Mr. American

by George MacDonald Fraser

  Mr Franklin confessed that he did go, but usually to plays; revues he saw only occasionally. 'But I did see you again, once, just about a year after we met - that was in a show, but I'm afraid I don't remember what it was called - '

  'Monte Carlo Millie? The Bride Wore Tights? Birds of a Feather? Let's see - that'd be three years ago - gracious, has it been that long? What was I in about then, after the Folies closed? Paris Vanities? No, that was later . . .

  'I just don't know- but you had a solo number, Bessie in the Bustle - '

  'Oh, that old thing!' Pip clapped her hands. 'That was the "Broadway memories" finale from Good Old New York! Me with my corset and parasol and all the chorus boys dressed as great big females? That's the one!' And she hummed: "Wait till you see Bessie in the bustle, she's got a figure like Lilian Russell". Very Victorian that was. And you saw it - well, you might have come round afterwards! Why didn't you?' 'Well, tell you the truth, I was with a party, and it included my wife - '

  'You never! You got married!' Pip squeaked and regarded him with delight. 'Well, you sly Yankee, you! Oh, I'm glad! Who is she, and what's she like, and when did it happen?'

  The waiter was deftly setting out the tea things, and when he had gone and Pip was pouring, Mr Franklin said:

  'It happened about six months after you and I met, and her name's Peggy, and she's ... very nice.'

  'Is she a stunner? I'll bet she is. Trust you to pick a looker. Is she a blonde, or a brunette, or red-head? Is she tall? Here, is she a theatrical?'

  'No, she's not a theatrical,' laughed Mr Franklin. 'She's a... a ...'

  'She's a lady,' said Pip, wisely mischievous. 'I know. I'll bet she's as well-bred as all get-out, isn't she, and wore a big bow when she was a little girl, and had a nursemaid, and went to a school for young ladies, and talks about "Mummy and Daddy", and clapped her hands for Tinker Bell when the little perisher was dying of poison? No, here, I'm a cat - but I'm as jealous as sin, of course.' She twinkled at him as she passed his cup. 'Congratulations, anyway. And her name's Peggy. Well, that's - 'Pip suddenly checked in the act of pouring hot water, her lips parted. 'Hey! Peggy? Franklin? She isn't the Mrs Peggy Franklin, surely? Well, she must be!'

  'I don't know about the,' said Mr Franklin. 'But she's certainly Mrs Peggy Franklin. Don't tell me you know her?'

  'I don't know her, but I know about her - seen her at the big parties, and her picture in the glossies. Why, she's one of the bright young things - she's society!' Pip looked at him with reverence. 'And she's your trouble and strife? Well! No wonder you look like the cat that swallowed the canary! And I asked if she was a stunner! She's gorgeous, that's what she is! Didn't she get her picture painted, a while back - what was it called? "A Study in Silk", by what's-his-name?'

  'Lavery? That's right. I think it's going on show at an exhibition sometime this year. Where did you see it?'

  'Oh, I get about in the art world, too, you know,' said Pip mysteriously. 'But here - you can't half pick 'em, can't you? I looked at that picture, and just went green! Straight up. And, of course, she's at parties, like I say, and in the smart spots - here, I've never seen you with her, though?'

  'No, well, I find the society whirl a bit . . . of a whirl,' said Mr Franklin, and Pip blinked and there was just an instant's pause before she said: 'Smoked salmon sandwiches, goody! Here, they give you them thin-cut, don't they? Just as well, when you have to watch your figure.' And she patted her hip complacently.

  'And you're a settled married man,' she went on gaily. 'That's lovely. Any kids? No? Well, I'm not even married yet, you won't be surprised to hear, although it looked a near thing about a year ago.' She sighed. 'Well-spruced he was, too, and making a mint out of bicycle tyres or car hoods or something - actually, it was through him I got the car, although I finished up paying for it in the long run. Men! I thought we were all set, and then,' Pip bit moodily at her sandwich, 'the big stiff went off to France or Germany or somewhere, and next thing I knew his business had gone splat and the broker's men were round trying to get the car off me. So I had to stump up.' She grimaced and selected another sandwich daintily, holding it limply and looking wistfully across the room. 'That's life, though, isn't it? Mind you, it's good for trade, the car is; makes a good impression.'

