Not My Thing

‘For today, madam. Lunch? Dinner?’

‘No.’ Shannon sat down at the table. ‘I would like a light lunch, please. A salad or something. We won’t be dining in.’ She looked up and forced a smile. ‘Look after the staff, Smyth, please. I leave you to arrange that.’

‘Of course, madam. Then a light lunch for you at one o’clock.’

‘Yes, please.’

Smyth moved to the door, then paused.

‘Excuse me, madam, but I understand you will be playing the Saint-Saėns concerto tonight.’

Shannon looked up, startled.

‘Why yes. It’s at a tiny hall. How did you know?’

‘If Mr Jamison does not require dinner, madam, I would very much like to attend the concert.’

Again, Shannon registered surprise.

‘I didn’t know you were interested in music, Smyth.’

‘For a number of years, and when it was possible, I have attended your recitals. I have a ticket for this concert. Will it be in order if I attend or will Mr Jamison need my services?’

‘He will be dining at his club. Look, Smyth, come with me in my car. You can help me with my cello. Shall we say seven thirty tonight?’

Smyth bowed.

‘It will be a great pleasure, madam.’ Again, he made for the door, again he paused. ‘May I take a liberty, madam?’

She smiled.

‘I regard you as the perfect major-domo, and also as a friend. We have known each other for eight years. I have come to rely on you so much.’

Smyth bowed.

‘I just wanted to say that unforeseeable things do happen. I would like you to know, madam, that I will always be at your service should you need me.’

He bowed again and left the room.

Shannon pushed aside the breakfast-tray and, burying her face in her hands, she began to weep.

***

Ted Conklin, Jamison’s chauffeur, stepped back to admire the Rolls Royce, a large feather duster in his hand.

Conklin had had an extensive course at the Rolls Royce chauffeurs’ school before Jamison had hired him. He had been with the Jamisons’, like Smyth, since they had married.

Conklin was a short, squatly built man pushing forty-five. He had light sandy hair, a good-natured fattish face, and he and Smyth were good friends. He lived above the five-car garage in a pleasant little three-room apartment and preferred to cater for himself, seldom joining the rest of the staff for lunch or dinner.

He was utterly in love with the Rolls. He spent hours cleaning, polishing, adjusting the engine performance, checking continually the electric controls, knowing all this work was unnecessary, but loving it.

He paid some attention to Shannon’s Caddy, and to the Porsche, but there was no love in his work for these other cars, the Rolls had his complete love.

Seeing Smyth approaching, he paused with a final flick of his feather duster, stood back to admire the gleaming coachwork.

‘Hi, Charlie,’ he said as Smyth came up. ‘Isn’t she a beauty?’

Smyth was bored with Conklin’s adoration of the car.

‘Very nice. Does you credit. Mr Jamison will not be needing you this morning, Ted.’

‘Isn’t he going out then?’ Conklin was disappointed. Nothing he liked better than to drive the glittering Rolls along the boulevards, noting the looks of envy from other drivers.

‘I’ve just ordered a Hertz rental car for him,’ Smyth said, dropping his bombshell as gently as he could.

Conklin was outraged.

‘What for? A rental? What’s the matter with the Rolls or the Porsche?’

While crossing the tarmac to the garages, Smyth had also wondered about this odd order. Being astute, he decided that Jamison’s two cars which both carried the SJ1 plates were too conspicuous. Jamison was obviously going somewhere where he didn’t want to be recognized. He explained this thought to Conklin.

Conklin nodded.

‘Yeah. I guess that’s about right. Oh well, it’s his business. So I have the day off?’

‘Yes. He didn’t say if he wanted you this evening, so you’d better stay around.’

‘That’s him!’ Conklin scowled. ‘No consideration. I could have spent the whole day on the beach.’

‘You still could. I will ask him if he needs you tonight.’

Conklin’s face brightened.

‘Do that, will you, Charlie? Let me know. There’s a chick who sells ice cream on the beach who keeps giving me the eye. Something there might develop.’

‘Ted, I think their marriage is going on the rocks,’ Smyth said quietly. ‘Keep this to yourself. I heard him last night demanding a divorce.’

‘I’ve seen it coming for the past two years,’ Conklin said. ‘A pity. He wants a son. I understand that. Mind you, I like her, and I don’t like him, but when a guy has all this loot, he naturally wants a son.’

‘She’s not going to give him a divorce.’

‘I saw that coming too. She being an RC.’

‘Yes. I picked up she is offering him a legal separation.’

‘That won’t get him anywhere. He’ll want to find some other woman who can give him a son, won’t he? He’ll want to marry her. All nice and ship-shape.’

‘That’s the problem.’

The two men stared gloomily at the big villa, then Conklin said, ‘I can’t see Mr J. taking no for an answer. He’s a ruthless sonofabitch.’