Berry Scene

by Dornford Yates

“The purest guano,” said Berry. “That’s why Ahasuerus likes him so much. You don’t want a pupil, do you? There’s a young man I know called Boris. At the moment he’s an interior decorator.”

  The Bishop threw up his hands.

  “Send him to me,” said Baldric. “I’ve got a sow called Sapphira. He shall adorn her sty.”

  “She won’t lay, if he does,” said Berry, “or they’ll all have three legs or something.”

  “Her name,” said the Bishop, “is suggestive.”

  “I think,” said Baldric, “she’s all of the seven sins. And yet I like the old girl. I wink at her, as I pass, and I’ll swear she smirks. But she’d enlarge Boris’ outlook.”

  “And he’d enlarge yours,” said Berry. “Never mind. Come and see our fountain. After incredible labour, we’ve got it playing again.”

  “And then I must be going,” said the Bishop…

  Before she left, Miss Cobbold was shown the house.

  As she was leaving, she made us a pretty speech.

  “You’ve been very kind to your neighbour. I won’t return evil for good by asking you back. But if some day, when you are passing, you feel like quenching your thirst, please do me the very great pleasure of ringing my bell.” She put her hand in Daphne’s. “And if my niece should come down, may I really bring her and her husband to see your beautiful home?”

  “Certainly,” said my sister. “When do you expect them? You see, we may be away at the end of next month.”

  “Oh, very soon,” said Miss Cobbold. She opened her bag. “They’re now in Italy. And they were going straight back. He’s an American, you know. But now they’re coming to England for four or five days.” She unfolded and scanned a letter. “Ah, here we are. We shall arrive on the second and sail on the eighth. We hadn’t intended to come to England at all, but Coker has heard of a Holbein which is for sale and you know what he is about old masters. Such a queer name, I find it. Coker Falk. To tell you the truth, I’ve never met him, my dear: but I know he collects pictures and he’s immensely rich.”

  I like to think that we said the proper things: but I cannot be sure that we did, for we could think of nothing but the appalling truth, of which our gentle neighbour had made us free. Coker Falk was against us – and he was ‘immensely rich’.

  Four trying days had gone by, and Berry, Jonah and I were sitting in Basing’s flat.

  “First, the facts,” said Basing. “They’re very short. I saw Peruke this morning at ten o’clock. He surveyed the pictures on a Friday: on the following Monday morning his report was in Boris’ hands.”

  “There you are,” said Berry.

  “That’s nothing,” said Basing. “You wait…”

  “I’ve seen that report, and it might have been written by me. Boris never mentioned your offer. Had he done so, Peruke would have told him that he was mad to refuse. Not knowing of your offer, Peruke suggested that he (Peruke) should get into touch with Falk, for whom he had acted before, who he knew was in Rome. This, with regard to the Holbein.

  “Boris writes back to Peruke, enclosing his fee and saying that, after all, he’s decided not to sell. Then he sits down and writes to Falk himself – I mean, he must have. How else can Coker know?”

  “Oh, give me strength,” said Berry.

  “I’ll say Peruke is angry. We’ve got a friend there. His one idea is to bring Master Boris down. The question is how to do it…

  “And now for Coker Falk. From what you said last night, you met him some years ago. I have never met him, although I know his name. But Peruke knows all about him. He’s a very ignorant bloke of the Middle West. Four years ago he was left a very great fortune. Now he lives in state in New York and has started collecting pictures. He knows next to nothing about them, and when he’d been stung once or twice, he drew in his horns. But he found that Peruke was honest, and they have done one or two deals. So Peruke thought they might do another…

  “Well, Coker is now in the running. Before he buys, he’s sure to consult Peruke – so Boris slipped up there. But Peruke must be fair with Coker. He was going to recommend him to go to sixteen thousand, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t go higher than that. He’s got no rules and he’d like to own a Holbein. So there we are.”

  “I think,” said Berry, “that Coker must be co-opted. Our relation with him was unhappy, but that was not our fault. We must hope that he will see wisdom and wash old enmities out. If Coker comes in – well, if he can’t break Boris down, his hand has lost its cunning, and that’s the truth.”

