by Paul Gallico
“I wouldn’t know, sir. Matter of fifteen quid maybe.”
“Let me have that list we’re putting through for damages today,” Tim said.
The Gunner handed it to him. A gleam came into his cunning little eyes. “Oh, I say, sir,” he said, “that’s a brain-wave. Tell ’em it’s impossible for us to recover his bleeding ’air-piece and let the Crown pay for a new one.”
“They’ll thank me for it in the long run,” Tim said. “And after all he did pinch it. There’ll be such a yell when they see this list they probably won’t even notice the item for the wig. You find out for me what it will cost for another and we’ll bung it through and hope for the best.”
The Gunner nodded murmuring, “Old Scruff won’t be ’alf pleased. You should see him carrying on with that thing.”
“Well then, that settles it,” Tim said. “Get on with it.” He took a ten-shilling note from his pocket and slid it across the desk to the Gunner. “That’s for using your loaf,” he said. “Have a couple on me and Scruffy. To peace and quiet.”
And so it was done. The toupée it seemed was the work of a gifted wig maker in Algeciras who was not only a speedy worker, but reasonable and the replacement came to no more than £13 18s. 6d. and was delivered within a week. Tim had proved right and so appalled were the Government accountants at the damages they had to O.K. for Scruffy’s rampage that the item of the wig was never even questioned.
Ramirez declared himself as satisfied with the arrangements since no better could be arrived at and Lovejoy had convinced him it was impossible to retrieve the original article. In a sense he had scored off the British. He had got himself noticed and his property replaced. Still the incident left its scar.
6
Lady French Passes the Fish
Some ten days later the telephone rang in the Mount. Felicity, who was near by, picked it up, always with hope, yet quite prepared for continuing disappointment. Tim had not called her since their first meeting. Evidently she had failed to make an impression on him.
But this time it was he. “Hello, hello—Miss French? I say, you probably won’t remember me, but this is Captain Bailey. Tim Bailey.”
“You may call me Felicity,” said Felicity firmly. Now that she had him on the other end of the wire there was going to be no further nonsense. “Where have you been the last ten days?”
“Nursing. It didn’t help though, poor old Helen died.”
“Helen?”
“Monty’s wife.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. Friends of yours?”
“Two of my apes. Helen got pneumonia and I’ve had to nurse her. Lovejoy and I gave her warm milk, arrowroot and brandy every morning. And just when I thought I had her over it she suddenly turned around and died. But that isn’t actually what I called you about—Miss—I mean Felicity.”
“No,” queried Felicity, “was there something else?” and even as she waited at the instrument she marvelled at the flush mounting to her cheeks and the sudden butterfly flapping about in her stomach to reconfirm her early diagnosis that this odd bod who lived apparently only for his unattractive apes might mean something to her. What strange chemistries decided these affinities?
“Do you remember that perfectly smashing idea you had that day up there by the apes’ den?”
Felicity did, but she wasn’t going to let on. “Idea—?”
“About naming one of my apelets after Princess Elizabeth. Well, it’s come off. I promised I’d let you know.”
“Oh, Tim, I’m thrilled. Have you heard—?”
“The works,” said Tim. “Letter on Palace stationery. Stories in the Press. I’d like to show it to you if I may. You wouldn’t by any chance be free, say, in half an hour for a bit? I could get off. Of course, I’m sure you’re awfully busy, but—”
Felicity decided to abandon coquetry and feminine wiles. She replied, “I’m not busy. I’m free. Where shall we meet?”
“What about the Moorish Castle?”
“Done,” said Felicity. “Half an hour.”
She replaced the receiver and talked to herself. “Now I must be calm. I must move slowly. I must put on fresh lipstick, run a comb through my hair and I must get in my car and drive slowly and carefully, trying not to knock people over. Oh dear, what is it about that silly man that has done this to me?”
