triedunture | Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Club for Inverts (Part 4) (Reply)

I woke up stretched out on my back, curved into the uncomfortable U shape of the cushioned seat. My shirt has somehow made its way back onto my frame, which was handy as it was chilly in the alcove.

I sat up suddenly and immediately regretted the swift change to the upright. As I clutched at my pounding head and waited for the room to stop spinning, I tried to think of why I was alone. Jeeves was gone, and no trace of him remained. My mind was a painful foggy thing, and it took a long moment for me to get it working passably.

First things first, I told myself. Was I sure that there was no trace of Jeeves? For one panicked moment, I considered that the entire evening had truly been a dream, but no: my knees ached like the dickens. I examined the sorry state of my attire. I had been shoved back into the clothes somewhat haphazardly, and not every button and fastener was done up, but at least I wasn't indecent. It even appeared that Jeeves (for who else could have done such a thing for me?) had blotted some of the sticky fluid from my hand and my trousers; the stains weren't as awful as they should have been.

I looked down at the floorboards and saw a crumpled handkerchief. I didn't dare touch it, for I could tell by the way it was all stuck together what it had been used for. I patted my suit coat's breast pocket and found I still had my own handkerchief in my possession.

Right, we're getting somewhere, I assured myself. Now if only I could play at Sherlock Holmes just like Jeeves always did. Any more clues as to Jeeves' actions and perhaps current whereabouts?

I spied an ash tray on the little alcove table. It was overflowing with the ends of gaspers much like the kind Jeeves sometimes smoked. Had Jeeves stayed for a long while, then? Or had that dirtied ash tray been there before we stumbled into the alcove? I couldn't remember. I rubbed at my aching temples. Why couldn't I bally remember?

Hope strayed into my train of thought and said that perhaps Jeeves had just gotten up to finally use the gents' and he would be back soon. Yes, that was it, I reasoned. He would be back in no time at all.

What time was it, anyway? I reached for my pocket watch.

'Seven-thirty in the bloody morning!?' I cried. I stared at the watch face for several more ticks of the second hand. Still the numbers did not shift. I had slept all through the night!

I lurched past the privacy curtain and into the hallway. All was silent. I lumbered my way to the washroom, which was just as empty. I gave my hands a quick rinse and splashed some cold water on my face. I looked in the cloudy mirror and saw that I was still wearing my idiotic mask. And my collar was bent, and my hair was an absolute rat's nest. But there was little I could do about all that, given that my head was currently filled with buzzsaws and brass bells.

Finally, I dragged myself to the main hall, which looked dashed deserted. There was only the elderly attendant, sweeping the remains of last night's revelry from the floor. He looked up at me and said, 'Ah, Mr Benton. Let me get your coat and hat, sir.' He abandoned his broom and headed toward the entryway.

I followed as best I could, weaving round overturned chairs and skewed furniture. 'Is Victor—?'

'Mr Larson left the premises some hours ago,' he informed me. 'Allow me to procure a taxicab for you.'

When the taxi spilled me out into Berkeley Square, I was still no closer to figuring out what the devil had happened to Jeeves. He might have left for any number of reasons. Knowing Jeeves, he was probably dying for a shower. I contented myself with these pathetic thoughts as I climbed the stairs and fumbled my key round in the lock.

'Jeeves?' I called out as I entered the flat. There was no answer, so I hung my coat and hat myself and moved with some difficulty toward the kitchen. My head was absolutely splitting. I needed one of those magic pick-me-ups that Jeeves always made for me, and I needed it now. 'Are you in, Jeeves?' I tried again.

There was no sign of my valet in the kitchen, but while standing in that same room I saw the door to his private lair was open, a rare occurrence.

I approached it with caution. 'Jeeves?' I asked once more, pushing the door wider.

