1938 - Miss Pettigrew lives for a day Read online

  “What’s that got to do with me?” Tony glared.

  “You happened to be one I heard of.” Miss Pettigrew glared back.

  “Who’s been calling me a fool?” demanded Tony belligerently.

  His face began to glower and his eyes to smoulder.

  “No one…precisely,” said Miss Pettigrew with cutting meaning. “It was merely my own interpretation when I heard.”

  “Heard what?”

  “I’m not at all interested in giving you details,” said Miss Pettigrew loftily. “I merely happened to think what a fool that young man was and thought I’d like to see him. Now I have I’m satisfied.”

  “Satisfied with what?”

  “My interpretation.”

  “My God!” cried Tony. He glared. “Who’ve you been talking to? I won’t have anybody going round calling me a fool.”

  “You shouldn’t act like one then.”

  “Me?”

  “Of course,” said Miss Pettigrew with a surge of pity, “it’s not all your fault. Young people never have any discernment. By the time you reach my age, you’ll have learned to know when people are telling the truth and when not.”

  “I don’t need to reach your age before I know when people are telling me the truth.”

  Miss Pettigrew smiled condescendingly. Tony went red in the face.

  “Now what are you grinning at?”

  “Smiling,” said Miss Pettigrew with dignity, “and quite kindly. But don’t mind me. I like to hear young people talk. It amuses me. How clever they think they are! It makes me glad I’ve reached the age when it’s hard to be fooled.”

  “No one’s fooling me.”

  “Only yourself.”

  “What…”

  “But there!” said Miss Pettigrew, now becoming cynical, “you’re quite right. There’s nothing to this love business. When you’re my age you’ll realize it and be thankful that you did act in the right way for stupid reasons.”

  “Woman,” cried Tony furiously, “if you say your age and my age again I’ll do something desperate.

  “But mind you,” continued Miss Pettigrew, “I think the woman’s just as lucky. As I said to Miss LaFosse, it’s a good thing she’s got rid of him. I don’t know your friend very well, but I do know when women are telling the truth. You’ve got to, in my profession. Children lie so. One gets a sixth sense for knowing when they’re lying or not.”

  “My God!” cried Tony desperately. “What the devil are you talking about now?”

  “My profession,” said Miss Pettigrew with dignity.

  “What’s that?”

  “I teach.”

  “Teach what?”

  “Children.”

  “Oh Lord!” said Tony weakly. “Be calm,” he implored. “Be cool. Be collected. Now…think. What are we talking about?”

  Miss Pettigrew thought. She pondered deeply. Concentration, she discovered, was rather difficult. Question and answer. She had an inspiration.

  “Your late fiancée of course.”

  “Edythe,” exploded Tony.

  “Well,” said Miss Pettigrew indignantly, confusing what she had thought at the time with what she had said, “as I said to her, why bother with a young man who is perpetually making scenes merely for his own enjoyment. It gets boring.”

  “I don’t create scenes merely for my own enjoyment,” said Tony furiously.

  “Well,” said Miss Pettigrew. “You certainly don’t think much of yourself.”

  “Holy suffering mackerel! Where are we now?” cried Tony in despair. “What’s that got to do with it? ”

  “Oh tut!” said Miss Pettigrew forcefully. “Be yourself. Do women usually forget you once you’re out of sight?”

  “They do not.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Nonsense. Nonsense what? What do you know about it?”

  Miss Pettigrew looked irritatingly bland. Her mind felt beautifully light and clear. Nothing troubled her. Brilliant repartee simply leaped to the tongue. This young man was no match for her.

  “Well, if you had such a conceit of yourself as you make out, it would never occur to you that any woman would prefer another man in your absence.”

  “Neither they do.”

  “Then why,” demanded Miss Pettigrew, becoming indignant again, “pretend? It’s just a cowardly way of getting out of an entanglement. A very cowardly way, I should say. Oozing out of the back door. Distinctly sordid,” concluded Miss Pettigrew triumphantly.

  “What entanglement? Whose back door?” cried Tony, beginning to feel like tearing his hair.

  “A paltry tale. Why didn’t you say before you were tired and be a man.”

