I knew it would happen. I heard the sickly-sweet sigh escape her rouge-painted lips; the exclamation, the grateful ‘oh, Mister Jeeves!’ that she hurled at him like one hurls... a thingummy at... something or other. I really can’t be bothered with metaphors, you see, because now the wily female arm rose and fell and coiled around the broad Jeevesian shoulders. I seethed at the sight. Of all the bally nerve!
‘You are wonderful, Mister Jeeves! You have saved my life! You are my knight, my hero!’ she said as she pressed her body into his.
This insolent beasel was Miss Leighton. A friend of Madeline Basset – although you might have guessed this from the disgusting litany of sentimental nonsense that she gave Jeeves as she threw her arms around his neck. Jeeves had just fished the young thing out of the soup (something to do with teacups and fiancés and stray cats) and she chose to express her gratitude in this rather inappropriate way. He looked surprised at first, eyes widening comically, and I might have laughed had it not been for the lady’s head leaning against my valet’s chest.
Then the unthinkable happened. Although he still wore his stuffed-frog expression, Jeeves’ hands came up to gently pat Miss Leighton on the back.
The embrace only lasted a few seconds, but to the lonely young master watching from behind, they felt like hours. To see something as precious as Jeeves’ embrace given away so easily, so freely, when all this time I had dreamed of it… it was maddening. I mean to say – here I was, watching as she felt what I longed to feel, learned what I longed to learn: the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his skin, the gentleness of his arms… and oh, the tenderness I would pour into the embrace, if given the chance! Her dewy-eyed gratitude was nothing compared to what stirred in the Wooster chest.
Miss Leighton let go of poor, startled Jeeves. I waited for her to leave.
‘Jeeves…’
‘Yes, sir?’
I looked at him, this paragon of men. A million words – a million words I wanted to say.
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’
He nodded solemnly. Was it truly disappointment that I read on those finely chiselled features?
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‘You are wonderful, Mister Jeeves! You have saved my life! You are my knight, my hero!’ she said as she pressed her body into his.
This insolent beasel was Miss Leighton. A friend of Madeline Basset – although you might have guessed this from the disgusting litany of sentimental nonsense that she gave Jeeves as she threw her arms around his neck. Jeeves had just fished the young thing out of the soup (something to do with teacups and fiancés and stray cats) and she chose to express her gratitude in this rather inappropriate way. He looked surprised at first, eyes widening comically, and I might have laughed had it not been for the lady’s head leaning against my valet’s chest.
Then the unthinkable happened. Although he still wore his stuffed-frog expression, Jeeves’ hands came up to gently pat Miss Leighton on the back.
The embrace only lasted a few seconds, but to the lonely young master watching from behind, they felt like hours. To see something as precious as Jeeves’ embrace given away so easily, so freely, when all this time I had dreamed of it… it was maddening. I mean to say – here I was, watching as she felt what I longed to feel, learned what I longed to learn: the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his skin, the gentleness of his arms… and oh, the tenderness I would pour into the embrace, if given the chance! Her dewy-eyed gratitude was nothing compared to what stirred in the Wooster chest.
Miss Leighton let go of poor, startled Jeeves. I waited for her to leave.
‘Jeeves…’
‘Yes, sir?’
I looked at him, this paragon of men. A million words – a million words I wanted to say.
‘Oh, nothing,’ I said. ‘Carry on.’
He nodded solemnly. Was it truly disappointment that I read on those finely chiselled features?
‘Very good, sir.’
One day, I promised myself. One day.