'No. I came in and found the wall as you see it I suppose she meant that writing for you.' Reggie considered this theory.
‘I see what you mean. Yes, that might be so. Gosh, I'm glad I've moved!'
'You haven't moved.' ·Yes, I have.' ‘Reggie!'
‘I'm sorry, old boy, but that's final.’
'But, dash it, Reggie, listen. Think of my position, I'm engaged!' ‘I'm sorry.'
'Engaged! Engaged to be married. And my fiancee liable at any moment to walk into that bathroom -’
'Well, really, sir!' said Albert Peasemarch.
The steward was looking his austerest. Twenty years of ocean travel had not weakened those high principles which he had imbibed in boyhood from a Victorian mother.
'Well, really, sir! A pure, sweet English girl... Is the young lady English?'
'Of course she's English.’
'Very good, sir. Then, as I was saying,' said Albert Peasemarch with quiet rebuke, 'a pure, sweet English girl is hardly likely to come wandering in and out of a bachelor young gentleman's bathroom. She wouldn't dream of doing such a thing, not a pure, sweet English girl wouldn't. She would blush at the thought.'
'Exactly,' said Reggie. 'Well spoken, steward.'
Thank you, sir.'
‘A bull's eye, absolutely. He's right, Monty. I can't understand a decent-minded chap like you so much as entertaining such an idea. If you want to know, I'm a little shocked. How can you suppose that a girl of Gertrude's rigid propriety would ever contemplate the notion of coming in here for her morning tub? Really,Monty!'
It was the first faint glimmering of a silver lining that had come to brighten the cloud wrack of Monty's horizon. He definitely perked up.
'Why, of course!' he said.
'Why, of course!' said Reggie.
'Why, of course, sir!' said Albert Peasemarch.
'Why, of course!' said Monty. 'She wouldn't, would she?'
'Certainly not.'
'What a relief! You have thrown,' said Monty, regarding his vassal gratefully, 'a new light on the - what's your name, steward?'
'Peasemarch, sir. Albert Peasemarch.'
'You have thrown a new light on the situation, Albert Peasemarch. Thanks. For throwing a new light on the situation. All may not yet be lost.'
'No, sir.'
'Still, to be on she safe side, I wish you'd get a mop and have a pop at that writing.'
'It wouldn't be any use, sir. It's undeliable.’
'All the same, get a mop and pop.'
'Very good, sir. If you wish it.'
Thanks, Peasemarch. Thank you, Albert.'
The steward withdrew. Monty threw himself down on the bed and sought to complete the calming of his agitated nerves with a cigarette. Reggie took a chair, tested it and sat down.
‘Intelligent fellow, that,' said Monty.
'Oh, quite.'
Taken a load off my mind.'
‘I suppose so. Not,' said Reggie, 'that it would be such a bad thing if Gertrude did go into that bathroom.' 'Don't gibber, old man,' begged Monty. 'Not now.’ 'I'm not gibbering. I've been thinking pretty closely about this business of you and Gertrude, Monty - pretty closely. I don't think you know much about feminine psychology, do you?’
'I don't even know what it is.'
'I thought as much. If you did, you would have seen for yourself what it was that made Gertrude break off your engagement. No,' said Reggie, holding up a hand, 'let me speak. I want to explain it all to you. I've got the whole thing taped out. Now, let us just run through the main facts of your association with Gertrude. You say you started off by squashing a wasp for her at a picnic. Excellent. You couldn't have begun better. It lent you glamour, and girls love glamour. You can gather that from the fact that about two days later she consented to marry you.'
Two weeks.'
Two days or two weeks - the actual period of time doesn't matter. The point is that you clicked with amazing rapidity. That shows that you must have had glamour. I shouldn't wonder if during those two weeks she didn't look on you as a king among men. Well, all right, then. Up to that point you were going like a breeze. You don't dispute that?'
'No.'
'You then, however, proceed to muck up the whole thing. You make a fatal move. You go and crawl to her father.' ‘I didn't crawl.'
‘I don't know what you call crawling, if what you did wasn't. Ask me, you simply grovelled. He started shooting off his head and laying down absurd conditions and you, instead of telling him to put a sock in it, agreed to them.'
