Chapter Five

 

 

 

An early hour on Tuesday found Joe Pickering on his way to see his friend Jerry Nichols.

He walked pensively and in a manner more suggestive of a somnambulist than of a vigorous young man in full control of his limbs. Pedestrians with whom he collided nursed bitter thoughts of him, but had they had the full facts at their disposal, they would have realised that he was more to be pitied than censured, for on waking on Sunday morning he had discovered that on the previous night he had fallen in love at what virtually amounted to first sight, and this naturally disturbed his mind and affected his steering.

His predicament was one he would never have permitted to the hero of any of the stories he wrote in the evening after the day’s work at the office was done, for he was, though unsuccessful, an artist. Love at first sight, he felt austerely, was better left to those who catered for the Mabel Potters of this world— Rosie M. Banks, for instance, authoress of Marvyn Keene, Clubman, and Leila J. Pinkney (Scent o’ the Blossom and Heather o’ the Hills).

And yet it had unquestionably happened, however artistically wrong. He had met Sally Fitch only twice, but love, to quote Rosie M. Banks (A Kiss at Twilight, Chapter Three), had cast its silken fetters about him. The symptoms were unmistakable.

There is, of course, nothing to be said against love at first—or even second—sight, but if one is going to indulge in it, it is as well to know the name and address of the object of one’s devotion. Sally’s address was a sealed book to Joe, and though he remembered the Sally part, what followed after that he had completely forgotten. He had even forgotten the name of the paper for which she worked. And while it would no doubt have been possible for him to buy all the weeklies in London and read through them till he found the interview by Sally Whatever-her-name-was, it was more than likely that with his play such a failure the paper that employed her would not have bothered to print the interview.

It was in sombre mood, accordingly, that he arrived at the offices of Nichols, Erridge and Trubshaw. Fortunately his friend Jerry, an exuberant young man who always had cheerfulness enough for two, now seemed to be in even better spirits than usual. He gave the impression, one not shared by his visitor, that in his opinion everything was for the best in this best of all possible worlds. After preliminary greetings, marked for their warmth, he turned the conversation to the subject of his letter.

‘Did anything about it strike you, Joe?’

‘Only that it was very good of you to bother about me.’

‘Nothing peculiar, I mean?’

‘No. Was there anything?’

‘It was headed Nichols, Erridge, Trubshaw and Nichols.’

‘Well, isn’t that the name of the firm?’

‘Nichols, Erridge, Trubshaw and Nichols.’

Joe saw daylight, and his gloom noticeably diminished. He could rejoice in a friend’s good fortune.

‘Do you mean they’ve made you a partner?’

‘Just that. About as junior as it’s possible to be, but still a partner. Bigger salary, increased self-respect, admiration of my underlings, the lot.’

‘Well, that’s wonderful. Congratulations.’

‘Thanks. And thanks for not saying “Why?”. But I’ll tell you why. I think my father felt that the firm ought to have someone who talked like a human being instead of in the legal patois affected by himself, Erridge and Trubshaw, in order to put nervous clients at their ease.’

‘Putting anybody at their ease this morning?’

‘Only you and a girl who wrote that she would be turning up. But don’t let’s talk of my triumphs. Let’s get on to this Llewellyn thing.’

‘The good thing you mentioned in your letter?’

‘That’s the one. Splendid opening it looks to me. Of course, it’s a gamble. But what isn’t?’

‘Why is it a gamble?’

‘Because it means quitting your job, which would put you in a bit of a hole if Llewellyn decided that you weren’t the right man. There you would be without visible means of support, and it isn’t easy to get visible means of support these days. I don’t mind admitting that if I hadn’t had a father who’s one of London’s most prosperous legal sharks, I’d have been hard put to it to secure my three square meals a day.’

‘Could Llewellyn make up his mind in a week?’

‘I imagine so. Why a week?’

‘Because I’m in the middle of my annual fortnight’s vacation, so wouldn’t have to tender my resignation immediately.’

‘That’s good.’

‘It solved the immediate problem. And now perhaps you’ll tell me what Llewellyn wants and who the hell Llewellyn is.’

Jerry seemed surprised.

‘Haven’t you heard of Ivor Llewellyn?’

‘Never.’

‘The big motion picture man.’

‘Of course, yes. I’ve seen the name on the screen at the beginning of films. “A Superba-Llewellyn Production”.’

‘That’s right.’

‘But why does he want me, if he does want me? To do what?’

‘To act as a sort of resident bodyguard, I gathered.’

‘To guard him from what?’

‘He didn’t say. He became a bit coy when I approached that point. But if you go to 8 Enniston Gardens, where he lives, and say I sent you, I imagine he’ll tell you.’

