Au Reservoir (26 page)

‘All the fault of that damn fool in Hastings, you see,’ the Major explained.

‘Really, what a coincidence, though,’ Lucia marvelled. ‘Just think of Elizabeth, tucked away on the marshes at Grebe, having exactly the same idea as little me here at Mallards at exactly the same time. That really is quite remarkable, don’t you think?’

‘Yes, that was exactly our thought too, worship,’ Mapp said. Clearly struggling with some sort of repressed emotion, she added, ‘or ex-worship, should I say?’

‘Coincidence, you see?’ the Major persisted. ‘Lots of it about, much more than you might think. Remember that woman who was giving French lessons? Coincidence.’

Gazing around him, he could not help but feel that he had lost his audience.

‘Well, coincidence it must have been then,’ Lucia commented graciously. ‘And now, once we have finished dessert, I wonder if dear Noël would favour us with a few of his songs?’

Equally graciously Noël said that he would be charmed and delighted, and so the evening that Noël Coward performed at Mallards passed into the annals of Tilling history as yet another triumph to have been organised and generously sponsored by Lucia. The generous sponsor did, however, wonder at certain points whether the lyrics were entirely suitable for female company, though she smiled broadly and giggled knowingly whenever the Major, Olga and Irene guffawed.

Afterwards Lucia announced ‘
uno piccolo codettino
’, and Georgie and Olga performed ‘Widmung’ and ‘An Die Musik’. Yet despite this cornucopia of musical delights, it was quite obvious that there would be only one subject on everyone’s lips as they gathered outside church the next morning: the remarkable conduct of Elizabeth Mapp-Flint in trying to sabotage Lucia’s generously provided transport arrangements.

As the Wyses said their farewells, Lucia remarked gently, ‘Poor Elizabeth, so sad,’ and Susan, charitable soul that she was, struggled desperately to think of something to offer by way of exculpation. Struggled, and failed.

‘B
ut Benjy, it’s so unfair!’ Elizabeth Mapp-Fint wailed the next morning, and not for the first time either. ‘We think of hiring a coach, somehow she hears about our idea and steals it, and then just because there’s a mix-up about cancelling our coach, everybody thinks
we
have stolen
her
idea, and somehow tried to steal her thunder.’

‘I’ll horsewhip any man who says so,’ said the Major fiercely. ‘Anyone who tries to blacken your name while I’m around will have Benjamin Mapp-Flint to deal with.’

She found the thought of Major Benjy dragging Lucia out of Mallards by her hair and horsewhipping her in the street comforting, not to mention strangely arousing. However, she would take a long time to forgive or forget the incident when he had departed into town breathing fire and brimstone, armed with a riding crop intended for use upon the editor of the
Tilling Gazette
, only to end up consuming large amounts of his intended target’s whisky, and bringing him home for lunch uninvited, memorably introducing his wife as ‘the tiller of Pilling’ into the bargain. So, while such resolute support was always to be welcomed, she valued it more for the sentiments expressed than in the hope of actual execution.

‘Still,’ he went on thoughtfully, ‘it was a pretty rum do that Coward chap turning up after all, wasn’t it?’

‘I do not wish to discuss that subject further,’ she replied abruptly.

The memory of having to explain to Noël Coward, when reintroduced to him in the evening, why she had thought him a rank impostor in the afternoon, would remain a painful one for some time.

‘Right-ho, then, old girl.’

Elizabeth stirred her tea vigorously, still trying to compose herself.

‘I say, though,’ he said suddenly, ‘you don’t think those coach johnnies in Hastings intend to charge us for that coach after all, do you?’

‘Let them try,’ hissed his wife, giving vent to her pent-up frustrations. ‘Just let them try. Why, we wrote to them and you posted it on Wednesday, so they would have received our cancellation on Thursday. Clearly whatever mistake occurred arose at their end, not ours. Gross incompetence, I call it. Yes, let them try!’

‘Quite right,’ seconded her husband.

He took up his pipe and thrust his hand into his right hand jacket pocket in search of his penknife with which to clean it out. He did not find what he was looking for; now he came to think of it, he had left it on the mantelpiece in the drawing room. However, his questing fingers did come into contact with what felt suspiciously like an envelope. He then experienced one of those middle-aged moments when one realises what one has forgotten to do during another middle-aged moment a few days previously. He wondered whether to broach this subject with the little woman but, wisely, decided against it.

