Berry Scene (30 page)

Jonathan Baldric was speaking.

“But what can we do about it? I mean, we look to you.”

“Nothing,” said the Bishop. “Not even Wycliffe would cut any ice today. The pace is too hot. We can only do our duty…and hope and pray for the best.”

“Ah,” said Jonathan Baldric, “if everyone did his duty…”

“Precisely. A great many do: but then a great many don’t. There are many Gallios going, who ‘care for none of these things’. The truth is they haven’t time. And so we come back to pace. It’s the pace that kills. But I’ll tell you one thing I observe, and that is a revival of goodwill. People are growing kinder, one to another. And that is worth everything.”

I tried not to think of the portraits – of Vandy, of Boris and Mr Lemonbaum.

“You’re perfectly right,” said Miss Cobbold. “I’ve noticed it, too. For the first time since the war that truly English quality, good nature, seems to be coming back. Don’t you agree, Major Pleydell ?”

Jill’s shoulders were shaking and Daphne had a hand to her mouth.

With a manifest effort—

“Well, I – haven’t been knocked down by it,” said Berry. “But I think I know what you mean. One, er, notices it on the Bench. The police are more reluctant to give a dog a bad name.”

“Oh, come,” said the Bishop. “You of all men should put it higher than that. But, whether or no, Miss Cobbold and I are right. We used to be called Merry England, and I shall always think we deserved the name. We have a sense of humour that nothing can ever quench. The blood and slush of the trenches signally failed. But the war was a very great shock. And great shocks have great reactions. We were much more than sobered – nervy, suspicious, fretful for year after year. There was no health in us. But now we are getting better, and our inherent good nature is coming back into its own.”

“Well, here’s to it,” said Berry, raising his glass. “For home consumption only. And the Empire, of course.”

Miss Cobbold laughed.

“Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?”

But Jonah shook his head.

“In foreign countries, Miss Cobbold, good nature is not understood. It is, therefore, interpreted as weakness. For that I can vouch. Civility – yes, of course. But good nature – no.”

The Bishop was looking at Jonah.

“You think we’re making mistakes?”

“I’m afraid so. Some very bad ones. We still use the velvet glove, but we find the iron hand
démodé
– not quite nice. And that is a very great pity, for the iron hand is something that foreign nations respect.”

“Progress,” murmured the Bishop. “We’re getting soft.”

“You’re not, sir,” said Jonathan Baldric. “Neither am I. I’ve been reclaimed, you know. I used to breakfast at ten and retire about three. But my wife has altered all that. I was up at five this morning to – to comfort a cow. I rather fancy the byre. But the lambing season’s blank verse. Muckin’ about with a lantern all night long. An’ a wind like a circular saw, an’ the shepherd tight. Mind you, I don’t blame him. But if anyone says I’m soft, they’ve got it wrong.”

‘It’s perfectly true,” said Natalie. “He carries calves about.”

“Only Ahasuerus,” said her husband. “But Ahasuerus has got a crush on me. When I put him under my arm, he licks my face. There’s a lot in this livestock racket.”

“Would you go back?” said Daphne.

“Not on your life, lady. I don’t do the brutes much good, but – they’ve got me down.”

“I give you best,” said the Bishop. “Or should I commend your wife?”

Natalie laughed.

“I may have sown the seed, but the soil was terribly good.”

“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…