J/W Fic: Jeeves and the Tennis Coach (Part 2/5)

[out_there]

Title: Jeeves and the Tennis Coach
Author: out_there
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster

Continued from Part One.




Jeeves paused, pursing his lips slightly as he considered all aspects. "I doubt it would be the best possible solution to the situation, sir. As I mentioned, the young man is a relation of Anatole's, so engineering his unearned dismissal might result in a certain level of hurt feelings amongst the kitchen staff."

"And Anatole may threaten to leave, which would make Aunt Dahlia, despite the bonds of blood and bone, downright miffed. If she found we were behind it, she'd ban Tuppy and me from Brinkley Court until a week after Judgement Day."

In case I forgot to mention, because one can never be sure of how much one has neglected to mention about familiar names, Anatole was a chef of the highest order. Not only skilled with savoury and sweet dishes alike and masterful at both solid English recipes and delicate French ones, he had also managed the singular feat of combating and overcoming Uncle Tom's bad digestion. Without Anatole, Uncle Tom lost the will to live, Aunt Dahlia lost a source of support for her ladies' paper, and every visitor to Brinkley Court lost the opportunity of eating the finest meal they had ever had the good fortune to experience.

If Anatole left or felt sorely put off his stride by this business with the tennis coach, the mob would be baying for the blood of one Bertram W. Wooster.

"No, Jeeves, you are quite right. As always, you have seen the whole while the rest of us have difficulty finding the sum of the parts." I pulled my waistcoat on and started on the buttons. "But something must be done about this Tuppy-Angela business. I don't like to see them quarrel."

"I shall give the matter some thought, sir."

"I'm going to talk to Angela after dinner, see if I can't convince her that Tuppy means well even if, in matters of the heart, he tends to stamp where one should tread lightly," I said.

Jeeves helped me into my dinner jacket, and I suddenly remembered my other problem, vis-à-vis what to do about Jeeves. If some poor imitation of René Crevel -- whatever he may look like -- was skulking around the premises, turning heads and stealing hearts, it was more important than ever that I ensure that the only one taking moonlit walks with Jeeves through fragrant rose gardens was yours truly.

As so often happens, things that seem quite unthinkable in the metaphorical light of day are astoundingly easy after a good night's sleep. The experts say this has something to do with the subconscious mind ticking over as one dozes, and while I've never met a subconscious mind and wouldn't know what one looked like if I did, I'm prepared to take their word for it. The subconscious Bertie had come up with a corker.

"Tell me, Jeeves, did you ever go bird watching as a child? With your Uncle Charlie, perhaps?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did you like it much?"

"It remains one of my fondest memories of childhood. To a child's sensibilities, wandering out of doors on a summer evening and watching birds call merrily to one another can be an enchanting experience, sir."

"I never saw the appeal as a boy. Seemed quite pointless," I said, before remembering that such an opinion would circumvent my intended destination, "but since talking about it this afternoon, I've decided to give it a try."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Bonzo swears there's a family of Long-eared Owls on the premises, so I thought I might go for a walk after dinner and look for myself. Of course, the first difficulty is that I've never gone bird watching before, so I'm not sure precisely how one does it. I assume it's mainly a case of wandering around the outdoors and watching for flying things, but that brings me to my second issue. If I've never seen a Long-eared Owl, how would I know if I do spot one?"

"The Long-eared Owl, technically known as Asio otus, has quite a distinctive appearance, sir. It is a medium-sized brown bird with vivid orange eyes and dark markings down the centre of its face. It takes its name from the ear tufts, which are feathers that stick up from the head and look much like short horns or an upright pair of dog's ears."

If it had not been Jeeves, full of knowledge like that Author in that Watering-Place poem, I would have been sure he was pulling a prank. Most birds do not have burning eyes and horns on top of their heads, not unless the bird in question has come from some frightful Renaissance painting of Hell.

"That sounds like quite a remarkable bird, Jeeves," I said, as Jeeves finished fixing my black tie, "but I think I would have a much greater chance of success with an experienced birdwatcher beside me."

"That is true, sir, but I doubt my Uncle Charlie would be able to assist."

I fixed Jeeves with an unwavering glance. "I had been thinking of you, Jeeves, not your Uncle Charlie."

"In that case, sir, it would be much easier to arrange."

"What about tonight? Say around nine o'clock? Oh no, wait, I have to speak to Angela. Perhaps we could meet at nine-thirty, in the southern end of the rose garden?"

My heart did a tremulous tango beneath my jacket and I fell into that time-honoured cliché of holding one's breath while awaiting the answer.

Meanwhile Jeeves looked nothing but self-possessed. "Very good, sir."

Having finished with my tie, and satisfied with my general appearance, Jeeves stepped back and I headed down to dinner.

Dinner was a fine event, blessed with a cosy atmosphere since only the five of us were dining. Uncle Tom had recently been paid dividends from some share scheme, and the latest serial on Milady's Boudoir had recouped its cost, so both my aunt and uncle were in top spirits. I was in good cheer, thinking of my near escape from Aunt Agatha and Anatole, for his part, had done an outstanding job on the Benedictins Blancs. Even Angela and Tuppy seemed in a good mood although I noticed that they weren't speaking directly to each other.

Still, it was a lively night. The conversation focused on what had been happening in London, on news from common acquaintances and on details of the last few weeks since I'd been at Brinkley Court. In short, it was the average conversation that one has on a first night of visiting, when recent events are unknown and all of one's stories are new and fresh.

When the last of the dishes were cleared away and the ladies left for the drawing room, I followed and took Angela by the arm. "Care to take a quick stroll outside with me, Angela, old girl?"

"Certainly, Bertie, darling," she said, and we made our way outside. "How was the trip up?"

"Oh, good, good. I drove for an hour or so, and Jeeves drove the rest of the way. Exceedingly good weather for it."

We talked on the state of the current weather and the condition of the roads and then she brought up the topic of the last time she had been to the metrop., and I thought it a good time to wander to the subject of Tuppy and waitresses.

"Talking of London," I said, easing into it, "Tuppy and I spent a great deal of time together when he was up. Barely a day went by when we didn't see each other."

I did not, of course, mention that I begrudged spending those hours away from the flat and far from Jeeves' steady gaze but I did go on to say, "But when I came Tuppy said he'd fallen out with you. I don't understand it."

She sighed, the sound as lonely as a winter wind stirring across the moors of Wales. "Tuppy is being completely unreasonable."

"He said the same thing about you, old thing. Claimed you'd been flattered and swept off your feet by a French Casanova."

"Oh, Bertie," she said, settling on one of the rustic benches, "that's quite unfair. Guillaume is nothing of the sort."

This was not good tidings. "Guillaume Facet, is it? Couldn't the fellow be cursed with a name like Wilberforce, something completely unappealing? It seems unfair that he should have a name like Guillaume. Gives him an automatic advantage when it comes to girls."

"Bertie, darling, his advantage has nothing to do with his name. He's the sweetest chap, really."

I gave her a firm glance. "Are you sweet on him, cousin of mine? I was quite certain that Tuppy's fears were unfounded, that it was merely the feverish worries of a man in love, but to hear you speak of him like this makes me worry."

