Fic: Troubled Times chapter 35 part 2
More listings arrived from the agency the following morning. Although my employer had left the decision regarding this matter to me, I decided to bring the papers to him.
Once I felt he was awake enough to adequately deal with the matter, I placed the listings next to his plate and said, “The agency sent some different residences for us to consider. We should decide together.”
Mr. Wooster and I studied the descriptions while eating breakfast. I could see the discouragement on his face increase with each paper he read. After a time, he said, “Do you ever miss the flat we had in the metrop., old chap?”
Fearing that he wanted to move back to London, I cautiously said, “Yes, sir.”
“So do I. And I'll miss this old cave when we're gone. So maybe I'm just being too hard to please here. I really want indoor plumbing, and I am trying to take into account that you want a shelter and room for the piano. I'd miss the piano, too, but if I gave it up, I could give the strings to the Home Guard.”
The very thought of it horrified me and I sat my cup down rather hard, almost missing my tray. “V...”
I halted, choking back all the rebellious words my mind was so easily supplying. Everything from a 'Very good, sir,' said in a certain tone that I knew from past experience produced irritation in him to an outright 'I will not allow that,' came to mind.
“You look like a floundering fish that has been eating lemon, old chap. I take it that you don't like the idea?”
I said, “I do not.”
“Then we'll give it a miss.”
The search for a place to live almost forgotten, I said, “I love that piano and I love hearing you play it.”
His hand came to rest on my back and he said, “I'm sorry, love. Wipe it from your mind; completely remove it from your thoughts.”
“Yes, sir.” I wrestled my attention back to the subject of houses. “It is probable, I suppose, that we are being difficult, but I think it more likely that there is a scarcity of houses due to the bombing.”
He glanced down at the papers, shuffled them around, and then handed them back to me. “I'd like to look at the first two but whatever you decide is fine with me. Set it all aside for now and come to bed with me Jeeves.”
The “Very good, sir,” that came to my lips this time was one of eagerness and love.
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Mr. Wooster and I were playing cards when the doorbell rang that afternoon. Years of hiding our relationship made our next actions smooth and quick. I put my cards in a drawer, my employer placed his inside a book which he slid far under the settee. My glass followed it. I gave the room a quick glance before going to the door.
I opened the door to a young man, who was clutching a folder to his chest with one hand and holding an umbrella with the other. He was eyeing the cloudy sky with a suspicious scowl that declared that he expected the heavens to open up and dump rain on him at any moment. He looked vaguely familiar and for a brief second I felt that I should know him. I dismissed this notion as he walked inside. I had never met him and if he did resemble someone I knew, I could not place who that individual might be. Even as I reached this conclusion, he said, “I'm Albert Heflner. I'd like to talk to Bertram Wooster, if possible.”
“I am certain that he would be glad to talk to you, sir,” I replied.
While I took his jacket and umbrella, I compared him to his brother. Mr. Albert Heflner's hair was such a dark brown that it was almost black. Mr. James Heflner had very light brown hair that was close to blonde. The brothers differed in height with Wright's employer being taller but weighting less. The eye colour was different, too. The man that stood before me had eyes that were a very pale blue not the green that his older brother's eyes were. I remembered Mr. Heflner saying once that he took after his mother. And this one, I reflected, probably resembles their father. The shape of their faces were similar, but I could detect nothing else that would reveal that they were brothers.
Mr. Wooster was on the settee reading when I announced, “Mr. Albert Heflner, sir.”
My employer looked up and said, “What ho, Albie! Come have a seat.”
When I returned with refreshments a short time later, Mr. Heflner was saying, “I've put it off as long as I can, but I have to tell Jim now that I've been accepted by the Fleet Arm. I report in next Monday.”
I recalled Mr. Wooster stating that Mr. Albert Heflner spoke to his sibling in an inflexion that implied that he was the older brother. I heard it clearly in his tone now; the voice of an elder brother expressing concern for a beloved younger sibling. Yet he was about the same age as Wright's older brother, Dave. I doubted that he was more than two years older than Dave, if that.
