Plum Pie (25 page)

"It must be young Dinah Biddle. Haven't you ever met her?"

"Not to my recollection. Who is she?"

"Arnold Pinkney's secretary."

At the mention of that name a close observer might have seen Freddie wince as if troubled by an old wound. It was a name more or less graven on his heart. In his whirlwind tour of the British Isles as ambassador for Donaldson's Dog Joy he had achieved many notable triumphs: he had secured gratifying orders from-to cite but a few-McPhail and McPherson of Edinburgh, Wilks Brothers of Manchester and Beatle Beatle and Beatle of Liverpool, but Arnold Pinkney of Pinkney's Stores had been one of his failures. He had not been able even to obtain an interview with him, and this rankled.

"Tell her to come in," said Mr. Bunting, and a few moments later Miss Biddle appeared, preceded by an animated daschund on a leash.

Those who like girls to be tall and statuesque would not have been greatly impressed by Dinah Biddle, for she was on the small side. What there was of her, however, was excellent. Freddie, whose standards in feminine comeliness were high, would not perhaps have gone so far as to place her among the absolute stupefiers, but he would readily have conceded that she pleased the eye, while the Joe Cardinal of whom he had been speaking had fallen in love with her after a single meeting-one at which only twenty-two words had been exchanged, she contributing eighteen, he four.

Mr. Bunting greeted her warmly. They were old friends.

"Come in, young Dinah. Nice to have you with us. We need more of your sort to brighten up this dingy office. My dingy partner, Mr. Satterthwaite. And-an added attraction-Mr. Threepwood, the Anglo-American tycoon."

"How do you do? I just came to give you this letter from Mr. Pinkney. He wanted it delivered by hand. I hope you don't mind me bringing the dog."

"Not at all. Any friend of yours. A recent purchase?"

"I've just bought him for Mr. Pinkney. It's a present for his fiancée."

It takes a good deal to make an old established solicitor betray emotion, but at these words Mr. Bunting started visibly. Arnold Pinkney was a client of his, but not a crony. He was a pompous man who took life heavily, and Mr. Bunting, who though well stricken in years had never quite shaken off the frivolity of youth, found association with him damping to the spirit.

'His fiancée?" he cried incredulously. "You mean to tell me that superfatted poop is engaged to be married?"

Ought I to listen to you calling my employer a superfatted poop?"

"Well, that's what he is. Ask anyone. Who is the purblind female he's marrying?"

"Do you remember when she smuggled her pearls through die New York Customs?"

"Inside a Mickey Mouse which she bought at the ship's shop. When she told us what she was planning to do, we tried to dissuade her, but she carried on regardless."

"It's always surprised me that she has never acquired a long prison sentence. For years she's been asking for it."

"Pleading for it. Do you remember that other time when she---"

"Listen," said Dinah. "I suppose you two old gossips are going to sit here for the rest of the afternoon swopping reminiscences, but I can't stop to hear them. Goodbye."

"Come, come," said Mr. Bunting, "you can't leave us as abruptly as that. Let me at least see you out. "What's your hurry?" he asked, as they passed into the corridor.

"We're in a great rush these days. Mr. Pinkney is sailing for New York on Thursday."

"Running him out of the country, are they?"

"He has a merger cooking with some New York store.

"Is he taking you with him?"

"Of course. I'm indispensable."

"What boat?"

"The Atlantic."

"I'll send you some flowers. Well, it's been nice seeing you even for such a brief time. I always relish these visits of yours. It's like an April breeze blowing into the office."

"And interrupting you in the middle of a conference."

"We had finished."

"I'm glad of that. Who was the man who said he knew Judson Phipps?"

"That was Freddie Threepwood, Lord Emsworth's younger son. He emigrated to America some years ago, joined the staff of Donaldson's Dog Joy, married the boss's daughter, and is now, I understand, a force to be reckoned with in the dog biscuit industry. You probably noticed that he gave your hound a sharp look, seeing in him no doubt a potential customer. It's curious about Freddie. When I first knew him, he was just a young fellow about town, a sort of Judson Phipps, incapable, one would have said, of anything in the nature of coherent thought, but America has turned him into as high-powered a salesman as ever breathed the rarefied air of Madison Avenue. Quite a startling metamorphosis."