Jeeves was, in fact, within the confines of his quarters. He was dressed in his usual clothing of pinstripes and morning coat, and he was seated on the edge of his thin mattress. In his hands he held a small black domino mask, and he did not look up from his contemplation of the item at the sound of my voice. I was about to make a new inquiry when he finally spoke.

'I cannot do this any longer,' he said softly.

Puzzled, I pushed past the door and stepped into Jeeves' room. 'Do what, Jeeves?'

'I cannot be a party to this,' he paused to shake his head, as if the words were too vile to give voice to, 'this charade. It has gone too far, sir.'

I licked my parched and cracked lips. 'I quite agree,' I said. 'Jeeves, it's time I told you something. Got it out in the open, as it were.' I took another step forward, and my hand reached out to nearly touch Jeeves' majestic shoulder. Still he didn't pick his head up. 'Do you think you could look at me, Jeeves?'

Jeeves turned to face me at last. I won't say he looked haggard, for Jeeves could never look anything so common as that. But there was a darkness round his eyes that no amount of stage makeup could conceal. Still, he looked a sight better than I felt after last night's binge.

In fact, the twinge in my chest told me just how much better he looked to me. Better than any other man in the whole world. I forged ahead.

'I—' I swallowed. 'I'm falling for you, old thing.'

I don't know what I expected. For Jeeves to soften like a jelly in the sunlight, perhaps, and offer a matching declaration for the young master? For him to take me in his arms and assure me that I was right to tell him how I felt? For a bally rhino to come charging through the flat? Who knows what I thought would happen.

But I certainly did not expect Jeeves to stand swiftly, the domino mask falling to the floor like forgotten detritus. Anger radiated from my man as he paced the small space of his lair with his hands balled into fists at his sides. Snorting puffs of air like a bull, he finally hissed, 'Sir, that is not true.'

'But it is true, Jeeves.' I stared at him like a helpless thing. 'I love—'

'You're in love with Victor Larson!' Jeeves roared, wheeling on me at last. 'You love a man who does not exist!'

'N-no,' I protested. My brain, slow and fevered with the effects of the night's drinking, could barely grasp this turn of events. I had never seen Jeeves as furious as he was at that moment. Dash it, I'd never seen Jeeves as any-emotion as he was at that moment! 'It's you, Jeeves. It's you I—'

'Two and a half years, sir.' Jeeves said that 'sir' in a rummy sort of way, like it was a curse. 'For two and a half years I have been in your service. And not once have you ever hinted that you hold any special fondness for me!'

'Now see here—!' I attempted to rally against this vicious onslaught of logic, but Jeeves persisted.

'You meet Victor Larson at an inverts' club, and within a matter of days, just days, you say you are in love? Forgive me, sir,' he snapped, 'if I take your words with a grain of salt!'

I worked my tongue round my dry mouth and gaped like a landed fish. 'But—'

Jeeves cut me off with a gesture, his hand slicing through the air mercilessly. 'You cannot ask me to continue in this vein. I will not allow you to—' He clamped his mouth shut, like speaking to me was causing him physical pain. There was a short silence, and then he continued.

'Sir, do not offer me a parody of love,' Jeeves said blackly.

Hot tears brimmed at the edges of my vision, and I fought to keep them in check. My mind raced back to the previous night, when we'd held each other's writhing bodies, and I had knelt to pleasure Jeeves with my mouth. My legs, which were shaky to begin with from my crippling headache, finally buckled under this added stress, and I sat heavily on the bed.

'Is that what last night was for you, Jeeves?' I asked in a low voice. 'A bloody parody?'

Jeeves crossed the room to his chest of drawers and began opening them and removing articles of clothing by the fistful. 'Last night was a mistake on both our parts,' he said without looking away from his task. 'I broke my self-imposed celibacy because I thought—I hoped—that it was something altogether different than what it was: a masquerade without meaning or permanency.' He produced a valise from somewhere or other and began filling it. I watched him, frozen, unable to stop it.