The ruined tower of the Moorish Castle looks out over the bay and the white houses of Algeciras. From the shore the moulded brown hills of Spain sweep backwards to the north-west. Beyond them a red sun was preparing to set. Gazing down from the stone terrace Tim could see the Casemates with their drill ground, a part of the racecourse and the narrow neck of the border zone between Gibraltar and La Linea.
“Look here,” Tim was saying and handed Felicity the letter on the heavy stationery headed Buckingham Palace, in which the King’s Private Secretary advised Captain T. Bailey, O.I.C. Apes, Gibraltar, that His Majesty would be pleased to have him name one of the apes Elizabeth, that the Princess had been delighted with the photographs and would enjoy having reports on the progress of her namesake.
“But,” Tim continued with growing excitement, “that’s not all. Here’s another from the Press Officer at the Palace saying His Majesty has sanctioned a release of this story to the Press. It’s been given to the wire associations. It’s gone off all over the world. Just think of it, they are reading about our apes in Timbuctoo, in Mandalay, in Moscow, in Angola, in Buenos Aires, Brisbane, and New York. And if it hadn’t been for you—”
“You wrote the letter,” Felicity said.
“It was your idea,” countered Tim, “and that makes you merely marvellous. I don’t suppose you really know what you’ve done for me and for them. It takes the heat right off old Scruff for a bit. Makes everybody ape-conscious—now when I go along and ask—”
“Was the Brigadier pleased?” Felicity asked.
The question sounded innocent, but when Timothy looked at her he caught a glimpse of the mischief behind her eyes and suddenly felt the warmth of her particular kind of enchantment. She was such a solidly good kid. That’s how you would think of her back home. A good kid. Someone you could rely on, who wouldn’t drip and dither if you were in trouble, but would come up with an idea. “Oh, he had me over the coals of course. Wanted to know what I meant by going over his head.”
“I didn’t know he’d got one,” Felicity commented. “What did you say?”
“I threw paragraph eight, Clause A of Standing Part One Orders at him which says, ‘It shall be the duty of the Officer in Charge Apes to provide names for all new-born surviving apes bred and born on the Rock and such names shall be duly registered and inscribed upon the rolls, and thereafter the apes shall be referred to by that name . . .’ ”
“That must have shaken him,” Felicity said. “I suppose he wrote that himself.”
“One of his predecessors,” Tim explained. “But that’s nothing to the next broadside. Listen to this: ‘Should the Officer in Charge Apes wish to confer the name of any living person upon an ape he must first secure permission of said person in writing.’ ”
“Check! Mate in one move,” said Felicity. “What did the Brigadier say to that?”
“Poor old boy, he grew rather plaintive and asked why I didn’t let him know.”
“And—?”
“I had been waiting for that one for days,” Tim said. He drew himself to attention and snapped Felicity an exaggeration of the salute he had thrown at the Brigadier. “Sir! You said I was not to pass any more bumph over your desk.”
“Mate!” cried Felicity. “Oh, Tim, I could love you for that,” and she threw back her head and began to roar with laughter.
It set Tim off too and the next moment they found that they had laughed themselves into one another’s arms, for the joke was so good and the merriment so infectious that they found it easier, in fact almost necessary, to cleave to one another for support. Thus they clung to one another for an instant in a kind of personal ecstasy of enjoyme
nt of the joke and the plot they had hatched out together before separating in quite the most natural manner, except that Tim found that he was tingling strangely.
And far, far below a bugle call arose faintly through the heavy summer air from the Casemates, and then there was a thud as an Artillery piece was fired. It was the sunset gun.
Felicity looked out over the Spanish hills. She no longer laughed. A small frown appeared on her brow. “Do you think there is going to be a war, Tim?” she asked.
The young officer was silent for some time while he reflected upon what he knew was concealed there before he replied, “I hope not,” and with a little thrill that rippled over her heart Felicity understood the connection between that reply and his next query which he made after regarding her curiously. “How long do you expect to be here, Felicity?”
