CHAPTER 33: HELLO, DAHLING
Early afternoon, Wednesday
Thomas Barrow's Pantry
Bates was sitting at Thomas' desk writing cheques for the Abbey's household bills. He did not want to admit it, but he was glad he had taken notes as Thomas had insisted when he trained Bates to keep the books. Without them, Bates would not be able to remember all the minutiae of which Thomas was so fond. With them, he was able to write the proper notations in the cheque book, on the invoices, in the balance book, and on the correct ledger. It all seemed unnecessarily complicated to him.
Bates heard a knock and looked up to see Lady Mary. "May I offer you a chair, milady?" he asked as he scrambled to his feet.
"Mrs Hughes told me where to find you." Lady Mary sat in the chair Bates held for her. "What's all this, Bates?" she asked, indicating the jumble of papers over which Bates had been presiding.
"To put it in Mr Barrow's words, milady, if I can't carry a tray, then I must learn other skills to make myself valuable. Mr Barrow has been teaching me to pay the bills and keep the books. This is my maiden battle. I'll bring the cheques to the library for Your Ladyship's signature if I'm victorious."
"I hope you survive the campaign, Bates." Lady Mary was aware that Barrow had discarded the old division of duties among the servants as no longer practical. "So, our Barrow is a progressive at home even while he's taking London by storm."
"So it seems, milady." It pleased Bates that Lady Mary referred to Thomas as our Barrow. "Is there something I may do for Your Ladyship?"
"Did you read the newspaper story I sent down?"
Bates didn't say so, but he had tucked the paper in a desk drawer. He wanted the photograph and article as a keepsake. "I believe everyone at the Abbey has read it, milady."
"No doubt. Were you aware that Barrow would be seeing Novello when you asked me to give him a holiday?"
"I thought Mr Barrow needed a holiday, milady. How he chose to spend it is not my business."
"Come now, Bates," reproached Lady Mary. "After that Hopwood ordeal, I expected honesty between us. I know you and Barrow look out for each other."
"Yes, we do, milady," replied Bates quietly. "Would Your Ladyship have me choose between my loyalties?"
"I see. I've put you in a difficult position. I apologize, Bates."
"There's no need, milady. But if Your Ladyship would indulge my impertinence, does Mr Barrow have any cause for concern?"
Lady Mary smiled. "I suggest he steer clear of Lord Grantham for a bit. My aunt has telephoned him already to ask if Barrow came here from Russia."
"Lady Painswick? I'm surprised she recognized Mr Barrow from the picture."
"A good servant is invisible, is that it, Bates?"
"Well ... yes, milady. That's how I was trained."
"My aunt has an excellent memory. It carries an extensive catalogue of every appealing man she's ever met, no matter his station."
At that moment the pantry telephone rang. "Pardon me, milady." Bates answered the phone, "Downton Abbey, John Bates speaking ... Thomas! How are you?"
Lady Mary looked up with surprise. Then she gestured to Bates to give her the phone.
"Wait a moment, Thom ... Mr Barrow. Lady Mary is here and would like to speak to you." Bates handed the phone to Lady Mary.
"Hullo, Barrow. I see from the newspaper that you're having a busy holiday ... Why are you apologizing? There's nothing unusual about dancing on holiday, is there? ... No, Lord Grantham may not see it that way ... Quite right, Barrow, no names were mentioned. And what if they were? Having a Russian prince as a butler, let alone one who dances with movie stars, would be rather glamorous, don't you think? Downton could use a bit of glamour."
Lady Mary covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "He says, not a prince, only cousin to the czar."
"... Learning to drive? Good Heavens, you are making good use of your holiday. You learning to drive, Bates learning to keep books ... I'm suggesting nothing of the sort, Barrow ... it's only that George and Sybbie miss you terribly, and I want to reassure them ... Yes, I'll tell them ... Then we'll see you at breakfast on Monday morning ... Yes, goodbye, and please, Barrow, be careful."
Ivor Novello's Flat
When Thomas and Lloyd emerged from the office, Novello was waiting. It was time for him to leave for the matinee, but first he wanted to know that the previous night's antics had not jeopardized Thomas' employment.
Thomas seemed perplexed. "I spoke with Lady Mary. I thought she'd be annoyed, but she seems anxious for me to return."
"Of course she is!" replied Novello happily.
Still, Thomas worried. "I wonder why she was in my pantry."
Novello laughed. "Must you always find a hair in the soup, Thomas?" I'll have to fly now, or I'll be late. Morgan will come back for you after he drops me. Thomas ..."
"Yes?"
