Chapter 26 Gentleman Caller
GENTLEMAN CALLER
On a hot Friday afternoon in mid-July, flowers bloomed and bees bumbled along in sleepy fashion—Californians were very great gardeners, although their gardens were rather wilder than the tidy beds of my childhood—and children rode bicycles on the sidewalk in bare feet.
The house next door had what was called a “sprinkler” working; this was a very clever automated device that attached to a garden hose and oscillated—a new word for me—so as to allow droplets of water to reach all parts of the garden.
This was necessary, as Palo Alto was a much drier place than Dresden, particularly in summer, and one couldn’t rely on rain to water the flowers and trees and acres of lush grass.
How Americans loved their living space, and their lawns!
Every house, however small, had these, both in front and back.
Just as the soldiers had sprawled while driving too fast in their Jeeps, with an arm out the window and only the tips of their fingers on the wheel, the houses sprawled across the so-abundant land.
Today, on the lawn next door, half a dozen children in bathing costumes ran through the sprinkler, shrieking happily, until a certain tinkling melody was heard.
At this, they instantly dashed for various front doors, crying, “The popsicle truck! The popsicle truck is here!,” emerging just in time to rush toward the white van, which slowed to a stop as the music played on.
It sounded exactly like a louder version of the music-box in which I’d kept my treasures as a child—mine had had a boy, a girl, and a little black-and-white dog on his hind legs, all of whom had rotated together as the box played “Für Elise.” I had never been allowed bare feet, though, and as for “running through the sprinklers” in a bathing costume—it made me laugh to imagine Lippert, dressed in her eternal black, finding me in this way.
Her utter shock! Her titanic levels of disapproval!
My English nanny would have scolded, but would have laughed about it later with the servants. This I knew from my own perching.
I leaned in through the cellar door and called to Joe, “Do you want an ice cream?”
A sound of banging; a curse. “What?”
“An ice cream,” I said again. “The truck is here.”
“I want an ice cream.” That was Fred, who was helping. “Well, I will. At the moment, it’s not too appetizing.”
“Nobody wants an ice cream, Marguerite,” Joe said.
“Oh. Are you sure you don’t need me?”
“I’m”—grunt—“positive.”
From behind me, then. “Marguerite?”
I turned.
It was my father-in-law. And my mother-in-law. And a handsome and very dapper gentleman in a gray suit, who removed his soft gray hat to reveal a fine head of dark hair, touched with gray at the temples in most distinguished fashion.
“Hello,” I said. “How nice to see you.” As usual, I had my hand out before thinking better.
Mr. Stark introduced the gentleman, but I didn’t hear, for Joe yelled something just then.
I turned toward the sound, but when it wasn’t repeated, turned back and said, “It’s lovely to meet you.
” He said, “How do you do,” and I realized he was British, which was odd.
I shook hands next with Mrs. Stark, which caused the gentleman to look rather bemused. My mother-in-law was wearing a discreetly patterned navy-blue floral frock, her hair as neat as always and her hat as becoming, and Mr. Stark was in his usual well-tailored suit.
What was I wearing? Well may you ask. I was in what the Sears, Roebuck catalog had called a “playsuit”: red-checked shorts and a matching sleeveless blouse that tucked into the shorts.
The shorts were rather short, and my legs were bare and my feet in sandals, but it was almost ninety degrees outside, and nearly as hot in the apartment.
I’d been nearly ready to run through the sprinklers myself.
Wouldn’t that have scandalized my in-laws!
“Marguerite?” That was Joe. “Turn on the water.”
“Excuse me,” I said to the others, then ran to the tap and turned it all the way before coming back prepared to ask, “Is that right?”
I couldn’t say it, because there was a great shout and a sound of splashing, and Joe yelling, “Turn it off! Off!”
More running, and I was cranking at the tap again.
Joe and Fred emerged from the cellar like two creatures from the deep. Their clothing was drenched with something absolutely terrible, and they smelled like a barnyard. A most unclean barnyard.
Mr. Stark said, “My son, Joe. Joe, Mr. Penderleigh.”
Wait. From Christie’s?
Joe grinned from a rather smeared face and wiped his hands on the towel I offered before handing it to Fred. “Hello. I’d shake hands, but maybe not. This is Fred Bartholomew. He’s helping me with this blocked drain.”
