Post-Christmas-letdown prevention gift

[weaselwoman13]

Title: Jeeves Cuts a Gordian Knot
Author: weaselwoman13
Pairing: Jooster
Rated: PGish
Notes: Includes a made-up composer, Florence Craye, and a joke which the astute will observe was ripped straight off from Fawlty Towers.

It occurs to me to wonder sometimes whether it's best for me to keep the nose strictly out of Jeeves' affairs. One wants to take an interest, of course, in what one's dear and valued manservant does outside the flat, but the last time I decided to follow at Jeeves' heels I'm afraid it got me into a frightful jam. Life-threatening, one might say. It's not that Jeeves frequents low saloons where one risks having the furniture hurled at one's head, or lurid, Dionysian orgies where goats are sacrificed by the light of the full moon, but there's always the danger -- well, I shall tell this thing properly and begin at the start.

This whole thing began shortly after a rather startling change in our formerly pure master-servant relationship had taken place. It was an unexpected, but exceedingly pleasant shift which allowed me the privilege of nestling against my valet's broad and manly chest during the long winter evenings, trailing the odd digit through his dusky locks, and taking part in various other diversions no preux chevalier would discuss in print. Of course I'd be in a right sort of pickle if the wrong person were to observe the two of us in carnal embrace, but one doesn't think about these things while Jeeves is enveloping one in his strong, capable arms and covering one from jawline to collarbone with burning kisses, you see. One simply says 'Right-ho' and accepts the situation. No, there was no question that Jeeves was exactly what the doc prescribed for Bertram.

Anyway, to celebrate this increased chumminess between the two of us, we decided to leg it to New York, where there was almost no danger of various aunts calling to foist chores upon me, or chaps from the Drones dropping by to borrow a few quid. We were settled in quite comfortably and cosily, and the whole scene was one of domestic bliss -- well, until the matter of the tie arose. You know how Jeeves is about ties. Usually I leave matters to him in the area of neckwear, but when I saw this thing in a shop window during one of my rambles through the metrop, I had to rush in and purchase it straight away. It was a nice bright pink with a cheerful sort of reddish herringbone pattern. I could tell as soon as he found it the following morning that he didn't approve.

'You'll pardon me for asking, sir' -- the dreadful fellow had taken to calling me 'sir' all the time again no matter how much I coaxed him to use 'Bertram.' He claims it's because he's afraid he'll blurt the name out in front of suspicious other parties, but I chalk it up to pure stubbornness. Anyway. 'You'll pardon me for asking, sir, but when did this article find its way into our wardrobe?' He was holding it like he'd rather have used a pair of tweezers for the job, and regarding me with the cold hostility of a mature, experienced cat forced into close quarters with a rambunctious young upstart of a kitten.

'Ah, yes -- I bought it just yesterday,' I said, trying to sound cavalier. 'Do you like it?'

'No, sir.'

'Well, good heavens, why not?'

'It is extremely pink, sir.'

'Yes, Jeeves. I happen to like it. Cheery, optimistic sort of shade.'

'Yes, sir. However, I believe it to be a trifle too vivid. It draws attention away from the face.'

'Oh, stuff and nonsense, Jeeves!'

'It clashes distractingly with the colour of your eyes, sir. The result is unfavourable.'

'Enough about the colour of my eyes, Jeeves. Flattery will get you nowhere. Put the tie out; I intend to wear it this afternoon.'

He shot me a look that said Bertram was no longer on his A-list. It stung, but one must be firm. Anyway, he clammed up about it for the rest of the day, although I could tell that he was suffering, poor man. There was a slight scent of burning martyr about him as he swept about the flat, tidying and fixing the occasional drink.

Sometime during that day I glanced at my calendar, and happened to notice that Jeeves' birthday was coming right up, so when I arrived home from the day's activities I poked my head into his lair, where I discovered him perusing a copy of the New Yorker. 'Ah, Jeeves,' I said. 'Don't get up. Just a quick word. Your birthday -- it seems to be creeping up. Anything special you'd like?'

'It's very good of you to remember, sir.'

'Tut, Jeeves. If I didn't, I would be a poor master and a worse friend. Name your heart's desire and I shall provide it.'

He looked as if he wanted to request the immediate destruction of my pink tie, but instead he said, 'There is a particular concert I wish to hear, sir. It takes place on the Wednesday following my birthday.'