'What else could I have done?'
'You could have been masterful and dominant. You could have gone to Gertrude and insisted on her marrying you at the nearest registrar's and, had she refused, biffed her in the eye. Instead of which, you took it all lying down, and what was the result? Phut went your glamour. Gertrude found herself saying: "This Bodkin bird, what about him, if you come right down to it? Good with the wasps, yes, but are wasps everything?" She felt that she had been deceived in you, that that wasp was just a flash in the pan. She said to herself: "If you want my candid opinion, I believe the chap's a wash-out." From that to giving you the raspberry was a short step. There you have the whole thing in a nutshell.'
Monty puffed at his cigarette with a quiet smile. He was enjoying this. If he had had a complaint against his friend in the past, it was that Reggie Tennyson was one of those fellows who always think they know everything. Sound egg though he was in other respects, you could not get away from the fact that it could be extremely irritating, that habit of his of telling you what to do or, if you had already done it, telling you you had done it wrong.
Reggie Tennyson was the sort of chap who, discovering that you went to Butters & Butters for your socks, would wonder that you didn't know that Mutters & Mutters were the only firm in London who supplied the sock perfect: and when, having rushed off to Mutters & Mutters and stocked up with socks, you then bought a shirt or two in addition, would say: 'Not shirts, old boy. Not Mutters & Mutters for shirts. Stutters & Stutters. The only place.'
A bit rasping it had been at times, and Monty welcomed this opportunity of putting him in his place for once. He finished his cigarette, and lit another with an air.
'So that's how it was, eh?'
‘Just like that.'
'How do you know?'
'My dear chap!'
'Ever been wrong, Reggie?’
'Once, in the summer of 1930.’
'Well, you're wrong this time.'
'You think so?'
‘I do think so.'
'What makes you think so?'
The fact,' said Monty, triumphantly unmasking his batteries, 'that Gertrude and I have just had a complete reconciliation and that I found out that the trouble had been that, for reasons into which I need not go, she had got the idea into her head that I was a chap who went about making love to every girl I met.'
It was pleasant to him to note that he had in no way overestimated the magnitude of the wallop he had been waiting to deliver. There was nothing complacent about Reggie now. The shattering of his carefully reasoned theory had hit him hard. He was plainly taken aback. Indeed, he seemed to Monty to be overdoing the thing a bit. Just because a fellow had scored off you, there was no reason to look as rattled as all that. 'She - what was that you said?'
'She thought I was a sort of butterfly,' said Monty. 'And you know what butterflies are like. No solid qualities. Flitters and sippers. She thought I flitted and sipped.'
Reggie seemed to be finding some difficulty in speaking. He rose from his chair, paced the room, walked into the bathroom, turned on a tap, turned it off again and, from the sound, appeared to be beating a tattoo on a glass with one of Monty's toothbrushes.
'I say, Monty,' he said at length, his voice proceeding hollowly from the bathroom, 'I don't quite know how to break it to you, but I'm afraid I've made - with the best intentions -something of a bloomer.'
‘Eh?'
'Yes,' proceeded the disembodied v
oice, ‘I think one may fairly term it a bloomer. You see, I had the idea that the trouble between you and Gertrude was that she thought you a spineless piece of cheese. And when a girl thinks a man a spineless piece of cheese, there's only one way to make her get rid of the notion - viz., play up his popularity with the opposite sex - lead her to suppose that he is in reality a devil of a fellow, the sort of bloke it isn't safe to take your eye off for a second - in short, as you were saying just now, one of the butterflies and not the worst of them.'
Monty laughed. It was an amusing idea, and no doubt there was quite a good deal in it. Reggie had always been full of these whimsical theories.
‘I see what you mean. Rather ingenious. Still, I'm glad you didn't tell Gertrude that about me.'
There was silence in the bathroom for a moment. Then Reggie's voice spoke, not unlike that of a remorseful ventrilo’ quist.
‘I think you're rather missing the point, old man. You haven't, if you don't mind my saying so, quite followed me. I did.' ‘What!'