"I'm as dippy over Tuppy as I've ever been, Bertie."

"Then why accuse him of flirting with waitresses? You know full well that Tuppy only has eyes for you." This was almost true. In the past, when Tuppy's head had been momentarily turned by another girl, it hadn't taken Jeeves long to ensure it swung back to the approved direction. "I will not deny that we stopped in at one particular tea shop frequently, but you must know that it had everything to do with their chocolate cake and nothing to do with their waitresses."

"I know that, darling," she said, ever one of those young girls to throw the word 'darling' around the place as if it were a perfect substitute for a person's name.

"Then why accuse him?"

"I didn't. I said that I did not walk around accusing him of flirting with waitresses, no matter how many hours he spent in one particular tea shop. My point, if he had listened, is that I know that his heart is faithful to me. I don't need to be by his side every moment to ensure that he doesn't fall for another girl."

"Indeed?"

"Truly, Bertie. I don't complain when he goes to London for a week and I don't demand that he avoid anywhere with an attractive girl. So it's utterly unfair that he should throw his weight around about Guillaume and suggest that I let him go." Shaking her head, she tutted like a disapproving headmistress. "I am keeping Guillaume as my tennis coach, and Tuppy, the big balloon, will not change my mind on it."

"Angela," I said as pleasantly as I knew how, "surely you could bend just a little on this? Prove to Tuppy once and for all how much you care, and give up the Frenchman. To say it plainly, you do not need him."

"But I do."

"Your game of tennis is perfectly fine." I had seen Angela play tennis and had occasionally played against her in the name of cousinship and camaraderie. "You have no need to improve it."

"I do, Bertie, and by this Saturday." Angela pulled her arms around her, more in response to the chill wind than the harrowing tale so I passed her my jacket and tucked it round her shoulders. "Thank you, Bertie."

I sensed that we had arrived at the heart of the matter. "Tell me more, old girl."

"It all started last time I visited Totleigh Towers with Tuppy. He went down to the village and I was talking with Honoria. We'd played a match of tennis that morning and I had played extremely badly, and she insisted on being far too nice about the whole thing. It got on my nerves."

"The trick to being a good winner is normally to be a quiet one. Too much sympathy reeks of bad sportsmanship."

"Precisely, Bertie. So she said one thing, and I said another, and it all got quite heated. There were some wild words said and then we settled on a wager."

My brows shot upwards, like stars madly moving from their spheres to hear a sea-maid's song.

"You look surprised," Angela said.

"I am. I didn't think girls said wild words to one another. I thought it was all drawing room talk, common friends and new engagements and that type of thing."

"That's very small-minded of you, Bertie. I always thought you far more modern in your thoughts."

"Modern or not, there is no need to go wagering with a Glossop. It will not end well." I was tempted to tell her of the time Tuppy had bet that I could not swing myself across the swimming bath using the rings, then cheated dreadfully at the last minute by looping back the last ring, forcing me to fall into the deep end in full evening wear. But these are not the details to spill to a fiancée of a close friend.

"I take it you have seen Honoria play?"

"She is the sportiest girl I've ever known. Tell me, Angela, what were the terms of the bet?"

"The next time she visits, which is this Saturday, we are to play again for higher stakes." Her hand went to her neck, and toyed with the silver chain there. "In the heat of the moment, I bet my necklace."

"Oh, Angela," I said, knowing the details of the necklace. It is a silver chain with a small heart-shaped pendant attached, the type designed for a small photograph or lock of hair to be inserted. When Tuppy was first courting Angela, before he had asked for her hand, she had commented on it as they passed a jeweller's shop, and he, sensing the advantage, went back later and bought it for her. She had crowed about the gift for weeks. "Not the necklace Tuppy gave you. He'll take that very hard."

"I know, but once the words were said I couldn't very well back down, now could I? It would have been far too humiliating."

I leaned an arm against a statue -- it was of a boy about twelve summers old with wings and a bow -- then found the statue wasn't safely mired and had to grab the thing before it toppled. Once the young chap was upright and setting his sights on one of Uncle Tom's prized rosebushes, I gave Angela my honest opinion. "This Facet would need to be a miracle worker to improve your game by Saturday."

"He is, Bertie." Her eyes lit up, much as King Arthur's must have when he first spotted the Holy Grail. She had clearly placed her faith in this Adonis. "You should see the improvement in my backhand swing. I'm sure that if I continue to practise hard I'll beat her. I simply need Tuppy to stop being such a jealous Neanderthal about the whole thing."

"The matter seems quite simple to me. Simply tell Tuppy why you need the tennis coach and all will be roses again."

The light left her eyes completely. "I can't. You can't tell a fellow that you used the first love gift he gave you in a bet. Against his cousin, no less. He will simply have to bear it until Saturday."

I saw her point. "But Angela, Tuppy wants Facet to be fired. He was quite empathetic about it."

"Bertie, darling, you can't let that happen. Without Guillaume I shall lose the match, the necklace and Tuppy may break off the whole engagement. Promise me you'll stop it from happening, Bertie?"

Well, one can't very well be a preux chevalier and then go around telling damsels in distress that you will not help. It was clear that my cousin Angela was as distressed as any damsel of old. "I promise, Angela. Jeeves and I will find a way."

She made a noise of glee and pressed a kiss to my cheek as she stood up. "I knew I could count on you, Bertie," she said, giving me my jacket back. I pulled it on quickly, in deference to the chill wind that had been blowing straight through my shirtsleeves, and, giving me one more reassuring smile, Angela headed inside.

I went straight to the rose garden and laid the matter out for Jeeves.

"A most complicated situation, sir."

"Quite right, Jeeves. Angela has to play due to a bet she can't tell Tuppy about and Tuppy wants the sole source of her hope to be fired. As I said to Angela, he was quite empathetic about it."

"I believe the word that you meant to say is emphatic, sir."

"To be quite forceful about it? To be certain?"

"Yes, sir. To say that he was empathetic would suggest that he understood Miss Angela's position and was sensitive to her reasoning."

"Tuppy is anything but that," I said, filing away Jeeves' points for future reference. I must admit there are time when I wonder if Jeeves' idea of a good time is committing the dictionary to memory, but it is good to know when one is, and is not, using a word correctly. "I still think this is a simple matter to be solved. All it would take is a little honesty."

"Indeed, sir?" he asked in that wary way of his.

"Indeed," I said, slipping my hands into my pockets and settling in to enjoy the stroll. There is something very pleasant about a nice walk at night. Moonlight, known to be flattering to nearly every complexion, has the ability to hide most physical defects such as scrawny shoulders or a beakish nose, and it lends an atmosphere of intimacy to the arrangement. One can easily walk and talk for an hour or more without that feeling of goofiness that comes from walking with someone in daylight, wondering how they see you and which of your flaws they think are the worst. I have always advised chaps of the wisdom of taking a girl for a moonlit wander and I stand by that advice.

"May I enquire as to your reasoning, sir?"

"It is this, Jeeves. Honestly is like pepper: a little bit can go a long way. In this situation, I believe I could safely tell Tuppy about Angela's reasoning without telling him everything."

"You intend to tell him of the competitive nature of the games between his cousin and Miss Angela without telling him the stakes of their wager, sir?"

