ Ronnie’s mind was blurred, but he was clear on that point. ‘Yes, getting along. Pushing off.’

  ‘Well, I’m so delighted to have seen you. My sister told me so much about you in her letters. After you have put your luggage on the car, Ronald, will you come and pick me up at Claridge’s?’

  ‘Right ho.’

  ‘I would like to make an early start, if possible.’

  ‘Right ho.’

  ‘Well, good-bye for the present, then.’

  ‘Right ho.’

  ‘Good-bye, Lady Constance.’

  ‘Good-bye.’

  The two-seater moved off, and Ronnie, taking his right hand from the wheel as it turned the corner, groped for a handkerchief, found it, and passed it over his throbbing brow.

  ‘So that was Aunt Constance!’ said Sue.

  Ronnie breathed deeply.

  ‘Nice meeting one of whom I have heard so much.’

  Ronnie replaced his hand on the wheel and twiddled it feebly to avoid a dog. Reaction had made him limp.

  Sue was gazing at him almost reverently.

  ‘What genius, Ronnie! What ready wit! What presence of mind! If I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I wouldn’t have believed it. Why didn’t you ever tell me you were one of those swift thinkers?’

  ‘I didn’t know it myself.’

  ‘Of course, I’m afraid it has complicated things a little.’

  ‘Eh?’ Ronnie started. This aspect of the matter had not struck him. ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘When I was a child, they taught me a poem . . .’

  Ronnie raised a suffering face to hers.

  ‘Don’t let’s talk about your childhood now, old thing,’ he pleaded. ‘Feeling rather shaken. Any other time . . .’

  ‘It’s all right. I’m not wandering from the subject. I can only remember two lines of the poem. They were, “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive.” You do see the web is a bit tangled, don’t you, Ronnie, darling?’

  ‘Eh? Why? Everything looks pretty smooth to me. Aunt Constance swallowed you without a yip.’

  And when the real Miss Schoonmaker arrives at Blandings with her jewels and her twenty-four trunks?’ said Sue gently.

  The two-seater swerved madly across Grosvenor Street.