'Aha, say no more, Jeeves. Your ticket for this performance is compliments of Bertram.'

'Thank you, sir.'

I withdrew and left him alone with his thoughts -- which probably involved either the average lifespan of the giant anteater, the political history of Russia, or the temperature at which pink silk (with herringbone pattern) burns -- or, with a brain that size, all three. But a moment later something else occurred to me, and so I re-entered his domain.

'I say, Jeeves -- you couldn't order a couple of tickets, could you? I mean to say, is it all right if I tag along?'

'You are certainly welcome, sir,' he said, 'although I have my doubts regarding the entertainment value this particular performance would hold for a gentleman of your tastes.'

'Nonsense, Jeeves; I like a nice tune as much as the next bloke. Anyway, I've nothing to do Wednesday evenings and it would be dreadfully boring to sit around the flat alone.'

'Very good, sir. I am delighted to see you take an interest in cultural entertainments.'

So that was that. Wednesday evening eventually rolled around, as Wednesday evenings do, and we were off into the heart of the metrop for this music.

Well, I say 'the heart of the metrop,' but I probably ought to say 'just round the back of its kidneys,' because the venue for this thing was pretty far out of the way. It was held inside a tiny little theater which you would have walked straight by without even noticing it, had you been there on any other mission. We entered the building, which had a musty-smelling brick interior, and clambered into hard, slightly moth-gnawed chairs which were pushed so closely together you were practically sitting in the lap of the person next to you. Which would have been dandy if Jeeves was sitting on either side of me, but such was not the case, seeing as how there's only one of him.

'Tight squeeze, eh, Jeeves?'

'Indeed, sir.' I felt especially sorry for him, as he's not a shrimpy fellow, Jeeves. He looked a bit like a caribou sitting astride a toadstool. 'Although the venue is not an ideal one, I am extremely grateful for the opportunity to hear this concert. I have been an admirer of Janöszhegzcy's work for some time.'

I must say, I wasn't looking forward to the entertainment with such rabid anticipation as his. We were about to hear 'Four Preludes and Thingummies for Cello and Something-or-other in Something Minor' by a Mr. Janöszhegzcy, a name with far too many consonants in it for my liking -- must be Welsh or something. I must remember to ask Jeeves about that. But it was a much more daunting title than, say, 'Who Kissed Me Last Night at the Masquerade Ball?' and I was beginning to wonder exactly what I had gotten myself into. This feeling increased exponentially when I caught sight of the familiar profile of Lady Florence Craye, of all people, with her betrothed, D'arcy 'Stilton' Cheesewright (fellow with a temperament like a rhino and a head like a pumpkin).

I was suddenly stricken with the urge to dive beneath my uncomfortable chair. Although she was safely affianced to Stilton at the moment, my natural reaction to Florence is one of terror, as there's always the chance she might try and marry me. It's happened too many times for comfort. Of course, Florence is an extremely attractive girl in many ways and I was once very much in love with her -- but she is one of those girls who, besides being exceedingly brainy and insisting on shoving philosophical treatises at you, thinks she is some sort of junior Alexander the Great figure and has the peculiar drive to conquer entire civilizations and rule them with an iron fist. And Bertram, as you know, takes orders from no one. Except Aunt Agatha. And Aunt Dahlia. And Aunt Charlotte. Well, all right, Bertram takes orders -- but would you really like to be married to an aunt? I suppose someone's got to marry them, but it isn't me. Anyway, I've got Jeeves.

'Oh, my Lord,' I said, gripping said paramour's shoulder with blanched knuckles. 'Jeeves -- Lady Florence is here!'

'Indeed, sir?' While he did not actually jump out of his seat and scream 'Good golly,' his reaction was not positive.

'Thank goodness she's sitting all the way over there. I wonder what she's doing in New York?'

'I could not say, sir.'

Soon the lights went down and the stage became occupied by a band of sombre-looking coves with stringed instruments, so I settled back against Jeeves (a brighter option than settling back against my chair, as not only did the thin cushions completely fail in their mission to make the thing feel like anything nicer or softer than a slab of unyielding granite, much of it was currently occupied by the lady seated next to me, who seemed unable to keep her limbs to herself) and prepared for an evening's entertainment.

