Chapter 35. Norfolk Crescent Irregulars
It turned out Pom had just the same idea. He appeared at the door – six o’clock exactly – with a bottle of good burgundy and a crop of invitations to upcoming gallery shows. “These belong on the mantelpiece,” said Miss Bottomley excitedly, using the scraps of cardboard to ornament a previously under-used drawing room. “I see what you mean about these paintings,” said Pom, walking slowly around a large daub depicting haymaking. “This one’s so filthy they seem to be performing farm work after dark.” “What’s the point of cleaning them?” Miss Bottomley complained. “They’re SO hideous. Just get rid of them.” “Now this furniture is probably worth quite a bit of money,” Pom opined. “It looks real to me but I’m no expert.” The dark, heavy furnishings represented the ugliest pieces of the Victorian era to Scarlet’s mind. The nice Directoire bits were all upstairs. “It’s too uncomfortable to sit in,” said Miss Bottomley and Scarlet couldn’t argue. It was a very cold room. “I prefer a good squashy chair from Heal’s. In a nice Liberty print.” “You might enjoy looking at the beautiful rosewood tables and chairs made by Dansk,” offered Pom. “I’ll take you any time you like. As for this stuff, I know a fellow at the Albert and Victoria who would offer an appraisal – they’d be delighted to have them if you didn’t want to sell.” Miss Bottomley’s face shone. “The Albert and Victoria Museum? That would be lovely! Would there be a plaque - “gift of Esmé Hope Bottomley? That sort of thing?” “Certainly,” said Pom. “Exactly that sort of thing.” Scarlet had one of those flashes of insight that seemed to come to her around Miss Bottomley. “You could say on behalf of The Miss Clew Trust,” she offered. “Get a bit of free advertising.” Miss Bottomley’s eyes closed in ecstasy as she clutched Scarlet’s arm. “Well done!” she gasped. “You are a good, good girl. Hiring you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Everything in its proper place, isn’t that what Miss Clew always said?” “She did!” agreed Scarlet. “When you put the pieces in their proper places, the meaning of the puzzle reveals itself.” “I wrote that?” sighed Miss Bottomley. “What a clever, hopeful young woman I must have been.” And at that very moment Enid announced dinner. It was a rollicking evening of delicious food and pleasant company. Pom’s delicious burgundy was soon exhausted. “You know, there’s a wine cellar downstairs,” said Miss Bottomley. “I’ve never been. The key is hanging behind the kitchen door.” Scarlet was about to refuse further alcohol but when she saw the way Pom’s face lit up she knew they’d at least be obliged to take a look. Hanging as it was beneath aprons, the key was difficult to find. “Better take care,” Pom said as the tiny door squeaked open, “These steps look treacherous. I’ll go first.” When the light switch failed to perform its job, Pom produced a pen light from his pocket allowing them to proceed downstairs. They were confronted by a cellar full of wine. “Oh my God” said Scarlet at the sight of dusty racks going on forever. “It’s like the treasures of the Thousand and One Nights,” said Pom and Scarlet added “With Miss Bottomley as our Sherhazad.” She chose a bottle at random from the closest rack. “Romanée-Conti. It’s a burgundy but I can’t see the year. Will this do?” “I hope so,” said Pom. “I’ve never actually worried about being worthy of a wine before. In fact, I would have said such people are idiots. But that’s seems to be definitely what I’m feeling now.” “I think it’s Miss Bottomley we have to struggle to be worthy of,” said Scarlet. “You’re absolutely right. What a good way to put it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Is there is a store of electric bulbs anywhere?” Pom asked Miss Bottomley when they were back at the table. “I’ve no idea,” Miss Bottomley replied. “On the second floor are lots of unused lamps,” suggested Scarlet. “Some of them must have working bulbs.” “There’s a good plan,” said Pom and Enid offered up her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” As Pom dusted the bottle he said, “1937. Let’s hope that was a good year for French reds.” “Probably the last for awhile,” said Enid. “Considering what was going on in the rest of the world.” He opened it with some ceremony, poured out a smidgen for Miss Bottomley and waited attentive as a sommelier. She sipped. “I’ve never cared for wine,” she said, “But this tastes lovely.” It was. Rich and subtle, flavored with sunlight, the wine brought tears to their eyes. Scarlet choked up. “I’d like to toast our hostess,” she offered, rising to her feet. “Oh please,” Miss Bottomley disparaged, “Don’t bother. You’ve brought me so much. I’m so proud to be the founding partner of the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.” Everyone laughed at this dedication but Scarlet pressed forwards. “But I want to say it. I was at the worst time in my life – I couldn’t allow myself to think quite how bad it really was, because I had Nick to consider. And you – rescued me. Thank you.” “Hear, hear,” said Pom and Enid seconded, “Aye, aye.” Miss Bottomley’s cheeks were pink. “That three month trial period we discussed? Consider it over – you’re both hired as long as you care to stay, Enid and Scarlet. Think how you’ve helped ME! I was hiding in my kitchen – I think ultimately I’d have signed any document Mr. Inkum prepared jut to get rid of him – and the only thing that stirred me was the thought of my novels lying mangled and bloody two for a penny on a railway stall. And look where I am now!” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you! All three of you!” Pom and Enid also rose. “We accept,” said Pom. “To us.” Solemnly they drank their delicious wine.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Alysse AallynArchives
November 2021
Categories |