As I have said far and wide, Jeeves is a brainy cove. Most of the Drones fellows would have needed footnotes to understand my meaning. "Quite, Jeeves."

"Are you sure," Jeeves said carefully, "that Mr Glossop will understand and encourage this rivalry between two women that he cares for?"

"I am sure, Jeeves, and this is where being an old school chum of Tuppy's gives us the advantage. I know him as a man and I knew him as a boy so I can state quite confidently that Tuppy will support any scheme that sees his cousin fairly beaten at tennis." Jeeves raised an eyebrow, and I continued. "As a child, he used to play tennis with Honoria every holiday and every holiday, as sure as the sun sets to rise again, Honoria would beat him. Being beaten by an older cousin is bad enough, but when you are beaten by a girl a year younger than you, it tends to eat away at a chap. The more he tried to beat her, the less he succeeded."

"Does he still play against Miss Glossop, sir?"

"Of course not. When one has become a man, one does not wish to use the unfair advantage of brain and brawn to lord it over the fairer sex."

"I hesitate to note that you still play against Miss Angela, sir."

"That is an entirely different matter, Jeeves. I am well aware that in all likelihood Angela will beat me and, unlike Tuppy, I don't spend the next three hours belittling her triumph. Besides, Angela is a favourite cousin, far closer to me than any other living relative so you have no cause to peer down in judgment from beneath that bowler hat. When a girl has protected you from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, playing tennis with her for amusement and happily letting her win is in the correct spirit of things."

"Indeed, sir?"

"Indeed. She has been known on no less than four separate occasions to help me hide from Aunt Agatha during family gatherings. If that is not showing the height of familial love, I don't know what is."

"That is a strong sign of affection, sir."

"Exactly, Jeeves. I am quite convinced that if I tell Tuppy of the upcoming tennis match and gently explain to him that it has become a matter of pride between the two girls, he will understand and support Angela's quest for victory."

"Very good, sir."

Having said that, silence reined over the tranquil hour of night. The stars were bright overhead, and I briefly thought about Madeleine Basset and her theory of the stars being God's daisy chain. She was such an awful gawd-help-us, and yet she'd happily found a most unlikely kindred spirit and was all set to say the I do's.

Angela and Tuppy, both good sorts, would be in the same place, if not for a small matter of a bet and some idle jealousy. "It's a funny thing, isn't it?"

"What is, sir?"

"Marriage, Jeeves. The chaps you do expect to tie the knot and the chaps you don't all seem to have the same amount of trouble getting down the altar. It's enough to put one off completely."

Jeeves, hands resting behind his back as we walked, looked like a particularly thoughtful type of soldier, keeping constant vigil against the stars and flat horizon. "It has been said that marriage is a desperate thing, sir."

"But what about that marriage of true minds business? Not altering or admitting impediment? When I was a boy, I thought that was how love would be."

Jeeves glanced at me as we strolled, the moonlight softening his features and accentuating the contrast between pale collar and dark hair. In that light, from that angle, there was a certain quality to him that made one think of movie stars and other glamorous, untouchable paragons. "Indeed?"

"I thought that not altering meant finding someone who thought you perfectly topping as you are, but that hardly happens at all. When it does, when two people meet and fall madly in love with each other, it takes barely any impediment at all and the whole thing's called off. It's amazing the institution of marriage survives."

"There is no sorrow like a love denied, nor any joy like love that has its will," Jeeves said assuredly, quoting someone that I couldn't quite recognise. "As long as people keep falling in love, marriage will continue, sir. As difficult as it may be to obtain, it holds too many appeals for a devoted heart not to attempt the challenge."

"Appeals?" I asked, quite fascinated.

"The appeal of spending one's life with the person one loves, the appeal of sharing your thoughts and your soul with someone who has sworn to stand beside you through the years, these can be worth the greatest of trials."

"That's not a quote from somewhere, is it, Jeeves?"

"Not to my knowledge, sir."

"Oh," I said, a little surprised by his eloquence on the subject. "Could you see yourself getting married?"

"Not in the foreseeable future, sir."

He said it in a rummy way, as if the idea did not sit at all well with him. I was intrigued. "Why ever not? According to the girls in Manhattan, it would not be for lack of acceptances."

"Committing oneself to marriage would entail certain sacrifices I am not prepared to make," Jeeves said, as cryptic a Sphinx as ever wore a bowler hat. I gestured for him to continue. "When married, one has a moral obligation to consider one's choice of employment in the light of family requirements. A steady, stable income would be of the utmost importance."

"You already have that," I replied, not seeing his point at all.

"Working for a young, unmarried gentleman who may, at a moment's notice, decide to travel overseas for months at a time would not be the ideal situation." I was about to object, to point out that I am not one to spend all my time gallivanting around the world on pleasure trips when Jeeves added, "Also, the living situation would be unsuitable."

"What's unsuitable about my flat? It's a fine location and plenty of space," I said, and Jeeves quirked a brow. "Well, plenty of space for the two of us. There's barely enough space when Macintosh stays, so there wouldn't be enough space for a child, let alone a wife."

"Precisely, sir."

"You shouldn't let that stop you. It's only a minor thing. I could take a house in Wimbledon, somewhere nice and quiet that would require at least a cook, a maid and a butler. And if I needed to travel, I could travel on my own -- I've done so before -- and you could stay and ensure the house is run well. That way, you would have stability and plenty of space."

There are times when, halfway through arguing a point, you find yourself questioning the intelligence of trying to argue for it. This was a perfect example of that. While I didn't want to think that my choices had forced Jeeves to avoid the concept of marriage, I doubted it was in my best interests to talk him into marrying the next girl he saw.

"Unless you're particularly sweet on someone right now, it's all a moot point," I said hopefully.

Jeeves gave one slow nod. "I am quite content with my current place in life and, to be rather forthright, I do not think the charms of marriage would compensate for the necessity of changing our existing arrangement."

We wandered quietly for a while, letting the romantic atmosphere compensate for my attempts to talk Jeeves into marrying. Next thing I knew, I found we had walked all the way back to the house. My intent of casual conversation leading to romance had not gone entirely as planned. Lacking anything else to say or any excuse to continue, I was forced to end it. "Well, I won't keep you any longer, Jeeves."

"What about the Long-eared Owl, sir?"

I had completely forgotten about the owl but I stopped myself from saying so. "I didn't see anything owl-like, Jeeves. I don't think I saw anything particularly bird-like."

"Perhaps we will have better luck tomorrow night. Good night, sir."

"Good night, Jeeves." I walked inside and it wasn't until I was standing at the sideboard, helping myself to a gin and tonic, that I realised the full implication of Jeeves' words. For as long as we stayed at Brinkley Court, provided we did not find Bonzo's owl, I had a good excuse for having Jeeves to myself each night.

The thought filled me with a new-found sense of enthusiasm. Despite French tennis coaches and disputes between lovers, this visit might be the most enjoyable yet.