There came a knock at the door and Withers entered with some letters on a tray and, most unusually, two telegrams.

‘Post, mum,’ she announced.

‘Thank you, Withers,’ her mistress replied, gathering up the contents of the tray and passing two of them towards her husband.

‘Any answer, mum?’ Withers asked, nodding towards the telegrams.

‘Not at the moment, thank you, Withers. However, the Major may require some more tea and toast.’

The Major brightened up at this and indicated that yes he did indeed require more tea and toast. As Withers bobbed and left the room, he inspected his post warily and decided that both envelopes were probably best discarded unopened. His bar bill at the golf club and his debit balance with his bookmaker had begun recently to assume quite alarming proportions.

On the other side of the table, his wife had used her knife to open her post and was scanning the telegrams excitedly.

‘Ah-ha!’ she announced triumphantly. ‘Well, there is one of Lucia’s stratagems foiled at least, Benjy.’

He looked at her enquiringly.

‘The two bridge professionals whom I contacted have both telegrammed to say that they would be delighted to play with us in the tournament.’

‘That is good news, old girl,’ the Major said enthusiastically. ‘One in the eye for Lucia, what? She tries to shut us out and we bounce back with a couple of professionals for partners. Ha! That’s the stuff to give the troops.’

‘Good news indeed,’ agreed Mapp less enthusiastically, for she had just spotted the outrageous sum which each had named as the price of their services. She took a sharp intake of breath, feeling a quick spasm of parsimony pass through her, then steeled herself. If it was one in the eye for Lucia, it would be (almost) worth the expense.

‘Can’t wait to see the expression on her face when she finds out, what?’ the Major chortled.

‘Nor can I, Benjy, and there’s no time like the present. So, once you’ve finished your breakfast, why don’t we venture out for shopping?’

‘Absolutely,’ he agreed. ‘Ah, here’s Withers now. Good show! Can’t march on an empty stomach, what?’

He attacked his fresh tea and toast with military enthusiasm.

‘By the way,’ he said indistinctly with his mouth full of marmalade, ‘what was in that letter with the brown envelope?’

‘That,’ she informed him with every appearance of satisfaction, ‘was the last piece of my flank attack falling into place.’

He waited for further elucidation but, as before, it was not forthcoming. Clearly some conversational gambit was required in order to draw the old girl out a bit.

‘And how is that coming along?’ he enquired casually, already buttering the last piece of toast.

‘I think I may say that it is coming along very nicely indeed.’

She rose and rang for Withers.

‘Nothing I can help with, I suppose?’ the Major offered airily.

‘Nothing, thank you, Benjy,’ she said firmly. ‘Ah, Withers. I shall reply to the telegrams myself from the post office this morning. But you should please prepare for two gentleman house guests on the weekend of the bridge tournament, and one gentleman the following weekend.’

At this point the telephone rang and Withers departed to answer it.

The Major stared quizzically at his wife. He could not remember them inviting a single house guest to stay the weekend since they had been married. She met his glance levelly.

‘The flank attack?’ he asked.

Silently, she nodded. So at least now he knew when the attack would be launched, though not what form it might take.

Withers re-entered the room.

‘Message from the golf club, sir,’ she announced. ‘Could you please drop in and see the manager at your earliest convenience?’

‘Ah, yes, that’s alright,’ he replied, dismissing her with an expansive gesture.

‘I say, Liz-girl,’ he said awkwardly as the door closed behind her. ‘You couldn’t see your way clear to lending me a fiver, could you?’

As it happened, the timing of the Mapp-Flint’s revelations was not long delayed as there occurred later that morning one of those impromptu gatherings where all the major figures of Tilling society found themselves spontaneously approaching the same road junction at the same time.

The Major said ‘Quai-Hai!’ as was his wont. Quaint Irene resolutely said ‘Morning, comrades’. The Padre said ‘Good day to ye’, while everyone else said ‘Good morning’.

‘Any news?’ Diva asked.

‘Not really, dear,’ Mapp said briskly, ‘just on my way to the post office to send some telegrams.’

‘Golly, what’s so important?’ Diva enquired, for Mapp’s views on the ruinously expensive nature of telegrams (as indeed of everything else) were well known.

‘More transport arrangements perhaps, Elizabeth?’ Lucia suggested.

