‘Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, you mean.’
‘The gallows image is most vivid, if I may say so, sir.’
‘Well, let’s jolly well hope something turns up for the old rogue. If Amelia and Woody can bury the hatchet, Georgiana will bring Venables to heel and all will be well. Sausage casings all round. Plan B, you see.’
‘Indeed, sir. “All is best, though oft we doubt what th’ unsearchable dispose of highest wisdom brings about.”’
‘I say, that’s awfully good, Jeeves.’
‘Thank you, sir. It was the poet Milton who so opined in a dramatic work called—’
‘As you say, Jeeves. He must be awfully pleased to think that someone’s still spouting his stuff.’
So saying, I tooled off to the hall, grabbed a couple of newspapers, delivered them to the corner room and went on my merry way.
The only incident of note in the morning was the arrival of a repair man from the telephone company. Hoad was back in his place to shove round the luncheon plates, leaving me to hobnob with the excellent Mrs Tilman in the kitchen. All seemed to be purring along nicely towards the triumphant enactment of Plan B.
The appointed hour found me secreted in a rhododendron. This tree or shrub makes an admirable hiding place, especially when in full flower, as it was now. You can insert the person without risk of injury and at once become invisible; the genus had given top-notch accommodation to early experiments with tobacco by most of my school friends.
Woody poled up a few minutes early and sat on the bench, leafing through a book someone seemed to have left behind. The path was covered with a fine pea-shingle and gave ample warning of approaching footsteps. I had chosen the spot for this reason, and sure enough a girlish footfall was soon heard, followed by Georgiana’s fond hello.
‘Shall we have a trial run?’ said Woody.
‘Right ho. Shall we be sitting or standing?’
‘Sitting’s better. Then it looks as though as we’ve been having a serious heart-to-heart.’
‘All right,’ said Georgiana. ‘You sit there, so Ambo gets a good view of you as she comes round the corner. Then I’ll stroke your arm like this.’
‘You’d better talk a lot of rot at the same time.’
‘Right ho. Oh, Woody, I don’t know how to tell you this. My heart is yours, you dashing sportsman. I love your broody eyes and your noble nose and your charm and modesty—’
‘Steady on, Georgie.’
‘Am I overacting? I have a tendency to.’
‘Well, I suppose we have to send a clear message.’
‘So perhaps I ought to kiss you. I lean in like this and plant a smacker on your lips.’
‘Yes, I suppose so. Don’t let’s spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar.’
Meanwhile, deep in the concealing rhododendron, the feelings in the Wooster bosom were decidedly mixed. I was aware of a nasty tightening in the pit of the stomach, and it was all I could do not to leap out of the bally bush and tell them to put a sock in it.
‘But then I rebuff you sternly,’ said Woody. ‘I push you away and say, “My heart is only for Amelia. So cut out the funny stuff.”’
‘Ssh. I can hear her coming.’
Georgiana took closer order on the bench. ‘Oh, Woody, you handsome cricketer, you Apollo of the bat and ball, let me wrap you in my arms.’
The footsteps came closer and Georgiana began to lay it on with a trowel.
‘Let me stroke your hair, you little spring chicken. I adore you, Woody, you heavenly creature. Let me kiss those gorgeous lips again. Hold me closer, please.’
It was hard to make out through the twigs and branches exactly what had gone wrong, or when. But I can say for certain that it took no more than a second for the lovers to spring apart when they saw that the new arrival was not Amelia but a harassed-looking Rupert Venables.
MY SERVICES WERE required neither at dinner nor after it, so I seemed to be in for a solitary evening. By the time the ‘quality’ put on the nosebag at eight, I could contain my restlessness no longer and set off for the village. I dined once more at the Hare and Hounds, where the landlord’s mind was still clearly on the cricket as he shoved a pint of ale across the bar.
‘Best use both hands on that. Shall I carry ’im to the table for you?’
Then, when he came over a few minutes later to take my order: ‘We got some nice duck pâté. I know you be fond of a duck, young man.’
I was about to remonstrate when I remembered it was mine host’s bony finger that had cut down Sidney Venables at the wicket and sent him packing. The fellow couldn’t be all bad, I told myself.