  “And then you toss up?” said Basing. “I mean that’s the usual way.”

  “First things first,” said Berry. “Boris has got to be burst. He’s a treacherous slab of slime, and he’s got to be burst.”

  “It might be done,” said Basing, “if Coker will play.”

  “That’s up to Peruke. Peruke should see him at once. He’s due here on Monday next. But I’ll lay he stays in Paris a couple of days. Let Peruke ring up The Crillon this afternoon.”

  “At the moment,” said Jonah, “we have the Holbein safe. But Boris is going to ask us to send it to Town.”

  “That’s right,” said Basing. “He’s waiting to hear from Coker. When Coker gives him a date, he’ll ask you to send it up.”

  “And we reply,” said Jonah, “that the moment it leaves White Ladies, our offer expires.”

  “What could be better?” said Basing. “That will shake him badly – and clear the field.”

  “But he’ll have to have it,” said Berry. “He daren’t ask Coker to go and see it chez nous.”

  “He’ll have to have it,” said Jonah. “And yet he won’t. We’ll send up one of the duds. There’s one about the size of the Holbein. We’ll attach the Holbein’s label and send it up. Boris won’t know the difference.”

  “Brilliant,” cried Basing. “Brilliant. And while Coker is hesitating, Peruke, who is passing, blows in and denounces the dud as a fraud.”

  “And here’s genius,” said Berry. “We’ll have the girlie cold. Coker goes off the deep end and threatens to call in the police. We’re not there: Peruke is painfully hostile: Coker does his stuff and dictates his terms. ‘Nothing said, and the portraits for fifteen thousand pounds.’”

  “Make it ten,” said Basing. “No good wasting good money on filth like that.”

  “Oh, I can’t believe it,” said Berry.

  “I don’t see why not,” said Basing, “if Coker will play.”

  “And then, what?” said Jonah.

  “There’s the rub,” said Basing. “Unless you can get round Coker, you’ll have to toss up. Only for the Holbein, of course. If he wins, he gives you the others. If he loses, you pay him ten thousand pounds.”

  “That’s fair enough,” said Berry.

  The remnants of our compunction were laid to rest the next day. This office was done by Boris, whose letter shall speak for itself.

  August, 1934.

  My dear Major Pleydell,

  Would you be so dear as to let me have the Holbein for two or three days? A charming friend has offered to photograph the picture, and I feel that, if you are to have it, that should be done. I mean, I should like a memento of what I have lost. He makes such enchanting studies – his values are so fine. Could I have it some time on Monday?

  Yours ever sincerely,

  Boris Blurt.

  PS. You see, I have very nearly made up my mind.

  “Gehazi calling,” said Berry. “How’s that for leprosy?”

  “He’ll be struck, or something,” said Jill.

  “He’ll be struck all right on Tuesday, if Coker plays. Get on to Basing, someone. He ought to know.”

  Ten minutes later, perhaps, I took the call.

  When I had read the letter—

  “Splendid,” said Basing. “Send it up by express, will you? Peruke shall take it with him, to round our tale. You see, Major Pleydell was right. Our friend is now in Paris, and Peruke is leaving to join him, at four o’
clock.”

  September was in, and Coker Falk was sitting at ease upon the terrace, sipping ‘a high-ball’ and smoking a big cigar.

  He had mellowed out of all recognition. Though he still spoke fast, the spate of talk had sunk to a decent stream: and, though he took the lead, he was glad to converse. Indeed, he did more than let live, for his manner was now as fair as it had been foul. I found it hard to believe that this was the very man that Berry and I had thrown out some ten years before. That he bore no sort of malice was very clear, and, to our relief and his credit, he had greeted us as old friends. Except that he knew us again, he made no sort of reference to what had passed.

  And now, here he was on the terrace, and ‘the dud’ he had brought in his car was standing against the wall. He had come alone this morning. Mrs Falk and Miss Cobbold were coming to join him for lunch.

  “Well, I’d like to say this,” said Coker, “before I say anything else. We’re a tough lot in New York City, and if we can pull a fast one, that’s just too bad for the Willie we leave behind. But my lil girl is English, and I know you’re easier folk. But please get this right away – Mercy’s not on in this act. She wouldn’ be safe. I’ll say Arthur made me think, when he spilled the beans: but that was a Bible-reading to yesterday afternoon.