  'In the theatre? On managers, you mean?'

  Pip chuckled. 'No, silly! Actresses don't have cars - not unless they're the top-drawer kind, in the big plays. Heavens, you don't think you can run a motor on what they pay in revue and music-hall? Well, if you get to the top, like Marie, it's different, but I haven't.' She smiled ruefully. "Member, that night at Monico's - or was it the Troc? No, Monico's, that's right - anyway, I told you I had the face and the figure and the cheek, but it all depended on whether I'd got "it", whatever "it" is? Well, I guess I didn't have "it", so there. Still, I've been working steady, into another show as soon as I was out of one, and paying the rent regular, thank you, and a bit over - but I've never got above second principal, and Dandini and Alice Fitzwarren in the pantos. I'd have given it up, I s'pose, but I love it - the theatre, I mean. But you can't just stick at second spot all your life, can you, singing "Boiled beef and carrots" and "Knocked 'em in the Old Kent Road" and swinging your bum - beg pardon, your sit-upon - every time the big drummer goes boo-boom?' She looked at him in appeal. 'I mean, can you?'

  'I shouldn't have thought so,' said Mr Franklin. 'Of course, I haven't given the matter much - '

  'Well, you can't,' said Pip seriously. 'And you're looking at my rotten squint again.'

  'I'm doing no such thing!' protested Mr Franklin. 'As a matter of fact, I was looking at the little ornament in your hat, and wondering what it was.'

  `What, my little snail? D'you like him? He's from France! Here, I'll show you,' and Pip reached up to unpin the tiny brooch from the aigret. `Must mind and not disturb my expensive kwa-foor.' She grimaced as she deliberately over-pronounced the word. 'There, isn't he cute?'

  Mr Franklin examined the snail with proper admiration. It was a beautifully-fashioned piece of work, the shell in pale gold, the snail itself in silver, with tiny stones set in the minature horns.

  `All the rage in Paris, but nobody wears 'em over here, much, 'cos they're too creepy-crawly, they say. Actually, it's because they cost the earth - they're real little diamonds, you know. Oh!' Pip suddenly put up a hand to her mouth, and stared at him wide-eyed. `What on earth must you think? Chattering away, and I've never even said a word about those deevy things you sent me! I couldn't believe it! They were so beautiful! And the expense - what on earth did you do it for? I mean, I was just joking, that night, when I said any old diamond bracelet would do, and then those gorgeous jewels - I thought you must be a loony! I still think so!'

  She regarded him solemnly, and to his embarrassment he saw that the blue eyes were moist; he looked away, round the spacious lounge, with its muted conversation at the low tables, the gentle tinkle of cups, and the tail-coated waiters moving softly to and fro.

  'I don't know,' he said. 'I just felt like it. I couldn't ever remember such a happy evening, not in my whole life - so it seemed.... well, I just wanted to, that's all.'

  'Oh,' said Pip, `that's the nicest thing. It really is.' She sighed deeply, with her whole body, and a gentleman at a nearby table who happened to be looking in her direction knocked over his cup in agitation. `Anyway, I don't know how to say "thank you", but I do. Thanks ever so much, Mr American.' She reached across and patted his hand, and giggled again. `Here, though, you'll never know what a rumpus it caused back-stage! The girls were fairly curled up with envy, and no one knew who you were, and the manager said I ought to send 'em back, 'cos you could see with half an eye how dear they were, and he said it was fishy. I got quite anxious - so I took 'em to be valued, at a proper jewellers in Covent Garden, and when he told me what they were worth - well, you could have knocked me-over. I wear 'em now on special occasions - if I'm doing a star turn at parties, or in cabarets, I do a good deal of that sort of thing nowadays, an
d when anyone asks me where I got 'em, I just say: "That's the loot from the Deadwood Gulch stagecoach, given me by Texas Tommy himself.' She chuckled. 'More tea?'

  `Thanks. I'm glad you liked them.' He remembered at the time the thought had been in his mind that if ever Pip's stage career hit a rocky patch, the pearl necklace with its diamond cluster might come in useful. That, plainly, had not happened; she might not have attained the top of the theatrical ladder, but she was obviously doing extremely well as second principal and with her party and cabaret turns - even so, he wouldn't have thought that would have supplied the expensive sports car, the Worth dress, the jewelled snail, and the general opulence of Pip's appearance. There was an obvious explanation, but somehow it didn't suit her. He was curious.