"What was that name you mentioned to him? Cardinal, was it? I wonder if it's the same Mr. Cardinal I met the other day."

"Did you meet a Mr. Cardinal?"

"Yes, he came wanting to see Mr. Pinkney."

"Then that was Joe. Pinkney's his uncle."

"What does he do?"

"He works in a bank."

"He's very shy, isn't he?"

"What gave you that impression?"

"It was just that he hardly said a word. He simply stood and looked at me and made funny noises."

"Obviously he must have fallen in love with you at first sight. Like Romeo. If I were forty years younger," said Mr. Bunting, "I'd make funny noises at you myself. Well, Dinah, I wish I could ask you to lunch, but, as you know, I confine myself to a glass of hot water and the spectacle would depress you."

"And I couldn't have come, anyway, I'm lunching with Judson Phipps."

A frown appeared on Mr. Bunting's face. Normally it resembled that of an amiable vulture. He now looked like a vulture dissatisfied with its breakfast corpse. He had a paternal fondness for this girl and did not like to see her getting into dubious company. Judson Phipps in his opinion was lacking in character and serious purpose and he disapproved of him.

And yet Judson was a young man who, starting from nothing, had made good in a big way. He was the son of the late J Mortimer Phipps, the Suspender King, who sold so many suspenders in America and braces in Great Britain that for years and years the money had simply poured in. On his decease his fortune had been divided equally between Judson and Judson's sister Julia, so that now several safe deposit boxes bulged with Judson's millions and he could write a cheque for almost anything he pleased. It was a real success story, the sort of thing Horatio Alger used to write about, and one might have expected Mr. Bunting to admire rather than shake his head in disapproval. Nevertheless, he did so shake his head.

"I didn't know you knew Phipps. Where did you meet him?"

"At a party somewhere."

"Do you see much of him?"

"Quite a good deal."

"Tut, tut."

"Why the double tut? What's wrong with Judson?"

"He's an irresponsible playboy."

"Don't you like irresponsible playboys?"

"No, though the business they bring in is a great help towards paying office expenses. Judson Phipps keeps us working day and night. Already we have had to see him through two breach of promise cases. I've just written him a very severe letter on the subject."

"Has he anyone in mind at the moment?"

"The last time I saw him he was raving about your Mr. Pinkney's daughter Arlene, but the fervour may have spent itself since then. Has he ever proposed to you?"

"Oh no. We're what they call just good friends."

"Strange!"

"I think he likes them taller than I am."

"All the same, I'd avoid him, if I were you."

"It won't be easy. He's sailing on Thursday, too."

"On your boat?"

"Yes. There's some sort of boxing championship fight at Madison Square Garden two weeks from now and he doesn't want to miss it."

"Well, see as little of him as possible. Don't stroll with him on the boat deck in the moonlight. Be careful how you partner at shuffleboard. In short, shun him."

“I certainly shan't shun him till I've had this lunch. I'm a hungry working girl and I want that caviare or possibly that smoked salmon..."

"Don't mention such things in my presence," said Mr. Bunting with a shudder. "I don't like to think of them."

The lunch at Barribault's famous hotel had fulfilled Dinah's most glowing expectations. Judson Phipps might have his defects—Mr. Bunting could have mentioned a dozen—but he was a princely host. No nervous watching of the prices in the right hand column for him. He did his guests well. When they had finished being entertained by him, they knew they had been at a luncheon.

The meal had reached the coffee stage, and Judson produced an ornate cigarette case.

"Turkish this side, Virginian that," he said, offering it. "Who are you grinning at?"

"Actually I was smiling respectfully. At my boss, Mr. Pinkney. He's at a table near the door."

"I don't see him."

"You wouldn't. He's right behind you. Did you know he was a superfatted poop?"

"Who says so?"

"Mr. Bunting. I saw him this morning."

"Oh, did you?" said Judson, speaking without enthusiasm. To others Mr. Bunting might be a kindly friend, but to him he had always been a source of fear and discomfort, like something out of a horror film.