The next morning started bright and cheerily and, as any truly good day should, not one moment before nine in the good old ante meridiem. I have found in many country houses that this is a detail oft overlooked by the host. All too frequently, the place is run by rural types who believe in getting up as the sun rises or by sharp fellows who work in London and insist upon breakfasting as the milk truck rolls by. It is to my Aunt Dahlia's credit that Brinkley Court is run to far more civilised hours and that breakfast is available until an hour before lunch. Her youth of running with the Quorn taught her not only a rich array of hunting expletives, but also of the value of a hearty, late breakfast after a night of toasting to the hunt. When staying away from the metrop., the availability of hot bacon and eggs after ten in the morning must be considered, and in this respect, Brinkley Court never fails its visitors.

Knowing this, I had Jeeves run me a bath. As much as I love the freedom of travelling by automobile -- the ability to start and stop as one chooses, the total control over route and speed -- going over long distances in the two-seater always leaves me feeling gritty and somewhat soiled around the edges.

Once suitably clean and attired, I went to breakfast. After finishing two helpings of the Eggs Benedict -- Jeeves had recommended them and he had not erred -- I sought out Tuppy.

He was on the lawns, entertaining himself with archery. He had just nocked an arrow and drawn the bow, so I waited until he released before calling out. When interrupting an archer, I've found it best not to startle them unexpectedly. "What ho, Tuppy."

"What ho, Bertie," he said, waving me over. "Any luck with this Facet business?"

"Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

Tuppy had been looking decidedly sour but at this note, he pepped up like Napoleon being told that calling off the Russia-France alliance had been Alexander's little joke. "Does Jeeves have a scheme, Bertie?"

"Not for getting the chap fired, no."

Tuppy nocked the next arrow and narrowed his eyes at the target as if the rings had been replaced by one much unloved Frenchman. "Then what did you have to talk to me about?"

"I spoke to Angela last night, Tuppy. I don't think you're being entirely fair--"

"You've come to plead her case? I should have expected as much." Tuppy let the shot go and it landed squarely in the red. "You bring shame to Old Etonians everywhere, Bertie. Prizing a girl over a close friend, showing no support, no allegiance, no faithfulness to the old school spirit."

"I say!" I said. "Angela has hidden me from our Aunt Agatha. That deserves a decent sense of loyalty, Tuppy."

"Forget this childhood loyalty, Bertie, I am asking you as a friend and fellow club-member."

"Who said anything about childhood? The last time Angela concealed me was last Christmas Day, when she hid me in the coat room and brought me brandy and roast potatoes from one o'clock until Aunt Agatha left at three." I ignored the nasty smirk hovering over Tuppy's features and brought us back to the topic at hand. "I don't think you're fully aware of the facts of the matter. If you were, you would not question the bonds of my friendship."

"Angela told you all of the facts, did she? She told you things that she couldn't share with her beloved fiancé? I find that hard to believe."

"I approached her as a concerned cousin, worried about her happiness and the misunderstanding between you two. Like the sweet-natured girl that she is, she explained the facts and asked me to keep it confidential. As an old friend, I trust you will keep this under your hat and not tell her that I told you?"

"Go on."

Tuppy lowered the bow and faced me the way one would face an execution squad. It was clear that he both loved Angela and half-expected that his fears would be proved true. It would be unkind to draw such a moment out, so I put his mind at ease as quickly as I could. "Angela has no feelings for Facet. Her only interest is in Honoria."

Tuppy looked quite confused. "Angela has feelings for my cousin Honoria?"

I realised I had skipped a few important steps. "Not at all, other than a sisterly sense of friendship, one assumes. What I meant to tell you was that Angela has only employed Facet in order to beat Honoria next time they play. Now do you see?"

"If that was true, Bertie, and I'm not saying it is, why couldn't she have told me this herself?"

"She was worried about your good opinion of her, Tuppy. Apparently, last time they played, Honoria beat her soundly and was then extremely civil about it."

"Honoria does that," Tuppy said coldly. "She'll play like an Amazon, utterly ruthless, and then be entirely syrupy about winning, saying things like 'better luck next time' and 'you did well, considering you walk like a duck'."

"She told Angela she had flat feet."

"The nerve of it! Angela's feet are as perfectly formed as the rest of her."

"Well, I couldn't hazard an opinion on that, Tuppy, but I'll take your word for it. Anyway, the story goes that Angela, quite piqued by the invective against her feet, replied that next time they played, she would be the victor. It has become a point of pride."

"And that's why she's spending so many hours hanging on Facet's every word? When they're on the tennis court, he's all over her, Bertie. An arm around her back, a hand on her forearm. It's indecent."

"Be that as it may, old bean, she swears he's done wonders for her back swing and when it comes to a point of pride, a girl will go a great distance to ensure she is not humiliated. She will go even further if the event of said humiliation may be witnessed by her beloved."

That did the trick. Tuppy's puffed chest deflated and one could see the fight ease out of him. "I should have known Angela wouldn't be taken in by such a weasel," he said, admitting his blunder.

I clasped him on the shoulder. "So you will go to her and tell her all is well?"

He grinned at me, and then the happy expression melted like an iceberg dropped into the middle of the Sahara. "I can't, Bertie."

"Why not?"

"I swore to her that until she told Facet to push off, I wouldn't speak another word to her. If I go back and tell her all is fine, she'll think that I can't keep my word. She'll lose her faith in me, Bertie." He spoke in all earnestness and I could see his point. Some girls take badly to knowing that their beau, after laying down the law and giving his word, can change his mind after a quick chat to his friends. "I shall have to keep up the silence."

"Perhaps you could tell her you'd reconsidered?"

"I would still look like a dithering idiot. While that doesn't affect her fond feelings for you, Bertie, she holds me to a higher standard."

I pondered on it for a moment. "Tell her that you haven't changed your opinion on Facet, but that you now see that it's a bit tough to expect her to fire the chap on the spot. Say that you want him gone by Sunday and that as long as she promises to do so, all is forgiven."

Tuppy, likewise, pondered. "That could work, Bertie."

"It will work, Tuppy. I'm sure of it." After a moment, I added, "Say, how long is Honoria planning to stay?"

"Oh, about two weeks, I should think. She'll be here for lunch on Saturday."

"Well, then." I decided to go find Jeeves and tell him of this development. If that was the case, we would need to leave the grounds by Saturday morning at the latest. "I'll leave you to make up with Angela, Tuppy. Pip-pip."

"Pip-pip, Bertie."

In the drawing room, I found one of the maids and asked about Jeeves' whereabouts. Sitting at the piano, I played a little ditty while I waited for her return. Then I rifled through the sheet music left beside the instrument. The main piano player in the household is Angela, a great girl in all respects other than her musical taste. She tends to gravitate towards soupy love songs full of slow melodies and scales that only former opera singers could manage.

I kept flicking through the pages because occasionally Tuppy's tastes can be seen in a jolly tune here or there. Halfway through the stack I found something that looked promising. It was titled My Wife Is On A Diet and seemed to have a nice beat, so I pulled it out and gave it a try.

I was a line into the chorus when the maid came back and interrupted apologetically. Just as butlers can be intimidating and staunch, as highly starched as their collars, there is an air to maids that makes them seem contrite even when they're nothing of the sort. She explained in her regretful way that Mr Jeeves had stepped out for a touch of fresh air. It seemed dashed silly to me because there's no way to escape the fresh air in the country, so no need to go outside seeking the stuff. She went on to say she hadn't been able to find him in the garden.