I suppose it was just the thing to suit brainy birds like Jeeves, but it didn't really appeal to me. Perhaps you've been awakened at some point in your life by the sound of a housecat chasing a moth across a piano keyboard? This was a bit like that, only imagine the cat running across a small-scale orchestra instead. Quite the racket. I couldn't really see the point and about halfway through the production I must have dozed off, because the next thing I was aware of was a lot of applause and the uncomfortable sensation of Jeeves' shoulder, which I had apparently been using as a pillow, making a deep indentation on my cheek.

'Dreadfully sorry, Jeeves,' I said, jerking the coconut ceilingward and beginning to applaud.

'I felt it unavoidable, sir, due to the lack of a banjolele among the musicians.'

I ignored the cheeky remark and continued to laud the hard-working troubadours. When they had been sufficiently adored I started to hurry along, dragging Jeeves behind me, eager to get out of there before Florence caught my scent. I don't understand how she did it, but she caught up with us and thrust herself into our path.

'Why, Bertie!' she said.

'Florence, old thing!' I said after I got the vocal cords working. 'I didn't know you were in New York!'

'My father's here for some business. I'm certainly surprised to see you here, Bertie!' She looked at me with distinctly gooey eyes. It made me greatly regret the beastly rules that forbade me from planting one on Jeeves' lips right there in front of everyone, thereby informing Lady Florence that Bertram was not available. 'It's unusual to see you taking an interest in real music.'

'Well, you know,' I said with a laugh utterly devoid of mirth.

'Did you enjoy it?'

'Well, it certainly was -- er...'

'I was quite impressed. It's an amazing change from his earlier work, don't you think?'

'Oh, rather, yes.'

'Well, I must fly, Bertie. D'arcy's waiting for me outside.'

'Ah -- so, you and Stilton still going to be hitched, I take it?'

'Yes, I suppose so.' She looked horribly bored as she said this, and I felt the blood chill. 'He doesn't appreciate Janöszhegczy's work the way you do, Bertie.'

'Well, it's...'

'But never mind. I'm very happy with D'arcy and you must try to remove me from your mind, as difficult as it is. I must go. Goodbye, Bertie.'

'Toodle-pip, Florence,' I said with a rather sickly smile. Jeeves and I exchanged a glance. Words were not needed. We were both thinking more or less the same thing, which was: grim tidings, what? I mean to say, dash it! One simply isn't safe to go out in public with menaces like Florence about!

It was when I was sitting about the flat the following day that the other shoe dropped and I was cast headfirst into my smoldering Gehenna. The telephone rang. Normal enough thing to happen; no cause for alarm. Jeeves answered. No surprises there either. He then announced that it was Lady Florence wishing to speak to me, which is where I began to get suspicious.

'What-ho, Florence,' I said.

'Bertie, it's all over between D'arcy and me.'

I panicked and nearly dropped the receiver. 'What?! Do you mean to say -- surely not, dash it!' Jeeves looked on with the brow furrowed in the faintest hint of disquiet.

'Yes, finished!'

'But why?'

'He and I got into an argument about the future of avant-garde music. He's a pigheaded imbecile, Bertie. That is why I intend to marry you.'

'No! I mean -- er -- it's rather sudden, isn't it?'

'Certainly not. D'arcy has been irritating me for quite some time now, and, of course, you've been in love with me since the day we met. It's inevitable, Bertie. Anyway, I must go -- I'm rather busy working on my latest novel. You must take me out to dinner soon.'

'Right-ho,' I said like a man on his way to the gallows.

'Goodbye, Bertie!'

'Goodbye, Florence.' I replaced the receiver and looked towards Jeeves. 'Oh, Jeeves,' I choked. 'Florence is going to marry me!'

'I gathered as much from the tone of the conversation, sir.'

'Well, I can't marry Florence! We can't go on being -- er -- such jolly good chums with Florence hanging around, what?!'

'No, sir.' And that was it! The man could be dashed exasperating. I do think enough of myself that I wish he'd put up a bit more of a fight at the thought of saying 'So long' to Bertram, but Jeeves simply doesn't. 'You must think of something, Jeeves!' I flung my arms around his neck. 'I would perish without you! Life would be nothing but black despair! I would be a hollow shell of a man! I would --'

He saw fit to shut me up with a kiss on the lips. Well, one does babble when one is under great emotional duress. 'If you will pardon me for interrupting,' he said, gazing at me with eyes shimmering with intelligence and stroking the Wooster locks in a pacifying manner, 'I believe that I may have a possible solution to your predicament.'