“As long as Mother and Dad are,” Felicity replied, and for a moment she reflected moodily. “I’m supposed to find a husband. Mother’s worried about my becoming a spinster. Are you terrified?” It was a comic question but this time there was a gravity behind her eyes.
“Abou Ben Bailey’s name will not be heading Mum’s list,” Tim replied.
“Why did you ask if I would be staying long?”
“Because if there is a war I hope you will leave the Rock very quickly.”
“Why?”
“Your father knows, the Brigadier knows, everybody really knows excepting the natives.” He pointed out towards the rolling brown hills of Spain. “So friendly and innocent looking,” he said, “and loaded. Back in those folds. German 32-centimetre guns. Zeroed in on us.”
Felicity looked at him questioningly, “And ours?”
“Pointing the wrong way most of them,” Timothy replied. “Up into the sky or out to sea. And wrong trajectory for firing inland. Typical, isn’t it?” He pointed once more to the hills. “All high-trajectory guns. It’s going to be a mess. They’ll have to get the women and children out. The Spaniards have never given up wanting this back, you know.” He fell silent for a moment and Felicity didn’t speak either, then Tim added, “My apes won’t like it at all.”
“No?”
“They hate noises of any kind. Must hurt their ears or something. Whenever we have a shoot on, Lovejoy goes up and tells them. They seem to understand him and buzz off to the other side of the Rock where they have a jolly good fight with the Middle Hill pack and come back when it’s over.”
The sun bowed out below the rim of the hills. Wisps of mist collected on the surface of the sea. Tim said, “Well,” and then, “It was good of you to come here and let me chatter at you. I suppose we’d better be getting on back.”
“Yes,” Felicity replied, “I think so. Will it be another ten days before I shall be hearing from you?”
“No,” said Tim, “it won’t. May I call you tomorrow?”
“Yes, please.”
They walked over to where their respective cars were parked and stood there silently for a moment. Then quietly and simultaneously as though the idea had generated in both at the same moment; they leaned close and kissed one another gently. Then not even touching hands or murmuring good-bye, they got into their cars and drove off.
Lady French was dressing when Felicity went clattering by the open door of her bedroom. “Felicity dear,” she called, “is that you?”
“Yes, Mummy.”
“I was beginning to worry you’d be late, and you know how nervous your father gets if he’s kept waiting. We’ve been asked back to dine at the Brigadier’s tonight. And darling, don’t use water on your hair this time—after half an hour it begins to look like a fright wig. I’ve bought you some brilliantine—it’s up in your room—I think you ought to wear your—”
What Felicity ought to wear was smothered owing to the fact that she had come into the room, gone over to her mother as she sat at her dressing-table, put her arms about her neck and her mouth close to her ear, hugged her and whispered, “Oh Mummy, Mummy, Mummy. He kissed me!”
All the alarm bells went off inside Lady French. “Felicity! Who kissed you?”
Felicity raised her lovely head, her eyes gazed inward at the delectable thing that had happened, and she whispered, “Captain Bailey!”
“Felicity! You’re not really serious about this?”
“I don’t know, Mummy!”
“You realize, of course, what a blow this would be to your father. His family have always been Navy since before Nelson’s time.”
Felicity reflected and said, “But he’s such a nice boy, even if he seems to dote on monkeys. He’s sorry for them.”
“But the Army, Felicity,” Lady French said. “It’s the one branch of Service with which—I mean today, darling, one simply doesn’t. I suppose there was a time once when it was respectable, but it hasn’t been for ever so long. Some of us were discussing—I mean I happened to mention the young man’s name—I’m afraid he’s a nobody.”
Something that came into Felicity’s face, an expression, a flash of fire in the otherwise gentle eyes suddenly threw Lady French into confusion and she said, “I don’t mean really a nobody, my dear. Of course I’m sure they’re quite nice people, it’s just that they’ve always been only Army and never anything better than a Colonel, I gather. Your father was only a Lieutenant when I married him, but it was one of the best naval families. He was bound to succeed. The Baileys don’t seem to have been very ambitious. Commander Whitcombe’s wife knew a story about one of them who resigned his commission, went into business and made money. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Felicity reflected carefully before she replied, “Well oddly enough I think I can. They seem to be able to concentrate.”