Since my need for him wasn't overwhelming, I waved her away with a brief instruction that she should, if she saw Jeeves, ask him to come see to me in the drawing room and I went back to the piano keys.

After playing the song through a few times, working through the melody, getting the key shifts right and developing a keen urge for grapefruit, I turned back to the pile. The next one I tried was (I'd Like To Be) A Bee In Your Boudoir. It was a fun song that would be well received in the Drones, although possibly a touch risqué for singing in the company of girls you don't know well; in unfamiliar company, singing about lingerie and posing on a girl's knee can lead to being considered a badly-mannered cousin of Casanova. I followed this with Eadie Was A Lady, one of those call-and-reply style songs, like Minnie the Moocher. While playing the tune alone will give no difficulties, it's a little harder to sing both roles. Normally, I ask Jeeves to pitch in and help me out, but he still hadn't arrived.

I looked around the room for Jeeves has a conjurer's ability to simply be where he wasn't before, seemingly without the need to open or close doors to get there but this time, I remained alone. It was nothing short of fishy. A fellow like Jeeves isn't in the habit of ignoring his master's summons.

It called for investigation. Walking through the French windows, I went to find my errant manservant. I must admit I was driven more by curiosity than concern. For Jeeves to neglect his duties to me he must be in the middle of ... I wasn't sure. Something grand and complicated, certainly. Negotiating between Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom, perhaps but judging by the last meal, they were getting on splendidly. Maybe he was finding an undetectable way of sabotaging Honoria's upcoming tennis game.

Most likely the apologetic maid had incorrectly informed me in the first place and Jeeves had gone down to the village. If that was the case, a brief walk in the sunshine wouldn't do me any harm. If that wasn't the case, the mystery would be solved soon enough.

Coming down the stairs to the garden, I passed Aunt Dahlia. "What ho, Aunt Dahlia."

She kept a close hold on the folders in her hand and barely slowed her canter. "Not now, you young blot. I have three submissions to edit and a working knowledge of essential English grammar is becoming rarer and rarer amongst modern writers."

"Very good," I said, letting her pass. "You haven't seen Jeeves, have you?"

"By the oak tree, Bertie. With Facet," she said, disappearing inside. Rounding the corner to her study with the speed and precision of Precipitation taking the final curve at Ascot, Aunt Dahlia was gone.

As you might imagine, that thought left me somewhat perturbed. There are, of course, several oak trees on the Brinkley grounds but the largest is the Oak Tree, as opposed to the Younger Oak Tree, the Bent Oak Tree and the Other Oak Trees. I tottered over to examine the situation for myself.

There is a saying that goes, "Do good by stealth ..." and something I can't remember. It's one of Jeeves' ruses. But in this circumstance, I felt sure that stealth and camouflage were key so I took the long way around, through the woods, and approached the oak tree from the far side. Crouching, I eased forward, using the bushes to cover me. I stopped when I spotted a familiar bowler hat.

In hindsight, I think it was best that I stayed out of view. When two people think that they've taken a private stroll, they relax and stand closer than they would if they knew prying eyes were watching. This was the case now.

Jeeves, easy to spot against the green background, was standing and resting one shoulder against the trunk of the tree. His head was bowed slightly in conversation, nodding along to the speaker's points. The speaker, wearing an unfamiliar boater, must have been Facet. One glance at the fellow showed that Tuppy's and Jeeves' evaluations of his looks had not erred.

There was brown hair that waved to the top of his collar, a fine and firm jaw line, a straight, slightly stubbed nose and to top it all off, cupid's cheeks that dimpled when he smiled. He had one forearm pressed against the tree and was leaning in, as close as a conspirator to Jeeves. When he took his hat off and used it as a fan, I could see his eyes were clear and bright, glittering with seductive cunning. Regarding general proportions, he filled out his tweed suit extremely well.

This is the type of situation that cannot be ignored. No man can afford to turn his back while a Lothario like that sneaks around, tempting valets and cousins alike. One must be mindful, be aware and be ready to spring to a beloved's defence at a moment's notice. One must be gallant and put one's own discomfort aside in order to be there when needed. Recognising the importance of this, I settled on the ground and determined to stay there until the pair left.

In matters of the English language, Bertram Wooster is no slouch. As you may have noticed in past narratives, I have a deep abiding respect for words and I would go so far as to say a touch of flair in my use of the old E. l. But I am at a loss when it comes to more Gallic ones. I know enough French to get by when holidaying in Cannes, but asking for another drink is very different from following a softly-spoken, private conversation.

I picked up on a few words like amour, désir and entretien. I wasn't sure of what the third one meant, but given the first two, I expected it would be something along the same lines: poetic, French phrases designed to sweep a respectable valet off his feet.

When the knave brazenly edged closer, cocking one hip against the tree and reaching out a grasping hand to fondle Jeeves' sleeve, I was tempted to burst up and expose the so-and-so for what he was. It was only the thought of trying to explain why I had been hiding in bushes and spying on the staff that stopped me.

Thankfully, it wasn't long afterwards that the conversation ended and Jeeves, with an ever-cordial tip of his dark brim, headed back towards the house. Facet slithered in the other direction like a true snake in the grass. I stood up and allowed my legs a few moments to adjust to the wonders of working circulation. Crouching in undergrowth for twenty minutes can leave one with terrible pins-and-needles but it had been worth it. If Facet was making such bold moves -- tempting Jeeves away from master and responsibility, conniving to draw Jeeves from the public eye in order to have his wicked way -- it was clear that I needed to intervene.

No matter how brainy or brilliant the cove, when it comes to love no man sees the dangers of an ill-advised attachment until far too late. That is why a smart fellow will ask friends' opinions and heed a careful word of warning. Jeeves, normally so solid and cautious, might be swayed by calculated flirtation and not recognise the essential character flaws that would normally serve as an admonition.

I wasn't precisely aware of what flaws a character like Facet might be hiding but I was certain they would be numerous and devastating. That would explain why he was moving so fast and secretly pressing his suit in ways that reeked of false charm; his character flaws were so vast and lethal to anyone's estimation of him that his only chance of courting a gem as fine as Jeeves was to ensnare him in flattery before Jeeves could objectively take a measure of the man.

Needless to say, that was not the type of skulduggery I would allow. It went against the code of the Woosters.

That I had no idea how I was going to prevent it didn't dishearten me at all. Where there is a will, there is a way, and where there is a Wooster, the right thing will be done. It's a certainty.

I was sure I would find some way to protect Jeeves against this threat. I pondered it as I walked back to the house -- over the lawns this time, avoiding the burrs and brambles of the woods -- via the tennis grounds to see if Angela was still practising.

She was. From the back of the court, she was using half a dozen balls to practise her serve.

"Much improvement, Angela?" I called out encouragingly.

"Bertie," she said upon spying me, "what are you doing here?"

"I'm showing some strong family support."

She hit the last of her collection of balls, and then jogged over to me. "You're not here to plead Tuppy's case?"

"I wasn't aware Tuppy's case needed to be pleaded, Angela."

