Berry Scene (18 page)

“Look here,” said I. “I don’t know how long you’re prepared to stay in that car, but my dog is prepared to watch it until it leaves. Make it forty-eight hours if you like – it won’t faze him.”

“See here. You get him away.”

I shook my head.

“He’s serving my turn,” I said. “This interview is not of my seeking and I have no time to spare. Please get this once for all – the picture-clock is not here and is not for sale.”

“See here, Junior, when Coker Falk wants what’s his, it’s quicker to have a war than to stand him down. If your cops knew their job, they wouldn’ o’ held me at Chiswick an’ let you take that gadget out of my jaws. An’ when a guy does that, as soon as he sees his error, he puts it back. That’s Chunkit’s way, Buddy, but maybe Chunkit’s ahead. So Coker Falk’s buying you out. You move the hound, an’ I’ll—”

“By pursuing the matter,” said I, “you’re throwing away a chance which will never occur again.”

“How’s that?”

“Tomorrow evening an exhibition will close, and its famous works of art will be dispersed. They
are
for sale – at a price. The price may be more than you are prepared to pay—”

“See here, Junior, if Coker Falk—”

“—but if they don’t shake Chunkit up, then nothing will. More. They’re the latest thing. I was there with two ladies of title, a week ago: and they had seen nothing like them – they said so, in so many words. And one has a room full of van Dycks; so she ought to know.”

“Name, please,” said Mr Falk, notebook in hand.

“Adela, Countess of Churt.”

The name went down.

“There’s a glorious study there,
Beyond the Mules
. Or if that’s sold, there’s another, called
Slender Thought
. They’re more than I can afford, but—”

“What’s the address?”

I gave the gallery’s name and got out of the Rolls.

“
Slender Thought
and
Beyond the Mules
,” repeated Mr Falk. He put his note-book away. “Now let me out of this car.”

I shook my head.

“That’s my last word, Mr Falk. I’ve given you the low-down on those pictures. I’ve told you what Lady Churt thinks. If Chunkit knows better than she does, then let them go. But don’t blame me if, before we’re very much older, you see
Beyond the Mules
on some well-known gallery’s walls.”

With that, I made much of Nobby and entered the house, while Mr Falk, in a foaming diatribe, compared British hospitality unfavourably with that of the United States.

Five minutes later, I heard the coupé leave…

As I appeared upon the terrace, my sister sat back on her heels.

“I suppose it’s real,” she said. “I mean, when we wake tomorrow it won’t be gone.”

The Bold was standing still at the head of the terrace steps, surveying his present dominion with the dignity of a lion. He resembled a little image that stands on a mantelpiece.

I bent my head to Nobby, under my arm.

“There he is,” I whispered. “You see, he’s very small, and, although he covers it up, I think he must feel very strange. So be gentle with him, old fellow.”

Nobby put up his muzzle and licked my face.

The Bold descended the steps, as best he could. Happily, they were shallow; but I am inclined to think that they were the first he had used. But they had to be traversed, if he was to reach the grass – and The Bold knew how to behave.

I let him prove the lawn. Then I put Nobby down…

The meeting was well timed, for The Bold had just found that the lawn was uncomfortably big. After all, he was very tiny, and the sward must have seemed immense. Be that as it may, for the first time his tail went down, and he stood, a forlorn little figure, awed by his giant surroundings and plainly not at all sure of the way he had come. And then he turned to see Nobby, two paces away.

In a flash his tail was up and he faced the Sealyham squarely, as though he knew no fear. Nobby moved his tail and lay down – and The Bold came stumbling towards him and lay down, too.

So they played upon the lawn together, Nobby suffering him, and The Bold no longer a prince, but an urchin boy.

But when, later on, we went in to dress for dinner, Nobby stood still and The Bold stepped in before him, chin in air.

Indeed, as long as he was with us, he always took pride of place – and Nobby accepted this and always gave him the wall. He would sway his tail for the servants, but never for us. But with us he would be familiar; with us he would play and bicker; from us he would take his orders – often enough with a high and mighty air; and Daphne was his goddess – for her he would turn on his back and wave his paws in the air. And when she picked him up, he would sob with content. After all, he was very tiny and very young.

As we took our seats at table—

“And now,” said my sister, “about this awful man. What have you done with him?”

“He’s gone for the moment,” said I. “But I’m not sure he won’t come back.”

