Give Satisfaction

We'd both been put off by the temporary relocation, but I could tell it was bothering Jeeves a great deal more than me. I told Tuppy as much over the phone while leaving out some of the more choice details.

"The poor man. You're sure you won't stay with us, Bertie?"

"Well Tuppy, if I could speak to myself from three days ago, I would tell me that Brinkley Court is preferable to spending three days in a shack in a meadow. But I can't, and they should open the hotel back up for us tomorrow."

"That's what you said on Friday."

"I was unaware how long the situation would last on on Friday, Tuppy."

"What if you're unaware of the situation now?"

"I've got to dash off. The locals are eyeing me like wolverines eyeing honeycomb."

"That's not wolverines, that's -"

Tuppy's final complaint was cut off as I put the ear-piece back in its cradle and did my best to look civilized as I sauntered past the rabble at the bar counter. I admit I did not look my best after two days without much sleep, good food, or a wash.

"Oy!" The pub owner was a tall, formidable woman with a voice that easily carried through the din. "You there!"

All eyes suddenly fastened themselves on Bertram, and I admit it was not the type of attention that I usually enjoy.

“Yes?" I replied, fiddling with my cuff and suddenly aware of the stain.

"Hardington's almost done with repairs. They told me to tell you they'd be opening at six, no earlier."

I thanked her and then jogged back to the shack where we'd been living like ragamuffins to tell Jeeves the good news. It wasn't a bad little shack, all things considered, but it was still a shack and both of us were eager to get back to running water and decent food.

There was no sign of Jeeves so I went to the bucket full of clean water and splashed some of it on my face and neck to cool down. There was fuzz growing about my features that was rather course to the touch. I stroked it absently and thought of Jeeves.

It was rare to see him unkept. The first time I spotted more than a hair out of place had been in Cannes, near the end of the whole affair with Lady Blair. I'd raked my fingers through those dark strands the next month in the dark of an alley in London like a proper criminal. Or maybe just a chap in love, which I suppose is the same thing.

I'd spent the mornings since trying to wake up at the same time as the person slumbering next to me with little success. And why, I hear you ask, would one want to be awake in the early dawn hours? The answer is thus; Jeeves has seen me regularly in a disheveled, catatonic state for nigh on eight years, but the reverse is a mysterious, rarely seen creature.

So far I'd only caught a few small glimpses of him getting up before shimmering off to do his toilette. (I may have learned to make my own tea and eggs when required, but a morning fellow, I am not.) Perhaps it had something to do with the current aloofness. I'd mentioned the shadow on his jaw yesterday over a dinner of cold sandwiches, and Jeeves had said little else that evening except 'good night'.

A rustle in the straw outside the door gave away his usual quiet entrance. I wiped the side of my face with my sleeve and hoped it looked better than it had in the mirror in the pub loo.

Jeeves came in carrying a small covered basket, which he set on the only chair in the room. I got the feeling he was waiting for me to say something about it, so I did.

"What a lovely basket. I don't suppose there's food in it?"

“Sandwiches from Mr Hardington's." The way he pronounced Hardington was chilling.