Ineligible Bachelorette

Chapter 2. No Violets for Violet

I pressed down on the accelerator, and took considerable pleasure from nearly running over a group of boy scouts on my way back into London when I was sneezing. Besides the herds of love-starved fellows roaming about, the other reason I dislike spring is because I'm extremely vulnerable to flower pollen. One whiff of a rose and I sneeze like a perfect rabbit—a rabbit with hay fever, I mean. I'm told it's a perfectly harmless reaction and some of my kinder friends have told me it's an endearing sort of infirmity, but it's affected my psyche so much that I can't even stand the sight of a park in May. But threatening to damage humanity in the form of boy scouts made me feel a little better for the wrongs of my uncle, and I drove through London without menacing any more pedestrians.

I finally cut the ignition in front of Silhouettes, my favorite tea and bun shop, and wandered in, feeling a bit like Cleopatra when she knew her asp had arrived in the mail. I spotted Carlotta, a great pal of mine since childhood, sitting by the window, and I staggered over. She was ogling a couple of hats in a tailor shop across the street, but when she saw my hunted expression she cheesed it quickly.

"I say, Vi, you're looking rather peaky," Lotty said. "Coffee?"

I slithered into a seat. "My life is over, old crumb. I'm to be married."

"Oh!"

"What do you mean, 'Oh!'? It's certainly no good saying 'Oh!', because my Uncle Merton doesn't give a jellied eel for exclamations of any kind."

"Cheer up, Vi, it can't be so bad as that! Who's the lucky man?"

"Mr. Forsythe."

"Not Foreign Office Forsythe?" When I nodded, Lotty hailed the johnny behind the counter, making it very clear that a round of sherrys were called for. "Tell me all, scout."

I did so, trying to stay in the spirit of how I felt a half-hour ago, but Silhouettes' muffins make the blackest of clouds regain the jolly old silver lining.

"I'm sure you'll be introduced to him soon," I said, taking a gulp of the sherry. "We'll be having all sorts of engagement parties and things, I imagine. He does so like to not talk about his job to other people that I'm sure he'll be hosting dinner parties from now until the wedding."

"What if Forsythe doesn't take? You could try acting cold."

"It doesn't matter how I act when he's around. Uncle Merton's got pots of money just waiting to dish out. Never had a son, you see—all he's got are daughters and nieces, and he's an absolute terror to every one of them. It's a complex, or something. Face it, Lotty, I'm in the soup unless you've got a brilliant scheme to—ahchoo!"

I took out a handkerchief and gave a dab to the nose.

"What is that?"

"What is what?"

Lotty pointed at my handkerchief. "There's something on your handkerchief."

I looked at it. "Oh! It's a violet. Isn't it droll? The shop said that they'd put embroidery on the first dozen for free if I ordered two and—so I got them."

Lotty had a wounded look in her eye. "Oh."

I pursed my lips. "Don't you like them, Lotty?"

"Hmmm."

"What do you mean, 'hmm'? They say it's very fashionable to have embroidered handkerchiefs!"

"Which 'they'? The Americans?"

"Oh, come off it, Lotty! I've already had two gi'ls tell me they were very interesting."

"Probably because they couldn't think of anything else to say."

"Enough about my handkerchiefs!" I stuffed it in my purse. "So? Are you going to help me, or not?"

"I'm sure once Mr. Forsythe sees those handkerchiefs, you won't need any help."

"Lotty!"

I gave a withering glare in order to make her see that this was no laughing matter, but the effect was lost on her, because sat up and stared out the window with a sharp cry.

"He's there!"

"What? What's the matter?"

"There, across the street! Look, be a good gi'l and pop off will you? I've got to do a bit of drawing."

"Drawing? What for?"

"Portrait drawing, if you must know. He only comes by this way once a week and I don't need you distracting me. I absolutely worship the man!" In an instant Alexandria had a fountain pen poised over her napkin, looking ready to take some poor blighter's likeness right down to the pimples. "If I only I had a camera! Then I could find out his name! He's the most handsome man you ever saw, Vi—an absolute angel!"

I tried to follow her gaze and catch a glimpse of this angel, but it appeared that one of the office buildings nearby just let out for lunch, and I couldn't see how she managed to pick one fellow out among the dozens streaming by on the opposite side of the street.

"Which one is he?" I asked, squinting.

"That one in the dark blue—no, you've missed him, he's gone behind that group there…." She scribbled madly on the napkin, but when she looked up again, she gave another sharp wail. "My God!"

"What now?"

"He's coming over here!"

I looked out the window again, and felt my mouth drop open, because I was met with the sight of Mr. Forsythe himself walking across the street towards the shop. Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather!

"Oh, what if he comes in!" Lotty was squeaking, "If he comes in, you'll have to talk to him, you're so much better with men than I am—"

"Lotty, you perfect chump, that's Mr. Forsythe!"

And a moment later, the bell above the door jangled, and there he was. Mr. Edward Forsythe had the look of the secret service—his dark narrowed eyes flitted furtively from one end of the shop to the other, his tall body looking ready to pounce on an unsuspecting spy at any moment. Today his suspicious demeanor looked even more pronounced, and he didn't so much smile when he saw me as glare. He slithered over.

"Hallo, Violet," he said, when he was sure no one was going to pull a gun on him.

"Hallo!" I said, trying to be cheerful, "Won't you sit down, Edward? I haven't ordered yet."

"No, I'm too busy to stay."

He stood there, his eyes still shifting around the shop. People were beginning to stare.

Lotty cleared her throat in a marked manner. "I say—Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Violet, dear?"

"Er—this is Carlotta Sinclaire, Edward," I said. "We were at finishing school together."

"Pleased to meet you," Lotty said, and I could have sworn she batted her eyes at him.

"I had a partner named Sinclaire, once," Forsythe said, wistfully. "He turned out to be a spy."

"Oh!" Lotty said, apparently quite interested in Mr. Forsythe's eyes, "Really!"

"Oh, it's alright—that's declassified information," Forsythe said.

"Oh, I see! Very exciting, isn't it, Vi?"

We let the sounds of the shop filter in around us again, never a merrier party seen, I should think. Eventually Forsythe cleared his throat again.

"Violet? It's a—er—fine spring morning, don't you know. Would you mind, er, taking a turn with me around the—er, well, there's a park just past the square—I thought we could talk about things. You know."

I stared at the man. Was this the best that Britain's foreign office could produce? Subtlety and mild deception were apparently in the day-to-day job description. Yet the poor fish was shifting about from foot to foot in the most obvious state of nervousness I had ever seen. Still, if I was going to marry this blighter I had to be supportive.

"Yes, alright, Edward," I said, "Why don't you meet me outside? I'll just finish my tea."

He nodded, and crept off.

"Well, there you are, Lotty," I said. "Shiftiest little fellow I've ever seen. Can't imagine that you really saw much in him."

Lotty sighed. "Oh, Violet!" There was something rummy in the way she spoke. Sort of forlorn, don't you know.

"Lotty, you can't tell me that you're still potty about him now! Didn't you hear him talk? You said yourself he must be the most scurrying, self-centered fellow since Cassius!"

"Yes—well, I didn't know he looked like that!"

"Well, I'll tell you what, Lotty, if you can get him to break off our engagement, you can have him! Pip pip!"

I gathered up my things and trotted outside.