  `What exactly are you doing now, Pip?'

  `Well.' Her eyes gleamed at the prospect of discussing her favourite topic. 'Let's see - I came out of Keep Smiling at the Alhambra last month - didn't you see it? You did? Well, remember the big staircase scene that was the high spot of the show, with everyone on stage, and the girl in red feathers - that was me! Course, you wouldn't recognise me, not in all that lot, it was like Piccadilly Circus, and I had a couple of speciality spots, but I was wearing a mask in one of 'em and a Chinese make-up in the other. It was a good show, but five months is a long enough run for anybody, so I chucked it. I could have got into Hullo, Tango at the Hippodrome, but it would have been the same old thing all over again, wouldn't it, and Oscar Ashe offered me a part in Kismet which is due to open next month at the Globe - they say it's done huge business in Australia, you know - and it paid well, but all it amounted to was being the target girl, so I didn't take it, and - '

  `The target girl? That sounds dangerous.'

  'You might be right, you never know,' chuckled Pip. `The target girl's the one in the big revues who gives the customers something to look at while the principals are singing their duets - you know, there's always a nice-looking one, a little apart from the rest, who just sits there looking dreamy, usually in gauze, and you watch her. That's the target girl. Well, it's all right, and a lot of second and third principals like it, 'cos the money's good - but I like doing my numbers and chaffing the audience to join in the chorus, not sitting round the harem catching my death of cold with a jewel stuck in my bellybutton. Oh, stop me, I'm vulgar, aren't I? Anyway, I turned it down, and went back to my other work. It pays better, and it's a nice break from the stage - although I always go back to the shows, after a bit.'

  Mr Franklin said nothing, but possibly -he studied his plate in rather too casual a manner, for the quick-witted Pip immediately read his mind, and gave an exaggerated squeak of indignation.

  'Ooh! Here! You don't think I mean ... Really! You men! Talk about nasty minds! You only think about one thing, and jump to wicked conclusions - '

  'I never said a word,' protested Mr Franklin.

  'No, but you thought a good few. "Drives a sports car, does she? Jewellery from Paris, eh? Got a line of work that pays better than the theatre, well, well, who'd have thought it? How shocking!" That's what you were thinking, and don't pretend you weren't. The idea!' Pip sniffed righteously, and then bubbled with laughter. 'Can you see me on the Prom at the Empire, giving the nuts the glad eye over my feather boa? "Hello, darling"' - she dropped her voice into a cavernous contralto drawl - "'would you care to view the Oriental exhibits in my flat in Glasshouse Street?" I'd die laughing! Anyway, that's a mug's game, and I'm legitimate. Always have been, always will be. Besides, I'm too good-looking to waste myself on that - squint or no squint. And that's what you need in my line - looks.'

  'All right, I apologise,' said Mr. Franklin, 'although I haven't anything to apologise for, because I know you're legitimate, as you call it, and I never thought otherwise. What is this line, then? - it obviously pays better than the theatre.'

  'I'm a model,' said Pip proudly. 'And I mean a real model - not a mannequin, although I do commercial work, too - haven't you seen the Scrubb's ammonia girl, in all the magazines? That's me - but you might not recognise me, because the artist takes out the squint, of course. But you must have seen the ads!'

  'Sure I have. Yes, I guess she does look like you, but the painter makes you rather more ... well...'

  'Wholesome?' Pip put her tongue in her cheek. 'Not quait so common? I know. Well, what d'you expect when you're modelling for ammonia - "the key to cleanliness. Try it in your bath." They don't say what you should try in your bath, but that's the point. Lewd men like you look at my picture, and get naughty ideas, and go out and buy ammonia. That's modern advertising for you. All I do is get drawn with lions and pekes and parrots and Japanese kimonos and barrister's wigs.'

  'Astonishing,' said Mr Franklin. 'Well, I feel I ought to buy some Scrubb's ammonia, to further the good work.'

  'You'd be surprised how many letters they get, asking who the girl in the picture is,' said Pip. 'But not as many as they do for my other ad, which is for Madamoiselle Merlain's bust developer, the new French method, no creams or ointments, write to our address in Oxford Street. It's shocking, really,' said Pip virtuously. 'I never knew' how many men look at the advertisements in ladies' magazines. Disgusting, I call it.'