'That quickly? You're a wonder!'

'Thank you, sir.' He slid a hand down my back and I cosied up to him, resting the bean upon his shoulder -- putty in his hands, as it were. Having Florence brandished at me had given me the peculiar urge to attach myself to Jeeves like a barnacle to the hull of a particularly attractive schooner. 'My plan hinges upon your reaction to the concert of the previous evening. You did not enjoy it, sir.'

'I'm dashed sorry about that, Jeeves.' I was still a bit embarrassed about losing consciousness like that. After all, wretched as the racket was to the Wooster auricles -- if auricles is the word I mean; I always get it confused with the other one, the thing I understand they're pretty well-stocked with at Delphi -- it seemed to be Jeeves' bread and butter, and one doesn't like one's bread and butter sneezed at. Literally or figuratively. 'It just wasn't my sort of -- well, you know.'

'Of course, sir. I did not believe that it would interest you. However, it occurs to me that if you were to accompany Florence to another performance of Mr. Janöszhegzcy's work...'

'There's another one?' I masticated the upper l. What was the world coming to?

'Yes, sir -- this Friday, at another small theater on West Broadway Avenue.'

'Likes his small theaters, doesn't he, Janöszhegzcy?'

'Yes, sir. Mr. Janöszhegzcy believes that the intimate atmosphere is necessary for the complete experience and enjoyment of his artistry.'

Personally I reckoned it was because the big-name venues weren't keen on having that clamour rattle their walls, and I felt dashed unpleasant about entering any intimate atmosphere with Florence, but I held the tongue and didn't kick. 'Oh, I see,' I said. 'Carry on, then.'

'Were Miss Craye to observe your reaction to the performance, and to attempt to discuss it with you, she would doubtless be disappointed to discover that you do not share as many musical interests as previously supposed.'

'I say, Jeeves. You're right!'

'The effect would be enhanced were you to entertain her on the way there with your renditions of "Forty-Seven Ginger-Headed Sailors" and "I Want An Automobile With A Horn That Goes Toot Toot Toot," sir.'

'Brilliant, Jeeves!' I beamed at him, with the eyes, no doubt, brimming with gratitude. His mug remained modestly impassive. 'Order the tickets, and I'll call Florence.'

When the evening of the concert arrived, I had dressed in a sharpish suit with my new pink tie, but as I examined myself in the full-length mirror, I had second thoughts. 'You know, Jeeves,' I said, 'perhaps I shouldn't wear this tie. I don't know if it goes with the suit.'

I expected him to agree whole-heartedly and rip the tie from me before I could say another word, but he cleared his throat in a way which was not wholly positive. 'In fact, I would recommend wearing the item, sir.'

'Really, by Jove? Warming up to it, are you?'

'No, sir.'

'Well, then, why are you backing it all of a sudden?'

'The tie is entirely inappropriate for the occasion, sir. It will garner Miss Craye's disapproval.'

I bristled. 'And exactly how is the tie inappropriate for the occasion, my good man?'

'It is inappropriate for any occasion, sir.'

'What rot!' I cried.

'Very good, sir.'

I was about to remove the tie, when the rummiest thing occurred to me. If I wore the tie, I would be agreeing with Jeeves that the thing was only good for fending off unwanted advances from the opposite sex. But if I took the tie off, Jeeves wouldn't have to look at it any longer and I'd be doing exactly what he wanted. He'd won either way, blast it! I kept the tie on, just to be on the safe side, and set out to collect Florence and repair to the auditorium.

Well, this time the seats were quite plush and comfortable, but we were in the dead center of the front row. I thought Jeeves must be some kind of VIP to get us a spot like this, but then I remembered what we were here to hear -- 'Moonlit Experiment in Something-or-other,' I think it was. The only instruments I could see on the stage were two pianos, a tambourine, a gamelan, and a jug. It would be a long evening.