'You have fooled yourself, sir, into thinking you have emotions for me when you do not. It was an illusion of a man with a cigar and a fine suit that inspired your lust. There are hundreds of men like him in this city, sir. You will not go without for long.' Jeeves snapped the clasps of his valise closed. 'In time, you will see that I speak the truth. Now, however, I must leave.'

'Jeeves, please—' I stood to reach out for him, to keep him there with me, to make him believe me. But this is Jeeves we're talking about. He was gone before I'd taken a single step. I rushed to the door, down the stairs, even out into the street. But he had shimmered out of my life like a mirage.

A lesser man might have slumped into a corner and wept. For once, I thought the lesser man might be on to something, so I plodded back into the flat and did just that for a short space of time. But soon, I dried my eyes and resolved to fix this mess I'd gotten us into. I was convinced that Jeeves shared my feelings, or else he would not have exploded in such a rage. If he had felt nothing for me, he would have merely raised an eyebrow an eighth of an inch and said, 'You're in love with me, sir? Very good, sir. Breakfast will be served in fifteen minutes.' If only I could make him see that I loved him, and not some part he was playing.

I knew I was in the right. It wasn't mere lustful urges that compelled me; last night had meant something; and dash it, I sought permanency like a billy-o when it came to Jeeves! I didn't care about cigars or fine suits or any of that nonsense. I was willing to hand my heart to him, with or without it.

And damn it all, I would hand it to him if I had to strong-arm him into accepting it!

I uncurled from my corner and set about my task. First I had to claw my way back to the land of the living, which meant a hot bath and a breakfast all without the aid of my trusted valet. I made a hash out of the eggs and b., but the toast was edible. I ate it while soaking in the tub, heedless of the crumbs which fell into my bathwater.

I chewed. And I thought.

An idea occurred to me. I know, I was shocked too. But if Jeeves was to be shown the true depth of my feelings for him, I had to find him and explain all to him, from start to finish. I only hoped I wasn't too late.

Leaving the last slice of soggy toast floating in the bath, I leapt out of the water and into some clean togs. By the time I'd gotten myself decently clothed and brushed up, it was already after noon. I left the flat armed with an umbrella, since the skies looked so bleak, though it might have just been my view of the world that had gone black since Jeeves had gone.

The first stop I made was at the Junior Ganymede, of course. I had thought that this would be the first place that Jeeves would go. He could get a meal, commiserate with his fellow valets, and perhaps form a plan for his next venture in employment. But when I asked the club's doorman if Jeeves was in, he told me no. I wheedled; perhaps Jeeves was in and had asked not to be disturbed, in which case, I informed the doorman, this was a bally emergency and had to be brought to his attention immediately. Still the doorman said that Jeeves had not stopped by the Ganymede that day. I produced a crisp twenty pound note. The doorman took it. And told me once again that Mr Jeeves had not shown his face at the club since last Thursday, but if I would leave a telephone number, he promised to alert me if Jeeves turned up.

With no other recourse at that dead end, I gave the doorman the number and kept on.

I next visited The Agency. I had only been there once before, to inquire about a suitable valet. They had produced Meadowes, a man who stole my socks and nicked the gin from the sideboard at every chance. I had given The Agency a piece of my mind after that, I can tell you. And then they sent me Jeeves, for which, I suppose, I will always be grateful.

I thought that if Jeeves was in need of a new master, The Agency would be the first place he would go, what? But the secretary at the front desk told me they hadn't seen hide nor hair of Jeeves at all. Their records showed that he'd been on their roster of valets two and a half years ago, but he was currently listed as being in my employ. I slipped the secretary another piece of monetary assurance and instructed her to contact me if Jeeves came to them and attempted to change that listing.

'Has there been some sort of unpleasantness in Mr Jeeves' employment situation?' the secretary asked. She reached for her heavy files once more. 'I can procure a new valet for you, if you wish.'

I told her no and continued on.