She gave me a long, cold look -- much like an aunt -- and then cousinly affection won the day. "It does, Bertie."

"He said he was going to come to you and modify his demands. Hasn't he done that?"

"Yes, he did."

"So he said all is well as long as the Frenchman is gone by Sunday?"

She nodded. "Yes, he did."

"And said Frenchman will be gone by Sunday?"

"Yes, he will."

"And all is well?"

Here she shook her head like a horse trying to shoo flies away. "No. All is rotten, Bertie."

"But why?"

"Tuppy came and demanded that I fire Guillaume by Sunday."

I blinked and tried my best to understand. I thought I'd been following the tête-à-tête, but from Angela's behaviour, I was missing important information. "I don't follow, Angela. Tuppy has asked for no more than you were going to do anyway, and you act as if it's an act of treason."

"Tuppy acts as if engagement is an act of war. He acts as if martial law has been declared and he is a general, while I'm a lowly foot soldier, and whatever his demands are, whatever his orders, I must jump to obey. I tell you, Bertie, I will not."

Angela, for all of her fine, outstanding qualities, is very much her mother's daughter. She is a spirited girl, not to be tamed. I hadn't thought to warn Tuppy that he needed to ease her into the idea, not bark it as a command. "Angela, old thing, I think you're looking at this entirely the wrong way."

"Then maybe I should concentrate on the lack of trust he has in me instead." She shook her head again in that same equine way. "Ordering me not to spend time with a fellow, simply because he happens to be attractive. Pshaw, Bertie."

"So you acknowledge that Facet is attractive?" I asked, thinking of my conundrum with Jeeves.

"To look at him, he's quite a dream," Angela said with the barest hint of a sigh.

"Exactly. He's entirely too good-looking, Angela. You can't trust a man who looks like that. Beside," I said, ignoring the sharp look she shot me, "it's not you Tuppy doesn't trust, old girl. It's all the other fellows in the world, the cads who would fall for a girl and try to steal her from her fiancé."

She didn't look convinced. "You think so, do you, Bertie? Because I can't see it."

"Certainly. You can't fault a chap so head over heels, clover and roses, all is right in the world in love with you that he believes that any other man in his right mind needs nothing more than to spend a few hours in your company to see you as the utter paragon of feminine charm and beauty. To Tuppy, it makes perfect sense that any fellow talking to you must be on the verge or in the process of giving his heart to you alone."

"Well," she said, tone softening. "It is true that he loves me dearly."

"As a matter of fact," I said, warming to the topic and feeling that an honest narrative might help, "after our trip to Cannes, he even accused me of trying to break you up. Apparently I wanted you so much that I would throw off school loyalties and stab a close friend between the shoulder blades."

"Oh, that's ridiculous," Angela said and now her tone was quite fond. "Tuppy should have known that there was never anything between us. Why would he ever think I'd choose you over him?"

"Quite." There are some sacrifices one must make to ensure the happiness of kith, kin and friends. If a slight blow to the dignity and one's own sense of worth is required, never let it be said that Bertie Wooster was not willing to sacrifice himself heartily. "I told Tuppy there was nothing going on, but a man so in love can be blinded to the truth."

With a sigh, Angela capitulated. "I'll speak fondly to him over lunch, Bertie."

"That's the spirit, old girl."

Young Angela was true to her word. When I complimented the potatoes, she said amiably, "Try the chicken, Bertie. It's wonderfully tender. Truly one of Anatole's best, don't you think so, Tuppy?" and Tuppy hastened to agree.

There was the usual chit-chat, mainly revolving around Aunt Dahlia, who had decided to dine in her study so she could continue to edit those submissions. The amount of time and effort she expends for that women's magazine is enough to make one look twice at any regular publication. When you pick up a paper, you never stop to think of the number of hours and the intensity of toil that has gone into making the thing suitable for public consumption.

Then Angela said, "Tuppy, darling, do pass the salt," which I thought was laying it on a bit thick, but Tuppy grabbed the salt shaker with a burst of speed that would leave a cheetah jealous.

After lunch, Tuppy held out his hand and asked if Angela would go for a stroll and she, smiling as if the Prince of Wales had asked her to dance, took his hand and said she would love nothing more than a walk in the sunshine. It was enough to make Anatole's Bombe Néro seem bitter in comparison.

Left alone, I went to my room and found Jeeves brushing down my dinner jacket. "Oh, Jeeves, I was just about to track you down."

"Mary mentioned that you wanted to see me, sir, but you were not in the drawing room when I returned."

"It's not like you to disappear, Jeeves." Actually, it was quite like Jeeves to disappear. But he normally reappeared the moment I needed him. "Well, not like you to be out of contact."

"I do apologise, sir," Jeeves said in the way of butlers and valets everywhere, meaning that while he used the right words in the right order, it was apparent that he was only saying sorry because he would be remiss in his duties if he did not do so. There is a skill to making an apology sound quite proper and not at all one's own, personal fault. Like many other skills, this is something Jeeves has mastered to an art form.

"It was nothing important, Jeeves, simply that Honoria Glossop will be arriving at Brinkley Court on Saturday so I believe it would be best if we left after breakfast. At the latest."

"Yes, sir."

Skinning out of my jacket and passing it to Jeeves to hang up, I sat down to watch Jeeves work. There is something quite hypnotic in observing the way Jeeves moves about his duties. While he is the embodiment of efficiency and could never be accused of dithering over a task, there is also a tangible sense of consideration in the way he treats my belongings. Not one to be careless with a dish, Jeeves -- in matters of apparel -- could almost be described as fond. It is as if he takes a personal liking to clothes, considering his job to protect them from deterioration and care for them when stained or torn.

(Of course, he does not share this relationship with every article of my wardrobe. Certain items -- such as loud check suits or monogrammed handkerchiefs -- have mortally offended him and possibly said some very cutting things about his mother. Those he treats with the utmost disdain until they are either forsaken or damaged beyond repair.)

Watching Jeeves carefully hold the dinner jacket close with one hand and use the other to slowly drag the soft-bristled brush in long, smooth strokes across the material is fascinating, and has sometimes made me wonder if, when completely alone, he's ever been tempted to whisper sweet nothings into my wardrobe. Judging by Jeeves' current silence, he probably wasn't the type to whisper sweet nothings.

But during this afternoon with Facet, Jeeves hadn't shown any reticence.

"I say, Jeeves," I said as Jeeves did some final tweaking with the collar and hung the dinner jacket up in the wardrobe. "What was it that kept you so busy this afternoon? Helping Aunt Dahlia out with those bally submissions?"

"No, sir, although I did promise to look over them this afternoon," Jeeves said calmly. You would think a man who had ditched his responsibilities in order to lounge in the sunshine with a suitor would manage to rustle up a little remorse. "I spent the morning talking with M Facet."

"Any particular reason, Jeeves?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could, taking some pleasure from the fact that Jeeves, unlike Angela, had not taken to calling Facet by his Christian name.

"It seemed that a great deal of the tribulation between Miss Angela and Mr Glossop was directly caused by the amount of time Miss Angela spent with M Facet. I believed it would be in everyone's best interest if M Facet were otherwise entertained for a while."