I went and stood silently by the door, so I could continue to hear the conversation. The war had changed even the way people conversed. They touched lightly on many subjects; films they had seen, books they had read, and how they both missed golf. There was much left unspoken. They did not name any locations; not even something as innocuous as the address of the cinemas. Neither man talked about the reasons they had ceased enjoying golf, but I was aware that many golf courses had been taken over by balloons and anti-landing barricades. The golf course that Mr. Wooster had frequented until recently was constantly being used for training now. Additionally they were kept too busy with Home Guard duties to engage in leisurely pursuits often. The Home Guard was not given even the briefest of mentions.
After a while, Mr. Heflner said, “Telling my brother wasn't the only reason I decided to come up here. He called me and told me that you were having trouble finding a place north of London to live. In 1938, I realised that we were probably about to have another war, so I bought quite a few cottages outside London. I thought it likely that we'd be gassed but so far the Huns have bombed us. Anyway, I made a huge profit on those cottages when the war started, but I kept some of them at my wife's request. Harriet felt that we might have friends or relatives who would like to use them to escape from London for a time. Since the bombing began, she's been working with the W.V.S. and occasionally lends one of the cottages to someone who has been bombed out. I never list anything until Harriet has cleared it, so we often have places available that aren't known by an agency. I chatted with her last night and she gave me these to bung over to you.”
He placed the folder on the stand next to the refreshments and said, “This is what we have free now and if you see anything you want, you can have it. Our telephone number is on the papers. If you decide you wish to look at a cottage, just let us know. The places are well maintained. I've been diligent about it.”
Mr. Heflner stood up. He said, “Hopefully if you don't find something you like in those papers, your agency will have a place that you do like. If you can't find something with your agency or on those papers that suits, give us a call. Harriet has a lot of connections and she's willing to dig around for you. I'll be at Jim's tonight, but I'm biffing home tomorrow. I wish you the best.”
Mr. Wooster had stood up, too. He said, “Thank you very much. It's very kind of you to help us. May Fortune walk with you and no matter where you go may she bring you back safely to England.”
“Thank you, Bertie.”
After Mr. Heflner had left and I had returned to the room, Mr. Wooster was sitting on the settee with his head in his hands. He glanced up when I entered the room and said, “First Wright has two volunteer and now Heffie. It makes a chap glad that he doesn't have brothers to fret over.”
“Indeed, sir. I wish Mr. Albert Heflner's news did not coincide with our leaving. That has to make matters harder on Wright's employer. I keep telling myself that Mr. James Heflner made it through one war, he will survive this one.”
Mr. Wooster's eyes met mine, letting me see the sadness there for a brief second. Then he smiled and said, “Stop standing there, looking down at me and being gloomy. Come sit next to me and I'll give you a slightly better way to view it.”
I sat beside my employer and immediately his arm went around my shoulders. He said, “You and I could have fled to New York when things started becoming a frost and then I'd have never met Heffie to be worried about him now. The two of us have done everything we could to bring Heffie and Wright together. I told Heffie I'd walk with him as far as the bedroom door, and I rather think that I went beyond that door when I gave him instructions. The nub of all this is that we've helped them to have each other. That's the best thing we could have done. So I'm going to fret about Heffie just as if he was a brother, but I'm not going to let it make me miserable.” He gave my shoulder a light squeeze and said, “Well, let's take a dekko at these.”
Mr. Wooster opened the folder. The first page gave the details of a cottage that like many of the ones we had already rejected was too small.
We were looking at the third residence when Mr. Wooster said, “I think this may be it, old chap. There's room for the piano and there's an Anderson. It's only a little smaller than what we have here.”
“It does seem perfect, but the area has suffered damage from bombing.”
“If we are going to be anywhere near the metrop., I think we will have to live with Brock's Benefit. We live, not as we wish to, but as we can. What chappie said that, Jeeves?”
“Menander, sir, and he was correct.”