‘Perhaps secret enemies are after him.’

‘Possibly.’

‘A man like that must have dozens.’

‘Hundreds.’

‘All wearing Homburg hats and raincoats.’

‘And armed with Tommy guns. Though, if you ask me, he just wants someone on the spot to say “Yes” to him. Anyway, he’ll pay a fat salary, so go and see him.’

‘I will. And thanks, Jerry.’

‘Not at all. I shall watch your future progress with considerable interest.’

‘If it simply means saying “Yes”, he couldn’t get a better man.’

The inter-office communication buzzed. Jerry leaped to it.

‘Yes, father? … Right away, father…. Expect me in half a jiffy, father. That was father, Joe. He wants to see me about something,’ said Jerry, and disappeared at a speed that seemed to suggest that when the head of the firm sent for junior partners, he expected quick service.

Joe remained plunged in thought. He was by nature an optimist, and the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune which up to the present had played such a large part in his life had not completely crushed the hope that, as his friend Mac had said, the sun would one of these days come smiling through. And this Llewellyn opening seemed to him to indicate that this was just what the sun had decided to do.

Mr Llewellyn’s reasons for requiring his services had still to be made clear. Possibly he wanted someone to dance before him as David danced before Saul, to entertain him with simple card tricks, or merely to be available to tell unwelcome callers that he was in conference, but, broadly speaking, he was plainly in need of a right-hand man, and in Joseph Pickering he would find that he had made the right selection. He saw himself so endearing himself to Mr Llewellyn, rendering himself so indispensable to Mr Llewellyn, that the latter would have no option but to bestow upon him one of the many lucrative jobs which were at the disposal of a magnate of his eminence. This would enable him, his finances placed on a sound basis, to marry the girl he loved and live happily ever afterwards.

He would first, of course, have to ascertain her name and where she lived, which might involve a certain amount of spadework, but this could be done with the aid of private detectives and bloodhounds.

Not a single flaw could he detect in the picture he had conjured up, and he closed his eyes, the better to enjoy it.

It was at this moment that the door opened noiselessly and Sally came in.

 

 

2

 

As Sally advanced into the room, she was feeling nervous, though she could not have explained why. Nothing to be nervous about, of course. Nichols and the rest of them had asked her to call, she had written to say she would be calling, and here she was. All perfectly straightforward. It was just that there is always something in a lawyer’s office which gives the lay visitor the uncomfortable feeling that, though things are all right so far, he may at any moment be accused of soccage in fief or something of that sort and find it difficult to clear himself.

It did not make it easier for Sally that the particular lawyer she was visiting appeared to be asleep, worn out no doubt with toiling over the intricate case of Popjoy versus the Amalgamated Society of Woolworkers. But she was a courageous girl, so she said ‘Good morning’, and Joe leaped as if the simple words had been a red-hot poker applied to the seat of his trousers.

Springing up and turning, he enabled Sally to see his face, and her relief on discovering an old acquaintance, where she had anticipated an elderly stranger with a cold eye and a dry cough, was great. It did not occur to her to look on Joe’s presence there as peculiar. He had told her he worked in a solicitor’s office, and this was presumably it.

‘Why, hullo,’ she said.

Joe was for a moment speechless. For the first time in the past two weeks he found himself thinking kindly of Fate. In the matter of three-act comedies Fate might have let him down with a thud, but it had certainly given of its best now. The miracle of having found this girl, first crack out of the box as it were, stirred him to his depths, and he stared at her dumbly. When he recovered speech, it was of a very inferior quality. He said:

‘Well, I’ll be…’

“‘Damned” is, I think, the word you are groping for. I suppose it is a coincidence.’

‘It’s the most amazing thing that has ever happened in the world’s history.’

It was not in Joe to be dumb or even incoherent for long. He was a resilient young man, and already he had begun to recover, and was feeling his customary effervescent self again. It amazed him that he could ever have been a prey to depression. For him at this juncture the sun was not merely smiling, it was wearing a broad grin, like a Cheshire cat.

‘Won’t you … sit down, as we say in the theatre?’ he said.

‘Thank you. Had I better start by showing you my birth certificate?’

‘Yes, do. People are always asking me if I have read any good birth certificates lately.’

‘It proves that I am the Sarah Fitch—’

‘Fitch! Of course. Fitch.’

‘—formerly of Much Middlefold in the county of Worcestershire whom you’ve been advertising for.’

‘And what’s your address?’

‘Where I’m living now, do you mean?’

‘Exactly. Obviously you aren’t in the county of Worcestershire, so you must be somewhere else—as it might be in the metropolis somewhere.’

‘Oh, I see. I’m at one of those hostel places, 18 Laburnam Road, up Notting Hill way. Is it important?‘

‘Very,’ said Joe. ‘Very.’

