Chapter Text
It was one of those perfect afternoons, the best of the sort the English summer had to offer. The rolling hills rolled right onto the banks of the lake ahead; the golden sunshine reflected cheerfully off the water. The surface of the lake was all deep blues with little white crests of waves, surrounded by sandy banks and lush green grass all around. It was the sort of pastoral idyll that those poet chappies could have filled any number of notebooks scribbling about.
Most beautiful of all was Jeeves, sitting on the bank looking bronzed and fit and handsome as ever in his fishing kit, his hat pulled low over his eyes as he watched the end of his fishing line bob about in the waters. If I were to ever commission a painterly fellow to do a bespoke scene, I would choose the one before me. I was certain there could be no better. There was certainly no other that I would like preserved in oils for all eternity, for my eyes to feast upon in perpetuity and to warm the Wooster breast on cold winter evenings.
August had become the highlight of the Wooster calendar, the time I anxiously awaited with bated breath, because it was absolutely chockfull of delightful moments such as these. It was with difficulty that I could cast my mind back to that time in my life when I dreaded August most of all because it signaled a month of separation between me and my man.
Even after Jeeves and I had realized our depths of love and affection for one another had gone far beyond the usual sort between gentleman and valet, Jeeves had insisted on biffing off on his annual holiday to keep up appearances, and I could hardly begrudge the fellow. He deserved a break from all that valeting he got up to, of course. I could keep a stiff upper lip while Jeeves enjoyed himself with the shrimping.
I had assumed one Wooster, B. was the only chap in the equation having an absolutely miserable August. That is, until the year Jeeves returned home from his holiday a week early, standing on the hall carpet looking like a lost kitten. I had inquired into the matter, positively baffled by the chap’s early return.
“It seemed antithetical to the idea to be miserable on one’s holiday,” Jeeves had replied.
I remembered looking at the fellow like I had been smacked in the face with a wet dishcloth or perhaps a shovel, I mean to say completely flabbergasted.
“My apologies, sir. If you would prefer I make my leave, I will do so,” Jeeves had begun, but before he could complete his thought I had launched myself into his arms with such vigor that I daresay he got his answer.
And so we rewrote the tradition a bit into something that would suit both of us much better. Jeeves tells his public he’s going one place, I tell my people I’m going another, and then we meet up at a third location known only to ourselves. Usually someplace nice and quiet, rather isolated from the rest of society, and with dashed good fishing.
I trotted up to Jeeves’s little spot on the bank. I leaned down and kissed the chap on the cheek.
“Hullo, dear,” I beamed at him.
“Good afternoon, my love,” Jeeves replied, beaming back at me with an upwards curl of the lip, “I see you’ve brought a picnic basket.”
“Yes, well, you left it by the cottage door with my name on it, so I thought I ought to.” I tapped the picnic basket in question merrily against my legs.
“Very astute of you,” Jeeves replied, his mouth curling ever upwards.
I set about laying out the picnic blanket and unpacking the various picnic accoutrement as Jeeves laid down his fishing paraphernalia.
I had tried to join Jeeves in his fishing on our first holiday together, but I found I didn’t quite have the temperament for it. I’m rather too fiddly, I mean to say; I don’t have the patience for the thing. Jeeves had called me a ‘restless spirit,’ and in the matter of fishing I’m inclined to agree. Jeeves quite likes the quiet and being alone with all the thoughts inside that massive brain of his, that’s why it bulges out the back rather handsomely you see, it’s absolutely chockablock of thoughts. Unfortunately this Wooster is not built along the same lines, so I’ve taken to finding other ways to entertain myself on these sojourns of ours. This morning, for example, I was enjoying a rather spiffing lie in and didn’t rise from beneath the covers until the sun had nearly reached its zenith.
Jeeves joined me on the picnic blanket and I poured him a glass of the champagne he had so thoughtfully packed in the ack emma.
“Are they biting, old thing?” I inquired of my man, nodding towards the lake.
“Indeed,” Jeeves replied, a dreamy sort of quality coming over his map, “I’ve gotten quite a good catch so far.”
“On the track for something record-breaking, I daresay,” I said, tipping my champagne glass towards him in a sort of toast.
“You are my best catch,” Jeeves said. He caught my hand in his as I reached for a sandwich, pressing his lips to the back of it.
“Oh, really? What if you were to catch a dashing merfellow? You know, one of those nautical chappies with a fishtail for their lower half?”
“I could dredge King Arthur himself from the depths and you would still stand alone,” Jeeves replied. His voice was utterly serious with not a hint of jest. A pink tinge bloomed in my cheeks.
“Are you certain, Jeeves? The once and future king, I mean to say? Rather a tough act to follow.”
“He wouldn’t have your charms, my dear.”
“Oh,” I sighed, and not just because Jeeves had kissed the inside of my wrist in that way I’m so fond of.
Jeeves resumed his post on the lake’s edge after we had concluded the meal, fishing rod once again in hand. I spread out on the blanket, making myself comfortable with the spine-tingler I had brought along. I found these holidays rather relaxing as well. They were just the ticket for restoring the frayed Wooster nerves. I didn’t have to fret about being interrupted by old school chums or marauding aunts. Not that I didn’t love them, they are my nearest and dearest, after all, but it was rather refreshing to sit back with a good book and not have the lingering worry that at the end of it someone’s going to ask me to pilfer something or other.
There was nothing sweeter than time alone with my man.
“My dear?” Jeeves’s voice floated down to me softly from somewhere above.
I reached up and removed the spine-tingler from its position covering my face. I’d closed my eyes for just a moment, but it appeared the warmth of the afternoon sun and the effects of the champagne at lunch had a rather soporific outcome and I’d ended up taking a bit of a kip.
“I am returning to the cottage, if you would care to join me?”
“Oh, spiffing,” I replied, shaking the dregs of sleep from the old bean. Jeeves offered me his hand, and I took it gratefully, allowing the fellow to pull me up from my reclining posish.
In my man’s other hand was a bucket overflowing with fish, their silvery scales shimmering in the sunlight. Jeeves caught me admiring his bounty, and the corner of his mouth hitched up enough to reveal a hint of teeth.
“They will make a most suitable dinner for us,” Jeeves said proudly.
“Need any help in the kitchen, old thing?” I inquired.
Jeeves’s nose wrinkled in displeasure at my offer. It had been made entirely in jest. Jeeves considered cleaning and frying the things as part of the fishing process and derived a great deal of joy from it. He only needed me to bestow compliments on how delicious the fruits of his labor were.
“That will not be necessary, sir,”
“Oop!” I exclaimed, tapping him upon his nose. “No sirs on holiday, old fruit. Pay up.”
Jeeves caught my chin in his hand and pulled me in for a kiss.