The front row was so close to the action that when the musicians came out I could have reached out and tied their shoelaces together if I wanted to. Janöszhegzcy himself wasn't present this time (I would have recognized him, as he conducted at his last gig -- very short, swarthy fellow with a substantial bit of nose on his face), so I felt slightly better about being whisked a second time off to dreamland during the performance. I was really trying to stay awake, so that I could look bored and deliver the occasional barbed bon mot about the tune to Florence, but they weren't two notes into the thing before I found myself physically unable to hold the two eyelids apart, and collapsed. I had quite a good snooze and was awakened by a pat on the shoulder from Florence and my name being murmured into my ear. 'What? Where...oh! What-ho, Florence.'

She gazed at me for a few moments, and then she smiled, and laughed, of all things! 'Oh, Bertie,' she giggled (my heart distinctly plummets when they giggle), 'how wonderful you are!'

'Er -- sorry?'

'I really admire you for making a statement like that. Frightfully rude, of course, but it needed to be said.'

I blinked at her, wondering if I had talked in my sleep.

'I agree with you,' she went on. 'Terrible performance and not at all the way Janöszhegzcy intended it -- I know, because I have heard a performance of this particular work conducted by Janöszhegzcy, and it was completely different. They slowed the tempo so much that it was nearly unbearable, don't you think? Oh, do let's go. It was a rotten concert, but you did tell them, didn't you, Bertie?' She gave a cold guffaw. 'One of the pianists looked as if he would disembowel you! But then again, that could have been because of that tie you're wearing. Oh, Bertie, you're an absolute scream!'

It was with a heavy heart and a rather fuzzy head that I returned to the flat that evening. 'Jeeves?' I called. His various molecules assembled before my eyes.

'Good evening, sir,' he said.

'That depends on your point of view, Jeeves,' I said, sinking into a chair. 'I'm afraid your plan backfired.

'Indeed, sir?'

I told him all.

'Most disturbing, sir,' he said with nary a quaver in his voice upon the conclusion of my tale of woe. 'This is regrettable, especially so considering the extra precautions I had taken.'

'Extra precautions, Jeeves?'

'I took the liberty of introducing a very small quantity of a sedative narcotic to the cup of tea you enjoyed immediately prior to leaving the flat.'

'Good lord, Jeeves! Knock-out drugs?!' I goggled at the man.

'Yes, sir. I am rarely without a supply. I am familiar with the piece, sir. It is extremely invigorating, but not conducive to restful sleep. I did not want it to keep you awake.'

'Good heavens, Jeeves,' I said. 'Warn me before you go slipping pills into the food and drink, will you? I did wonder why I felt a bit strange. Anyway, it was all for naught. I snored all the way through "Moonlit Thingummy" and Florence still plans to marry me.'

'Indeed, sir,' he said gravely.

'But we'll sleep on it, eh? I'm sure we'll think of some other way out of this.'

'I shall endeavour to find a solution, sir,' he said, and buzzed off to run me a piping hot b.

Jeeves woke me with my tea the following morning, and, feeling awfully like I'd had another dose of those knock-out drugs, I glanced at the clock. It was practically the middle of the night, and I was about to inquire whether the building was being evacuated when Florence entered. Jeeves, behind her, gave her a positively glacial glance (he's awfully good at those; I sometimes wonder whether he ought to be employed saving small tropical villages from erupting volcanoes by looking at them) and exited stage right.

'Good heavens, Bertie, you are a sluggard, aren't you? But never mind. I won't let you lounge about this late when we're married.'

I shivered involuntarily.

'What did you say, darling?'

'Nothing. There's a bit of a draft.'

'Well, I've so much to do today; I can't stay long, but I wanted to tell you to meet me at my father's house at five o' clock this afternoon for tea. Can you make it, Bertie?'

'Ah, well, Florence, old thing --'

'Good. Jeeves has the address. Can't wait to see you there, Bertie. There are a few things we need to discuss about the wedding.' I flinched as if struck, but she took no notice. 'I must be off now. I'm meeting with a book publisher about my latest novel. Goodbye, Bertie!' She whisked off and left me a battered wreck in her wake. I propped myself up on the pillows, sipped my cuppa moodily, and attempted to reassemble myself.

Jeeves oozed in and began laying out the day's clothing. 'I'm doomed, Jeeves,' I said.

'Not entirely, sir,' he said. 'An idea suggested itself to me only this morning.'