'That's exactly what I did tell her, and I can understand now why she seemed so thoughtful as I left. A sort of pensive look she had. You see, in my desire to spare no effort on your behalf, old boy, I'm afraid I rather spread myself. I pitched it quite fairly strong. As a matter of fact, what I actually told her was that she was totally mistaken in supposing you a spineless piece of cheese, because in reality you were the sort of chap who never had fewer than three girls on your hands at any given moment and were such a smooth performer that you could make each of them believe that she was the only female you had ever cared for in your life.’
Here the speaker let fall into the basin what seemed to be a bottle of mouth-wash. The resulting crash drowned all competing sounds, so that it was only when it had died away that Monty became aware that he was no longer in the state-room.
The young lady next door was in his midst.
Chapter 11
In the first shock of actual personal encounter with this, as one might say, almost legendary figure, Monty Bodkin, the historian must admit, failed rather signally to live up to the dashing reputation with which his friend Reggie Tennyson had credited him. Nothing in his manner and deportment in any way suggested the modern Casanova: nor, unless the fact that he flitted may be said to have placed him in that class, could anyone have behaved less like a butterfly.
Flit he certainly did. The intrusion had come at a moment when he was already tottering on his base, and its effect was to send him flitting backward so abruptly that he nearly cracked his skull on the framed notice which hung on the wall explaining to those who preferred not to drown during the voyage the scientific method of putting on a lifebelt.
Nor must this be taken as evidence of any unusual lack of savoir-faire on his part. Most people who had seen Lotus' Blossom only as a moving photograph were somewhat similarly affected when they met her in the flesh.
It was her hair that did it, principally. That and the fact that on the screen she seemed a wistful, pathetic little thing, while off it dynamic was more the word. In private life, Lottie Blossom tended to substitute for wistfulness and pathos a sort of ‘Passed-For-Adults-Only' joviality which expressed itself outwardly in a brilliant and challenging smile, and inwardly and spiritually in her practice of keeping alligators in wicker-work baskets and asking unsuspecting strangers to lift the lid.
But principally, as we say, it was her hair that caused the eye of the beholder to swivel in its socket and his breath to come in irregular pants. Seeming on the screen to have merely a decent pallor, it revealed itself when she made a personal appearance a vivid and soul-shattering red. She looked as if she had been dipping her head in a sunset: and this, taken in conjunction with her large, shining eyes and the impression she gave, like so many of her sisters of the motion-picture art, of being supremely confident of herself, usually hit the stranger pretty hard. Monty, for one, felt as if he had just been run down by a motor-car with dazzling headlights.
He stood gaping silently, and Miss Blossom, perceiving that she had his attention, smiled that brilliant smile of hers and lost no time in opening the conversation.
'Dr Livingstone, I presume? But much changed. Or, if not,' she said, 'who?'
Monty could answer that. He may not have been mentally at his best, but he did remember his name.
'My name's Bodkin.'
'Mine's Blossom.'
'How do you do?'
'I'm fine, thanks,' said the lady agreeably. 'Yass'r, tol'able pert. What are you supposed to be doing in here?' 'Well-'
‘Where's Ambrose?' ‘Well-'
This is his state-room, isn't it? Ambrose Tennyson.’ ·Well, no.'
Then the passenger list has gone haywire. Who does this bijou interior set belong to, then?' 'Well, me.' ‘You?' ‘Well, yes.' She stared.
‘You mean it isn't Ambrose's at all?’ ‘Well, no.’
Something appeared to be amusing Miss Blossom. She clung to the dressing-table for support, laughing heartily.
'Listen, boy,' she said, dabbing at her eyes as the paroxysm spent itself, 'I've got a surprise for you. Grab yourself a load of this. Do you ever take a bath? Because, if so -’
A strong shudder shook Monty.
'I've seen it.'
‘You have?' ‘Yes.'
That stuff I wrote on the bathroom wall?' ‘Yes.'
‘Some fun, kid, ha? ‘I did it with my lipstick.’ 'I know. Undeliable.'
'Is it?' said Lottie Blossom, interested. 'I never knew that.’
'So Peasemarch, Albert, informs me.'
‘Who's he?'
The local steward.’