I must have criss-crossed London a dozen times that day. After leaving The Agency, I went to Haymarket, where I remember Jeeves often did the shopping. There was no sign of him there, so I stopped by the tea shop he had frequented when that waitress had been besotted with him. Nothing. I went to the movie theatre, where I thought Jeeves might be taking in a matinee show, but that didn't turn up anything. The library, the museum, Hyde Park, the Embankment: all places I knew Jeeves enjoyed, places that I thought he might go if he needed to be alone to think. The more time passed without me getting any closer to finding Jeeves, the more anxious I became. What if he had just gotten on the first train out of London? He could be anywhere, and the city was so vast, and I wasn't clever enough to track him down on my own.

I sat on a wooden bench beside the Thames and held my head in my hands. The sun was going down. A misty, half-hearted rain began to fall. The air was getting chilly, and I was without my overcoat. I needed Jeeves to remind me about things like overcoats. I scrubbed at my tired face with my palm, feeling as worn out as a pair of rugger shorts at the end of the season.

There was only one more place I could think to go to look for Jeeves, and it would be difficult. I had meant to find Jeeves outside of that strange world of The Black Cloak. My plan hinged on explaining things to him rationally. And I needed to speak to Jeeves as Jeeves, not Jeeves as Victor. But dash it, if it was my only option, I had to try.

Besides, finding Jeeves at the Cloak was better than never finding him at all.

I made my way to the club, arriving just after 7 o'clock. I belatedly realised I wasn't wearing evening dress, and the elderly attendant looked at me askance, if that's the word I want, when I walked damply into the foyer.

'Mr Benton—' he began with a note of displeasure.

'Yes, yes, I know, I'm not dressed properly. I need to go inside just for a moment,' I pleaded.

The attendant shook his wrinkled head. 'I'm afraid you can't, sir.'

'Well.' I fretted. 'Can you at least tell me if Victor Larson is here tonight?'

The old man pressed his lips into a harsh line.

'Please,' I said, my voice cracking in a most embarrassing fashion, 'this is a matter of life and death.'

Normally, when detectives say that sort of rot in novels, the other characters gasp and speedily make way. Not so with this attendant johnnie. If anything, he looked even more unaccommodating. 'Sir, it is against club policy to—'

'How much?' I took out my billfold. 'Twenty? Fifty?'

'Mr Benton!'

'A hundred?' I counted out the notes and handed them over. 'It's all I have. Please, take it. I only need ten minutes.'

He gave me a searching eye and then, without taking my fistful of cash, handed me a domino mask with a sigh. 'Go on in,' he said. 'Just for ten minutes.'

'Thank you, oh, thank you, old top!' I could have kissed the man, but I was busy putting my money back in my billfold and slapping the mask over my map. He unlocked the door to the main hall, and I legged it.

The crowd was fairly thin, as it was so early in the evening, and I was able to scan the main hall with ease. It was the work of a moment to catch sight of a round table lined with several chaps, as they composed the largest knot of patrons. I recongised Horton from my first night at the piano, and Peter, and Simon, and Christopher, and several other birds that I had never been properly introduced to. And there, in their midst, presiding over the table like a statesman, was Jeeves. He was dressed impeccably in white tie; I idly remembered a night we had spent at Totleigh Towers, when I was so deep in the soup that I could have cried, and Jeeves had urged me to dress in my finest white tie instead of black to bolster my mood. It comforted me to think that perhaps Jeeves needed cheering at the mo' much like myself.

I approached swiftly, and as I did, I could hear the tail end of what had to have been Jeeves dispensing his legendary advice.

'—and so that is why you must send a letter to the board, Horton, after which time you shall seek out—' Jeeves glanced up at me as I came up alongside the table, and his gaze darkened almost immediately. 'Nicholas,' he said with the coldest disdain.

'What ho.' I looked round at the curious faces lining the table. This wasn't the place to lay one's heart on one's sleeve, dash it. 'Erm, Victor, might I have a word?'

