“Yes. But ‘I know nothing of such matters,’ ” mocked Jeremy. He turned back to his model. With a degree of regret to which wild horses wouldn’t have persuaded him to confess, Peregrine began packing Mr. Conducis’s suit. It was a dark charcoal tweed and had been made by a princely tailor. He had washed and ironed the socks, undergarments and shirt that he had worn for about forty minutes and had taken a box that Jeremy was hoarding to make up the parcel.
“I’ll get a messenger to deliver it,” he said.
“Why on earth?”
“I don’t know. Too bloody shy to go myself.”
“You’d only have to hand it over to the gilded lackey.”
“I’d feel an ass.”
“You’re mad,” said Jeremy briefly.
“I don’t want to go back there. It was all so rum. Rather wonderful, of course, but in a way rather sinister. Like some wish-fulfillment novel.”
“The wide-eyed young dramatist and the kindly recluse.”
“I don’t think Conducis is kindly but I will allow and must admit I was wide-eyed over the glove. You know what?”
“What?”
“It’s given me an idea.”
“Has it, now? Idea for what?”
“A play. I don’t want to discuss it”
“One must never discuss too soon, of course,” Jeremy agreed. “That way abortion lies.”
“You have your points.”
In the silence that followed they both heard the metallic clap of the letter box downstairs.
“Post,” said Jeremy.
“Won’t be anything for us.”
“Bills.”
“I don’t count them. I daren’t,” said Peregrine.
“There might be a letter from Mr. Conducis offering to adopt you.”
“Heh, heh, heh.”
“Do go and see,” Jeremy said. “I find you rather oppressive when you’re clucky. The run downstairs will do you good.”
Peregrine wandered twice round the room and absently out at the door. He went slowly down their decrepit staircase and fished in their letter box. There were three bills (two, he saw, for himself), a circular and a typed letter.
“Peregrine Jay, Esq. By Hand”
For some reason that he could not have defined, he didn’t open the letter. He went out-of-doors and walked along their uneventful street until he came to a gap through which one could look across the river to Southwark. He remembered afterwards that his bitch-muse as he liked to call her was winding her claws in his hair. He stared unseeing at a warehouse that from here partly obscured The Dolphin: Phipps Bros., perhaps, where the man with the oilcan—Jobbins—worked. A wind off the river whipped his hair back. Somewhere downstream a hooting set up. Why, he wondered idly, do river-craft set up gaggles of hooting all at once? His right hand was in his jacket pocket and his fingers played with the letter.
With an odd sensation of taking some prodigious step he suddenly pulled it out of his pocket and opened it.
Five minutes later Jeremy heard their front door slam and Peregrine come plunging up the stairs. He arrived, white-faced and apparently without the power of speech.
“What now, for pity’s sake,” Jeremy asked. “Has Conducis tried to kidnap you?”
Peregrine thrust a sheet of letter paper into his hand.
“Go on,” he said. “Bloody read it, will you. Go on.” Jeremy read.
Dear Sir,
I am directed by Mr. V. M. G. Conducis to inform you that he has given some consideration to the matter of The Dolphin Theatre, Wharfingers Lane, which he had occasion to discuss with you this morning. Mr. Conducis would be interested to have the matter examined in greater detail. He suggests, therefore, that to this end you call at the offices of Consolidated Oils, Pty. Ltd., and speak to Mr. S. Greenslade who has been fully informed of the subject in question. I enclose for your convenience a card with the address and a note of introduction.
I have ventured to make an appointment for you with Mr. Greenslade for 11:30 tomorrow (Wednesday). If this is not a convenient time, perhaps you will be good enough to telephone Mr. Greenslade’s secretary before 5:30 this evening.
Mr. Conducis asks me to beg that you will not trouble yourself to return the things he was glad to be able to offer after your most disagreeable accident for which, as he no doubt explained, he feels a deep sense of responsibility. He understands that your own clothes have been irretrievably spoilt and hopes that you will allow him to make what he feels is a most inadequate gesture by way of compensation. The clothes, by the way, have not been worn. If, however, you would prefer it, he hopes that you will allow him to replace your loss in a more conventional manner.
Mr. Conducis will not himself take a direct part in any developments that may arise in respect of The Dolphin and does not wish at any juncture to be approached in the matter. Mr. Greenslade has full authority to negotiate for him at all levels.
With compliments, I am.
Yours truly,
Mr. Smythiman
Private Secretary to Mr. Conducis
“Not true,” Jeremy said, looking over the tops of his spectacles.
“True. Apparently. As far as it goes.”
Jeremy read it again. “Well,” he said, “at least he doesn’t want you to approach him. We’ve done him wrong, there.”
“He doesn’t want to set eyes on me, thank God.”
“Were you passionately eloquent, my poor Peregrine?”
“It looks as if I must have been, doesn’t it? I was plastered, of course.”
“I have a notion,” Jeremy said with inconsequence, “that he was once wrecked at sea.”
“Who?”
“Conducis, you dolt. Who but? In his yacht.”
“Was his yacht called Kalliope?”
“I rather think so. I’m sure it went down.”
“Perhaps my predicament reminded him of the experience.”
“You know,” Jeremy said, “I can’t really imagine why we’re making such a thing of this. After all, what’s happened? You look at a derelict theatre. You fall into a fetid well from which you are extricated by the owner who is a multi-millionaire. You urge in your simple way the graces and excellence of the theatre. He wonders if before he pulls it down, it might just be worth getting another opinion. He turns you over to one of his myrmidons. Where’s the need for all the agitation?”
“I wonder if I should like M. Smythiman if I met him and if I shall take against S. Greenslade at first sight. Or he against me, of course.”
“What the hell does that matter? You place far too much importance upon personal relationships. Look at the fatuous way you go on about your women. And then suspecting poor Mr. Conducis of improper intentions when he never wants to look upon your like again!”
“Do you suggest that I accept his gorgeous apparel?” Peregrine asked on an incredulous note.
“Certainly, I do. It would be rude and ungenerous and rather vulgar to return it with a po-faced note. The old boy wants to give you his brand new clobber because you mucked up your own in his dirty great well. You should take it and not slap him back as if he’d tried to tip you.”
“If you had seen him you would not call him an old boy. He is the uncosiest human being I have ever encountered.”
“Be that as it may, you’d better posh yourself up and wait upon S. Greenslade on the stroke of eleven-thirty.”
Peregrine said, after a pause, “I shall do so, of course. He says nothing about the letter and glove, you observe.”
“Nothing.”
“I shall urge S. Greenslade to get it vetted at the V. and A.”
“You jolly well do.”
“Yes, I will. Well, Jer, as you say, why make a thing? If by some wild, rapturous falling-out of chance, I could do anything to save the life of The Dolphin, I would count myself amply rewarded. But it will, of course, only be a rum little interlude and in the meantime, here’s the latest batch of bills.”
“At least,” Jeremy said, “There won’t be a new one from your tailors for some time to come.”