He was relieved to know that there would now be no need for the detectives and bloodhounds whose services he had been planning to engage. Detectives and bloodhounds come high.

‘Cigarette?’ he said hospitably.

‘Thanks,’ said Sally, and laughed.

‘What’s the joke?’ Joe asked.

‘I was just thinking what Miss Carberry would say if she saw me now.’

‘You look all right to me.’

‘Yes, but I’m smoking.’

‘Ah, yes, I remember you told me about her.’

‘She caught me with a cigarette once and lectured me till I felt as if I had confessed to murder, arson, mutiny on the high seas and keeping a dog without a licence. So this is where you work,’ said Sally, looking about her. ‘Pretty snug.’

Joe coughed.

‘I’m afraid I must advance a small correction. I don’t work here. My overlords are Shoesmith, Shoesmith, Shoesmith and Shoesmith, who operate a bit farther east. I am just a waif washed up at the doorstep of Nichols, Erridge, Trubshaw and Nichols. They let me come in sometimes to get out of the cold when there’s a snowstorm outside. As a matter of fact I looked in to see my friend Jerry Nichols. He was summoned to the presence of the big chief a moment ago, but ought to be back soon, and he, I fancy, is the man you want to see if you have important legal business. Have you important legal business? Not that I wish to pry into your affairs.’

‘No, I noticed that. It’s important to me all right. If I’m the Sarah Fitch they have been advertising for.’

‘Bound to be. Birth certificate and everything.’

‘And unquestionably formerly of Much Middlefold in the county of Worcestershire.’

‘Ask me, the thing’s a walkover. No contest. They will be dust beneath your chariot wheels. You must tell me all about it at lunch.’

‘Lunch?’

‘I forgot to mention that. You are lunching with me at Barribault’s grill room at one o’clock. Unless you elect to put in what Shoesmith, Shoesmith, Shoesmith, Shoesmith, Erridge, Trubshaw and both the Nicholses would call a rebuttal.’

‘No rebuttal,’ said Sally. ‘That’ll be fine.’ And squashed out her cigarette. She had been planning a roll and butter and a cup of coffee at some wayside tea shoppe, and, though she had never been to Barribault’s world-famous restaurant, she knew its reputation.

‘If I’m late,’ she said, ‘wait awhile.’

‘Till the sands of the desert grow cold,’ said Joe.

Jerry came back into the room. He had a relieved look, as if his interview with his father had turned out unexpectedly well. Mr Nichols senior was a perfectionist who, when his son’s conduct called for rebuke, never hesitated to speak his mind.

‘Oh, there you are, Jerry,’ said Joe. ‘How was Pop?’

‘Very amiable. He only wanted to give me some instructions about a Miss Fitch in case she blew in.

‘This is Miss Fitch, if you mean the one who was formerly of Much Middlefold in the county of Worcestershire.’

‘No, really?’

‘Absolutely. Birth certificate and everything.’

‘Good morning, Miss Fitch. I’m Mr Nichols.’

‘Junior.’

‘I’m one of the partners.’

‘Junior,’ added Joe, ‘and if you had come in a day or two earlier, he wouldn’t have even been that. A splendid fellow, nevertheless, in whom you can place every confidence. I know of no one I would rather show my birth certificate to. Well, as you will have lots to talk about, I’ll leave you. Barribault’s grill room at one o’clock, to refresh your memory, Miss Fitch. I’ll book a table. Goodbye, Jerry,’ said Joe, and was gone.

 

 

3

 

‘That was Joe Pickering,’ said Jerry.

‘I know. I interviewed him for my paper. ‘

‘A shame about his play, wasn’t it.’

‘Ruined by that Dalrymple woman. ‘

‘Oh, really?’

‘She pinched lines and upset balances.’

‘Too bad.’

‘That’s not the way to win to success.’

‘No,’ said Jerry. ‘And now—er—,’ he added, feeling that, delightful though this exchange of views on the drama was, his father would have something to say if he caught him exchanging them, ‘Shall we— er—?’

‘Get down to what I suppose you would call the res? Yes, we ought to, oughtn’t we? Why did you want me to come here?’

‘It was with reference to the will of the late Miss Letitia Carberry.’

Sally gasped.

‘Late?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Oh, I am sorry. I was so fond of her, and she was always so kind to me. What was it?’

‘Heart, I believe.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘Would you like a glass of water?’

‘No, thanks. I’m all right.’

There was a silence. Jerry was wishing that the task of breaking the distressing news had been placed in the hands of Alexander Erridge or B. J. Trubshaw. A tear was stealing down Sally’s cheek, and crying women always made him feel as if he were wearing winter woollies during a heat wave. But he reminded himself that business was business and that he was a hard-headed partner in a prominent legal firm, and continued.