  “Tired of what?”

  “Of Miss Dubarry.”

  “I’m not tired of Miss Dubarry.”

  “Well, good gracious me!” said Miss Pettigrew warmly. “It seems very odd to me. You say you are not tired of Miss Dubarry and she says she’s not tired of you…well, really, what is an outsider to think?”

  “Who’s asking outsiders to think?”

  “Murder will out,” said Miss Pettigrew with a glower. “I started by thinking it. I still do.”

  “Do what?”

  “Think you’re a very stupid young man.”

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  They glared at each other. Miss Pettigrew had never been so rude to any one in her life before. Suddenly she realized this. What had she been saying? She began to feel a little flustered. She discovered the other half of her drink still in her glass. She swallowed another gulp. It ran hot down her throat. She felt better at once. He deserved all he got. He had hurt very deeply her dear friend Miss Dubarry. She renewed her indignant glare.

  “After the way she cared for you.”

  “Oh! She cares for me, does she?” asked Tony sarcastically.

  “Didn’t she say so?”

  “Oh. She said so.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “Well, she…”

  “Ah!” said Miss Pettigrew with brilliant sarcasm. “Youth’s discernment…”

  “Yes, she did,” Tony shouted.

  “Didn’t you?”

  Tony glared. He gulped. Went red in the face.

  “Yes,” said Tony, “I did.”

  “Well,” said Miss Pettigrew, “I’ve never heard anything sillier in my life. I hope she keeps her promise and has nothing further to do with you.”

  “Oh, she said that, did she?”

  “Yes, she did,” said Miss Pettigrew heatedly. “And I fully agree with her. I don’t like to be so frank, but my age allows me a little licence. After meeting you, young man, I think Miss Dubarry will be much wiser to find some one of a more stable temperament, and more sustained power of thought. Marriage is a serious business.”

  “So you’d marry her off to some one else, would you?” demanded Tony furiously.

  “That’s what I’d recommend,” said Miss Pettigrew with equal anger. “I’m very glad she’s finished with you.”

  “So she’s finished with me, has she?”

  “Hasn’t she?”

  “Oh, has she? We’ll see about that.”

  Tony turned and glared around. Miss Dubarry was sitting near them, quite within glaring distance. She had edged up very carefully. Miss Pettigrew and Tony, talking in a corner, seemed far too important to her for her to remain out of reach. She must be on hand should circumstances demand her presence. They did.

  “Edythe,” called Tony in a low, carrying, concentrated voice.

  Miss Dubarry came up nonchalantly.

  “So you’ve finished with me, have you?” said Tony in a low, explosive voice.

  Miss Dubarry did some rapid mental gymnastics. She glanced sideways at Miss Pettigrew. Some subtle work had been going on here. Carelessness might ruin something. When in doubt, repeat the question.

  “Have I?” repeated Miss Dubarry carelessly.

  “So you don’t think I’m stable enough?�
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  “Well,” asked Miss Dubarry cautiously, “are you?”

  “Ha!” exploded Tony again. “So you think you’ll marry some one else.”

  “Well,” said Miss Dubarry, still wildly feeling her way, “I mean, I’m not in my teens. It’s time I was thinking of settling down…and if you don’t want to marry me…”

  “So you hope never to see me again, do you?”

  “Oh!” said Miss Dubarry warily, “I wouldn’t be so hard as all that, Tony. That was said in the heat of the moment when you’d hurt me. I don’t see why we shouldn’t be friends.”

  “Friends!” said Tony with another explosion. “Friends! So you did say it?”

  “Well, yes, I said it,” agreed Miss Dubarry a little nervously. This conversation was getting dangerous. She had no clue. A pity she hadn’t been able to get behind the curtains, but then, how could she have emerged with dignity?

  “So you think I’m the kind of man you can get rid of as easily as all that, do you?” demanded Tony.

  “Well, no,” said Miss Dubarry wildly. “I mean…you always were a sucker.”

  “You bet I am.”

  “Well, there you are.” Miss Dubarry collapsed.

  “I’m glad you agree,” said Tony belligerently. “Women don’t pick me up and drop me as they think fit.”

  “Of course not.”