He continued, “How about this one, old chap? It's in a bombing area, too, but it is similar to this place. The layout is different, but it seems to be the same size. There's room for a garden and it says we can have the two ducks that for some reason the current tenant is leaving behind. It's not that far from where you're going to work yet I can get into the metrop. quickly enough. It doesn't say anything about a shelter, but it does state that the sitting room is reinforced. I imagine that's similar to what Dave has. He doesn't like the Andersons; he told me they are cold and attract damp. He has a sitting room with a ceiling that has been reinforced with iron and posts. It's not the prettiest thing in the world but dossing in a sitting room would beat trying to kip in an Anderson.”
I did not answer. I sat there silently reviewing our options. Finally I said, “You could move in with Mr. Heflner and just stay here. That would solve several problems.”
Mr. Wooster shook his head. “We agreed I was to leg it with you; no getting the bean all anxious and shuffling me off to Wright now. I don't want parted from you even if it means I'll be safer. You said you'd worry if I was in the city at night. Imagine how I'd feel if you were living somewhere that was treated with the evening hate while I stayed back here.”
“I understand. Let us examine the rest of the papers.”
When we had studied the descriptions several times, we decided that we would look at two residences from the papers that Mr. Heflner had given us and three houses listed by the agency.
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That night after we had shared intimacy and Mr. Wooster was sleeping peacefully in my arms, I forced myself to stay awake. Every so often I would reach over and bring the clock close enough so I could determine the time by the dying light of the hearth. I needed to know something and interrupting my employer's sleep was the only way I could gain the information.
Finally the clock's hands revealed that it was 2:13 am. Time, I thought. Still I held him in my embrace for a while longer, reluctant to carry my plan out. It was only when my eyes started to close that I moved away from him. Placing a hand on his shoulder I gave him a forceful shake.
“Wha...?”
I shook him hard again and said, “I want to see how fast you react to an air raid siren. It has just sounded. There are no lights.”
“I expect to see you in our shelter soon,” I said as I slipped from the bed and put on my dressing gown and shoes. I was aware that he had managed to wake up and was even getting out of bed because he was muttering, “Dash it all,” under his breath.
I ignored him. If it had been a real alert, I would have switched on the torch and told him that I was bringing our gas masks and the bags that held our identity papers and other important documents. I would have made sure that he had his dressing gown and shoes on his feet. Doing anything for him would defeat my current purpose, however. So I took only my gas mask and my bag, deliberately leaving the torch. I was in the cellar often enough; I did not require light to find my way. Mr. Wooster was rarely there and I hoped he would remember the torch. I wished to be assured that he would be able to take care of himself in this matter. I headed toward the cellar. I could tell he was right behind me because he was now mumbling, “Why do the Jerries have to bomb people at night? It's not cricket.”
We arrived at the stairs and he said, “Don't go down those without light, old chap.” The torch he had thought to bring was switched on and we had light for our feet.
I wondered if he had remembered to put his shoes on or was now walking around with cold feet. Sternly I reminded myself that would be the least of my worries in an actual air raid. Nevertheless, the walk down the stairs seemed interminable as I fretted over whether my employer had brought his gas mask, if he had put on his dressing gown, if even now his feet were getting cold. The thought of the broken glass and fires everywhere that were often a result of bombing increased the longing to stop and ensure that he had brought his shoes. I firmly resisted the temptation to turn and look.
There were two small cots downstairs in the cellar and as soon as we had arrived Mr. Wooster tumbled into one. There was thump on the floor next to his cot and happily I realised that he had brought his gas mask. The torch was handed to me, and he said, “Wake me when the all clear sounds as I'm not very good at hearing imaginary noises.”
I scrutinised him. He was wearing his dressing gown, his shoes were on his feet, and the bag with its essential documents was tucked against his chest. He had brought the eiderdown from the bed, too.
“Sir,” I said gently, “There are eiderdowns on the cots here.”
He mumbled something that I could not understand. “I am sorry, sir, I did not hear you.”
“The eiderdown from the bed is warmer than anything down here.”
I brushed my fingers across his face and said, “I love you, sir.”
“Love you, too, old top.”