‘Miss Carberry was a very wealthy woman.’

‘I know. I used to have to write all the letters about her investments.’

‘You were employed by her?’

‘For two years, as a secretary.’

‘And your relations were always friendly?’

‘I was telling Mr Pickering that she was more like a sort of aunt than an employer.’

‘Then that accounts for it.’

‘It?’

‘You are the daughter of the Reverend Herbert Fitch, vicar of Much Middlefold?’

‘In the county of Worcestershire? I certainly am.’

‘May I see, that birth certificate for a moment?’

‘Here it is.’

‘Seems all in order, and as there must be dozens of people in .Much Middlefold who will vouch for you, there doesn’t appear to be any need for a lengthy … what’s the word?’

‘Quiz?’

‘Yes, quiz. Though my father would have a fit if he knew I was conducting my investigations so—’

‘Informally?’

‘Yes, he’s rather a man for taking several hours over things of this sort. So is Erridge for that matter, also Trubshaw. I prefer the simpler method—Who are you? What’s your name? Can you prove it? You can? Then right ho, we know where we are.’

‘It does you credit.’

‘Saves time.’

‘You aren’t going to ask any questions?’

‘None.’

‘Well, I am. What did you mean by “it”?’

‘I don’t quite follow you.’

‘I said Miss Carberry was like an aunt to me, and you said “Ah, that accounts for it.”’

‘I was alluding to the terms of Miss Carberry’s will. The bulk of her fortune goes to the Anti-Tobacco League.’

‘I can understand that.’

‘But you are one of the minor beneficiaries.’

‘So I do learn something to my advantage?’

‘You do indeed, but there are strings attached to it. Tell me, Miss Fitch, are you a smoker?’

‘I don’t smoke much.’

‘It was Miss Carberry’s aim to stop you smoking at all, and she has left you this legacy on condition that you don’t do it for two years. By which time, she says in her will, “she will have cured herself completely of the vile habit.” I wouldn’t knock off smoking myself for all the rice in China,’ said Jerry, finally abandoning the conversational methods of Erridge, Trubshaw and his father, ‘but you may think differently. Twenty-five thousand pounds is a lot of money.’

The room flickered about Sally. A shelf of legal volumes which Jerry had bought to impress visitors rocked as if in an earthquake, and Jerry himself had apparently been wafted back to the 1920s, for he seemed to have broken into the dance, popular in those days, known as the shimmy.

‘Twenty-five thousand pounds!’

‘A trifle to Miss Carberry. She probably couldn’t think lower than that.’

Sally was still shaken. In a less pretty girl what she was doing would have been described as puffing.

‘I wish you wouldn’t say these things so suddenly. Couldn’t you have led up to it by degrees or blown your horn or something?’

‘I’m sorry. I thought you would prefer to get the gist without any of the whereases and hereinbefores you’d have got from Alexander Erridge or B. J. Trubshaw. They would have kept you in agonies of suspense for half an hour. My way, you get the drift immediately.’

‘I’m not sure I really do. I can’t believe it. Twenty-five thousand pounds!’

‘And a very posh apartment at Fountain Court, Park Lane. Which, by the way, you will share with a Miss Daphne Dolby, a young lady from the Eagle Eye detective agency.’

Sally stiffened. The light died out of her eyes.

‘Oh, no!’ she cried.

‘I told you there were strings attached to the legacy.’

‘I don’t want to share any apartments with any Dolbys.’

‘Things being as they are, I’m afraid you’ve got to. I told you the bulk of Miss Carberry’s fortune goes to the Anti-Tobacco League. So, if you break the clause about smoking, does your twenty-five thousand, and the Anti-Tobacco League have got their eyes fixed on it. They want to protect their interests, and how can this be done except by having somebody constantly at your side, spying out all your ways as the fellow said, watching to see that you don’t sneak a quiet cigarette when you think nobody’s looking? It’s in the will. I imagine Erridge or Trubshaw, whichever of them it was who drew it up, pointed out to Miss Carberry that such an arrangement was only fair.’

‘I don’t call it fair.’

‘The Anti-Tobacco League do.’

‘A detective!’

‘But not the sort of detective you’re thinking of. You’re picturing a hawk-faced female with piercing eyes and a sniffy disposition, who will make you feel it’s only a matter of seconds before she slips the handcuffs on you and hauls you off to the jug. She’s not like that at all. She’s charming, and you’ll like her. In a couple of days you’ll be calling her Daffy.’

‘All the same … You say it’s in the will?’

‘Plumb spang in the will.’

‘Then I suppose I’ve no option.’