"I want you to know that the whole Russian thing wasn't my idea. It was Noël who made up that story." Novello whispered something in Bobbie's ear, gave him a kiss, and ran out the door with Morgan.
Now that Thomas knew his position at the Abbey was secure, he was ready to stuff himself with sausages. Bobbie sat across from him while he ate. "Tell me, Thomas, have you ever considered another line of work?"
Thomas appreciated the chance to speak about his future to someone outside his Abbey life who was as level-headed as Bobbie. "Does Ivor expect me to find a new life here? It's been exciting to see his London, but you and I both know I don't belong in his set. I'm not an artist. My only place in a theatre is in the audience."
Bobbie laughed. "It takes some actors years to discover they belong in the audience."
Thomas smiled politely and returned to the subject. "Some retainers have left service for the hotel business. I believe I have the background for it, but I don't have as much capital as I should. I made an unfortunate business decision after the war, and I was wiped out."
"There's always an investor under a rock somewhere," replied Bobbie. "How about a personal tour of the Savoy Hotel while you're here and perhaps Brown's? You could ask the managers questions ... get a feel for the demands of the hotel business."
"They would do that for me?"
Bobbie smiled. "They might do it for The Butler. It depends on how willing you are to exploit the publicity you've received. You've been given a gift, Thomas. You should make the most of it. It won't last long."
Later that afternoon
Tennis Courts at Regent's Park
Thomas waved when he caught sight of Henry standing outside the far court. Morgan held up the promised bag of sandwiches, and Henry came running. It was sunny and hot, and they quickly found a wilted couple who were likely to surrender their court soon.
While they waited, Morgan readied the Leica camera he kept in the car. He was anxious to try his hand at some action shots. Henry chomped on sandwiches and explained the basics of the game. He showed Thomas how to grip the racket and how to coordinate his stroke with the proper footwork. He explained the parts of the court and the rules of service. Thomas was familiar with score-keeping from the newspaper. "Why is it 15-30-40 and not 45?" he asked.
Henry shrugged. "Nobody knows."
When the court was theirs, Henry served so Thomas could practice simple forehand and backhand strokes. At first, Thomas felt as if there were some unseen hole in his racket. "You must keep your arm, wrist, and racket in a straight line when you swing and hit the ball flat for now," advised Henry, who was enjoying his chance to be teacher. Soon Thomas got the hang of a flat stroke, and Henry could see he was competitive. "You must let the ball bounce on a serve before you hit it," he was forced to remind Thomas, twice.
Henry was impressed by Thomas' determination to return every ball, even when he landed on his knees and once on his belly. And he was astonished by how quickly Thomas righted himself when he did lose his footing. Several times, the two men were able to get a rally going. They played for well over an hour before Henry surrendered to the heat. "Let me buy you a pint," offered Thomas. "It's the least I can do."
Henry led them to a nearby pub, where the three were happy to be relieved of the sun. Thomas ordered them each a pint. "How is it that you're free during the days?" asked Henry.
"I'm on holiday. I'm visiting for the week from Yorkshire," replied Thomas.
"I suppose you've guessed from my uniform that I'm a chauffeur," added Morgan. My employer's working right now. I'll pick him up tonight. What about you?"
"I'm a milkman," explained Henry. "My work's done for the day. I'll go home from here and right to bed."
Thomas was about to ask Henry how long he'd been playing tennis when Henry gestured abruptly to a couple of young men giggling in the back. "It's queers like that who are ruining London. Ruining this country!"
Thomas and Henry looked at each other. "They're not hurting anyone," replied Morgan casually.
"Aren't they?" retorted Henry sharply. "They're undermining British youth, that's all! It's all part of the Jewish plot to take control."
"What?" Thomas was stunned.
"It's all in a pamphlet I have at home, Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion," proclaimed Henry triumphantly.
"That thing?" laughed Thomas uneasily. "The Times debunked that as a fake years ago. There was never any such meeting of Jews."
"Is that so?" challenged Henry. He studied their faces suspiciously. "And what may I ask are your family names?"
Thomas glanced at Morgan. "Cohen," answered Thomas.
"Levy," replied Morgan.
"I knew it!" declared Henry. "The next thing I know you'll be taking out your lipstick!"
"Why," asked Thomas. "Do you think I need it?"
"You disgust me!" Henry stomped out of the pub with his racket tucked under his arm.
Before Thomas and Morgan had a chance to digest what had happened, Henry was back. He picked up his pint and drained it, grabbed the racket that he had loaned Thomas, and stomped out all over again.
"Are there many like him in London?" Thomas asked Morgan.
