The coloured brother popped off, no doubt to resume the duties for which he drew his weekly envelope, and she sat down, rather like a tired flower drooping. I dare say you've seen tired flowers droop. And there for a few moments the matter rested. She sniffed the air. I sniffed the air. She watched the countryside winding away. So did I. But for all practical purposes we might have been on different continents.
And the sadness of this was just beginning to come over me like a fog, when I suddenly heard her utter a sharp yowl and saw that she was rubbing her eye. It was plain to the meanest intelligence that she had gone and got a cinder into it, of which there were several floating about.
It solved the whole difficult problem of how I was ever going to break down the barriers, if you know what I mean, and get acquainted. It so happens that if there is one thing I am good at, it is taking things out of eyes -cinders, flies, gnats on picnics, or whatever it may be. To whip out my handkerchief was with me the work of a moment, and I don't suppose it was more than a couple of ticks later before she was thanking me brokenly and I was not-at-all-ing and shoving the handkerchief up my sleeve again. Yes, less than a minute after I had been practically despairing of ever starting anything in the nature of a beautiful friendship, there I was, fixed up solid.
The odd thing was, I couldn't see any cinder, but it must have been there, because she said she was all right now and, as I say, started to thank me brokenly. She was all over me. If I had saved her from Manchurian bandits, she couldn't have been more grateful.
'Thank you ever, ever so much,' she said.
'Not at all,' said I.
'It's so awful when you get a cinder in your eye.'
'Yes. Or a fly.'
'Yes. Or a gnat.'
'Yes. Or a piece of dust.'
'Yes. And I couldn't help rubbing it.' 'I noticed you were rubbing it.' 'And they say you ought not to rub it.' 'No, I believe you ought not to rub it.' 'And I always feel I've got to rub it.' 'Well, that's how it goes.' 'Is my eye red?' 'No. Blue.' 'It feels red.'
'It looks blue,' I assured her, and might have gone on to add that it was the sort of blue you see in summer skies or languorous lagoons, had she not cut in.
'You're Lord Havershot, aren't you?' she said.
I was surprised. The old map is distinctive and individual, but not, I should have said, famous. And any supposition that we had met before and I had forgotten her was absurd.
'Yes,' I said. 'But how —?'
'I saw a photograph of you in one of the New York papers.'
'Oh, ah, yes, of course.' I recalled that there had been blokes fooling about with cameras when the boat arrived at New York. 'You know,' I said, giving her a searching glance, 'your face seems extraordinarily familiar, too.'
'You've probably seen it in pix.'
'No, I've never been there.'
'In the pictures.'
'In the ... Good Lord!' I said. 'You're not April June, are you?' 'Yes.'
'I've seen dozens of your pictures.' 'Did you like them?'
'I loved them. I say, did you say you'd been in New York?'
'Yes. I was making a personal appearance.' 'I wish I'd known.'
'Well, it wasn't a secret. Why do you wish you had known?'
'Because ... Well, I mean to say ... Well, what I mean is, I rather hurried through New York, and if I'd known that you were there I - er - I wouldn't have hurried.'
'I see.' She paused to tuck away a tendril of hair which had got separated from the main body and was blowing about. 'It's rather draughty out here, isn't it?'
'It is a bit.'
'Suppose we go back to my drawing-room and I'll mix you a cocktail. It's nearly lunch-time.' 'Fine.'
'Come along, then.'
I mused to some extent as we toddled along the train. I was thinking of old Plimsoll. It was all very well, I felt, for old Plimsoll to tell me to be careful, but he couldn't possibly have anticipated anything like this.
We reached the drawing-room and she rang the bell. A negroid bloke appeared - not the same negroid bloke who had carried the cushion - another - and she asked for ice in a gentle voice. He buzzed off, and she turned to me again.
'I don't understand English titles,' she said. 'No?' I said.
'No,' she said. 'There's nothing I enjoy more than curling up with a good English book, but the titles always puzzle me. That New York paper called you the Earl of Havershot. Is an Earl the same as a Duke?'
