Anonymous: The Oyster Volume VI

Claire smiled and exchanged a fleeting smile with Becky as she replied: 'Yes, it's not easy finding work, although Becky and I are both on the books of a leading theatrical agent. As you say, there are lots of girls who can sing and dance well enough and you just have to hope that the director likes the look of your face.'

'And your legs,' chuckled Phil as he clinked glasses with the girls, 'I wouldn't mind being the choreographer at a place like the Empire or the Hippodrome with lots of pretty girls wanting to do their best to attract my attention. Between ourselves, do any of these fellows ask for any special favours, so to speak?'

'Occasionally, but most of them are nancy boys so we don't often get asked for a bit of slap and tickle on the side,' answered Becky with a giggle. 'But there are one or two exceptions like Mike Burge at Drury Lane. He likes girls, all right, doesn't he, Claire?'

'You can say that again!' said Claire with great feeling. 'But he was a real gentleman because he didn't ask me out to dinner until after he chose me as one of the tavern girls in Hallo, Sailor. Mind you, it was a terrible show and closed after only three weeks!'

'I never knew he took you out to dinner, you naughty thing,' said Becky. Phil remarked that the girls could probably write a jolly interesting play about their experiences in the theatre. He winked at me as he continued: 'And it wouldn't be hard to find backers for the production either, though I suppose the best bits couldn't be staged as we would have to tone it down too much because of the Lord Chamberlain's office!'

Becky finished her drink and grinned: 'Not if you could put it on at one of those private theatres a few of those toffs have built in their big country houses. Why, Claire and I could tell you some tales about one or two of the shows the Earl of Hampshire puts on down at his place at Laverstoke Hall near Basingstoke. Why, we had three costumes and if we wore them all at once you could still see our titties!'

'I've never seen anything untoward when I've been in the audience in the theatre at Laverstoke Hall,' I commented ruefully. 'Of course, that may be because I've only been there as a guest of his daughter, Lady Molly Southard. Funnily enough, I received a letter from her only this morning. Did either of you meet Molly, by any chance?'

'No, but I've heard all about her,' laughed Claire, isn't she the lusty tribade the weekly journals call “Madcap Molly”?'

'How did you know she's a tribade? That information was never printed in The Tatler or The Illustrated London News!' I said in some surprise. Claire shrugged her shoulders as she answered: 'Oh, come on, Andrew, don't tell me that you never read any of the “horn” magazines! There was a long article about Molly Southard and her naughty nights at the Arcadian Society for Ladies in The Cremorne!

Phil rubbed his hands together and said: 'I'd love to hear more about these private performances, but let's wait till we get to Putney Heath. Mutkin, will you be good enough to refill the glasses whilst I check with Mrs. Angel that she's packed all the goodies for our picnic'

'M'mm, I adore good bubbly,' said Claire, holding out her goblet which the butler filled to the brim. 'Andrew, have you tried this new drink called Buck's Fizz? It's all the rage in the West End these days. The recipe is simple enough, three-quarters of a glass of champagne to a quarter of fresh orange juice.'

'Yes, and I find it very refreshing although it would be rather wasteful to prepare it with 1902 Moet et Chandon,' I remarked whilst Mutkin emptied the bottle into the remaining three glasses. 'Still, if you're keen on Buck's Fizz, we can stop at a greengrocer on our way to Putney and I'll buy some oranges so you can make up a jar for us.'

'Oh, I don't know whether that would be such a good idea because that particular cocktail makes me feel frisky,' giggled Becky and Phil caught these last words as he came back from the kitchen.

'Whose cock makes you feel frisky, m'dear?' demanded our host with a smile on his face. 'Has the infamous Jerry Fenner been poking you again?'

Phil turned to me and continued: 'I tell you what, old boy, I don't think that there can be any pretty soubrettes left on the London stage who have been able to resist Jerry's charms. My God, don't you wish we had his savoir faire! Why, only a couple of months ago I saw with my own eyes how this years crop of debutantes were actually queuing up to be shagged by Jerry after the Berkeley Square Summer Ball.'

Becky downed her glass and wagged a reproving finger at Phil, 'I said “cocktail” not “cock", your naughty lordship,' she replied lightly. 'Anyhow, I haven't seen Jerry Fenner for ages. The last I heard of him was that he took Lady Daplen's twin eighteen-year-old daughters to Bournemouth at the beginning of the month for a holiday and he won't be returning till next week at the earliest.

'But never mind about Jerry, I'm looking forward to a picnic and a ride in your motor car,' added the perky blonde.

We trooped downstairs and piled into Phil's brand new canvas-covered Rover tourer whilst Mutkin attached a large hamper to the back of the vehicle. The girls sat in the back whilst I sat next to Phil who adjusted his goggles- and my chum gave a happy chuckle as the engine roared into life at the first time of asking. 'Here we go,' he cried and we shot out into the traffic, narrowly missing a passing horse and cart whose driver bellowed a curse at Phil as my pal swung the car into Hill Street.

'What did that cheeky blighter shout out?' asked Phil as we chugged our way towards Park Lane.

'I wouldn't worry about it,' I said comfortingly, in any case, even if you wanted to, I should think it's anatomically impossible. But take it easy, old bean, we want to get to Putney in one piece.

'Andrew, don't be such a spoilsport, I love going fast!' cried out Claire. Of course, this was all Phil needed to hear and he drove at speed through Hyde Park. Now, if I had been called as a witness at the magistrate's court I would have had to perjure myself if I testified that we had been travelling at less than forty miles an hour on the Carriage Road when a policeman stepped from behind a tree as we approached the Prince of Wales's Gate and waved us down.

'Buggeration!' muttered Phil as he brought the car to a stop and waited for the constable to approach us. 'I've already been summoned for speeding this month. Oh well, let's see if I can persuade this fellow to let me off with a wigging.'

I didn't give much for his chances when the policeman arrived and said sternly: 'Good morning, sir. Do you realize what speed your car reached just now? The limit in the park is fifteen miles an hour but since you passed my colleague at Park Close, you were driving at forty-four mile an hour.'

He pulled his notebook out of his pocket and Phil smacked his cheek in horror. 'Dear me, is that so? Then I must offer you my sincere apologies but the truth is that I only purchased this car a few days ago and I'm not really used to driving such a powerful machine.'

'AH the more reason for taking extra care, sir,' said the constable. But as he brought out his pencil to write down Phil's particulars, my chum alighted from the car and said: 'Hold on a tick, officer, I'm a founder member of the Courtesy Motorists Club. Let me show you my membership card.'

Claire leaned forward and whispered to me: 'What on earth is the Courtesy Motorists Club? Becky and I have never heard of it.'

'Neither have I, and I read The Motor every month,' I muttered as I watched Phil pass a small piece of blue cardboard to the policeman who unfolded it and immediately slipped a folded leaf of paper into his pocket whilst he studied the cardboard intently for a few moments.

To my astonishment the policeman refolded the board and gave it back to Phil as he said in a gruff voice: 'Well, in the circumstances, I'll let you off with a caution this time as the road was clear, but you must be more careful in future, sir.'