“Helping you not fix this blocked drain,” Fred said. “I don’t know what’s in there, but it’s a doozy. Once more into the breach, you think? We never had to do stuff like this in the Air Corps. You infantrymen are supposed to be the ones in the muck.”
Mr. Stark said, “Marguerite, perhaps you could—”
Mr. Penderleigh said, “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?”
“The problem,” Fred said, “is that we’ve got no idea how to get whatever-it-is out of wherever-it-is. Ten bucks says it’s the kid in 1B. Flushing the whole roll down? Flushing the cat down? Who can say? The kid’s a terror.”
Mr. Penderleigh had removed his suit coat. He handed it to me and said, “If you would, Mrs. Stark,” then removed his tie and gave me that as well before rolling up his shirtsleeves. “Let’s have a recce. Do you have a plumber’s snake, by chance?”
“Yep,” Joe said, running a hand across his sweating brow, with rather disastrous results.
“First time using it, though. Everybody in the house is clogged, the whole place smells like a sewer, and wouldn’t you know it, the landlord’s away.
If you know what you’re doing, I sure would appreciate the advice.
Fred, I’m going to get you to hold that lantern.
Half the problem is that we can’t see what we’re doing. ”
Mr. Penderleigh headed back down the steps with them and disappeared into the darkness. Mrs. Stark said, “Would you like to get changed, dear, while they sort this out?”
“I have the duty to turn the water on and off,” I said. “This is very necessary.”
“I’ll do that,” Mr. Stark said. “You go on. Lena, you run her over to the bank.”
“Yes, dear,” Mrs. Stark said.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Mr. Penderleigh has changed our appointment time,” Mr. Stark said. “Didn’t I say?”
Mrs. Stark was possibly disappointed to discover that the flat was mostly merely smelly, although the dishes sat unwashed on the counter. “Because the sink wouldn’t drain,” I said.
“You go on, dear,” she said. “Change your clothes.”
I headed toward the bedroom, then turned back to say, “If you need to use the toilet, I’m afraid that also is not possible.
Or it is, but, you know, the water isn’t as clear as one could wish it, for the toilet doesn’t flush.
” Not what I wanted to tell my so-critical mother-in-law, but wouldn’t it be worse if she tried to flush? Yes, absolutely.
I came out five minutes later more suitably clad. “I’m ready,” I said. “But rather—”
Mrs. Stark turned. Oh. She’d made a pile of the filthy wet towels from the morning’s disasters. “When we’re finished with all this,” she said, “and Joe’s added his clothes to it, we’ll take everything to the launderette in the car.”
“Oh, that would be very helpful,” I said. “Thank you. It really is too bad, you know, for a German woman to have her home in such a state, and for others to see it is even worse. My father used to tease my mother for being such a careful Hausfrau, but this was how we were raised.”
“My mother was the same,” Mrs. Stark said. “The things she would say about the neighbors who didn’t scrub their steps!”
“But yes!” I said with delight, holding the apartment door for her.
“I’ve taken to scrubbing ours, and the hallway as well, for the landlord doesn’t seem to see the need for this, and I really would be most ashamed to have our guests see it in such dirt, especially when one is trying to have a festive atmosphere, with flowers and candles and so forth, and rolling up the carpet, as you said.
We’ve done this many times now, and I must thank you for the idea, for everybody enjoys it very much. ”
We were outside now. Mr. Stark, too, had disappeared; presumably into the bowels of the building with the others. “Even with the laundry,” Mrs. Stark said, “I think we have the better part of the deal. So the landlord doesn’t clean the front hall at all?”
“Well, he does,” I said, “at times, or rather, he sends a woman to do it. But when she does come, it is with the mop with the dirty strings, and a bucket of water that is soon equally dirty. How can one get a floor clean like this? A floor that many people have walked on?”
“Impossible,” Mrs. Stark said. “Now, which is your bank?”
What a strange and oddly festive group met us on our return!
Mr. Stark and Mr. Penderleigh, slightly damp but fortunately not dirty, were washing dishes at the sink.
Fred was coming out of the shower, his hair sticking up all over his head.
He was dressed in some of Joe’s clothing, the sleeves and trouser legs too short by a good two inches.
Joe was dressed in only a towel wrapped around his middle.
“Whoops,” he said. “Sorry, Mom.” And grinned.
“Nonsense,” she said. “I diapered your bottom. Go take a shower. You smell terrible.”
“First,” I said, “it worked?”
