It seems impossible now that someone could have drawn a cartoon about Doodlebugs, and that everyone, including me, could have laughed at it. But we did. The old adage—humor is the best way to make the unbearable bearable—may be true.
Has Mr. Hastings found the Lucas biography for you yet?
Yours sincerely,
Juliet Ashton
From Juliet to Markham Reynolds
4th February, 1946
Mr. Markham Reynolds
63 Halkin Street
London S.W.1
Dear Mr. Reynolds,
I captured your delivery boy in the act of depositing a clutch of pink carnations upon my doorstep. I seized him and threatened him until he confessed your address—you see, Mr. Reynolds, you are not the only one who can inveigle innocent employees. I hope you don’t sack him; he seems a nice boy, and he really had no alternative—I menaced him with
Now I can thank you for the dozens of flowers you’ve sent me—it’s been years since I’ve seen such roses, such camellias, such orchids, and you can have no idea how they lift my heart in this shivering winter. Why I deserve to live in a bower, when everyone else has to be satisfied with bedraggled leafless trees and slush, I don’t know, but I’m perfectly delighted to do so.
Yours sincerely,
Juliet Ashton
From Markham Reynolds to Juliet
February 5, 1946
Dear Miss Ashton,
I didn’t fire the delivery boy—I promoted him. He got me what I couldn’t manage to get for myself: an introduction to you. The way I see it, your note is a figurative hand-shake and the preliminaries are now over. I hope you’re of the same opinion, as it will save me the trouble of wangling an invitation to Lady Bascomb’s next dinner party on the off-chance you might be there. Your friends are a suspicious lot, especially that fellow Stark, who said it wasn’t his job to reverse the direction of the Lend-Lease and refused to bring you to the cocktail party I threw at the
God knows, my intentions are pure, or at least, nonmercenary. The simple truth of it is that you’re the only female writer who makes me laugh. Your Izzy Bickerstaff columns were the wittiest work to come out of the war, and I want to meet the woman who wrote them.
If I swear that I won’t kidnap you, will you do me the honor of dining with me next week? You pick the evening—I’m entirely at your disposal.
Yours,
Markham Reynolds
From Juliet to Markham Reynolds
6th February, 1946
Dear Mr. Reynolds,
I am no proof against compliments, especially compliments about my writing. I’ll be delighted to dine with you. Thursday next?
Yours sincerely,
Juliet Ashton
From Markham Reynolds to Juliet
February 7, 1946
Dear Juliet,
Thursday’s too far away. Monday? Claridge’s? 7:00?
Yours,
Mark
P.S. I don’t suppose you have a telephone, do you?
From Juliet to Markham
7th February, 1946
Dear Mr. Reynolds,
All right—Monday, Claridge’s, seven.
I do have a telephone. It’s in Oakley Street under a pile of rubble that used to be my flat. I’m only sub-letting here, and my landlady, Mrs. Olive Burns, possesses the sole telephone on the premises. If you would like to chat
