In Imitation of Wodehouse V

 Continued from a previous chapter

When Jeeves received me at the door, he must have detected a spring in my step and a smile playing about my lips, and possibly the extra little flair in the way I twisted my wrist and almost managed to land the hat onto the hat stand from a good five feet.

‘I gather that sir has had a positive response from mister Little for Wednesday evening?’ He enquired as he set down a cup of Darjeeling and some cucumber sandwiches.

I gave Jeeves the rundown of the eventful few hours, from Bingo’s new love affair with the daughter Wittlesham, to the run-in with Honoria and the escapade in the bookshop with Eggleston, and finally to Wittlesham pater at the establishment of Mr Alcott.

‘You should have seen his face Jeeves!’ I waved a cucumber sandwich Jeeves had brought with the tea. ‘Like a Pekinese that has swallowed a peanut down the wrong pipe. Golly how long I had wished to get one over him. He used to call me a dunce and a sluggard at Oxford you know.’

‘Gentlemen of letters do sometimes forget that the Romantic poets are not the everyday reading of most people. They can unfortunately look down on those who haven’t memorised their Shellys and Coleridges.’ Jeeves said soothingly, as he discreetly wiped up a cucumber slice from an armrest that had strayed from the sandwich while I was gesticulating.

‘Well, I didn’t know how I remembered that line by Shelly – “Poets are the hierophants of an unapprehended inspiration.” See! I still remember it! Jeeves, what’s a hierophant?’

‘A religious priest who interprets mysteries, sir, from the Greek heiros meaning sacred and phainein meaning to reveal, sir.’

‘Good grief Jeeves! You do know everything.’ Jeeves has never failed me with an answer. Where he keeps these titbits of knowledge is beyond me.

‘Thank you sir. But if I may say so sir, I have on many an occasion noticed that sir does possess an excellent memory.’

‘Well, that may be true Jeeves. I certainly used it to cram in as much as I can just before the exams and managed to scrape through Oxford. But it’s like a colander – I could never retain the stuff for long.’

‘If interest has been kindled, sir, I do have a copy of Shelley’s In Defence of Poetry. It is generally considered to be a great piece of literature.’

‘No thank you Jeeves. I have a murder mystery by this lady author called Agatha Christie. Words on the street is that she’s jolly good!’ I drained my tea and stretched the legs.

‘Ah, yes, Ms Christie plots admirably. Though one can’t help but notice the similarity between her eccentric detective Poirot and his sidekick Captain Hastings with Holmes and Watson.’

‘Oh that’s good! Don’t change a good thing, I always say.’

‘Yes sir. If that is all sir, I shall be preparing dinner. Miss Travers will be here at six.’ Jeeves gathered up the tea stuff and shimmied out of the room.

With all the commotion I almost forgot that Angela was coming to dinner. For those of you who don’t know, she is my aunt Dahlia’s daughter and an absolute peach. She a tad younger than me and when we were little, she used to totter after me, all pink-cheeks and chestnut curls and would announce to everyone that she was my little sweetheart. She’s by far my favourite cousin and she had said that she’d be in town and that I should put her up in style at my flat as she had something to say to me.

I’m guessing it’s something to do with her fiancé, Tuppy Glossop, who happens to be Honoria’s cousin. I went to Oxford with Tuppy, although I knew him even before that, when he was wandering the streets, endangering the populace with his reedy voice and maniacal smile. He’s not a bad sort really, but he can be a bit of a fathead. What’s most unforgiveable is that the man keeps getting distracted by random women that he bumps into. When you have a sweetheart like Angela betrothed to you, you must be a right bit of a fathead to be side-eyeing miscellaneous females. This is, I need hardly mention, a terrible ordeal for little Angela. I shook my head, anticipating her tears and rehearsed some sweet words to comfort her with in my head.

The afternoon sun was shining through the window and the birds are chirping in the branches. Tiny speckles of whatnot languidly hovering in the air, shimmered in the rather glorious light slanting through the window. A tranquil quietness settled in. After the hustle and bustle of the day, I felt relaxation seeping into my limbs as the delicious Darjeeling warmed me from the inside and the sun’s rays from the outside.

It’s the nice, fluffy, drifty feeling you get around 3pm that says ‘it’s too late to start any projects and too early for dinner, so just relax.’ Perfect time for a juicy murder mystery. I picked up the book, laid my head on some cushions and began.

I must have dozed off, as when I suddenly noticed that the sun was hanging low in the window outside, I was only still a dozen pages or so in.

Jeeves was in the kitchen preparing dinner when I popped my head in for a glass of juice.

‘I say Jeeves.’ I said as I fetched a glass from the cupboard and watched Jeeves, starched apron and all, chopping something or other with deft, elegant movements of the wrist. The rhythmic ‘tut, tut, tut’ noise the knife made as it hit the chopping board you can set your watch by.

‘Yes sir?’

‘Do you know much about strychnine?’

‘It is used in rat poison sir. Nasty stuff, induces in humans dramatic paroxysms of the muscles I believe.’

‘Yes, that poor Mrs Inglethorp in the book certainly didn’t take well to it.’

‘Ah, the favoured poison of our lady novelist.’