He tapped his cigar over an ash tray at his elbow and somehow managed to look down at me from a chair. 'I would prefer to remain seated,' he said. 'If you have something to say to me, you will have to say it here.'

Horton, who seemed to sense the tension in the air, offered me a wane smile. 'Victor was just giving me some corking suggestions on how to secure a new lease,' he explained. 'Do you perhaps have a problem that needs his attention as well?'

'Oh, you can talk of your troubles in front of us, Nicholas,' Simon added. 'It's all right.'

I looked wildly over at Jeeves, but he made no move to help me. He only glared at me over the rim of his highball glass as he took a drink. I swallowed my pride and began in a shaky voice.

'Well, you see, the rummy thing is—' I looked round at the men seated at the table, and they all nodded in encouragement, save Jeeves. 'The thing is,' I continued, 'I've fallen in love. And the chap I love won't hear any of it.'

This brought out moues of sympathy from the birds in the audience.

'Is he married?'

'Perhaps he's not an invert?'

'Have you tried offering him a damn good—?'

'Peter!' Horton shushed him and everyone else at the table. 'Let him tell it, will you?' He turned back to me. 'So why isn't he receptive, lad?'

I licked at my dry lips and held Jeeves' gaze, which was hard and dangerous, as if daring me not to tread on unsafe ground.

'He thinks I want someone else. Another cove, you see, who isn't the first cove and who the first cove thinks is—'

'The same thing once happened to me,' Simon piped up from the peanut gallery. 'When I came to ask Victor about it, he found it helped if I referred to them as A and B. So why don't you make the first man, the chap you love, person A and the second one can be person B. It will be less confusing.'

'Right. Sorry.' I shuffled my feet, jittery with nerves. 'So A thinks I love B, but I don't. And I don't know how to prove it to A.'

The assemblage turned as one to Jeeves, ready to hear his invaluable words of wisdom. Jeeves set his cigar down in its tray and laced his fingers together on the tabletop. He resembled a disapproving bank manager as he leaned forward to quiz me.

'Perhaps, Nicholas, you should respect person A's wishes and cease your pursuit,' he intoned.

This answer didn't please the tablemates at all. There were squawks of disbelief from all corners.

'But Victor, of course he can't just give up!'

'Can't you see the boy's hurting?'

'Nicholas, what did you do to make this beloved of yours think such a thing?' Peter drawled.

'I didn't do anything! Well, nothing untoward, I assure you,' I sputtered.

'Oh?' Jeeves divided his attention between myself and his flute of champagne. 'So you did not, for instance, make love to B, all the while giving not a thought to A?'

'Certainly not!' I seethed. 'And you're a fool if you think so!'

An uncomfortable silence descended over the group gathered at the table, and Jeeves and I continued to shoot daggers at each other with our eyes. I stepped closer to Jeeves' chair, not caring any longer if this argument was hashed out in front of everyone at the Cloak.

'It was you I touched last night. Not Victor.' I tried to ignore the twittering whispers from the other men at this statement of mine. 'No other name even crossed my mind.'

I heard Peter whisper to Horton, 'He knows Victor outside of here, then. The two of them . . . .'

The look that clouded Jeeves' eyes was terrible: his anger melded with fear and panic. 'Don't you dare say another word,' he whispered.

'You needn't worry. I won't reveal your identity,' I promised. 'It's yours and yours alone. Just tell me what I can do to convince you that when I look at you,' I reached out carefully and traced the shape of his black mask with my fingertips, 'I see beyond this.'

The table seemed to hold their collected breath, and I did as well. Finally, Jeeves reached up and gently, slowly, heart-crushingly brushed my hand away. 'You do not understand what you see,' he said in a hoarse voice. 'You are mistaken, Nicholas.'

I flinched, stung at the use of that false name. A look round told me that the audience shared my feelings, though they averted their eyes from me.

'Fine,' I said. 'Right.'

