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“Oofy’s birthday bash is sure to be one for the history books.”
Bertie took up a few Turkish cigarettes from the silver box on the shelf, tucked them into his matching silver case. He then tucked said cigarette case into his jacket pocket, patted it as if to make certain it was secure.
“Last year, on Oofy’s birthday, we all got rather wild. Stilton and Tuppy had a bet as to who could fit the most eggs in their mouth before they cracked. Stilton lost, of course. Who wouldn’t against Tuppy? He’s got a mouth that could rival a whale’s, does Tuppy. He must have crammed in about three eggs before he began demonstrating any sign of a struggle.”
He chuckled idly to himself, looking into the living room mirror and smoothing back his brilliantined hair.
“Anyway, old Stilton failed immediately, ending up with a mouth positively dripping with yolk, and then consequently kicked up a huge fuss, as he is wont to do. Several things got smashed in the process, a table somehow got set on fire, and then everyone got the bum’s rush.”
He smiled dreamily to himself, looking into the middle distance as though seeing the whole night play out in a motion picture.
“We went out on the town, completely out on the tiles. In the end, we swarmed a public fountain, and Gussie almost drowned. He was pretending to be a newt, you see. And then, a policeman came along and arrested half of us – well, the ones they could catch, anyway!”
Bertie giggled, inviting Jeeves to laugh along with him.
“Sounds most… boisterous, sir.” Jeeves was sliding on his great grey coat. Although he wasn’t one to giggle as such, a fond smile played upon his lips.
Beaming, Bertie approached the front door with a hop, a skip and a jump, “It is boisterous, Jeeves! Boisterous and unruly! One might even go as far to say, raucous.”
“I am pleased to hear that Mr Prosser’s birthday dinner is expected to be invigorating, sir.” Jeeves put on his bowler hat.
“And what about you, old thing?” Bertie grinned, “Is it the Junior Ganymede for you tonight?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. We are toasting the retirement of one of our most senior members.”
“Ah! That sounds like an occasion that calls for a little excitement. I suppose you’ll be indulging in a bit of boisterousness yourself then, Jeeves!”
Jeeves’s lips quirked into an approximation of a smirk as he handed Bertie his own top hat and cane.
“I intend to indulge myself a little, sir.” He allowed graciously.
The ins and outs of the Ganymedean celebrations were lightly discussed as they exited the flat, trundled down in the lift, and stepped out into the cool twilight together. The streetlamps were just being lit, casting a faint yellow glow in the street.
“Well, I wish you the greatest of luck in your endeavours!” Bertie said, with a tone of finality, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jeeves. Hopefully I won’t be looking at the inside of a prison cell, but who can say which cards destiny will deal me. You never know with Oofy’s parties!”
Bertie began to turn away, about to start his jaunt down to the Drones Club.
“Ah, sir!” Jeeves called out urgently.
He surged forward, interrupting Bertie’s movement.
A gloved white hand came up and straightened his bowtie. Silk fingertips ran deftly into the space between collar and skin, disappearing almost before they could be felt. Invisible motes of dust were brushed from Bertie’s shoulders and the line of the jacket smoothed out. The white rose in his buttonhole was fingered and adjusted.
Bertie stood very, very still. When the fingers lifted round to his neck again for one last pass, Jeeves could see the flutter of his pulse under his jaw.
It couldn’t have lasted long; no more than a few moments, really. To Bertie, it seemed more like aeons. Civilisations could have risen and fallen in the time it took for Jeeves hands to stop fluttering about his person.
Finally, though, those clever hands drew back and left him bereft.
“There, sir.” Jeeves murmured. His eyes glittered darkly in the low light.
“Yes.” Bertie said.
“Yes.” Bertie said again. High spots of colour had appeared in his cheeks. He cleared his throat, “Thank you, Jeeves.”
Jeeves inclined his head, eyes still trained darkly on Bertie, “You’re welcome, sir.”
Bertie cleared his throat once more, nodding so energetically it tipped his hat, before backing away rapidly, shouting his goodbyes.
Jeeves simply stood there outside Berkeley Mansions and watched him flee down the street. His hands flexed restlessly at his sides.