‘Anyway, murder mysteries always makes me hungry. What’s for dinner Jeeves?’

‘There is a Salad Niçoise, followed by Chateaubriand steaks with a red wine sauce, sautéed mushrooms and roasted chateau potatoes, and English coffee cake to finish.’ Jeeves said as he sprinkled something into a pan from on high like an angel delivering mana from heaven.

‘Sounds like the top!’ I smacked my lips. Jeeves can cook to match any French chef. The only one who can best Jeeves in the kitchen is my aunt Dahlia’s cook, the maestro Anatole, the moustachioed French genius of the kitchen whose incomparable dishes never fails to draw the envy of aunt Dahlia’s guests. I was fortunate enough, not a fortnight ago, to have been a guest at a gathering and sampled his offerings just before the great man left for France on his vacation: a consommé like warm liquid crystal the colour of the morning sun; a tartiflette that made you hungrier the more you ate; and an oxtail pot-au-feu done to perfection; and who could forget a glistening tarte Tartin that left the party in an astonished silence of contentment while Anatole, the great artist, twirled his moustache proudly at the door, sneaking a peek at another roomful of guests conquered, nay, enthralled by his mighty prowess. Thinking about that meal, while sniffing the fragrances of Jeeves’s handiwork really made me quite ravenous.

‘Miss Travers should be arriving soon. I have laid out your evening clothes in the bedroom sir.’

‘Thank you Jeeves! I shall make myself presentable.’ I drained my glass and thought of something just before exiting the kitchen.

‘I say, Jeeves.’

‘Yes sir?’

‘We don’t have any chocolates around the house do we?’

‘We have a box of assorted chocolates from Debauve and Gallais, the famous Parisian chocolatier. Mrs Gregson kindly gifted it to us as a souvenir from her trip.’

‘Goodness, Aunt Agatha doing someone a good turn.’ I was genuinely surprised. She had never gifted me anything from her trips.

‘I believe an acquaintance gave them to her as a present, but she is not fond of sweets.’

‘Eats nothing but shards of glass and molten lava, that woman.’

‘Did sir wish to have the chocolates after dinner?’

‘Well, you see Jeeves, my suspicion on the reason of Angela’s visit is that that fathead of hers, Tuppy, has been eyeing some other woman again. She will undoubtedly be here to unburden her sorrow to her favourite cousin.’ I looked at Jeeves with a grave expression, ‘There will most likely be tears Jeeves.’

‘I see sir, you wish me to bring the chocolates at the psychological moment?’

‘Precisely Jeeves, precisely!’ Jeeves is quick on the uptake as usual. Little Angela has always been very fond of chocolates, and my guess is that a few irresistible truffles of dark, smooth sweets will elevate her spirit. And save me the embarrassment of comforting a leaking cousin.

‘Then we are ready Jeeves, I shall change.’ I marched to my room with the look of Caesar as he readied himself to cross the Rubicon. And I reminded myself to have a stern word with the fathead Tuppy. I mean, to reduce a girl as lovely as Angela to a state is really beyond the pale. No Wooster will have her cousin’s heart injured without demanding a proper explanation. If he doesn’t have a good reason, I’ll have the lads at the Drones Club belt him with bread rolls and tomato chunks from now till Kingdom Come.

When I emerged from the bedroom, immaculately dressed and cologned, Jeeves had readied the living room with a vase of fresh pink dahlias. He must have hidden some potpourri discretely around the place, for a pleasantly elusive scent floated in the room. There are some sherry laid out with the nice glasses and he must have done something to the cushions to make them look fluffier. Jeeves emerged from the kitchen, apron-less this time, looking like a freshly laundered and pressed butler as he always does.

‘I have the kettle on the stove in case Miss Travers wishes to have tea. I remember her particularly enjoying the first blush Darjeeling that we have when she last visited.’

He walked over to the curtains and moved one an inch to the left.

‘It’s only Angela Jeeves, you don’t have to be so formal with family.’

‘One mustn’t let the standard slip sir. The sword of Damocles hangs over us all.’

‘The sword of whom?’ Jeeves always like to slip in some cultural references. I’ve learned more from our chats than those years misspent in Oxford.

‘Damocles was a courtier of King Dionysus the second of Syracuse, sir. He always envied the King’s fortune to be sitting in the throne.’ Jeeves explained as he fluffed up a cushion that wasn’t fluffy enough for his standards.

‘The King then switched position with Damocles for a day. When Damocles sat down on the throne, surrounded by every luxury, he suddenly noticed that directly above him was a sword, hanging from the rafters by a single thread of horsehair. The King placed it there to remind himself of the latent dangers that come with power, even in peace times.’

‘Good grief! How do you get anything done with a sword about to drop on your melon?’

‘Yes, sir, Damocles thought similarly and quickly relinquished his privilege of sitting on the throne.’

‘And very sensible too. So you operate under that impression Jeeves? That there is impending doom if you let down your guard for even a day?’

‘That’s perhaps an exaggeration sir, but in our craft, if I may use the term, consistent excellence is to be aimed for.’

‘Well, I’ve certainly never caught you being anything less Jeeves!’ I plumped down on the s. And that’s the God’s own truth.

‘Thank you sir. I’m glad to give satisfaction.’

To chapter VI