‘Fan mail for Noël Coward, more like,’ cried Irene.

The Major bristled, wishing that he had a riding crop to hand. Yet he need not have worried for, far from wilting under this combined assault, Mapp came back strongly.

‘Naughty, Irene!’ she chided her. ‘Or – what is it you say, worship? –
cattiva
, isn’t it? Mr Coward was very understanding of my natural mistake at the fête. After all, if one is well aware that a lookalike contest is in progress, then it is hardly unreasonable to assume that someone who looks like the original is in fact one of the contestants.’

‘Ah, but he was the original, and you didn’t expect him to be there, did you?’ that hateful Irene Coles persisted.

‘Surely that’s implicit in what I’ve just said,’ Mapp countered with one of her sweetest smiles. ‘And anyway, quaint one, nobody expected him to be there, if you remember, because dear Lucia chose to keep it a secret.
Quelle surprise
, indeed,
n’est ce pas
?’

Mr Wyse, who found these personal duels extremely distressing, but had become resigned to them nonetheless, attempted to change the subject.

‘May we hope, Mrs Mapp-Flint, that you have secured some teammates for the bridge tournament? Tilling would be very sad to be deprived of the company of two such congenial companions as the Major and yourself.’

‘We have,’ she replied, with another broad smile. ‘In fact, since you have dragged the secret out of me, Mr Wyse, that is the subject matter of my telegrams. I am very happy to inform you that Benjyboy and I have secured the services of two professional bridge players to partner us.’

This remark made a deep impression, as she had expected it to, and she watched with gratification as everyone looked stunned. However, it rapidly transpired that the nature of the impression was not exactly what she had envisaged.

‘Professionals?’ Diva echoed. ‘Surely not, Elizabeth?’

‘Why yes, Diva, why not? With all you dear ones who are our regular little playmates unavailable to us, what could be more natural?’

‘What would be more natural,’ Irene replied with some heat, ‘would be to ask at the library desk for the list of visitors who haven’t been able to form a team but would like to be put in touch with another pair. As Lucia is doing, aren’t you, angel?’

Mapp looked blank. She had no idea such a list existed. Lucia looked expressionless and made one of those little noises of hers which could have meant anything.

‘Hardly a felony though, Irene, to engage some professionals, surely?’ Lucia ventured. ‘After all, that is what they exist for, to play bridge for money.’

‘How like you!’ Irene said warmly. ‘To find something nice to say about everyone.’

The ‘even Mapp’ was clearly understood, even though not expressly stated.

‘Not very sporting, though, is it?’ interjected Diva, who had gone rather red in the face. ‘Gives you an unfair advantage.’

‘Charity, Mistress Plaistow,’ murmured the Padre, hoping that the message would be understood more convincingly than it was conveyed. He had been harbouring covetous thoughts of winning the cash prize himself. As the universally acknowledged leading bridge player in East Sussex, such hopes were not unreasonable, despite the erratic bidding habits of Irene Coles and the tendency of Diva Plaistow either to fail to draw trumps or to forget what they were.

‘Hear, hear, Padre
mio
,’ Lucia said warmly. ‘Elizabeth is quite within her rights to include professionals within her team. Indeed, the rules specifically permit it.’

The others gazed at her, wondering at this support for Elizabeth Mapp-Flint coming from such an unexpected quarter. Seeing that some further exposition of her stance was clearly called for, Lucia strove to supply it.

‘This is a bridge tournament, open to all comers, not one of our little bridge teas, delightful though those are. The whole purpose of it is to put Tilling firmly on the map, and that is what I am convinced it will do. Why, surely you can all see how it will strengthen our argument for a daily express to London?

‘Are we to stand aside from the bridge world as a whole?’ she went on. ‘Are we to pull up the drawbridge and retreat into our own little parochial world, to shut ourselves off from all the experience of playing with other players, yes and better players too? Fie, I say! This is an opportunity, and we must prove equal to it. Indeed, we must prove worthy of it.’

As her address progressed, the unmistakable timbre of her Queen Elizabeth voice became clearly evident and Georgie was momentarily transported back to the village green at Riseholme and Lucia’s Elizabethan pageant, with himself, having been Riseholme’s leading young man for at least the last two decades, as Raleigh, being knighted by Lucia on the deck of the
Golden Hind
. He gazed at her fondly as he remembered. How long ago it all seemed, though.