  “I made the monkey-house at three o’clock, an’ there was the girlfriend waiting, all dressed to kill – with a tie all over his chest, and a cameo-ring on his thumb. And ‘the dud’ stuck up in an alcove, with velvet draped about it and a spotlight full on the face.

  “I’ll say I did my stuff with an eye on the clock. I didn’t like being alone with a guy like that. But Arthur was due to arrive in half an hour. I was crazy about ‘the dud’, but when he asked forty thousand I wouldn’t play. I said that was much too much and asked if he’d anything else. An’ then he produced the pamphlet…

  “Well, that was jam for two. I smeared it all over the platter and Goo-goo licked it up and whinnied for more. He’d never dreamed of such luck. He said I could have the lot for fifty thousand pounds… An’ then I got asking questions.

  “‘How, Mr Blurt,’ said I, ‘did you get into touch with me?’

  “But Judas was ready for that. He’d got a buddy in Rome who knew all about me, an’ the moment I’d showed up there, he’d sent him a wire. ‘Put yourself in his hands,’ he’d said. ‘He’s an honest man.’ Goo-goo said he cried with relief. He didn’t care about money. He always felt honour came first… Did I feel sick, or did I? That worm should hire himself out as a stomach-pump.

  “Then I go back to the pamphlet.

  “‘See here, Mr Blurt,’ I said. ‘Are you sure these pictures are yours?’

  “‘Course they’re mine,’ he screams, and slobbers about unkindness and how it affects his brain. Prowling beasts crouching about him or some such tripe. Had to leave a theatre once. Darn well refused admission, if you ask me…

  “‘That’s all right,’ I said. ‘The pictures are yours. But how did you gather them in? They used to belong to the Pleydells, and they’re their family stuff.’

  “He said he’d tell me the truth, if I’d swear I’d never repeat it to any living soul. You see, it wasn’t his secret. I gave my word an’ sat tight. I could see the bomb-trap opening, an’ I felt it was going to be big.

  “An’ this was what Goo-goo told me – an’ you mus’ pardon me, folk, for not lifting his dirty face. But that would have spoiled the set-up.

  “The thing, he said, was this. The Pleydells were poor an’ they couldn’t keep up their place. And so he had lent them money over a raft of years. But he’d had security – these portraits. That had been written down. And now he couldn’t go on. He was poor himself, for all his fortune had gone; and, much against his will, he was forced to foreclose. He’d lent you fifty thousand, and that was the very truth. And he had been very forbearing. But now he was seeking to get his money back.”

  Coker stopped and looked round. But we said nothing at all. We had no words.

  “I guess,” said Coker slowly, “I guess I know how you feel. And now you’ll see why I said that Mercy’s not on in this act. And I’ll say he told a good tale. He broke down and cried once. Real tears, too. They can put on an act, these pansies…

  “An’ there the shop-door opens, an’ in walks Arthur Peruke.

  “We’d fixed the reunion all right, and it goes according to plan. We mightn’t have seen one another for twenty years.

  “‘You wicked old gander,’ I says, ‘you’re just the boyo I want. I’m by way of buying some pictures. I haven’t seen the rest, but that’s the Holbein there.’

  “An’ then I looked at the girlfriend…

  “I’ll say he was terrified. If he’d had any beads to tell, he’d have washed St Vitus’ record out of print. He couldn’t do his stuff, and he gets behind a couch that’d make a lame guy walk. Then Arthur went in, good and proper, an’ I took a stroll up stage. He tore the guts out of Goo-goo, and Goo-goo kept whining an’ wailing, ‘You don’ mean that.’ An’ then Arthur sees ‘the Holbein’…

  “He looks at it good and hard; an’ then he turns back to Goo-goo. I couldn’t see his face, but Goo-goo don’t like its shape, an’ he gives one hell of a scream an’ makes for the door. But I was there first.

  “‘Lemme get out,’ shrieks Goo-goo. ‘I don’t like the look in his eyes.’