'Not quite. Dukes are a bit higher up.'
'Is it the same as a Viscount?'
'No. Viscounts are a bit lower down. We Earls rather sneer at Viscounts. One is pretty haughty with them, poor devils.'
'What is your wife? A Countess?'
'I haven't got a wife. If I had, she would be a Countess.' A sort of faraway look came into her eyes. 'The Countess of Havershot,' she murmured. 'That's right. The Countess of Havershot.' 'What is Havershot? The place where you live?'
'No. I don't quite know where the Havershot comes in. The family doss-house is at Biddleford, in Norfolk.' 'Is it a very lovely place?' 'Quite a goodish sort of shack.' 'Battlements?' 'Lots of battlements.' 'And deer?' 'Several deer.' 'I love deer.'
'Me too. I've met some very decent deer.'
At this point, the ice-bearer entered bearing ice. She dropped the live-stock theme, and started to busy herself with the fixings. Presently she was in a position to provide me with a snort.
'I hope it's all right. I'm not very good at making cocktails, I'm afraid.'
'It's fine,' I said. 'Full of personality. Aren't you having one?'
She shook her head, and smiled that soft smile of hers. 'I'm rather old-fashioned. I don't drink or smoke.' 'Good Lord! Don't you?'
'No. I'm afraid I'm very quiet and domestic and dull.' 'No, I say, dash it. Not dull.'
'Oh, but I am. It may seem odd to you, considering that I'm in pix, but I'm really at heart just a simple little home body. I am never happier than among my books and flowers. And I love cooking.'
'No, really?'
'Yes, really. It's quite a joke among my friends. They come to take me out to some party, and they find me in my kitchen in a gingham wrapper, fixing a Welsh rarebit. I am never happier than in my kitchen.'
I sipped my snootful reverently. Every word that she uttered made me more convinced that I was in the presence of an angel in human shape.
'So you live all alone at - what was the name of the place you said?'
'Biddleford? Well, not exactly. I mean, I haven't really
checked in yet. I only took over a short while ago. But I suppose I shall in due season settle down there. Old Plimsoll would have a fit if Ididn't. He's our family lawyer, you know, and has views on these things. The head of the family has always hung out at the castle.'
'Castle? Is it a castle?'
'Oh, rather.'
'A real castle?'
'Oh, quite.'
'Is it very old?'
'Definitely moth-eaten. One of the ruins that Cromwell knocked about a bit, don't you know.'
That faraway look came into her eyes again. She sighed.
'How wonderful it must be, having a lovely old home like that. Hollywood is so new and . . . garish. One gets so tired of its garishness. It's all so—'
'Garish?'
'Yes, garish.'
'And you don't like it? I mean, you find it too garish?'
'No, I don't like it. It jars upon me terribly. But what can I do? My work lies there. One has to sacrifice everything to one's work.'
She sighed again, and I felt that I had had a glimpse of some great human tragedy.
Then she smiled bravely.
'But let's not talk about me,' she said. 'Tell me about yourself. Is this your first visit to America?' 'Yes.'
'And why are you going to Hollywood, You are going to Hollywood, I suppose? Not getting off somewhere before Los Angeles?'
'Oh, no, I'm bound for Hollywood all right On business, as you might say, more or less. You see, a splash of fa
mily trouble has arisen. There's a cousin of mine making rather an ass of himself in those parts. You haven't run into him, by any chance, have you? Tall, butter coloured-haired chap named Egremont Mannering?'
'No.'
'Well, he's in Hollywood and, from all accounts, planning to get married. And what we feel, knowing Eggy, is that the bride-to-be is probably some frightful red-hot mamma. In which event, it is imperative that a spanner be bunged into the works. And I was told off to come along and do it.'
She nodded.
'I see. Yes, I don't wonder you are anxious. Most of the girls in Hollywood are terrible. That is one of the things that make the place so uncongenial to me. That is why I have so few real friends. I know people think me prudish, but what is one to do?'
'I see what you mean. Bit of a problem.'