This made more sense. Jeeves had gone to further extremes for the greater good than taking walks with unpalatable company. "Good thinking, Jeeves. Although on the Tuppy-Angela aspect, I think we have that one sorted."

"Indeed, sir?" Jeeves asked and I explained the current situation, including the sickening sweetness that had occurred at the end of lunch. Jeeves gave a small but approving nod. "That is most reassuring. I still believe that it would be advisable to provide M Facet with a source of company other than Miss Angela."

"I heartily concur. He should spend as much time with the other staff as possible."

"That would not be practical, sir." I must have shown my surprise for Jeeves quickly added, "M Facet's English is sadly lacking and he has found himself feeling quite the intruder amongst domestic staff who, with the notable exception of M Anatole, do not speak French fluently."

While Aunt Dahlia, Angela and I have all been to France -- not Uncle Tom, for he can't stomach the South of France at any cost -- Angela is the only one of us who managed any true eloquence with the Gallic tongue. I know enough to get by, but asking directions to the restaurant is not exactly the same as holding an interesting colloquy.

"So that's why he's been spending so much time with Angela? She's the only one here who speaks French?"

"Precisely, sir."

I had a moment of feeling sympathy for the fellow. Travelling to a foreign country and not speaking the local lingo can be awfully isolating. Luckily for me, I usually travel with company or with Jeeves, so there is always a reassuring conversation awaiting me back at the hotel, but when roaming the streets alone, you can easily feel the odd one out. It's enough to get even the cheeriest chap down. "So you were commiserating with him, giving him a friendly ear, Jeeves?"

"Yes, sir," Jeeves replied. "He also mentioned during our conversation this morning that he had developed certain amorous feelings towards one of the domestic staff currently here."

"Aha!" I'd known it. I'd been sure that the underhanded Frenchman had been pressing his suit, and I was right. Clearly, Facet had misinterpreted Jeeves' attempts to guard Angela's happiness and had tried a trick so ancient Methuselah would have thought it past its time.

The trick that I mean is this. Approach the attractive dreamboat of your choice, talk about sad hearts that long for love and suffer for want of it and, when the sympathy kicks in, hit them with the proposal and make it a done deal. It almost worked for Gussie Fink-Nottle and it did land yours truly in hot water with the Basset, so the strength of this approach cannot be denied.

"Sir?"

I crossed my arms. "He mentioned that he was lonely and longed for love, and all that, right?"

"He did, sir. May I ask how you came to know of this situation?"

"I had my suspicions, Jeeves," I said knowingly.

Jeeves raised an eyebrow approximately a sixteenth of an inch and managed to sound surprised without sounding surprised at all. I'm really not sure how he does it. "Indeed, sir?"

"A man of the world can sense these things, Jeeves." A man of the world also knows the futility of simply ordering someone to stay away from an admirer. It's like waving a red flag in front of a barnyard animal. It's amazing the number of practical, hard-headed men and women who will pursue a relationship simply because a respected family member has ordered them not to. If I was to ensure that Jeeves remained unattached from such an unscrupulous sort as Facet must be, I would need to be more shrewd than that.

"If you have no further need of me, sir, I will go downstairs and attempt to assist Mrs Travers."

"Very good, Jeeves," I said and waved him away. Then inspiration struck: not with a clang but with the soft sound of a top hat being laid upon a chest of drawers. "Jeeves, after you've corrected and adjusted those articles as necessary, could you come back up here?"

"Yes, sir." It wasn't a question, unless you took into account the slightly pursed lips and the way Jeeves continued to stand there, politely waiting for an answer.

"I have decided to wear white tie tonight, Jeeves." I was well aware that Jeeves had already prepared my dinner jacket for this evening and that preparing my evening coat would be an additional and, strictly speaking, unnecessary task. But it would ensure that Jeeves' time was spent productively and far from temptation.

"Is there any particular reason for the added formality, sir?" Jeeves asked, voice betraying nothing but civil curiosity. Despite the extra work it would entail, Jeeves does hold strong opinions on evening wear for gentlemen. If he is fond of morning suits and dinner jackets, it could be said that has a lifelong commitment to the sombre convention of the evening coat. It is, as Jeeves would say, 'the psychology of the individual' and I had accounted for it well and truly.

While the task would keep him occupied, it was not something Jeeves would begrudge doing.

"Anatole is serving his famous Timbales de ris de veau toulousaine tonight, Jeeves. I believe that warrants a ceremonial show of appreciation."

"Very good, sir," he said and left.

A careful search through my drawers later, I found my book. Not the Diderot one, despite how well it had served its purpose -- I had had enough of Frenchmen for the moment -- but the American detective story, set in the seedy underworld of Chicago, that I had brought as light reading. I thought it would do the trick and take my mind completely off matters involving Jeeves. It was moderately successful.

While I held my breath when they found the murdered girl (shot through the cheek, which make me immediately doubt the policeman's suicide finding. If a girl who wears make-up and skirts no longer than the knee is going to kill herself, she won't do it in a way that leaves a great, gaping hole through one side of her face. It stands to reason that even in death, a stunner wants to be remembered as a stunner) and I will confess to jerking in my seat when the hired muscle bludgeoned the detective with the butt of his snub-nosed revolver, there was still a part of me worrying over this development with Jeeves and the tennis coach.

It occurred to me that I hadn't asked enough questions. I knew the cad had mentioned longing hearts, but had he mentioned Jeeves' name specifically? Jeeves had heard him out in a very sympathetic way -- too sympathetic if you ask me -- but had Jeeves given him any solid encouragement? If Jeeves had wavered and not given a definite answer -- doubtful, since Jeeves is a man of iron will and steel opinions, but a slim, outside possibility is still a possibility -- was it from a sense of propriety or a distaste for the man?

These were important questions.

If it had only been a general discussion, then Facet had got no further with Jeeves than I had, and ensuring that Jeeves' time was otherwise occupied would be enough to evade the danger. I could always offer to provide companionship for Facet myself -- abhorrent though the thought might be -- and claim a desire to improve my command of the French language.

If the scoundrel had made the direction of his attentions clear and Jeeves had prevaricated, the situation was direr. We would spend another three full days at Brinkley Court, giving Jeeves ample time to change his mind. It would be three afternoons of leisurely walks and three evening meals in the servants' hall with charming conversation over Anatole's meals. Marriages had been based on far less.

Worst still was the thought that the knave might have received encouragement from Jeeves. Jeeves has a rummy habit of getting precisely what he wants, regardless of strongly I put my foot down and refuse. If Jeeves had decided that in this case, an understanding with Facet was what he wanted, I could not delude myself into believing that anything short of bundling us both into the car and getting on the next cruise leaving port would dissuade him. And even then, there was a better than average chance that Facet would somehow appear aboard deck.

The thought left me as cold as the detective. I may need to mention that I'd just finished the chapter where the detective is trapped inside a meat locker and left to freeze to death, so my readers will understand the strength of the shiver that racked my spine.

My fears were eased by Jeeves' return.

