A Night on the Town- dancing with the Master, Simon, and River
The weather on this particular night was properly miserable and English; chilly and wet, with rain that couldn't quite decide whether it wanted to fall or not. It was the kind of weather, in fact, that made Bertie very glad indeed that he was currently lounging about inside his warm and comfortable flat with a w and s in one hand and a lazily smouldering cigarette in the other. Though, he reflected, if he wanted to give young Miss River and her flesh and blood a proper taste of what London was like, this was the perfect night for it. Blowing a smoke ring (and grinning at the effect), he bounced up out of his chair to press his nose to the window, looking out for any sign of Harry and his two companions. Nothing. Granted, he was about seven storeys up, which made differentiating between umbrella'd figures below rather difficult, but even so.
He'd given Jeeves the night off, telling the man, quite truthfully, that he was off on the metrop. for a bit of a razzle with a chum or three. And if he'd not told Jeeves precisely who those chums were, then what of it? Bertie was- understandably- he thought, a bit wary of that. Jeeves had no idea what had transpired the last time Harry had popped 'round for a visit, but the memory of it stuck to him like molasses, and anyway, he had his doubts about Jeeves's ability to read minds. Best to be careful, he thought.
He'd given Jeeves the night off, telling the man, quite truthfully, that he was off on the metrop. for a bit of a razzle with a chum or three. And if he'd not told Jeeves precisely who those chums were, then what of it? Bertie was- understandably- he thought, a bit wary of that. Jeeves had no idea what had transpired the last time Harry had popped 'round for a visit, but the memory of it stuck to him like molasses, and anyway, he had his doubts about Jeeves's ability to read minds. Best to be careful, he thought.