'Rather than mix with uncongenial people who think about nothing but wild parties, I prefer to be lonely. Though, after all, can one ever be lonely if one has one's books?'
'True.'
'And flowers.'
'Quite.'
'And one's kitchen, of course.' 'Absolutely.'
'But here we are, talking about me again, Go on telling me about yourself. Was it just to find your cousin that you came to America?'
'Not exactly, I rather saw my way to killing two birds with one stone, as it were. There was this heavyweight championship fight on in Chicago, and I particularly wanted to see it.'
'You really enjoy watching fights?'
'I know what you mean,' I said. 'Nine times out of ten they're absolute washouts, of course. But this one was a corker. It was worth coming four thousand miles just to see that fifth round.' The recollection of it stirred me deeply, and I had to rise in order to illustrate. 'It had been pretty good even before that, but in the fifth everything just boiled over. The champion managed to work his man into a neutral corner and copped him squarely on the nose. The challenger came back with a beauty to the eye. They clinched. The referee broke them. Champion to chin, challenger to lower ribs. Another clinch. Break. Infighting all over the ring. Challenger landed lightly, champ to nose again, then right on the smush. Blood flowing in quarts, and the air thick with teeth and ears and things. And then, just before the bell went, the champ brought one up from the floor...'
I broke off here, because she had fainted. I had thought at first, when she closed her eyes, that she had done so merely in order to listen better, but this was apparently not the case. She slid sideways along the seat and quietly passed out.
I was gravely concerned. In the enthusiasm of the moment I had forgotten the effect my narrative might have on this sensitive plant, and I was not quite certain what was the next move. The best way, of course, of bringing round a swooned subject is to bite the ear, but I couldn't very well bite this divine girl's ear. Apart from anything else, I felt I didn't know her well enough.
Fortunately, before I was called upon to take any steps, her eyelids fluttered and she gave a little sigh. Her eyes opened.
'Where am I?' she murmured.
I looked out of the window.
'Well, I'm a stranger in these parts myself,' I said, 'but I think somewhere in New Mexico.' She sat up.
'Oh, I feel so mortified' 'Eh?'
'You must think me so silly, fainting like that.' 'My fault entirely. I oughtn't to have dished the dreadful details.'
'It wasn't your fault. Most girls would have enjoyed it. Though I think there is something terribly unfeminine ... Go on, Lord Havershot, what happened after that?'
'No, no. I wouldn't dream of telling you.'
'Do. Please.'
'Oh, well, putting the thing in a nutshell, he soaked him on the button, don't you know, and his day's work was done.'
'Could you get me a glass of water?'
I leaped to the bottle. She sipped in a fluttering sort of way.
'Thank you,' she said. 'I feel better now. I'm sorry I was so silly.'
'You weren't silly.'
'Oh, but I was. Terribly silly.'
'You weren't silly at all. The whole episode reflects great credit on your womanly nature.'
And I was about to add that I had never in my puff beheld anything that had stirred me more deeply than the way she had turned her toes up, when the negroid bloke poked his nose in at the door and announced that lunch was served.
'You go along,' she said. 'I'm sure you must be starving.'
'Aren't you coming?'
'I think I'll just lie here and rest. I still feel... No, you go along.'
'I should like to kick myself.' 'Why?'
'For being such a chump. Sullying your ears like that.' 'Please, Do go and get your lunch.' 'But will you be all right?' 'Oh, yes.' 'You're sure?'
'Oh, yes, really. I shall just lie here and think of flowers. I often do that - just lie around and think of flowers. Roses, chiefly. It seems to make everything beautiful and fragrant again.'
So I pushed off. And as I sat eating my steak and fried, I put in some pretty intensive thinking between the mouthfuls.
Of course I saw what had happened. These volcanic symptoms were unmistakable. A chap's heart does not go pit-a-pat, as mine was doing, for nothing. This was the
real thing, and what I had taken for a strong man's passion when I had got engaged to Ann Bannister two years ago had been merely Class B stuff. Yes, there was no getting away from it. At long last Love had wound its silken fetters about Reginald Havershot.