I have remarked before that there is something quite magnetic about Jeeves: his very presence reassures and inspires the confidence much in the way that Admiral Nelson must have done whenever he stepped aboard an English vessel. Friends have joked that there's no need to fear when Jeeves is near. I wouldn't go so far as to say that, since Jeeves' methods can be rough on one's dignity and sometimes on one's entire frame -- especially the billowy portions -- but the essential sentiment is true. When Jeeves stands there, wide shoulders holding up a dark jacket and the weight of the world, eyes gleaming with intelligence, it's impossible to believe that any situation could be without hope.

So while in the midst of the business of dressing -- the buttoning of waistcoats, the straightening of jackets, the tying of ties -- I seized hope and brought the subject up. "Jeeves, I don't mean to pry, but I was curious. Did Facet happen to mention the name of his paramour?"

"Yes, sir," Jeeves said, giving my shoulder a final brush.

"Oh, I said, feeling the world uncertain beneath me. There was nothing for it but to trudge onwards. "This other party, do they requite his interest?"

"I could not say, sir."

Swallow as I might, I could not dampen the dust of dread that settled in my throat. "Indeed, Jeeves?"

"I have not had sufficient time to assess the second party's true opinion of the man. I was hoping to inspect the matter at dinner, sir."

The prognosis was not as good as I'd hoped but neither was it as horrid as I'd feared. It was a rummy situation, me on one side, Facet on the other, and Jeeves in the middle evaluating us both. "I say, Jeeves, you haven't forgotten our standing appointment with the Long-eared Owl, have you?"

"Not at all, sir. Although I think we would stand a better chance of seeing the bird if we met directly after dinner. Uncle Charlie always swore that dusk and dawn were the best times for avian activity."

The meal could have been one of Anatole's best, but I couldn't say which dishes were served. Likewise, I can say with certainty that Angela and Tuppy were quite chummy once more, and the conversation between them, Aunt Dahlia and Uncle Tom was lively, but I couldn't say what they discussed. I spent too much of the meal ruminating on Jeeves' overly diplomat answer to be anything more than a body at the table.

"Bertie, have you lost your voice?" Aunt Dahlia asked as the dishes from the main course were cleared away. "Come down with a sudden bout of tonsillitis or laryngitis, or one of those?"

"No, Aunt Dahlia."

"Then join in the conversation, Bertie. Your silence is quite disturbing."

"I understand how chatter could be disturbing, but I fail to see how my silence could disturb anyone, old relative of mine."

Aunt Dahlia waved her wine glass imperially. "You are only silent when you are scheming something ghastly, you young delinquent. I would much rather you opened your mouth and let every inane thought out of your head and into the ether where it does less damage."

"I'm not scheming anything, Aunt Dahlia, I am simply a little tired from yesterday's travels." I emptied my wine glass and poured another. There are times when sobriety is important and times when it's a distinct handicap. If I had sat through one of Anatole's meals and barely noticed the taste, a great deal of alcohol could only improve matters.

But as dinner finished too early for me to be anything more than mildly tipsy, I made my way to the rose garden in almost full control of my faculties. It was the type of pressure that would make a hardened conqueror consider pleading a sudden cold and go hide under his bedding.

At least Jeeves was already waiting for me, but how he managed that feat I had no idea. I let Jeeves lead the way and followed him quietly. The last time I'd felt so nervous of the words coming out of my mouth, I was faced with a pack of untamed schoolgirls pulling faces at me.

Any opening gambit seemed too glib or too intimate, foolish in the extreme or nothing short of nosey. I wouldn't say that Jeeves has an intimidating profile -- once you know him, you have no doubt that he is the finest of men -- yet as I walked beside him, I could not force words past my lips.

At first, the silence felt quite awkward, burdened with the weight of words not being voiced. As we walked, the discomfort lessened and I accepted the pleasantness of the evening breeze and clear skies. It was a bit like that Yeats poem, the one that starts nicely, talking about the full round moon and the star-laden sky, and the loud song of the ever-singing leaves and ends quite mournfully, casting aspersions on all of those things.

This was a night of the first verse. The weather was agreeable, there was that fresh smell of country air and Jeeves keeping step beside me, looking as relaxed as he ever had. I stepped a little more jauntily and maybe even hummed a tune under my breath.

Then Jeeves laid a hand on my jacket, right about the elbow, and pointed (with his other hand, I mean) to an owl perched upon a branch.

"The Long-eared Owl," he said, speaking quite close to my own, not so long, ear.


Continued in Part Three

Comments

[cosmicwaffles.livejournal.com]

Certain items -- such as loud check suits or monogrammed handkerchiefs -- have mortally offended him and possibly said some very cutting things about his mother.

That sentence is clearly the best thing ever. I'm loving this fic so far. It's absolutely wonderful. I love how Tuppy immediately jumped to Angela and Honoria together.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

That sentence is clearly the best thing ever.

I have an insane level of pride for that sentence because it's just. So. True. Also, Jeeves' distaste for specific items of Bertie's wardrobe is the most hilarious thing ever so it definitely needed a nod.

I love how Tuppy immediately jumped to Angela and Honoria together.

*laughs* what can I say? I'm a slasher and the idea of Tuppy being completely bamboozled by the idea of two girls (because he would be, you just know it'd confuse the heck out of him) makes me giggle.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

This chapter is wonderful,too. Not only is your Bertie voice perfect but Jeeves sounds exactly like Jeeves. :) The other characters are done perfectly, too. It is very difficult to pick a favourite part as there is much to love, but one of my favourite parts is Bertie's observations about Jeeves and his care{or lack thereof} of clothes.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

Not only is your Bertie voice perfect but Jeeves sounds exactly like Jeeves.

Thank you. For such clearly defined characters, it's amazing how tricky it is to get them to sound like *them*, instead of od, slightly-off copies.

And I love Jeeves with Bertie's clothes. Every time he refers to "our wardrobe" I'm filled with glee.

[derien.livejournal.com]

Hee! Continues wonderful! I especially liked the 'empathic/emphatic' exchange. :D

I must tear myself away and go do laundry and groceries, and that's killing me. I don't want to stop reading!!

[out-there.livejournal.com]

If it helps, the story will still be wiating when you come back. *g*

I especially liked the 'empathic/emphatic' exchange.

I love that little bit, even though it's somewhat silly. I love the fact that Jeeves, of course, knows all and quietly corrects Bertie when wrong. But, at the same time, Bertie's friends -- in this case, his very own relatives -- either don't notice the error or don't bother letting Bertie know he's wrong.

[oxoniensis.livejournal.com]

This really is wonderful - I'm enjoying it so much. Great voices throughout.

[out-there.livejournal.com]

Thank you, hon!

[serpenatrix.livejournal.com]

Aunt Dahlia waved her wine glass imperially. "You are only silent when you are scheming something ghastly, you young delinquent. I would much rather you opened your mouth and let every inane thought out of your head and into the ether where it does less damage."

XDDDDDD Perfect!


Watching Jeeves carefully hold the dinner jacket close with one hand and use the other to slowly drag the soft-bristled brush in long, smooth strokes across the material is fascinating, and has sometimes made me wonder if, when completely alone, he's ever been tempted to whisper sweet nothings into my wardrobe.

Awwww, so sweet and funny!

[out-there.livejournal.com]

I'm pretty sure Jeeves does whisper sweet nothings to some of Bertie's clothes. I'm just saying.