The Daily Trail’s intrepid reporter had been following Lady Roberta Wickham, Bertie Wooster, Baron Marmaduke ‘Chuffy’ Chuffnell and Baroness Pauline Stoker (Chuffy’s wife) on their trip to Italy. By this point he had crossed seas, scaled terraces, hidden in shrubbery, bribed hotel staff, learned basic Italian, and developed the reflexes of a hunted fox. With surprising results!
The above picture, however, did not make it to the front pages. A more alert Chuffy snagged our reporter from The Daily Trail and held him high above the ground. The following conversation took place:
Chuffy:
“Dash it, what’s this?”
Reporter (dangling):
“Journalism, sir.”
Chuffy:
“Looks dashed intrusive.”
Reporter:
“Public interest, sir!”
Chuffy:
“No, this is trespassing.”
He relented to release him after the camera was handed over. Bertie offered the reporter some pizza to restore his equanimity afterwards. Jeeves suspected that the reporter may not give up his pursuit. He did absolutely return. With a smaller camera. And better camouflage.
A few days later, Sir Shash decided to drop in. He was passing through. He sent a telegram. Bobbie and Bertie sent him a message for a quick meet up and evening dinner. Pauline and Chuffy were away exploring another town and promised Sir Shash that they would catch up with him back in England.
The sneaky and determined reporter snapped this up. He was glad that Chuffy wasn’t around this time.
This photograph sent back home proved too much in some quarters.
The duchess of a county was supposed to have remarked, ‘I knew it, it is a triangle, it is a blasted triangle. That Indian has thrown a spanner in the works.’ ‘There, there’ remarked her husband, ‘A cup of tea will soon make you feel better.’
A Junior Ganymede group of butlers made private bets on who would land Lady Wickham.
A cinema producer went to Brinkley Court to meet Lord Travers as Bertie’s guardian to ask for the rights of a ‘talkie’ film based on a love triangle. Aunt Dahlia (Lady Dahlia Travers) told the producer that while he was very welcome to tea and muffins and even a dish from Anatole, but pointed out that he would get a smack on the head with a newspaper if kept up his demands about a moving picture project.
Apparently, a rapacious reporter asked the Drones Boys on their views on the ‘triangle’ and Sir Shash in particular. Bingo Little and Gussie Fink-Nottle shrugged their shoulders and said rather mysteriously, ‘There are other geometrical shapes.’ Tuppy Glossop pointed out that Sir Shash read Agatha Christie and Arthur Conan Doyle. The reporter left mystified.
Now, back to the photographs.
After Sir Shash left to wherever it is that Sir Shash had to leave for, the holiday continued. The reporter emboldened by his recent success chose a day when Bertie and Chuffy were off on their own to try ‘all you can eat lasagna’ at a village festival; he approached Pauline and Bobbie with a very polite request for photos. This, he promised was the last two he would take before his return home as his wife had started to send him letters in a stern tone. Baroness Pauline replied with a firm ‘no’ but Bobbie said, ‘Come on, it will be a lark.’
These pictures came about.
The publication of the above picture resulted in The Daily Trail setting a new record for most newspapers ever sold in English history.
Hullaballoo erupted in parliament after some Labour Party members were seen sitting together with some Conservative Party members, all looking into the same newspaper. Hansard records from the day reportedly omitted one exchange:
“The Right Honourable Gentleman is avoiding the question.”
“I am not avoiding the question.”
“Then why is he holding page three upside down?”
“Order! ORDER!”
The Speaker nearly resigned.
Rumour has it that across the Atlantic, Scott turned to Zelda and said, ‘My dear, we must simply have them over here in Long Island at our next party.’
However, behind all this absurd grandeur, also existed a tiny domestic situation. The tired wife of The Daily Trail reporter somewhere in England had been writing stern letters to her husband who had become pathologically incapable of leaving these aristocrats alone.
And I suspect her final letter read something like:
Harold,
I am pleased your newspaper is prospering.
I am less pleased that you continue to cross borders photographing beautiful aristocrats as if employed by destiny itself.
Kindly return home.
Also, your mother asks whether the blonde is married.
— Margaret
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