Megan stood below me, her face upturned. She asked me why I was so cross.
'I'm not cross,' I said untruly. 'It just infuriates me to see you so slack, and not caring how you look.'
'I couldn't look nice, anyway, so what does it matter?'
'Cut it!' I said. 'I'd like to see you turned out properly. I'd like to take you to London and outfit you from tip to toe.'
'I wish you could,' said Megan.
The train began to move. I looked down into Megan's upturned, wistful face.
And then as I have said, madness came upon me.
I opened the door, grabbed Megan with one arm and fairly hauled her into the carriage.
There was an outraged shout from a porter, but all he could do was dexterously to bang shut the door again. I pulled Megan up from the floor where my impetuous action had landed her.
'What on earth did you do that for?' she demanded, rubbing one knee.
'Shut up,' I said. 'You're coming to London with me and when I've done with you you won't know yourself. I'll show you what you can look like if you try. I'm tired of seeing you mouch about down at heel and all anyhow.'
'Oh!' said Megan in an ecstatic whisper.
The ticket collector came along and I bought Megan a return ticket. She sat in her corner looking at me in a kind of awed respect.
'I say,' she said when the man had gone. 'You are sudden, aren't you?'
'Very,' I said. 'It runs in our family.'
How explain to Megan the impulse that had come over me? – She had looked like a wistful dog being left behind. She now had on her face the incredulous pleasure of the dog who has been taken on the walk after all.
'I suppose you don't know London very well?' I said to Megan.
'Yes, I do,' said Megan. 'I always went through it to school. And I've been to the dentist there and to a pantomime.'
'This,' I said darkly, 'will be a different London.'
We arrived with half an hour to spare before my appointment in Harley Street.
I took a taxi and we drove straight to Mirotin, Joanna's dressmaker. Mirotin is, in the flesh, an unconventional and breezy woman of forty-five, Mary Grey. She is a clever woman and very good company. I have always liked her.
I said to Megan, 'You're my cousin.'
'Why?'
'Don't argue,' I said.
Mary Grey was being firm with a stout woman who was enamored of a skin-tight powder-blue evening dress. I detached her and took her aside.
'Listen,' I said. 'I've brought a little cousin of mine along. Joanna was coming up but was prevented. But she said I could leave it all to you. You see what the girl looks like now?'
'I most certainly do!' said Mary Grey with feeling.
'Well, I want her turned out right in every particular from head to foot. Carte blanche. Stockings, shoes, undies, everything! By the way, the man who does Joanna's hair is close around here, isn't he?'
'Antoine? Around the corner. I'll see to that too.'
'You're a woman in a thousand.'
'Oh, I shall enjoy it – apart from the money – and that's not to be sneezed at in these days – half my damned brutes of women never pay their bills. But as I say, I shall enjoy it.'
She shot a quick professional glance at Megan standing a little way off. 'She's got a lovely figure.'
'You must have X-ray eyes,' I said. 'She looks completely shapeless to me.'
Mary Grey laughed.
'It's these schools,' she said. 'They seem to take a pride in turning out girls who preen themselves on looking like nothing on earth. They call it being sweet and unsophisticated. Sometimes it takes a whole season before a girl can pull herself together and look human. Don't worry, leave it all to me.'
'Right,' I said. 'I'll come back and fetch her about six.'
Marcus Kent was pleased with me. He told me that I surpassed his wildest expectations.
'You must have the constitution of an elephant,' he said, 'to make a comeback like this. Oh, well, wonderful what country air and no late hours or excitement will do for a man if he can only stick it.'
'I grant you your first two,' I said. 'But don't think that the country is free from excitement. We've had a good deal in my part.'
'What sort of excitement?'
'Murder,' I said.
Marcus Kent pursed up his mouth and whistled. 'Some bucolic love tragedy? Farm lad kills his lass?'
'Not at all. A crafty, determined lunatic killer.'
'I haven't read anything about it? When did they lay him by the heels?'
'They haven't, and it's a she!'
'Whew! I'm not sure that Lymstock's quite the right place for you, old boy.'
I said firmly, 'Yes, it is. And you're not going to get me out of it.'
Marcus Kent has a low mind. He said at once, 'So that's it! Found a blonde?'
'Not at all,' I said, with a guilty thought of Elsie Holland. 'It's merely that the psychology of crime interests me a good deal.'
'Oh, all right. It certainly hasn't done you any harm so far, but just make sure that your lunatic killer doesn't obliterate you!'
'No fear of that,' I said.
'What about dining with me this evening? You can tell me all about your revolting murder.'
'Sorry. I'm booked.'
'Date with a lady – eh? Yes, you're definitely on the mend.'
'I suppose you could call it that,' I said, rather tickled at the idea of Megan in the role.
I was at Mirotin's at six o'clock when the establishment was officially closing. Mary Grey came to meet me at the top of the stairs outside the showroom. She had a finger to her lips.
'You're going to have a shock! If I say it myself, I've put in a good bit of work.'
I went on into the big showroom. Megan was standing looking at herself in a long mirror. I give you my word I hardly recognized her! For the minute it took my breath away. Tall and slim as a willow with delicate ankles and feet shown off by sheer silk stockings and well-cut shoes. Yes, lovely feet and hands, small bones – quality and distinction in every line of her. Her hair had been trimmed and shaped to her head and it was glowing like a glossy chestnut. They'd had the sense to leave her face alone. She was not made up, or if she was it was so slight and delicate that it did not show. Her mouth needed no lipstick.
Moreover there was about her something that I had never seen before, a new innocent pride in the arch of her neck. She looked at me gravely with a small, shy smile.
'I do look – rather nice, don't I?' said Megan.
'Nice?' I said. 'Nice isn't the word! Come on out to dinner and if every second man doesn't turn round to look at you I'll be surprised. You'll knock all the other girls into a cocked hat.'
Megan was not beautiful, but she was unusual and striking-looking. She had personality. She walked into the restaurant ahead of me and as the head waiter hurried toward us, I felt the thrill of idiotic pride that a man feels when he has got something out of the ordinary with him.
We had cocktails first and lingered over them. Then we dined. And later we danced. Megan was keen to dance and I didn't want to disappoint her, but for some reason or other I hadn't thought she would dance well. But she did. She was light as a feather in my arms, and her body and feet followed the rhythm perfectly.
'Gosh!' I said. 'You can dance!'
She seemed a little surprised.
'Well, of course I can. We had dancing class every week at school.'
'It takes more than dancing class to make a dancer,' I said. We went back to our table.
'Isn't this food lovely?' said Megan. 'And everything!'
She heaved a delighted sigh.