Lady French took a deep breath, as one does before plunging into a cold bath, and then plunged. “Felicity, my dear,” she said, “I don’t like to say this, but are you aware that this Captain Bailey is rather loathed on the Rock—in the Army, I mean, amongst his own creatures? He’s supposed to have some kind of obsession with apes. People simply can’t stand him. He doesn’t appear to have a single, solitary friend.”
Felicity considered this revelation too without rancour, and murmured, “Perhaps that’s why he appeals to me. Mother instinct! And I wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be a very famous man some day.” She turned off the prophecy and discussion with, “I shall wear my pink tonight. Don’t worry, Mummy, I shan’t keep you waiting.” She got up, went over, took her mother’s face between her hands and kissed one cheek with extraordinary tenderness, and then went out.
Dinner that night at the Brigadier’s was identical with the evening the Brigadier and his wife had dined at the Mount with the Admiral, except for the difference in quarters, the Brigadier occupying a villa on the heights on the way to Europa Point. The same people were there, the same food was served, and Lady French was in the process of dissecting an identical slice of fish enveloped in gluey white sauce, when she heard her husband say, “What’s all this about one of your apes to be named after Princess Elizabeth, Brigadier? Read about it in the papers. One of your chaps supposed to have written to the King about it. Bit cheeky, what?”
“Eh?” said the Brigadier. “What’s that? You mean Captain Bailey? Not at all. Only carrying out my instructions. Thought it was about time we had a bit of favourable publicity and attention here on the Rock. Clever chap, that Bailey. Just the right touch. ‘Put it in your own words,’ I said to him. By Jove, the story’s gone out all over the world. Impressive.”
Lady French felt her head drawn up as though by a magnet. She did not wish at this moment to look at her daughter, but she was unable to control the turn of her head upon her neck. Felicity was again sitting next to Staff Captain Quennel, to whom she was still paying no attention. At that moment she was glowing like a hundred-watt incandescent bulb, and in addition managing to look like a cat who has swallowed a whole pet shop supply of canaries.
Lady French once more desisted from the fish course.
“Hmm—yes, I see,
” said the Admiral, somewhat disappointed that his dig at the Brigadier had not turned out as well as expected. He had thought to set him off again. He then asked the question which was on all lips, and which was bound to come up during the evening: “Do you think there’s going to be a war, Brigadier?”
And in this he was also disappointed, for the Commander of the Artillery Brigade this time did not fuff and huff and pontificate, but suddenly looked a little grey, worried and tired as he replied with the earnestness of a man who has been thinking about little else, “Yes, I am afraid there will be. And very soon, too soon for us.”
7
Wherefore Art Thou Juliette
And then the war was no longer a matter of conjecture, but one of fact.
It was a strange one at the beginning, particularly for Gibraltar. It was far off. It was phoney. And outside of a few minor restrictions it appeared to have little effect upon the lives of those dwelling on the Rock. Horse-racing went on, the theatre, concerts and cinema and the Saturday-night dances at the Rock Hotel; the Garden Club continued to exhibit and make plans, as did the amateur theatrical group. After a preliminary black-out trial lights blazed; transatlantic liners came and went and ten thousand Spanish workmen continued daily to cross the line from La Linea and enter the fortress to go to their jobs in and about the dockyards and military installations, turning any idea of security into a vast joke.
This was the surface of Gibraltar. Beneath this surface there was an anxiety and a ceaseless coming and going of men in command growing haggard over the essential dangers of a position which rested upon a number of ifs. In London office lights were burning late at night considering these same potentialities, which included the possible entry of Mussolini into the war as an Axis partner and the even more appalling prospect that Franco would sell out to Hitler and the Germans and Spaniards would attack Gibraltar from the land side.