I had suspected this from the first. The very moment I had set eyes on this girl, I had received the distinct impression that she was my soul-mate, and everything that had passed between us had made me more certain on the point. It was that sweet, tender, gentle wistfulness of hers that had got in amongst me to such a marked extent. I suppose this is always the way with beefy birds like me. Something draws us instinctively to the fragile flowerets.
It was in a sober, thoughtful spirit that I polished off the steak and put in a bid for deep-dish apple pie with a bit of cheese on the side.
Chapter 3
AND I'll tell you why I was sober and thoughtful. It was because I recognized that this, as they say in the stories, was not an end but a beginning. I mean to say, it was all very well to have fallen in love at first sight, but that didn't take me very far. Where, I was asking myself, did I go from there? What of the future? In other words, what steps was I to take in order to bring about the happy finish? The fact had to be faced that if banns were ever to be put up and clergymen were ever to say 'Wilt thou, Reginald? some pretty heavy work lay ahead of me. In no sense could the thing be looked upon as a walkover.
You see, I have kept it from you till now, but there are certain defects in my personal appearance which prevent me being everybody's money where the opposite sex is concerned. I am no flier in the way of looks. Externally, I take after the pater, and if you had ever seen the pater you would realize what that means. He was a gallant soldier and played a hot game of polo, but he had a face like a gorilla - much more so, indeed, than most gorillas have - and was, so I am informed, affectionately known to his little circle of cronies as Consul, the Almost Human. And I am his living image.
These things weigh with girls. They shrink from linking their lot with a fellow whose appearance gives the impression that at any moment he may shin up trees and start throwing coconuts.
However, it was too late to do anything about that now. I could only hope that April June would prove to be one of those rare spirits who can pierce the outer husk, as it were, and penetrate to the soul beneath. Because I haven't got such a bad soul, as souls go. I don't say it's the sort of soul you would write to the papers about, but it's well up to the average.
And I'm bound to say that, as the days went along, I found myself perking up a bit. I seemed to be making progress. No one could have been matier than April during my first week in Hollywood. We motored together, bathed together, and had long talks together in the scented dusk. She told me all about her ideals, and I told her all about the old homestead at
Biddleford and how Countesses were presented at Court and had the run of the Royal Enclosure at Ascot and a lot of other things she seemed interested in. And there was absolutely nothing in her manner to suggest that she was in any way repelled by the fact that I looked as if I belonged in Whipsnade.
In fact, to cut a long story short, her chummy attitude so encouraged me that by the end of the first week I had decided to chance my arm and have at it.
The occasion I selected for pressing the button and setting the machinery in motion was a party she was giving at her house on Linden Drive. She explained that she didn't like parties, as they seemed to her hollow, but that a girl in her position was expected to give one every now and then, particularly if she had been away for a while. I It was to be one of those jolly Beverly Hills outdoor dinner parties, where you help yourself at the buffet, squash I in anywhere, and top off the meal by diving into the swimming-pool. The proceedings were to begin somewhere after nine and before ten, so I rolled up at about nine forty-five.
i This, as it turned out, was on the early side. A few scattered couples had arrived and were strolling about under the coloured lanterns, but April was still dressing and the orchestra hadn't started to play and altogether it was apparent that there was going to be a bit of a lull before the revelry got into high.
In these circs, it seemed to me that the best way of passing the time would be to trickle over to the table where the drinks were and brace myself with one or two. In view of what lay before me, I wanted to feel at the top of my form - which I wasn't at the moment, owing to having been kept awake a good deal during the night with a touch of toothache.
As I approached the table, I noticed that my idea of going and doing a bit of stoking up, though good, was not original. It had occurred also to a tall, slender bloke with butter-coloured hair. He was standing there in a rooted sort of way, as if he meant to take a lot of shifting, and he seemed to be putting a good deal of custom in the way of the bar-tenders. And there was something about him, something in his technique as he raised and lowered his glass, which somehow struck me as oddly familiar. Also, I felt I had seen that hair before. And the next moment I had identified him.