"I say have you seen Sam Billington about?"
"Don't you know," replied the Crumpet. "He's gone off to the country."
"Oh, why?" inquired the Egg.
"His Mother thinks the change of air will do him good," said the Crumpet. "He's been pining too much."
"I saw him here a few days ago, he was limp as a dead eel and white as a sheet," Interjected a Bean. "I chucked a roll at him, just to get a jump out of him. When it made contact he didn't react at all, just sort of gazed at it in a dull stupor."
"You can't blame him after that business with Doris Jenkins his ex-fiancée," said the Crumpet.
"Oh, what? Did she give him the shove?" asked the Egg who hadn't been informed of the latest gossip.
"No worse," said the Bean gravely. "She died."
"Strange thing Doris Painter was in the pink of health when Sam proposed at the beginning of the month," Said the Crumpet meditatively. "By the end she was being put in the family crypt with the vicar reciting: 'dust to dust, ashes to ashes' over her. And all her maiden aunts sobbing."
"Must have come as great blow," said the Egg.
"You bet it did," said the Bean.
"So where's this place in the country he's going to?" asked the Egg.
"Oh, some old pile in Shropshire owned by his late Aunt's husband," said the Crumpet. "Called Blandings."
Sam Billington was drove his two-seater absentmindedly, all around him nature was in full bloom and displaying all of its charms. Normally Sam who was an amateur painter would have pulled over and started sketching but not even a glorious sunset over a waterfall in a meadow full of wildflowers could have grabbed his attention. His mind was on Doris. He missed her of course, poor sweet dead Doris. Lately however he'd been having these rummy dreams. Doris would come to him in the night through his window. But something was wrong with her in the dreams… he couldn't put his finger on it… she very cold for one thing and her lips seemed redder and fuller. Also sometimes he wasn't sure they were dreams.
He was rudely awakened from his reverie by the sound of metal crunching sound as his car bumped over something and a woman yelling.
He put his foot on the break and backed up. There were the mangled remains of a bicycle. Coming at him was a youngish female of Amazonian build with her hands on her hips and the kind of expression worn French peasants if offered a slice of
gateau by Marie Antoinette.
"You stupid clot! You completely destroyed my bike!" she shouted. "Don't you know where you're going?"
When confronted by the female species in such a way, the male of the species instinctively imitates a turtle and draws into himself. That is what Sam would do if he had a shell he would have put his head in his shell if he had one.
"Oh- I-I'm dreadfully, terribly, sorry," he sputtered like a broken faucet. "Is there anyway to fix it?"
The girl was bending over her stricken bike with a resigned air.
"Nope you about finished it off," she growled.
"Well, is there anything I can do?" he implored. "I could take you wherever you're going."
"Naw, I was wriggling out of my job for an afternoon," she said. "I should be getting back."
"I'll take you," Sam offered. "Where is it?
"Blandings Castle," she said.
"Hop in then," he said. "I'm headed there myself."
So she got in and he put his foot on the gas and they moved along. Introductions were made and she gave her name as Adela Hart.
"And what you do up at the castle?" he asked.
"I'm secretary to Lord Emsworth, although to tell the truth the old buffer doesn't really want one," Adela said. "That's alright because I wouldn't like being a real secretary anyways."
"What we're you doing roaming the countryside with a bike?" he asked.
"Well, there have been all these rumours about a whacking great wolf running here around lately," she said. "At first I thought it was load of rubbish, but a farmer found a paw print. I'm bagging it, if I can."
A merry light danced in her eyes at the idea of killing this animal. Wolves that made him think once more of those dreams he of Doris there were always wolves howling in the background and his neighbour's Pekes barking.
"Oh you like hunting?" he asked languidly.
"Rather!" She replied.
Mentally he compared this Adela Hart with his late Doris. They were very different Doris had been petite; Adela was nearly as tall he was. Doris was a blonde and Adela a brunette. Doris had tiny upturned nose and Adela a long straight one. Adela had brown eyes, Doris blue. Adela was vivacious, Doris demure. However, deep inside him through the layers of sadness and weariness he had this desire to hold her under the moonlight and cover her face with burning kisses.
Adela meanwhile looking at Sam, thinking about how depressed, listless, tired and pale he looked. She regretted her hard words after all it was only a bike. She wished, she could sooth the sorrow within him and make him happy.
"So why are you coming to Blandings?" she asked.
"Oh, my mother thinks a change a scene will do me good. Thinks I'm pining away," he said.
"Pining?" she asked. "For what?"
"Doris, my former fiancée," He said. "And it does rather remind me of her."
"If she's the kind of girl who will play with a fellow's heart just for a lark then you're well rid of her," Adela said.
"No she wasn't like that at all," he said wearly.
"What did she do to you?" Adela asked.
"She died," he said.
With those two words Adela was stunned into silence as they pulled up in front of the castle.
Meanwhile at Paddington station two men were about board a train. One of them was bidding goodbye to his wife.
"Please remember to write me as offer as possible."
"Yes, Darling"
"And do keep out of trouble. I'd hate to think of anything happening to you."
"Will if I can manage it, old girl."
"Oh, please!"
"Yes, fine, there, there."
"And don't be away to long."
"I shan't. You'll hardly know I'm gone."
"Oh…"
"Chin up, be a brave little woman."
The other man turned away at this point half so he wouldn't intrude on rare moment of tenderness and also because he was irritated about being here in the first place and hoping to slip away. He was just about to do this when he heard his friend's booming voice arrested him in mid step.
"Over here Corky don't want to miss the train!"
James Corcoran sighed and followed Ukridge.