'Oh, really?' I brightened. 'And what did it suggest?'

'Miss Craye is possessed of an extremely commanding personality.'

'You can say that again. Like an aunt.'

'Yes, sir. In my experience with Miss Craye, she has shown herself to value obedience and punctuality. She once reduced a housemaid of my acquaintance to tears by reprimanding her for tardiness in the completion of her duties.'

'Really, Jeeves?!' I'm beginning to wonder how I ever convinced myself I was in love with this female. Folly of one's youth, and all that, but still, I mean, dash it!

'Yes, sir. It is my opinion that Miss Craye's feelings toward you would chill perceptibly were you to fail to appear at Lord Worplesdon's residence this afternoon.'

'Stand her up, eh, Jeeves? I say, it's jolly simple, and I believe you're right. Remember when I failed to dispose of that manuscript that needed disposing of?'

'I recall it with great vividity, sir.'

'She hit the ceiling, by Jove! Yes, I'm sure that this will do the trick. Thank you, Jeeves; I don't know where I'd be without you. Well -- married to Florence, I expect.'

'A grim supposition, sir.'

So the afternoon faded into evening and I was relaxing on the sofa with a glass in one hand and a newspaper in the other, curled up next to Jeeves, who was immersed in some novel the size of a paving stone by Dostoievsky. (You have no idea how strange it is to see Jeeves relaxing. In his previous days of strictest servitude it simply wasn't done.) I finished the paper and tossed it aside, then snaked an arm around Jeeves. 'This is bally nice,' I remarked. 'Liberating, don't you know. Sort of a rush, knowing that I'm supposed to be over there discussing wedding dresses and things at this very moment, and in no time the Florencian explosion will come and I shall be free.'

'Indeed, sir,' he said, 'if events unfold according to plan.'

'Well, why shouldn't they?' I said with a yawn. We were then interrupted by the jingle of the telephone. 'Aha. You see, Jeeves? I'll answer it. I expect that's Florence.' I leapt up and lifted the contraption with a buoyant heart.

'Hello, Bertie?'

'Hello, Florence!'

'I've just called to apologise. I completely forgot about you.'

'Eh?'

'My father was invited out, you see, and I discovered at the very last minute that I had an extremely important meeting with this American publisher which I simply couldn't miss, so I'm dreadfully sorry that I didn't let you know, Bertie. I hope I didn't inconvenience you too badly.'

'Oh. Oh, no, not at all.'

'Good. I'll call on you sometime tomorrow, then. Goodbye!'

I stared at the receiver in dismay and replaced it. 'Jeeves,' I said, 'once again, it would seem we are scuppered.'

Just after he mixed me up a quick restorative there was a knock on the door. Jeeves levitated out of his seat and floated over to open it. There was on the other side of the portal a large orange pumpkin attached to the neck and body of a human being. It was Stilton Cheesewright.

'Ah, Stilton!' I don't mind telling you that there was a slight break in the voice as I said these words. Stilton is what is known in literary circs as an Othello when it comes to his romantic life. Some fellows' first impulse when they are bereft of the girl they love is to drink rather a lot and do some heavy-duty moping. Stilton's is to go out and begin systematically slaughtering the populace, beginning with Bertram.

'Wooster,' he snorted.

'Stilton, old chap.'

'Wooster.'

'Er, Stilton. Still in the police force, are you? Wearing the badge and protecting the downtrodden and so forth?'

'Yes.' He eyed the tumbler in my right hand. 'Still a miserable drunkard, I see, Wooster. I could arrest you for having that, you know. Normally I'd warn you about what that stuff does to your stomach lining, but today I hope it eats right through and you die a very painful death!'

He made a quick lunge in my direction and I leapt behind the sofa. 'Oh, come now, Stilton; there's no need for that, is there?'

'Once again you've stolen Florence from me, Wooster,' he said, the orange of his complexion shifting in the reddish direction and steam practically pouring out his ears. 'If you don't release her from your loathsome clutches immediately, I plan to take your head and rotate it backwards so you can see me while I'm breaking your ruddy spine!'

'Steady on, Stilton!'

'You heard me, Wooster. Mark my words -- if you marry Florence, I shall rend you asunder.'

'Can't we talk this over like gentlemen, Stilton?'