  “I’m glad you realize it.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, what about it?”

  “Oh!” Miss Dubarry’s heart took such a wild leap she almost expected to see it jump out of her body. Her instincts were to open her arms wide and gather Tony to her bosom, but her native guile saved her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Miss Dubarry haughtily. “No girl likes to be told she’s a liar, even if she is one, but when she’s actually telling the truth…”

  “Oh well.” Tony’s eyes smouldered. “I’ve apologized…but if that’s the way you feel about it…”

  He made signs of departure.

  “Tony ,” wailed Miss Dubarry.

  “Edythe,” said Tony in a husky voice.

  Miss Pettigrew stood beaming on them benignly. She had very little idea now what she and Tony had been talking about and their present remarks sounded very cryptic to her, but the result seemed to please both of them and that was all that mattered. Miss Dubarry looked so happy Miss Pettigrew forgave Tony everything.

  She glanced round the room a little anxiously. Such a public display of emotion was a trifle embarrassing and on a lady’s part hardly quite…well, just hardly quite.

  But no one was taking the slightest notice. Every one was talking. No one listening. Tony could have been murdering Miss Dubarry instead of gazing at her with such worship for all any one in the room would have noticed. Miss Pettigrew gave a modest sigh of relief.

  Miss Dubarry swung round. She gazed at Miss Pettigrew with what is technically known as a starry look.

  “Oh!” gasped Miss Dubarry. “You wonderful darling.”

  Miss Pettigrew looked surprised. Miss Dubarry gave her a hug and whispered in her ear.

  “How can I ever thank you?”

  Miss Pettigrew was extremely pleased. She quite understood a reconciliation had taken place, but did not understand why.

  “Oh, my dear!” whispered Miss Pettigrew. “I wish you every happiness.”

  Regardless of make–up;, regardless of the importance of her appearance, regardless of the fact that Tony might inadvertently see what she really looked like, tears came into Miss Dubarry’s eyes and one or two actually rolled over, leaving in their tracks faint, black smudges of mascara.

  “Oh!” gulped Miss Dubarry. “I look a sight.”

  “You look perfect,” said Tony adoringly.

  “I’ll have to go to the cloakroom,” said Miss Dubarry in a fluster.

  “I’ll come with you,” said Tony.

  They went away. Miss Pettigrew watched their progress with a benign, maternal, indulgent gaze.

  “The dear things,” she thought sentimentally. “Just a little lover’s tiff. Forgotten as soon as they saw each other again.”

  She gave a very mild hiccup.

  “Tut, tut,” thought Miss Pettigrew; “indigestion. I must take some magnesia tonight.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  6.21 PM—7.25 PM

  Miss Pettigrew was extremely happy. She felt so delightfully light and airy she was almost sure she could make the passage to the door by simply floating through the air. She discerned a small portion of liquor still in the bottom of her glass. She drank it down. Miss LaFosse was gazing at Miss Pettigrew from the other side of the room. For the past quarter of an hour all her interest had been centred in Miss Pettigrew’s corner of the room. She had noted the length of Tony’s stay. She had noted Miss Dubarry join them. Her curiosity had reached fever heat. Then an acquaintance had blocked her vision, held her in conversation, and when next she had been free to gaze, Tony was gone; Miss Dubarry was gone.

  Miss Pettigrew was standing alone with a rakish air, face radiant, eyes beaming, hair a little awry, an empty wineglass in her hand.

  Miss Pettigrew was looking blissfully happy. Miss Pettigrew was looking too happy. Miss LaFosse knew that look. Her heart missed a beat. Her conscience smote her. Guinevere had been on the loose alone too long. She had completely forgotten to warn Tony not to judge her friend by the fur coat and the black dress; a most reprehensible lack of thought. She only hoped she wasn’t too late.

  She gave a distracted answer to a friend, rudely left him and ploughed her way across the room towards her charge, a dubious eye on the empty wineglass. Miss Pettigrew gave her a beaming welcome.

  “Guinevere,” said Miss LaFosse anxiously, “you haven’t been imbibing?”

  “Imbibing?”

  “The pins aren’t wobbling.”

