DOCTOR IN CLOVER

'"As you know yourself, Monica dear," I told her, "the road to success is strewn with unfortunate accidents. Goodbye, and thank you for a lovely trip. By the way, I noticed on that little card thing that the penalties for even suspected smuggling include long periods in the clink."

'So there I was Gaston-loose in London with a blue mink cape and an old tweed skirt. I suppose I wasn't very honest, really, but I promise I'll send it back once she's home from Hollywood.'

'Jolly quick thinking, if you ask me,' I said admiringly. I suddenly felt that Pet had a bit more power under the bonnet than I'd imagined. 'It's about the most innocent way I've heard of a girl getting a mink coat, anyway.'

'After that, all the breaks seemed to come at once. My agent took me to lunch-in the mink, of course. We met Adam Stringfellow. He's a director, who was casting some models for a picture. He gave me a few days at the studio, and since then everything sort of built up.'

'And what's it like?' I asked.

'Bloody hard work,' said Petunia.

I looked surprised, having gathered from the newspapers that all she did was drive about in big fat cars with big fat chaps and draw a big fat salary.

'Do you know what time I get up in the morning? Before my milkman. I have to be at the studio by six, if you please, for hair-do and make-up. You can't imagine how ghastly it is playing a passionate love scene before breakfast, lying on a bed and remembering to keep one foot on the ground to make it all right for the censor.'

'Like billiards,' I observed.

'And I'm not myself any more.'

'Oh, come. Perfect health, I assure you.'

'I mean I'm Melody Madder Limited. With a board of directors, and things. Everyone does it because of the tax. And, of course, there's Mum.'

'Ah, yes, Mum.'

'Then there's another thing…' She looked up at me, fluttering her brand-new eyelashes. 'Gaston, my sweet-do you remember how once you loved me?'

'Only too well, Pet my dear.'

I was still getting a bit of rheumatism in the shoulder, the long-term after-effects of Clem's Caff.

'Do you know, I believe you're the only friend I've left in the world? And I need help, darling.'

'Good Lord, do you?'

'Desperately. I'm in terrible trouble.'

'Oh, yes?'

I looked cagey, knowing the sort of trouble girls specially reserve the doctors among their old friends for. But Petunia went on:

'It's all Mum's fault, really. Promise cross your heart you won't say a word?'

'Of course not. We doctors, you know. Professional secrecy.'

'Well, I'll tell you. It's simply that-'

But at that moment Mum arrived back with the medicine.

'This will have your daughter spry in no time,' I told her, shaking the bottle. 'I particularly hope she's in form again tomorrow night, because I've been asked to invite her to Lord Nutbeam's little party.'

'She'll have to get permission from Sir Theodore first,' said Mother. 'And from Mr Stringfellow, of course.'

'I have to ask their permission for everything,' Petunia apologized from the bed.

'And my permission, I might say,' added Mrs Bancroft. 'I'm still your mother, you know.'

'Yes, Mum,' said Petunia.

16

'I do so hope the young lady is free,' agreed Lord Nutbeam, when I arrived at his suite to explain the snags. 'I'd planned such a splendid little evening. There will be champagne, of course, and a band to play South American dances. Have you heard of the rumba, Doctor? It does my hip tremendous good. I wanted fireworks as well, but Ethel seems most disinclined.'

I made a consoling remark about Guy Fawkes coming but once a year, and he gave a sigh and went on, 'Don't you think, Doctor, that people are becoming such spoilsports these days? Not Ethel, of course.

The dear girl is most understanding. I wanted to buy a tank of those tiny fishes in the Aquarium and serve them frozen in the water-ice tomorrow night. It would have been such a capital lark. But the hotel management wouldn't hear of it.'

I shot the old boy a glance. I'd wondered more than once since arriving at Monte Carlo whether his wife's diagnosis of pre-senile dementia wasn't correct. I supposed it was all right to make your medical adviser an apple-pie bed, and to stick a champagne bucket on his bedroom door to dowse him with ice-cold water on retiring. Or even to bust in with shouts of 'Fire!' when he's enjoying an early night, and have him looking pretty stupid running into the hall in his pyjamas with everyone else in tails and tiaras moving off to the opera. All right when your adviser's a chap like me, perhaps, but if Lord Nutbeam really had summoned the President of the Royal College of Physicians the little episodes might not have ended with such hearty laughter all round.

'But we shall have a lot of fun,' 'his Lordship went on. 'I'm arranging for a life-size statue of Miss Madder in ice-cream, and we can eat her. Also, the delightful gentleman from South America has promised to let me conduct the band all evening if I want. I'm sure everything will be very jolly.'