"I don't think so. But when the economy declines, people like him seem to crawl out of the woodwork."
"It's frightening."
"I don't think so, Thomas. Not really." Morgan leaned back in his seat and waxed philosophical. "When my father was a boy, there was no compulsory education. By the time I was in school, the leaving age was 12, and now it's 14. Think how educated the next generation will be. They won't be fooled by rubbish like the Protocols!"
"I hope you're right, Morgan. I truly hope you're right."
"Don't let Henry spoil your day, Thomas. How about your driving lesson? Today you tackle the streets of London. Are you ready?"
Thomas didn't think he'd ever be ready for the streets of London, in a car or otherwise.
Wednesday night
St. Martin's Theatre
Bobbie directed Thomas through the crowd to their box, where Thomas was surprised to find Coward already seated.
"I started this royalty nonsense," Coward growled. "Now, Ivor insists I see it through. In the future, I must remember to be dull when I speak to the press about anyone other than myself."
Thomas had come to St. Martin's to see Tallulah Bankhead in They Knew What They Wanted. He thought the view would be better from the stalls, but Bobbie reminded him that he was there to be seen and that necessitated sitting in a box. Thomas took his seat next to Coward, and Bobbie excused himself, promising to return before the opening curtain. Thomas and Coward had little to say to each and perused their programs. As Thomas pulled out his pocket watch to check the time, he thought he heard whispers of The Butler emanating from the audience.
"Bobbie knows his stuff," remarked Coward.
"What stuff?" asked Thomas.
At that moment, Bobbie returned and sat next to Thomas. "Do you hear them?" he whispered. "I pointed you out to one person. Now everyone who has read about you in the paper knows you're here. Soon the entire theatre will be buzzing."
"That stuff," replied Coward wryly.
Bobbie glowed with self-satisfaction. "Wait until you see the performance Tallulah gives at the curtain call."
Thomas was baffled. "Why would she agree to do it, Bobbie?"
"I've told you, Thomas. Publicity is a gift."
Thomas was relieved when the play began, and the chatter faded. He thought Bankhead was fine in the role but was disappointed that she did not wear the exotic costumes for which she was known. She was playing a waitress, and exotic fashion did not suit the role.
Before the play was over, Bobbie slipped out and returned with an orchid he had stored in a backstage refrigerator by arrangement with the stage manager. The final curtain fell, and the actors took their bows. After each actor had received his or her due, Bankhead stepped forward and faced Thomas' box. Thomas smiled graciously (he had practiced in a mirror). Immediately, a fresh wave of chatter broke from the audience. Bankhead curtsied to Thomas as if she were being presented to the King. The audience seemed to hold its collective breath. After completing the formality, Bankhead raised her hand toward Thomas with the greeting, "Hello, DAHling!" The audience roared.
Thomas stood and held up the orchid, posing majestically as Bobbie had instructed. He tossed the bloom to Bankhead who caught it, and another round of applause erupted from the audience. Bankhead held up the orchid for the audience to admire. "And Daddy thinks I lost my flower!" she proclaimed in her husky voice, causing a new outburst. She called to Thomas. "Meet me in the car, dahling. If I'm late, be sure to keep your motor running!" Thomas smiled and bowed slightly, trying to tune out the audience's laughter. Bankhead's humour was not to his taste, but he supposed it had done the job.
Thomas left the box flanked by Coward and Bobbie. Morgan had been waiting in the corridor and brought up the rear. Thomas knew that he was only to nod and smile but not speak. Morgan had seen to it that the car was ready by the backstage door where a crowd was waiting for them. As Thomas stood by the car, programs were thrust in his face for him to sign. Bobbie handed him a pen, and he wrote, To Dorothy, To Harold, To Lucy, or to whatever name was requested and signed his name, The Butler. Bobbie spoke for Thomas. "My friend wishes to thank you for your kind attention." When Thomas was asked his name, Bobbie replied, "My friend wishes to apologize, but he protects his name to protect his safety."
When Bankhead appeared, Thomas took her hand and kissed it regally while flashbulbs popped about them. Thomas followed Bankhead and Coward into the car, and Bobbie sat up front with Morgan.
Bankhead held out her cigarette for a light. "Tell me, dahling, how did you like my performance?"
"The one during the show, or the one after?" Thomas asked sincerely as he lit her cigarette.
Bankhead considered the question. "During, dahling."
"I thought you were convincing, but you would have done better if you were out of those costumes."
Bankhead rewarded Thomas with her throaty laugh. "That's what they all say, dahling."
Thomas was mystified.