  “‘What’s he ask for this – Holbein?’ says Arthur, between his teeth.

  “‘Forty thousand,’ says I. ‘Pounds.’

  “Arthur sucks in his breath.

  “‘Divide by a thousand,’ says he. ‘An’ then it’s dear. The blackguard’s changed the label. This isn’t the Holbein at all.’

  “Well, then we all jumped in and trod the grapes. I tried to get at Goo-goo, and Arthur was holding me back, and Goo-goo was making a noise like a couple of baths running out.

  “Then I grabbed the phone and tried to get on to Bow Street…

  “That broke Goo-goo down. Maybe they know him there, but it broke him down. Before Arthur could stop him, his arms were round my knees and he was begging for mercy with tears all over his face.

  “‘I’ll tell you the truth,’ he sobs, ‘but don’t do that.’

  “This was a new one on me, but I snapped it up.

  “‘You mean you’ll come clean?’ I said.

  “‘I will, I will,’ he sobs, and so he did.

  “What with the breaks for heartache, he took about half an hour; but we boiled it down in the end to half a page.” Coker put his hand in his pocket and drew out the cloth-bound pamphlet we knew so well. “I made him write it in this: and on the opposite page you’ll find his receipt. You read it out, Major.”

  Berry took the volume and read the writing aloud.

  Mr Vandeleur Pleydell promised my mother that he would leave me something for which his cousins would pay me ten thousand pounds. Until his will was proved, we never dreamed that the portraits were worth any more. I am sure my benefactor did not think so. What he intended was that his cousins should have the portraits, provided they paid me the sum of ten thousand pounds.

  Boris Blurt.

  Received from Major Pleydell, by Coker Falk, the sum of ten thousand pounds for the portraits described herein.

  Boris Blurt.

  Before we could speak—

  “Well, there you are, folk,” said Coker. “I nearly had your Holbein, but what does the poet say? ‘Vaulting ambition which o’erleaps itself.’ If Goo-goo hadn’t been greedy… But what can you do with a bum that eats his dead?”

  We had done our best to thank that good-hearted man. We had shaken him by the hand and had drunk his health. Berry had written his cheque and had added one hundred guineas for him to give to Peruke. We had shown him the rest of the portraits and had taken him over the house.

  As we came to the head of the stairs, my sister laid a hand on his arm.

  “Come and see your present,” she said. “It’s very slight, and you may not care for it no
w. But please pretend to like it, because we ask you to take it with all our heart.”

  With that, she led the way to the picture-clock: and, as she pointed to the picture, the timepiece chimed the half-hour.

  In that moment, we had our reward, for Holbein, with all his cunning, could never have set such a light in Coker’s eyes.

  For fully half a minute, he gazed and gazed.

  Then—

  “My little love,” he said gently. “My little love.”

  When I went to my bedroom that night, my sister was sitting by the window, looking into the moonlight that graced the lawn and the timber and the sleeping meadows beyond.

  As I came in, she stood up.

  “Will you ever forgive me, Boy, for giving your present away?”

  I put my arm about her.

  “I’ve nothing to forgive, my darling. You’d no alternative.”

  Daphne laid her head on my shoulder.

  “I miss him terribly. He was so comfortable, and he had such a gentle voice. I’d wake in the night and hear it. And when I heard it, I knew that all was well. I used to pretend he was my watchman. ‘Half-past two of a windy morning,’ he’d cry, ‘and all’s well.’ You can’t get away from it, Boy. He’d come to be part of our home.”

  “I know. I’m terribly sorry. But there was no other way. We had to make some return. And the picture-clock was the only return we could make.”

  “One shouldn’t,” said Daphne, “get so attached to things.”

  “I know. It’s a great mistake. ‘Lay not up treasure upon earth.’ And yet it isn’t our fault. Things that have something to them creep into your heart.”

  “We found him together, Boy. And now we’ve sent him away.”

  “To a good home,” said I.

  “Perhaps. But I think he was happy here. And I sent him away.”

  It was very childish, of course. We had gained a Holbein and lost a picture-clock. But I must confess that his going had hit me hard.

  When I came down to breakfast next morning, a letter lay on my plate.