Fred threw out an expansive arm. “Behold the conquering heroes. It was a four-man effort, but your drains flow free once more. It was the Air Corps magic.”
“I believe,” Mr. Penderleigh said, “that it was the Royal Navy’s magic.
Lieutenant, HMS Duke of York.” He pronounced it “Lef-tenant,” in the British way.
“Critical to keep the heads working, don’t you know, and I picked up the odd bit of knowledge here and there before going back to the antiquities trade.
All part of the service.” He held up a hand.
“First, fix the drains. Second, do the washing-up. Third, down to business.” He counted off on his fingers and smiled most charmingly.
“But you’ve all been so clever,” I said. “This morning, I couldn’t think what was to be done, and here you’ve solved it! Joe, go take your shower now.”
“I’ll help you take the wet stuff to the launderette later,” Joe said. “I’m telling you that so you don’t head down there while I’m in the shower.”
“But your mother has already most kindly offered,” I said, “and with the car, too. Although we must wrap the things up very well so the car doesn’t begin to smell, for that would be poor repayment of her generosity. But yes, my heart is most light. Look, even my dishes are being washed by others!”
“Shower,” Joe said, and went into the bathroom.
When the last dish was dried and the dishtowel hung up neatly—I was ready to believe that the Royal Navy trained its men well—I said, “Now I’ll make us coffee, and we’ll be ready to be businesslike.”
“That’s my cue to leave, I think,” Fred said.
“But you must have Kaffee und Kuchen,” I said, measuring coffee into the percolator, “after all your hard and very dirty work. I’ve made a most delicious plum cake—fortunately, I did this yesterday morning, before it became so hot.”
Fred hesitated, then said, “I gather this is about some fabulous jewel that you’re selling. You may want privacy for that.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “It is quite a simple matter, merely showing Mr. Penderleigh a necklace of mine.”
Mr. Penderleigh gave a discreet cough and said, “It can be a bit delicate, discussing financial matters and all that, don’t you know.”
“Yep,” Fred said. “I won’t wait for the heave-ho.” He looked down at himself. “I’ll bring Joe’s clothes back tonight, when I come to take Susie out. A second shower probably wouldn’t come amiss, either.”
“All right,” I said. “But you must take some Kuchen.” I wrapped it up in waxed paper—I too had now mastered the complicated folds—and Fred bowed most comically and said, “Your servant, madame,” before sweeping grandly out the door.
“You’re wondering,” Mr. Penderleigh said, when we were seated around the table—Joe had brought in the chair from his desk—and eating my Pflaumenkuchen, which was merely a moist yellow cake with plums and a Streusel topping, but really very delicious, “why I’ve sprung myself on you, as they say.”
“I assume you had an unexpected gap in your schedule,” I said.
“That’s it exactly,” he said. “Terribly informal and unbusinesslike of me, but California does have that effect. I feel quite as if I were on vacation when I’m here. I’d been corresponding with Mr. Stark—Mr. Stark the elder—and we’d set a date for Monday—I assume you knew that?”
“Yes,” I said. For some reason, my heart was beating rather hard. “But …”
“But,” Mr. Penderleigh said, “the old lady I was supposed to see today ended up in the hospital—a bad fall, it seems—and, well, I am quite eager to get a look at this necklace. Your father-in-law couldn’t raise you on the telephone, but I said, why not throw caution to the wind and come along anyway?
It’s a perfect day for a drive. I’ve brought my satchel, you see—” He held it up, “with its secure lock, so if we come to an agreement, I can take the necklace away with me. But first, of course, I’d like to examine it.
” He removed a pair of spectacles and a jeweler’s loupe from his breast pocket. “If you would?”
I said, “Yes.” Rather slowly. And didn’t go into the bedroom for the velvet bag I’d placed there. “It’s only that—”
“Is there a problem, dear?” Mrs. Stark asked.
“Pardon me,” I said, “but I believe that I must first discuss this with my husband. And Mr. Stark, if you would be so good? Perhaps, Mrs. Stark, you will take Mr. Penderleigh to the courtyard behind the house? It’s shady there in the afternoon, and rather pleasant.”
“Is there something else you need from me?” Mr. Penderleigh asked, still smiling. “My card, perhaps?”
“Yes, thank you,” I said, receiving the bit of white pasteboard with its copperplate engraving. “But if I could have a few minutes.”