I took a step back and was hit with a bolt of inspiration from heaven itself. Jeeves would only address me as Nicholas? Well, I would put an end to that. I would give Jeeves the only thing I had left to give.

I looked to my right and saw a small round drinks table being used by a pair of bearded chaps. With a muttered apology, I mounted their table to stand high above the assembled crowd of patrons. The beards protested to my feet knocking their ash tray to the floor, but I paid them no mind.

'Excuse me, everyone! Pardon me, hullo!' I clapped to get the attention of every last man in the room. Soon everybody was staring at me, standing on the table like a loon, and I proceeded. 'I'd like to make a small announcement. This man here,' I pointed at Jeeves, 'the man you know as Victor, and who I know as someone else entirely, is probably the most perfect and marvellous chap in the world, in my opinion. You may not agree, but there you are. To each his own. And I say this not as Nicholas Benton, but as—'

And here I peeled away my domino mask amid shocked exclamations from the crowd.

'—Bertram Wilberforce Woo—'

I would have carried on, of course, with the rest of the Wooster name, but Jeeves sprang to his feet and grappled me off my little table before the syllable could leave my lips. He slapped my mask back on my face and hissed under his breath, 'What in God's name are you doing!?'

Within the blink of an eye, Jeeves had frog-marched me from the main hall, where everyone was openly staring and pointing at us, through a red curtain to a relatively empty corridor. And it was there he resumed his verbal war upon my person.

'What madness has possessed you, sir?' he cried as he attempted to get my mask on straight.

I tore it off once more. 'I am not mad, Jeeves. I wanted to declare my intentions open and honestly, and I don't care who knows about it.'

'The masks are mandatory for a reason,' Jeeves lectured. 'Any number of blackmailers, sir, might be present at a given moment. We have had problems with them in the past. You could be arrested!'

'If I was, you would free me in some clever way,' I said with a shrug.

Jeeves stared at me hard. 'And if I did not come to your aid, sir?'

I lowered my eyes. 'Then what of it? Going on without you would be a prison, anyway.' At that moment, my exhaustion from the poor night's sleep and the long day running ragged seemed to catch up with me, and I slumped against the wall like a balloon filled with horseshoes. I rubbed at my sore eyes with my hands and fought the wave of self-pity that came from knowing that I would rather be in chokey than in my current circs.

'Sir,' Jeeves said, his voice suddenly quiet. Still, he stood an arm's length from me. I reached out and tugged his mask from his face so we could see each other as we spoke. His face was as blank as the mask I'd removed.

'Please believe me, Jeeves,' I said. 'I am speaking the truth when I say it's you my heart does flips for. Victor Larson was all well and good; without him I would have never known you were an invert like me, and I would have never been allowed to speak to you as a friend. I loved him, yes, but only because he's a part of you.' I examined the little mask in my hands. Such a small thing, I wondered. 'Jeeves, I can't make you accept me,' I continued, 'but I have to ask you to try. Please.'

Jeeves' large, warm hand rose to cup my chin, and he tilted my head up so that I would look him in the eyes once more. Those eyes, by the by, were so very blue, and so very sad.

'I could never refuse you, sir,' he said.

I gave a wry grin; even through all of this, Jeeves could still put a smile on my face. 'You bally well could, Jeeves,' I pointed out. 'You certainly did this morning, and just now, and—'

'I've loved you for an age,' Jeeves interrupted, surprising me something awful. 'From almost the first moment I entered your service, I knew what it was to love with no hope of requital. You mustn't hold it against me, sir, that I couldn't—' He stopped, and looked like he had a pain developing somewhere inside his chest cavity.

I tried to finish for him. 'You couldn't credit the young master's declarations, what? Especially when said y. m. is so frivolous and mentally negligible.' My own hand covered Jeeves' on my cheek, and I held it there for him.

