I had admired Bingo’s new cologne. It was called something like Mouchoo de Monsieur. I’m not much of a man for colognes, but let it not be said that I am not adventurous. It did smell quite nice. So I toodled along to the Piccadilly Arcade and purchased a bottle. It really did smell quite nice.
But it didn’t smell quite nice on young Bertram. I’d slapped it on as part of my morning toilette. “I say, Jeeves,” I said from the bathroom, “this new scent of mine smells rather like damp cardboard. Come here and smell it, won’t you?”
Jeeves oiled in and sniffed the bottle. “It is most pleasant fragrance, sir. The base notes are civet, musk, iris and vanilla bean. The top notes are geranium, bergamot, lavender—“
“Yes, yes, yes. It has a lot of ingredients. Why don’t you take it, Jeeves? We don’t want it to go to waste.”
Jeeves inclined his head. “Thank you, sir.”
It was while he was serving me breakfast that I first noticed it. “I say, Jeeves, what is that wonderful smell?” My face was tingling. Suddenly I had no appetite. Not for food, anyway.
“It is the new cologne, sir,” Jeeves said as he poured my tea. “It is indeed pleasing.”
“I’ll say it is!” I blurted. “It smells ever so much better on you! I mean to say, it—“ With a start, I realized that I was blathering. I also wanted to bury my face in his neck. He was so tantalizingly close.
“Thank you, sir.”
When Jeeves left the dining room, I sat back and took deep breaths. On me: damp cardboard. On Jeeves: heaven. And something else. Jeeves without his shirt on. Jeeves naked. Jeeves lying beneath me, gasping with ecstasy—
“Stop it, Bertram!” I admonished myself. But I felt strangely compelled to follow Jeeves into the kitchen. He stood at the sink, scouring a skillet.