J. Donleavy - Schultz

When Lord Nectarine of Walham Green resigned his mastership of foxhounds, got rid of his wife and shut of his children and happily set up as a bachelor again, installing an attractive erudite housekeeper, and a male secretary hard of hearing, in his new commodious town house, Schultz enjoyed to consult, lunch and dine with his Lordship with as much frequency as his Lordship’s tight schedule of social events allowed. Discussing with the noble peer how he might cut adrift from his own burdensome spouse.

“Of course Schultz, you know that foul methods such as murder are out of the question. In any event the black eyes your wife has succeeded in repeatedly giving you demonstrate that you might come a cropper in violently attempting her death.”

At a quarter to noon each day his Lordship’s chauffeur deposited him at Hyde Park Corner where he enjoyed to stroll up and down the slight hills along Piccadilly. Although he limped slightly from a cricket ball having smashed him on the knee, his nordicly blond Lordship was tall, slender, icy blue eyed and handsome to the extent that young ladies daily walked into walls and posts turning to look at him. He had attended some of the finer schools in England and owned one palace and more than one of the bigger and better castles here and there in various of the more prominent counties.

“I do beg to remind you Schultz, that I am not, repeat not, made of money.”

His Lordship rarely made such remarks concerning his wherewithal. Unless Schultz particularly irritated him to. For along with his widespread and substantial assets, plus a prized pack of foxhounds, came numerous liabilities and tribulation as his Lordship was smashed reeling by staggering death duties, blistering taxes, and an unending list of old family retainers to maintain. To all of which had now recently been added his wife’s vast separation settlement, his Lordship not believing in divorce. And many was the long arduous hour he spent down in the deep sunless rooms of the city in consultation with firms of lawyers and accountants with whom he could at times be more than abrupt, cutting through their smug drawling pomposities by speaking as he frequently did in a no nonsense manner.

“Schultz you do not impress me in the least.”

This was Lord Nectarine’s statement upon the occasion of his first meeting with Schultz. A winterish gloomy day of pouring rain. And drops were still rolling off a black curly Schultz’s head, which had just hysterically rushed across half London by foot, bus and taxi to meet the rich peer. But suddenly and prophetically during their confrontation, it became a spring afternoon as the storm clouds passed and bathed in golden light, the two of them were standing centre room in the chairman’s suite of this long established theatrical producing company tucked up a narrow street just off Piccadilly. But the flooding warmth of sunshine did nothing to soften his Lordship’s scepticism.

“From what I have already heard of this production of yours Schultz you are entirely wasting your time attempting to solicit funds from me.”

Binky, one of his Lordship’s oldest friends, and equally rich, had acquired this showbizz operation to amuse himself and make it simpler to meet and wine and dine ladies of the theatre and those eager to be of that calling. But such arrangements did not come about without a little sand in the ointment. For, most unfortunately, upon the company’s reconstruction after a bankruptcy and through a typist’s error, the company had been named Sperm Productions instead of Spear Productions. And all attempts to explain Sperm as Spear only led to analogies being drawn between these two words as two items one might get shoved up one. Nor did a simple straightforward apologetic explanation always work.

Dear Madam,

Please ignore our rather suggestive company name, and we hope you will understand that it in no way indicates the nature of what we do.

But as Binky selected his dining and bed companions from his tomes of actresses’ photographs listed among juvenile and juvenile character women, this dreadful mistake frequently brought outraged replies from the more established actresses in the field who jumped to the nude conclusion that they were being offered a part to play in a porno film. Instead of in Binky’s bed. At such tricky times his Lordship would be requested to sit in on these touchy interviews. Which invariably ended up with an actress ready and upon occasion even begging to play any role these heavenly handsome aristocratic gentlemen could think of.

“This is my dear and old friend, his Royal Grace, who has long been charmed by and admired your splendid performances. He has, I am delighted to say, just joined Sperm Productions as one of our senior directors.”

However his Lordship refused to have any of his more elevated entitlements listed on the letterhead. But following passionate implorements from Binky that the company desperately required the elite air his title gave, his Royal Grace did finally consent to being included as Lord Nectarine of Walham Green.

“You are an absolute brick my dear, to honor us top of the page like that.”

Although far more shy and retiring than Binky, his Lordship did enjoy to witness these tête à tête occasions with London’s leading ladies of stage, screen and radio. Secretly savouring to watch Binky, equally as handsome as his Lordship, lay on thick his languid sleepily drawling manner which so captivated the visiting stars as he stood on tiptoe during introductions, ceremoniously intoning his Lordship’s long string of titles.

“Allow me to present you to his Royal Grace, Prince Basil, Earl of Eel Brook Common, Viscount Fulhambroadway and Lord Nectarine of Walham Green, MFH who is, I might add, also a fully accredited Fellow of the Royal Academy of Dancing and a paid up Knight of Malta.”

His Lordship much disliked his titles being used and preferred wherever and whenever possible to be merely known as plain Mister Basil Bright or Nectarine. But Binky to whom his Lordship allowed nearly any latitude, would upon the merest of occasions boom out his Lordship’s honours, styles and distinctions. And although painful to his Lordship he would patiently and good naturedly stand there through the ordeal, always eagerly awaiting the anonymous lighter moments when upon occasion the pair of them were dealing with the going and coming of minor showbizz personalities when they enjoyed to be asked by these upstarts why didn’t both of them with their stunning good looks go to Hollywood.

“Ah now what about that Basil, my dear, should we, do you think we really should become film stars and abandon all this, the ups and resoundingly downs of the London theatrical whirl. Ah but I think not. No I think not. The West End needs us.”

Even some major female stars who were now and again carefully entrapped into calling, suggested that either, with their matinee idol faces, could be their leading man in their next movie. But Lord Nectarine only smiled upon these overtures just as he did when he erected various follies on his estates and stood then later when they were expensively completed sadly wondering why he had bothered to build them.

“But of course one builds out of nervous hysteria caused by the ochre hue of one’s architect’s suede shoes.”

But then, to his Lordship, amusement, as it was to Binky, was of the highest priority. And now by taking certain relatively modest handfuls of his vast cash flow and backing shows, he was while forsaking his other risky financial evening pastime of gambling, not only amusing himself immensely but also saving money. He particularly savoured to find the musical type of production featuring scantily clad leggy females and especially would wax delirious were the latter darker skinned. But his Lordship was just not all fun and games, he was also a stickler for artistic standards. And where these fell, his Lordship recoiled and retreated.