Jeeves shook his head violently. 'No, it was no defect in your character that caused me doubt. It was my own.' His thumb made a soft acquaintance with my lower lip. 'How could you feel anything for a man as staid and colourless as myself, when you are so full of life? I was convinced it was only my alter ego, which I had invented to navigate this community of men with equanimity, that held your interest. Please forgive me, sir, but I must ask: did you really harbour tender feelings for me before you discovered me in this place?'

'I'll be honest with you, Jeeves,' I said. 'The truth is, after leaving behind the pashs that sometimes develop between young men during childhood, and failing so miserably to click with females, I had assumed that this Wooster would have to sit on the sidelines while everyone else played the game of love. It wasn't that I didn't find you brilliant or dashing; I did. Only, I didn't know what to do with that sort of information, considering that I never imagined you to be of the same ilk.' I leaned into him, and rested my forehead against his capable shoulder. 'I'm sorry it took all this for me to come to terms with it, Jeeves. But now I know. It's you or nothing, old thing.'

'Please do not apologise, sir.' Jeeves' arms went round me, and I was able to relax against him, my eyes closing at the blissful warmth he exuded. He stroked a hand up and down my back. 'It is I who must beg forgiveness.'

I clasped my hands to his hips. 'Perhaps we can skip this begging step; I'm quite tired,' I said. 'Do you think we can go home now, Jeeves?'

Home. It would never be home again if Jeeves didn't come back, and for a moment, I was frightened that he would tell me it was quite impossible. But his anger, which had seemed to me limitless, appeared to be defeated by his regard for me. I felt the hard lines of his muscles relax against me, and he let out a small sigh that I could hear growing in his lungs.

Jeeves unfolded from our embrace long enough to plant a gentle kiss on me. 'Yes, sir. Let's go home.'

We put our masks back on for the short trip through the main hall, where inquisitive glances were thrown our way from all corners. A silence fell over the room, and Jeeves drew himself up and addressed those assembled: 'No one here saw or heard anything unusual tonight. Do I make myself clear?'

'Certainlys' and 'of courses' littered the air, and Jeeves slipped his hand in mine and led me onward. I flushed under my mask, so overjoyed was I at the simple gesture of holding Jeeves' hand. We passed through the foyer, where Jeeves collected his extant valise from the coatroom. And then we made our way back to Berkeley Square.

I suppose this is the point in all Byronic tales (is it Byronic? Jeeves would know.) when the adventure draws to a close and the reader can feel safe and secure knowing that the heroes are going to be just hunky-dory. I won't insult your intelligence by telling you that was the case with Jeeves and I, because it wasn't. There were many details to iron out, after all, when master and man become something more. We would eventually need to discuss whether Jeeves should accept his usual payment for his services as a valet, whether I should pitch in to help with the daily chores like a good husband would, and how we would handle the stickier legal ramifications of naming each other as beneficiaries in our wills. Much time would pass before I could tell Jeeves all my darkest secrets, like which of my old school chums had dallied with me in the dormitories; and Jeeves would need time before telling me the details of his own youthful indiscretions and how he resolved to give them up after meeting one B.W. Wooster. We would argue about returning to the Cloak, where I knew Jeeves had developed a large circle of friends that he cared for, though Jeeves declared his disinterest in appearing at that club again. (I won this argument, if you can credit it, and it brought the both of us much pleasure to be seen in semi-public arm-in-capable arm. It also was a load off my mind to discover that Cyril had taken up with Peter, thus saving the rest of London's inverts from the dangers the two of them posed while unattached.)

Yes, there was much to do before Jeeves and I could ride off into the sunset, as my American friends sometimes call it.

But that evening, as exhausted and loveworn as we were, all we could do was fall into my bed together and put all these pressing issues from our minds. Jeeves shoved me out of my suit, and I helped him out of his white tie, and we slipped between the sheets to curl close to each other. I fell asleep almost immediately, draped over Jeeves' chest and drowsy from the sensation of his warm skin against mine.