'We just have. Goodbye, Wooster.'

'Er -- yes -- goodbye, Stilton.'

I stared as Jeeves showed the menace out into the hall, vanished for a few moments, and then returned, closing the door behind him. 'This is madness!'

'Most disturbing, sir.'

'If I'm not disengaged from Florence very soon, it looks as if I'm not going to be around for the bachelor party!'

'No, sir.'

The evening following this one found Bertram in an exceedingly antsy state of mind, and I needed to get away from it all for a bit. 'I'm going out for a quick drink at the Pumpkin Club before dinner, Jeeves,' I said. 'I'll try and burnish the brain a bit; see if I can think of anything -- fate seems against you in this particular problem.'

'I have met with considerable adversity indeed, sir.'

'But if you do think of anything, don't hesitate to blurt it out. I shall take drastic measures if necessary.'

'Of course, sir.'

I set off into the metrop to enjoy a smoke and a few moments' peace in the Pumpkin Club (peering round corners with a looking glass for Stilton, of course). Despite this thing they have in America called 'prohibition,' where you're not allowed a snootful, you can still get a drink -- you just have to use secret passwords and code names and things, which is all rather exciting. After I had gotten sufficiently relaxed and the slightest bit lighthearted, having consumed an adequate quantity of the stuff, I ambled home to consult with Jeeves about this situation of ours.

Well, at least, that had been my intention, but the trouble with the stuff is that it doesn't make you want to think very hard. So when I walked in and found Jeeves standing there, looking crisp and pressed and perfect, with his head sticking out at the back and his finely-chiseled features set into a mask of quietude and calm, I felt distinctly light-headed as well as light-hearted, and was rather lost for intelligent conversation. More so than I usually am, I mean.

'Oh, Jeeves,' was all I could manage, looking at him with a rather brainless grin despite our circumstances.

He looked at me with his lips slightly quirked. 'Sir?'

'Whatever happens, nothing's going to keep us away from each other, what?'

'Certainly not, sir.' He hovered over to me and his manly upper limbs encircled my sylphlike waist.

'Wild horses couldn't drag us apart,' I continued. 'Banjoleles, perhaps. But not Florence.'

'No, sir,' he said emphatically, staring significantly into my eyes, and pressed my body to his, and, well, suddenly Florence was the last thing on my mind, if you catch my drift. My hands found their way to a more southerly area of his person. He continued caressing me with one hand while his other seized my tie and used it to guide my head closer to his so that he could kiss me (and I can tell you honestly that one cannot say he has been kissed until he has been kissed by Jeeves). When I began fiddling with the button on his trousers he manoeuvred me into the master bedroom.

Things continued in that direction, and soon I had forgotten all about my troubles, until I could have sworn I heard something -- and this definitely worried me, as Jeeves (in his shirtsleeves and only looking slightly ruffled, with a button undone here and there) had pinned my arms -- and most of the rest of me, come to think of it -- to the mattress. My shirt was unbuttoned and my trousers were draped unceremoniously over the nightstand, and we were both pretty worked-up, if you know what I mean. It would have looked -- well -- suspicious, to say the very least.

'Jeeves,' I said a bit breathlessly as he stroked my ribcage slowly with a substantial paw. 'Did you hear something?'

'No, sir,' he said, and once again affixed his lips to mine. I had begun to grind my hips against his, producing the most delightful sensation you could imagine, and had slipped a hand down his back when I was quite sure I heard a definite noise -- and what it said was enough to make me jump right out of my skin.

'BERTIE!'

'FLORENCE!' I screamed, groping for a pillow and concealing myself with it. To my horror, she was standing there, pale-faced and agape, in the doorway.

'Good lord, I just let myself in -- I didn't know -- oh, my god -- excuse me.' She sounded as though she would faint, but zipped out of the flat as if it were on fire.

'I -- but -- oh, dear lord -- Jeeves! How did...er...how did she get in here?'

'Unfortunately, sir, it appears that I carelessly neglected to lock the door.'

'She could have telephoned before barging in here!'

'Indeed, sir.'

My nostrils detected the slight hint of a rat and I scrutinized his face. He looked as serene as always. 'Jeeves,' I said warningly. 'She did telephone, didn't she?'

'I did receive a call from Miss Craye while you were out, sir.'