I settled into my own cot and switched off the torch. Mr. Wooster was correct; the eiderdown here was cold. I had planned on us returning immediately to my employer's bed but as he appeared to be going to sleep here I decided I would take my repose, also.
I was weary but sleep flitted away from me. All I could think of was how well he had done. Mr. Wooster was not one to wake up easily yet he had not only managed to get into the cellar as quickly as I had, he had not forgotten anything, and he had even had the good sense to bring a warm eiderdown.
Propping myself up on an elbow, I whispered, “Bertie?”
A sleepy, “Yes, Reg?” answered me.
“Your performance was very satisfactory.”
“Thank you, my man.”
Putting love in my tone I said, “I am very pleased.”
There was a brief silence, and I thought he might have gone to sleep then he said, “I know why you do it, old chap. I don't mean this sudden desire to wake the Wooster person up at some bally awful time in the am.... what time is it anyway?”
“Around 2:30. I would remind you that there have been times when you arrived home later.”
He made a small noise that sounded like 'hmmph' before asserting, “Not recently I haven't. As I was saying I know why you get all formal on me while at the same time you're ordering the old master about. It's your way of showing respect.”
“We know each other well.” As I spoke, I shifted around, trying to get comfortable on the small firm cot.
“Which is very good, love, because there was a time when I believed that those 'yes, sirs' were an indication to me that any kicking on my part would lead to a rift between us. I saw them as stated in a soupy tone and quite disrespectful.”
“I regret to say that your perspective was not always incorrect. However there have been times in the past when I felt you misunderstood me. That has not happened for several years now.”
“Has the all clear sounded?”
Amused, I replied, “Yes, sir.”
Seconds later my eiderdown was shoved aside and his warm body covered mine. He tucked the eiderdown he had brought from his bed around both of us. I went from chilly to almost balmy in seconds.
“I need to explain to you why...”
His quick kiss halted my words. It was a mere joining of lips but my body held within it the memory of all the pleasure he gave me and immediately began to harden. I managed, “... the Huns attack at night...”
“I already know why, but the frame beefs at being jerked from a deep sleep.”
His mouth settled on mine; hungry and warm. I opened my mouth wide and welcomed his tongue inside to play. When we separated he put his head on my shoulder.
After a long moment, he said, “I'm aware that the RAF does night raids, too. I'm just jolly glad that you didn't ask me to put on that blasted gas mask. The bean was in fear that you would. I hate the bally thing. It stinks. In case you were worried about it... hold your breath.”
“Sir?”
His mouth captured my lips; sucking and tugging on my lower lip before his tongue slid inside to caress mine. For a time we rested in that darkened cellar, exchanging kisses. I was making little gasps under him when he pulled away from me and breathlessly said,“That's the first step; holding one's breath.”
“Next, a cove has to hold the mask in front of his map with thumbs inside straps.” One thumb traced my lips while the other rubbed my chin. “Thrust chin well forward into mask, pull straps over the lemon as far as they will go.” His hand cupped my chin as he spoke.
“While your verbal instructions are correct, your actions are not,” I teased.
“My actions, what? I know how to put on a gas mask, old top. You and Chandler made me practice and practice and practice and...” he placed kisses across my face as he spoke.
“I am certain that neither of us taught you that putting on a gas mask involved physical contact with another person.”
“Ah, I knew I was having too much fun. I distinctly recall that nothing associated with gas masks has been fun before.”
Placing a kiss on my forehead, he said, “I'm aware that this is a serious matter. I also realise that you are probably sleepy.”
“I believe I could stay awake for a short time longer should a matter of significant interest present itself.” While I spoke, I opened my legs the best I could on the narrow cot and shifted him in between them, letting him feel my erection.
His warm breath coasted over my neck as he laughed against me; his body pressing down on mine. He said, “Maybe I can find something of significant interest for you. Something far more interesting than gas masks.”
Eager to taste each other once more our lips met. The insistent plunge of his tongue within my mouth, the gentle sucking at my lower lip annihilated all thoughts of gas masks. Despite the loss of Roberts, despite the worry over the future, and despite the war in that moment I was happy.