  'I don't recall seeing that particular advertisement,' said Mr Franklin.

  'No, well you can't miss it, if you do see it,' giggled Pip. 'But that's the commercial stuff. You know your Peggy's been painted by a proper artist? Well,' said Pip proudly, 'so have I. What is more,' she went on, tossing her head, 'I am going to be hung at the Royal Academy - twice. What d'you think of that?'

  'I think that's extraordinary,' said Mr Franklin, 'and worthy of that dinner you were talking about. If such an exclusive model will honour a humble member of the public with her company, that is.'

  Pip beamed, and then frowned. 'Thanks very much, and I'd love to,' she said. 'But you're a married man now, you know. Ought you to be taking models out to dinner? What would your wife say?'

  'I can't think she'd object,' said Mr Franklin. 'Especially since she'll be eating dinner herself this evening somewhere in Switzerland, and I can't believe she'll be eating it alone.'

  Pip looked at him, thoughtfully, and it might have been his imagination but for an instant the pretty, animated face looked almost sad. Then she brightened and sat up.

  'Right-ho, then. Dinner for two. Got a fiver on you, have you?' She collapsed with laughter. 'Remember that night at Monico's, when I asked if you wanted to go dutch?' She sighed happily. 'That was a lovely evening.'

  'Yes, it was. Would you like to go back to Monico's?'

  Pip pursed her lips. 'No, I think I'd like somewhere else, if you don't mind.' She smiled at him across the table. 'Dinner.'

  'That's right,' said Mr Franklin. 'Dinner.'

  They decided eventually on the Trocadero, and since they would both have to change, Pip drove Mr Franklin back to Wilton Crescent before going on to her own flat in Bloomsbury, where she had removed from Chelsea. The drive was an entertaining experience, if alarming; Pip's method of travel was to go as fast as possible, with constant racing of the engine, hammering of gears, and squealing of brakes, talking incessantly, until she had driven herself into a hopeless tangle with other vehicles and blocked the traffic, when she would come to a sudden halt and trust to wide-eyed innocence, fluttering lashes, and parted lips to see her through. Mr Franklin was astonished at the success of this technique; twice threateningly advancing constables were melted into avuncular tolerance, and other vehicles made to retreat to let the Sheffield through; once, in a particularly bad jam at the Piccadilly end of Bolton Street, she half got out of the car in agitation, and the display of shapely calf and ankle elicited sympathetic whistles and stentorian roars to an unoffending taxi-driver to get his rattletrap aht the wye an' let the pore little gel through. Another outraged motorist, impervious apparently to female charm, became abusive, and received in return a stream of music-hall ribaldry, delivered in her most affectedly ladylike voice, which sent him back red-faced an
d shaken behind his own wheel, and caused Mr Franklin to sink as low as possible in his seat and shield his face with his hat.

  He was happy to reach Wilton Crescent in one piece, and as she roared away with a wave and cry of: 'See you eight-thirty, chief?' it struck him what a dramatic change there seemed to have been, even in his few years in England. At their last meeting he had taken her home in a horse-drawn cab, and she had looked, to all intents, very little different from those beauties of the Victorian theatre whose pictures had adorned the saloons of his young manhood; now, in her smartly-tailored day dress and ridiculously tiny Paris hat, she stamped on the clutch and spun her wheel and honked her horn and zoomed away in a cloud of petrol fumes. Less than five years, and yet already that first night was like a relic from a past age; in hard terms, it had probably been little different, and yet somehow it seemed more leisurely and ordered and stable, and now a new roaring modern age was upon them, and it could never be the same again.

  It was a relief to discover when they met for dinner that one thing which had not changed was Pip's appetite; her capacity for oysters, foie gras, truffles, and sweets of a glutinous kind remained as generous as ever, she addressed the waiter indiscriminately as 'Marcel', 'Fritz', or Jake' and coaxed second helpings from him with a beck and a wink as though it were a shared conspiracy to defraud Mr Franklin or the management or both, she appraised the Veuve Clicquot coolly and advised Marcel (or Jake) to stick it well down the bucket, she chattered