  “The pins?” repeated Miss Pettigrew. She raised her chin haughtily.

  “The legs ,” said Miss Pettigrew with much dignity, “are perfectly steady.”

  “Demonstrate,” said Miss LaFosse sternly.

  Miss Pettigrew walked two steps back and two steps forward again. She managed it with commendable steadiness.

  “Thank God!” said Miss LaFosse thankfully.

  “Your suspicions,” said Miss Pettigrew reproachfully, “hurt me deeply.”

  “No offence,” apologized Miss LaFosse. “My suspicions were not of you but of Tony.”

  “A charming youth,” said Miss Pettigrew sentimentally, “if a little erratic. But your suspicions are again quite unfounded. One small drink only was all he offered or I accepted.”

  “I know Tony’s drinks,” said Miss LaFosse, still grimly doubtful.

  But her curiosity overcame her worry. She could contain her anxiety no longer.

  “Where is he?” demanded Miss LaFosse expectantly.

  “Where’s who?”

  “Tony.”

  “In the cloakroom,” said Miss Pettigrew dreamily.

  “Oh!” exclaimed Miss LaFosse with a shock of disappointment.

  “Where’s Edythe?” she asked hopelessly.

  “In the cloakroom,” said Miss Pettigrew sentimentally.

  “Oh!” cried Miss LaFosse again, excitement charging her voice. “Oh, Guinevere, don’t say it…don’t say it…”

  “Say what?”

  “They’re not…together?”

  “Why not?” asked Miss Pettigrew. “To the pure, all things are pure.”

  “Oh, you darling!” cried Miss LaFosse. “You’re marvellous…you’re wonderful…you’re a miracle. How did you do it? Didn’t I say you would! Oh, I’m so happy! I think you’re the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met. Nobody but you could have done it. Tony and Edythe together again.”

  Miss Pettigrew looked worldly-wise.

  “My dear! All young people quarrel. It means nothing. Once they got together again, it was all quite simple. All they…”

  “Of course it was simple…to you. No one else could hav
e brought them together again. You don’t know Tony when he gets a bee in his bonnet…I do. You’re the world’s miracle worker.”

  Miss Pettigrew gave it up. If her charming friend liked to talk in riddles, let her talk. She, Miss Pettigrew, didn’t care. She didn’t care about anything. She only knew she had never felt so delightfully gay and irresponsible in all her life before. Let them all talk in riddles if they liked. A habit they obviously liked. What did she care? Nothing.

  “As you say,” said Miss Pettigrew benignly.

  “Let’s go,” said Miss LaFosse.

  Miss Pettigrew felt a stab of apprehension. She turned a wild look towards the door. It seemed remote. She was abruptly invaded with a strong disinclination to attempt the passage.

  “My dear,” said Miss Pettigrew with dignity, “if you do not mind I will take your arm. My head is a little dizzy. It is the heat, I think. I am not accustomed to such a crowded room with no windows open.”

  “There now!” said Miss LaFosse heatedly. “I knew. What the hell’s Tony been giving you? You were all right when I left you. I’ll take his head off when I see him. He should have known.”

  “Oh!” gasped Miss Pettigrew. “Please. It isn’t true…it isn’t possible…I’d never get over the shame. I assure you, the heat. I’m positive the heat.”

  “There now, there now,” soothed Miss LaFosse. “Of course it’s the heat. Don’t get upset. You’re quite all right. You’ll be fine when we get outside. The air in this room is lousy.”

  Miss LaFosse took firm hold of Miss Pettigrew and piloted her across the room. Voices assailed them on all sides.

  “Not going yet?”

  “Drunk your fill already?”

  “The tap’s still running.”

  Miss Pettigrew beamed on them all indiscriminately. Miss LaFosse fended them off with easy rejoinders. They reached the door and escaped.

  In the passage Miss Pettigrew stopped and gasped.

  “Oh dear! I have failed to thank my hostess for a perfectly charming time. What will she think? I must return.”

  “Not on your life,” said Miss LaFosse hastily. “It’ll keep. And in any case it wouldn’t be fair to shock Moira. She’s not accustomed to it.”

  Miss Pettigrew felt a great deal better in the cool air of the passage.