If it had not been for the padding which a prudent tailor had inserted in the shoulders of his coat, Judson Phipps would have provided a striking illustration of what Euclid had meant when he spoke of a thing having length without breadth. As a boy he had gone through the process of what is known as completely outgrowing his strength, and now in his riper years there was much too much of him from south to north and not nearly enough from east to west. Though never stinting himself in the matter of calories, he presented the appearance of one to whom square meals were unknown. He had a pleasant, vacant face, mostly nose and hornrimmed spectacles, and his disposition was unvaryingly amiable.

"He doesn't approve of you. He's just written you a very severe letter, he tells me."

"He's always writing me very severe letters. Well, I won't get this one. I'm off to Paris tomorrow morning."

"To Paris? I thought you were sailing with us."

"I am. I'm getting on at Cherbourg."

"What are you going to Paris for?"

"My sister's there, and I've had a letter from her asking me to come. There's something she wants me to do for her."

What she had heard of Judson's sister in Mr. Bunting's office had been enough to whet Dinah's interest in her. She had sounded an intriguing personality.

"Tell me about your sister, Judson."

"What about her?"

"To look at, do you mean? Sort of blonde and fluffy."

"I was thinking more of character and disposition and all that. Mr. Bunting says she's crazier than you are. Surely he was exaggerating? I wouldn't have thought anyone could be."

Judson reflected.

"Yes, I'd say he was about right. I'm not in Julie's class. She's the hell -raising type, always apt to be starting something. Take this letter she's written me. I won't tell you what it is she wants me to do for her, but it's something that'll rock civilisation."

'She sounds what you might call a live wire."

"She is."

'Then I wonder what she saw in my esteemed employer. He's not exactly rollicking."

"She'll jazz him up."

'Poor Mr. Pinkney. I ought to warn him of what he's letting himself in for. Or would you rather do it?"

"Me?"

"I thought you might like the chance of talking to his daughter Arlene. She has just joined him."

Judson started violently.

"Has she seen us?"

"No, she's facing the other way."

"Thank heaven for that."

Dinah found herself unable to follow his train of thought. "But I was given to understand that you were madly in love with her."

"Who told you that."

"Mr. Bunting. He said you raved about her."

"Old Bunting talks too much. Maybe I did rave about her, but it wasn't long before I thought it over and could see she wasn't my type at all. You know her and you know what she's like."

"Strenuous? Athletic?"

"Exactly. If we were married, she'd have me up before breakfast for eighteen holes of golf."

"She's wonderful at golf. She only just missed going to America with the Curtis Cup team."

"And on top of that she's bossy. I didn't spot it at first, but I soon got on to it. She wouldn't let me call my soul my own. It's lucky I'm leaving. No telling what might have happened if I'd kept on seeing her."

Once more Dinah was conscious of not being equal to the intellectual pressure of the conversation.

"I don't get it," she said. "You apparently don't even like her, and you're talking as if you'd only have to be with her for five minutes and you'd be asking her to marry you."

Judson hunted for a phrase.

"Fatal fascination," he said, having found it. "When I'm with her, I feel a powerful impulse to ask her to be mine, and I don't want her to be mine, dammit."

"Oh, I see. She casts a spell on you, and you wish she wouldn't."

"That's right."

"Has it ever occurred to you that she might refuse you?"

This surprised Judson. The idea that any girl in these enlightened days was capable of refusing someone as rich as he was had never struck him.

"It's possible, of course, but I can't take a chance. The thing to do is to get out while the going's good. What are they doing now? They haven't seen us? Not coming in our direction?"

"No. Mr. Pinkney is drinking coffee, and Arlene is touching up the face that fascinates you so much. Why, do you want to sneak out?"

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not. I was hoping for some more coffee, but your safety is paramount. I'll fetch the dog from the cloakroom and meet you outside."

"Do just that," said Judson. "Waiter, l'addishiong."

At his table near the door Mr. Pinkney had reached that comfortable state of repletion which Barribault's Hotel is always anxious to encourage in its clientele. He was a man of what is sometimes called full habit, not yet perhaps quite the superfatted poop of Mr. Bunting's description but certainly one who would have to be watching his weight before long. It would not, indeed, have been a bad thing if he had started doing so already.