“Of course he’ll come back,” said Berry. “He’s Coker Falk. What’s yours is his, and he wants what he wants when he wants it – and that’s right now. Mind you get that, Sugar, and get it good. When Coker Falk says ‘See here’, wise guys go into the wash-room and lock the door.”

“Oh, do be quiet,” said Daphne.

“That’s nothing at all,” said Berry. “That’s Tallis’ Responses, compared with Coker Falk. After five minutes with him, your nerves are flayed.”

“Go on, Boy,” said my sister. “How did you drive him away?”

“I put him on to those very beautiful pictures we saw ten days ago. I suggested that, if he really wanted to blind Chunkit – for that, I assume, is the idea – he couldn’t do better than show it
Beyond The Mules
. I took Lady Churt’s name in vain, and that made him think.”

“If he comes back,” said Berry, “you’ll have to give him the clock. We can’t go on like this. It’s bad for my heart.”

“Nonsense,” said Daphne. “Just because—”

“My sweet,” said Berry. “You’ve had no communion with Coker. Neither has Boy really, because today he was treed. But once let him get his hooks in, and after a little while you’ll give him what ever he asks. The tension he induces is so frightful, that you simply have to relieve it at any cost. How he’s escaped mutilation, I can’t conceive: if he’s
persona grata
at Chunkit, I tremble to think what life in that town can be like.”

“If I have to sock him,” said I, “he won’t have the picture-clock. But if Nobby could tree him, I don’t think he’d wait for that. After all, he may not return. I’ve thrown him quite a good fly. And I fear he considers us sticky. He didn’t care for the Central Criminal Court, and he felt very strongly that he should have been asked to stay.”

“What here?” said Berry. “Oh, go on.”

“He’d brought his suitcase. He said so, before he went. I sat in the hall and listened. They’re a funny lot at Chunkit. It seems that if I went there, to force somebody’s hand, I should be loaded with gifts and fêted for several months.”

“Or robbed and murdered,” said Berry. “Don’t you go. Never mind. Let’s hope and pray that
Beyond the Mules
is sold. That’ll be enough for Coker. Lunch at Bell Hammer tomorrow? Or am I wrong?”

“No, that’s right,” said Daphne. “But I forgot to tell you – Sir Andrew won’t be there. He can’t leave Town until Tuesday. So, as he wants to see you, he’ll lunch here on his way down.”

Sir Andrew Plague, KC, was a notable man. He was also a survival. Few brains could compare with his: his temper was that of a bull: his personality was devastating. Rough as he was with them, his servants worshipped him. Since his marriage with Lady Touchstone, some ten months back, he had become less fiery; but, once he was roused, Sir Andrew knew no law. We liked him well and held him in great respect – and I like to think he liked us, for there were, in fact, few houses to which he would go. My brother-in-law and he were co-Trustees.

“Good,” said Berry. “Er, good. Has the household been warned?”

“It will be. And he’s sure to bring Spigot with him.”

Let me put it like this. When Sir Andrew went visiting, his valet was quite invaluable – not so much to Sir Andrew as to his host.

“I think, perhaps,” added Daphne, “that just while he’s here, The Bold should be out of sight.”

“I entirely agree,” said Berry. “Two such majestic personalities would almost certainly clash. I mean, when Sir Andrew’s mellow, he looks at you as if you were dirt, and The Bold’s imperious stare would send the blood to his head. By the way, where’s The Bold to sleep?”

“Well, I thought in Boy’s room.”

“Not on your life,” said I.

“But, darling, he won’t feel lonely if Nobby’s there.”

“But—”

“What could be better?” said Berry, unctuously. “And if he wants to go out about half-past three – well, then he can go, can’t he?”

“This is monstrous,” said I. “You took him on. I heard you promise that Chink—”

“I was very careful,” said Berry, “to use the passive voice. ‘The dog,’ I said, ‘will be cared for.’ Besides, at three a.m. life’s at its lowest ebb. If I were aroused about then, it might be the end. And what if it’s raining? Am I eating Arthur’s Seat? It’s really extraordinarily good.”

“Arthur’s Seat?” screamed Daphne.

“I mean, Dover Sole,” said Berry. “When I was Judge Jeffreys, I used to buy my gooseberries at Turnham Green. Some years later, when I was on the Bloody Assize, the apprentice that gave me short measure gave evidence for the defence. And there you are. As I said to him before sentence, be sure your sin will find you out. It upset me terribly.”