'Well, why in blazes didn't you tell me prior to climbing on top of me, dash it?!' I exploded hysterically.

'Well, sir, I arrived at the conclusion that Miss Craye would end her engagement to you were she to discover that your affections were engaged elsewhere.'

'Well, that's all very well, but --!'

'Miss Craye is an advocate of modern, enlightened thought, sir, and I believe that she will accept the discovery of our involvement more readily than the average person.'

'I certainly hope you're correct, Jeeves,' I said, 'because I don't plan to spend the better part of my youth in a bally prison cell!'

'Miss Craye has no reason to inform the police about our activities, sir.'

'You never can tell with girls, Jeeves!' I shuddered. 'It's like the chap said -- the f. of the s. is much more d. than the m.'

'Very true, sir.'

But it was not two hours later that I heard, once again, the jingling of the telephone. Jeeves rose to answer it, and I listened in on his side of the conversation.

'Good evening, Lady Florence...yes, Lady Florence.' A long pause. 'No, Lady Florence. Of course.' Another pause. 'Yes, I shall inform Mr. Wooster...goodbye, Lady Florence.'

I glanced eagerly at him. 'Well, Jeeves? Florence didn't want to speak to me, eh?'

'No, sir. She sounded slightly embarrassed.'

'Well, of course she did, poor girl! Honestly, Jeeves...'

'With respect, sir, it did resolve our difficulties, as drastic a measure as it may have been. Florence has informed me that she no longer wishes to marry you, sir.'

'Well, that's a relief.'

'She also wished me to tell you that she encourages you to seek psychological help. She accused me of seducing you into deviant behaviour, sir.' The vaguest glimmer of a smirk crept onto his lips.

'Well, at least she got one thing right, eh, Jeeves?' I bounded over to him and kissed him. 'You could seduce anyone into deviant behaviour if you tried hard enough. So what about Stilton?'

'He and Miss Craye have resolved their disagreement, sir.'

'That quickly, eh, Jeeves?'

'Well, sir, as he was exiting the flat yesterday, I took the liberty of lending Stilton some literature on the subject of today's avant-garde composers, in the hopes that he would glean from them knowledge to introduce in conversation with Miss Craye.'

'Bit of a long shot, don't you think? Are you quite sure Stilton can read?'

'The question arose in my mind as well, but the mere possession of such literature would appeal to one of Miss Craye's nature.'

'Leave it lying around on the coffee tables along with the Racing Form, you mean? Make it look as though you've just been perusing it over a glass of claret?'

'Precisely, sir.'

'Well, Jeeves, I don't know how you do it. But good lord, when I said drastic, I'm not sure I meant anything that drastic.'

'Such direct approaches are often preferable, sir.'

'Well, quite, but it's going to be damned embarrassing running into Florence in my rambles round the metrop after this. I shan't be able to look her in the eye.'

'We could return to London, if you would prefer.'

I brooded for a moment. 'No. Don't think so. I'm not ready to expose myself willingly to aunts again. I've become used to having a good-sized body of water separating me from Aunt Agatha and I'm not quite ready to give it up yet.'

'Well, sir, if I may offer a suggestion, the Greek isles are quite beautiful at this time of year.'

'Jeeves, you know I don't like --'

'I believe you would find it a most enjoyable sojourn, sir, and it would ensure against any further uncomfortable contact with Miss Craye.'

I started to respond in the negative, but then I shut my mouth, contemplated the slavering jaws of Florence from which he had just snatched me, and observed him towering like a steadfast oak next to the telephone with a not-quite-concealed glimmer of hope in his eyes. I hadn't planned on letting him wheedle another Mediterranean cruise out of me, but dash it, you'd have cracked too if you saw him in all his majesty and splendour and whatnot.

'Oh...oh, all right, Jeeves. Have it your way.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'And Jeeves...'

'Sir?'

'I've said it before, but you're a bit of a topper, you know that? You are free to do what you will with that new tie of mine; I am not as infatuated with it as I thought I was.'

One corner of his mouth rose a smidgen. 'Thank you, sir. I donated it to the Salvation Army this morning. Will you be dining in this evening?'

I stared at him, but by now I knew better than to make a fuss. 'Ah...yes. Yes, I think so, Jeeves.'

'Very good, sir.'