‘I somehow doubt it, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘I can think of two reasons, sir.’
‘I’m all ears, Jeeves.’
‘Miss Meadowes is a good-hearted young lady, sir. She is disposed to think well of people. She is also quick-witted and may suspect there was an ulterior motive in your behaviour. Furthermore, she is devoted to her cousin, Miss Hackwood. She would do nothing to threaten her happiness.’
‘Even though Amelia regularly gives her a pummelling on the tennis court.’
‘Indeed, sir. I believe she is most sporting about it.’
‘Well, that’s one reason. I take it that it was just one, wasn’t it? Even if it had half a dozen subclauses?’
‘Indeed, sir, it was intended as a single entity.’
‘Right ho. So what’s reason number two? And any chance it might dash the Dorsetshire Bounder of the Year cup from my unwilling grasp?’
Jeeves cleared his throat and looked out of the window as though he had spotted something. I followed his gaze but could see nothing of moment beyond the railing of the park and a few contented deer cropping the verdure.
‘The second reason is a delicate one, sir. It raises questions of feelings contingent on your own person.’
‘Would it be possible to speak in plain English, Jeeves? I’m in a spot of bother here.’
‘I shall endeavour, sir, to …’ Jeeves coughed.
‘Would you like a glass or water?’ I asked.
‘No, sir, I … Forgive me if this appears in some way ultra vires but—’
‘You’re at it again.’
‘Very good, sir.’ After one final throat clearance and wistful glance towards the grazing herbivores, he finally gave voice. ‘Had it occurred to you, sir, that Miss Meadowes may entertain certain feelings for you?’
‘Feelings? What sort of … Good heavens, Jeeves, you don’t mean … Surely not … Not that sort of feeling?’
I sat down heavily on the end of the bed. My emotions at this moment can best be described as confused. There was a bit of exhilaration, a hefty dose of doubt, a worry about Jeeves’s mental stability and the usual unease about bandying a woman’s name. When the roiling waters of the Wooster mind had calmed a fraction, however, there was only one thing visible: disbelief.
I chose my words with care. ‘What on earth makes you think that a woman who edits books and shoots the breeze with you about … what was that chap’s name … Something-hour?’
‘Schopenhauer, sir.’
‘… and furthermore looks like an angel in human form on a quite exceptional day for angels would care for a complete ass like me – an ass, what’s more, she’s just seen manhandling her cousin?’
Jeeves passed a hand across his mouth. ‘Miss Meadowes is undoubtedly a well-educated young woman, sir, but there is nothing of the intellectual snob about her. She told me that her time at Somerville was spent mostly at the Oxford University Dramatic Society. I believe her Rosalind in As You Like It was especially admired.’
‘She mentioned something about Rosalind one night in France. I thought she was referring to a girl I knew in St Hilda’s.’
‘When not treading the boards, Miss Meadowes spent a good deal of time organising picnics or entertaining friends to dinner on a flat roof reached by way of the Principal’s fire escape.’
‘But she got a degree, didn’t she?’
‘Of the second class, I believe, sir.’
‘That’s a bit showy, isn’t it? Anyway, the point is there’s no reason in the world why she should have any of the feelings you’re suggesting.’
‘You spent a good deal of time together in France, sir.’
‘Brother and sister stuff, Jeeves. Catsmeat and Corky dine together at every opportunity. And one doesn’t want to put on the bib and tucker alone every night.’
‘I believe you hold the young lady in high esteem, sir.’
‘I do. The highest possible, in fact. But that’s a completely different matter. That doesn’t mean that I’m any more than the dust beneath her thingummy.’
‘At dinner last night, sir, I observed a look in her eye when Mr Venables brought up the subject of the south of France.’
‘A look in her eye! Egad, Jeeves, these are slim pickings.’
‘A wistful look, sir. Accompanied by a degree of moisture.’
‘Enough of this childish nonsense, Jeeves.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
‘And in any event, I feel we may well have been bandying, don’t you?’
‘It was difficult to convey my meaning without identifying the individual, sir. I might, perhaps, have chosen the form of a parable, as did the prophet Nathan when seeking to enlighten King David, but—’