There were now many cars abroad, but the roads which we used the next morning were little known, and for much of the way we had no company. With one consent, we drove slowly, for the country was looking its best, and, since it had rained in the night, the air was as sweet as the prospects on every side. The timber was especially lovely. There was a bulwark of woodland, thick and close as tapestry laid upon the arm of a chair: yet, when we stole beside it and could see its warp and its woof, a glancing, diaphanous mansion, lodging zephyr and sunbeam and fit for the pretty progress of Shakespeare’s maids. And here, at a corner, was standing a wayside oak – the very embodiment of England, slow, resolute, majestic, unearthly strong: one mighty branch hung over the way itself, offering shade and shelter and printing upon the road its splendid effigy. For those that have ears to hear, such trees give tongue. Then there were hedgerow elms – jacketed men-at-arms, that took up their escort duty four hundred years ago. Four magnificent chestnuts were squiring a Norman tower, and a quarter of a mile farther on two copper beeches, new burnished, filled the eye. So the pageant went on, with lime and ash and walnut, still taking their ancient order, while a watch of firs upon a hilltop still did its sober duty by many a mile.

So we came to Bell Hammer, just as the stable-clock was telling the time. A quarter to one.

As we left the car, Valerie Lyveden came running across the lawn.

“My very dears, how are you? Anthony’s changing – he only got back from his village ten minutes ago. And how is everything?”

“If you’re thinking of Town,” said Berry, “it’s now one large, steep place – with the Gadarene swine rushing down it, by day and night. We’ve pulled out at last, but, once you’re going, it’s terribly hard to stop. But we’ve come to hear news – not give it.”

“First tell me – how’s White Ladies?”

“Looking up,” said Daphne. “I’ve got the laundry going, I’m thankful to say. The money it’s going to save us. Half our stuff has been ruined by sending it out.”

“Laundry!” cried Valerie Lyveden. “I can’t even staff the house.”

“Yes, but the future’s assured. When Anthony really gets going, you’ll have a waiting list.”

Two things had happened to Lyveden within the year: he had inherited a very great fortune and had married a very rich girl. Young and able and active, he could not fold his hands; but even while he was wondering what he could find to do, the little village of Pouncet, lying at the gates of Bell Hammer, had come to be sold. And many acres with it. Lyveden had bought them forthwith, and now was to use his fortune to make of Pouncet an Auburn of 1924.

Here the new landlord appeared…

“But this is absurd,” said Berry. “He can’t go about like that. He must wear a large double-Albert and tails and a square felt hat. He must carry a stick with a knob, which he holds to his chin, suck his teeth before speaking and—”

“Be quiet,” said Daphne. “Anthony, where are the plans?”

“On the billiard-table – all ready. When you’ve digested them, I’ll take you down to the borough and see what you think.”

“What about the pub?” said Berry.

“I’ve had a find there,” said Lyveden. “They’re pulling one down at Bristol, which is over two hundred years old. I’ve got the bar and the shelves, two beautiful old bow-windows, full of original panes, the floor and a lovely fireplace and four good doors.”

“You don’t mean to say you let the cellars go?”

“But I’ve got a peach of a sign-board:
The Godly Shipman
– that’s a new one on me. Another pub’s going at Portsmouth, and I’ve got the settles from that.”

“And the village hall?” said Daphne.

“I’m copying one from Oxford – of course, on a tiny scale: that’ll make one side of a quad. Almshouses on the others, with a porter’s lodge and a gate. But that’s all to come. Water and light and drainage come before everything else. Of the present habitations, five out of six are outwardly very nice: but most are far too small: so, as the leases fall in, I shall just knock two into one.”

“You can do what you like?” said I.

“Pretty well, I think. Sir Andrew’s behind me there. I can make certain rules. No char-à-bancs, for instance. No tea-rooms. I will not have a resort.”

“It’s fascinating,” said Daphne.

“Well, I want it to be Pouncet’s show. They’re a very decent lot, and it is such a pretty spot that I hate the idea of their drifting into the towns.”

“Almshouses,” said Berry. “Along three sides of a square. Will you want as many as that?”

“
Touché
,” cried Valerie. “That’s a concession to architecture.”