To my happy surprise, I was awoken in the middle of the night by Jeeves' hands gliding over my flanks and back. Though our brains had been switched off completely, our bodies had seemed to be ready to go, for the both of us were hard and wanting. I attempted to shake off the fuzziness of my sleep while Jeeves silently aligned us under the bedclothes. This experience was so very different from the frenzied lovemaking we'd indulged in while at the Cloak, but I was not one to complain. We traded caresses for what seemed like hours, my mouth tracing the line of Jeeves' broad shoulders, his fingers running along my spine. When we kissed, it was to share our heavy breathing and to swallow the incoherent sounds of passion that welled up in us. We familiarised ourselves with each other in the dark, speaking only in whispers, sharing private words of love.

When dawn finally broke, streaming bright sunlight through a thin gap in the bedroom curtains, I was a twice- or perhaps thrice-satisfied lump of jelly in Jeeves' arms. Suffice to say that the man must have been wracked by the guilt of only receiving pleasure from me during our first interlude at the Cloak, and he sought to make it up to me in several interesting ways. I was still catching my breath when Jeeves reached over to the night table and procured two cigarettes and my lighter. He lit them both and then handed me one from his lips.

I took it gratefully. 'Thank you, Jeeves. Exactly what I needed.'

'My pleasure, sir,' he said with a faint near-smile.

I smoked for a bit before saying, 'Jeeves, do you think you would prefer to drop the "sirs" when we're alone? Like you did when you were playing the part of Victor, I mean.'

'Would you like me to, sir?'

I considered this as I lounged against him. 'I'm not sure. You didn't sound altogether like Jeeves to me when you left them off. But I wonder if it is truly Jeeves that calls me "sir" or if it's some stuffy valet code that can be dispensed with, now that you've done to me something a dashed sight more improper.'

'May I take your meaning to be that, although you appreciate the familiar appellation, sir, you do not wish to burden me with its continued application?'

'That's the ticket. It's up to you, I mean to say.'

Jeeves de-ashed his gasper into the tray on the bedside table and hummed in thought. 'What would I call you,' he asked, 'if I did not call you "sir"?'

'Anything you liked, old thing.' I handed him the end of my finished cig. and he stubbed it out for me. 'Though, well, you know, I've never heard you use my given name. My real one, I mean.'

'Shall I attempt it, sir?' Jeeves asked, and there was that twinkle in his eye. I nodded, and Jeeves finished his gasper before leaning down to kiss me thoroughly. As his lips pulled away from mine, he murmured, 'Bertram.'

I had never heard my name said in such a wonderful way. It made the hairs on my arms stand on end. I wriggled against Jeeves and told him so. 'Again, Jeeves?'

He licked his clever tongue across my sensitive neck and again said it like a mysterious incantation. 'Oh, Bertram.'

'Jeeves,' I gasped in reply. Then I stopped short. 'Erm, Jeeves, shall I call you by your given name as well? When we're alone, that is.'

Jeeves stretched out beside me on his stomach and pillowed his marvellous head on his crossed arms. He peeked up at me through the fringe of his mussed hair, and if I didn't know any better, I would say he looked bashful. 'I do not think my name is as fitting as yours,' he said.

'You darling thing.' I laid a hand on his rueful cheek, delighting in his small discomfort. 'I will try to make it sound as good as you've done for mine.' I leaned in to kiss his ear, which I now knew was his Achilles' heel of a sort, and I whispered directly into the perfect shell of it: 'Reginald.'

It was as if I'd used the right password at the mouth of Ali Baba's cave. Jeeves dug a hand into my hair and drew me into a fierce kiss that lasted for quite some time. His other hand pulled my hips against his, and though I hadn't thought it possible, my body tingled with the beginnings of yet more desire. When we finally broke the kiss to gulp fresh air, he asked me, 'Again, Bertram?'

'Of course,' I said, sliding my arms round him. 'As many times as you like, Reginald.'

fin.