'Oh, that guy? He had a run in with my alligator.' 'He informed me of that, too.'
Lottie Blossom considered the matter in this new light. ·So that stuff's there for the duration, is it? Well, well. Every time you take a bath you'll think of me.' ‘I shall.' said Monty sincerely. 'You don't seem pleased.' ·Well, the fact is -'
'All right. I understand. Well, ‘I'm sorry.' said Miss Blossom handsomely. 'And a girl can't say more than that, can she? I did it in a moment of impulse. It was meant for old Pop Tennyson. I don't suppose you know him?'
'Yes. ‘I know him.'
'How do you know him?'
'We were at Oxford together.’
'I see. What a man, yes?'
'Oh. quite.'
'He and I are engaged.' ‘Yes.'
'And it seemed to me that, being encaged. I could hardly do less than - But listen. I don't follow this continuity at all. You being in here, I mean, and not Ambrose. On the passenger list it says as plain as anything "A. Tennyson".'
'R. Tennyson.'
'Sure. I know. But that's a misprint. It can't be R. Reggie Tennyson's not on board.' 'Yes. he is.' 'What!'
'Yes. In fact...’
Monty was looking at the bathroom door. It was now closed. But even so, he felt, Reggie must have heard their voices, and it surprised him that he had not long since come and joined the party.
The explanation was. in reality, simple. Reggie had certainly heard a female voice, but he had supposed it to be that of his cousin Gertrude. Reflecting on what he had told her, he imagined that it would not be long before she established communication with Monty. And he had no desire to meet Gertrude. There might, he foresaw, when they did meet, be some thoughtful explaining to do, and he wished to postpone the moment as long as possible.
What brought him out now - for an instant later the door of the bathroom opened and out he came - was the fact that Monty's announcement of his presence on board had caused Lottie Blossom to throw her head back and emit a piercing squeal of pleasure. She had always been devoted to Reggie, and the news delighted her. And as anybody who had once heard Lottie Blossom squeal was able ever afterwards to recognize the sound, Reggie came out, though in no spirit of joyous welcome. It was his purpose to urge his old friend to buzz off as quick as she knew how to, because with Ambrose prowling and prowling around like the troops of Midian there was no knowi
ng when the jarring note might not be struck. The last thing Reggie desired was to be caught by Ambrose hobnobbing with Lottie in a state-room, and not even the fact that Monty might be considered to be acting as a sort of chaperon made the prospect any more agreeable.
What ensued, therefore, was one of those unfortunate meetings where the two principals do not see eye to eye. Lottie Blossom was all ecstatic joy. Reggie looked like a member of the Black Hand trying to plot assassinations while hampered by a painful gumboil. His manner was dark, furtive and agitated.
'Reggie!'
'S'h!’
'Reg-GEE!' 'Shut up!'
Lottie Blossom bridled. Her feelings were wounded.
'Well, that's a nice thing to say to an old college chum! What do you mean by it? Aren't you glad to see me, you young spawn of a boll-weevil?'
‘Of course. Rather. Quite. Only don't,' urged Reggie, looking nervously at the door, 'make such a dashed -'
'Whatever are you doing here?'
‘I was having a word with Monty -
'Chump! On this boat, I mean.'
‘I'm sailing.'
‘Why?'
‘Pushed off.'
‘Pushed off?'
'Yes. Driven out into the snow. Family.' ‘What?'
Monty felt that a little explanation might help. His friend's staccato methods were not making the situation as clear to Miss Blossom as could have been desired.
'His family,' he said, 'are shoving him off to Canada. You're going into some office or other, aren't you, Reggie?'
That's right,' said Reggie. His manner was distrait. He had sidled to the door and was evidently on the alert for prowling sounds without. 'The family have got me a job with some loathsome firm in Montreal.'
There was no question of Lottie Blossom not understanding now. The whole dreadful tragedy had been revealed to her in all its stark horror, and she was deeply affected,
‘You mean they're making you work?’
‘Yes.'
‘Work? You?’ A sort of divine pity radiated from the girl. ‘Reggie, you poor, unfortunate child, pome right here to mother!’
The Luck of the Bodkins Page 9
