Love Comes to Poppycock, Part Deux

“Oh, Dame Dench, of course they’ll help! ....Oh, I daresay they won’t require such an astronomical fee, either….no, no, you just pop round when it’s convenient….Of course…Looking forward to seeing you again….Bye-bye!” Maude had only just hung up the phone when the door bell rang, and she jumped up to answer it. It was Mr. Periwinkle, official Poppycock postman, and quite a jolly half hour ensued, with Mr. Periwinkle sorting the mail of the day, Emily serving her special scones, and Molly telling again the old favorite about the night that Martin Amis’ expensive teeth fell out at a fancy dress party.

“….shrieked like a little girl and ran from the room. And after a very tense silence, Julian piped up with “And to think, that is why my wife was sacked.” ”

“I say, Emilia, I never tire of that story, do you?” Mr. Periwinkle dabbed at his eyes with the offered silk handkerchief (a gift to Poppycock from the Victoria and Albert Museum for Exemplary Contributions to Literature and Art, its previous owner had been Anne Brontë – sad little thing, she’d cried on it quite a lot).

“Dear Periwinkle, what’s that little note hanging from your pocket? Is that for us?” Emily snatched it, looked at the return address, and jumped gleefully onto her chaise lounge. “It’s from Mr. Denning! It’s for Molly!”

Molly turned a particular shade of crimson, even though she always asserted that she did not blush. She made a grab for it, but Emily had already opened it. There was a palpable tension in the room as she began to read, for everyone knew just how Molly felt about Mr. Denning, Poppycock’s avuncular financial advisor.

“My dear Professor P’ohlig, I do hope you will forgive the liberty I plan to take of paying a call to the Poppycock head office this afternoon at 4:30. I have urgent business to discuss with you, and you alone. Yours most financially, Mr. Denning.”

There was a thick silence for the second time that afternoon.

“Maudie,” Molly said slowly, in a voice that seemed to come from a long way away. “What time is it?”

Four heads swiveled to look at the antique grandfather clock, a gift from the estate of Graham Greene, just in time for the half hour to chime, coinciding with a fresh ring of the doorbell. There was momentary stillness, and then all sprung into action. Mr. Periwinkle scooped up the remains of tea and slid it all quietly into the dumbwaiter. Emily tossed Molly the emergency lipstick, and Molly applied it with a shaking hand as she arranged herself prettily behind her desk. (Luckily, she never cleaned anything up, so it always looked like she was hard at work.) Maude gave “The Way We Live Now” a tug, and she and Mr. Periwinkle disappeared into the house. Emily gave Molly a look, Molly gave Emily a nod, and Emily opened the door.

“Why, Mr. Denning! What joy.” Emily took Mr. Denning’s Italian-suited elbow and brought him inside.

“Professor DeBusque,” he said, giving an almost imperceptible bow. “Always a pleasure. And Professor P’ohlig, “he turned smoothly towards Molly’s desk, “Delighted, as usual.”

“I’m afraid I can’t stay, Mr. Denning,” Emily was backing towards the open passageway, “Maudie is down with a bad tummy again.”

“What, again? Every time I visit, it seems that child has a bad tummy.” A smile crinkled the corners of Mr. Denning’s mouth. Molly turned that shade of crimson again.

“Yes, doesn’t it? Perhaps we’ll get a doctor in one of these days. Do ring if you need anything…” Emily threw the last remark over her shoulder and shut the door to the house quietly behind her.

The only sound was the steady tick of the grandfather clock.

“Professor P’ohlig….Molly….” Mr. Denning said in a strange voice, pulling up a chair next to her desk. Her cheeks were beginning to feel hot and uncomfortable. “There’s something I want to….to ask you.”

“Y-yes, Mr. Denning. As you said in your note. What might it be?” Molly looked down demurely through her lashes, which she’d unfortunately remembered to coat in quite a bit of bright blue mascara that morning. She prayed that they weren’t clumpy.

“You see, the thing is, for quite some time I’ve wanted to…..” He bent his head, and Molly thought wickedly how nice his short red hair must feel. She was quite sure she was about to find out, and held her breath just a tiny bit. “…I’ve wanted to write my financial memoirs. You know, just about my lifelong relationship to, well, all things financial. Would you…would you help me?”

Molly let out that breath.

“Me?” She said in a rather small voice. “Not, not Professor DeBusque? You want…my help?”

“Well, yes. I read your recent work on the new Rupert Murdoch memoir, and it was simply dazzling. Your style, your wit…..oh, would you help me?” He clasped her hands in his.

Molly thought for a moment, looking into Mr. Denning’s blue-grey eyes. This was so nearly the moment she’d always dreamt of. And for now, that was near enough.

“Of course, Mr. Denning. You do realize,” she said somewhat coyly, “that we will have to spend an awful lot of time together.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be a problem,” he said, with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. “But really, isn’t it a bit warm in here? You two do go through such an awful lot of coal in a week, at such a cost! It doesn’t grow on trees, you know.”

Molly smothered a giggle. Mr. Denning would persist in avuncularity to the very end, even when he was being mildly romantic.

“Yes, Mr. Denning, we should try to be thriftier, I expect.”

They arranged a time for their first writing session, and with one last handshake, he was gone. Molly only had a moment alone with her thoughts before Maude, Emily, and Mr. Periwinkle burst back into the firelit room.

“Oh, congratulations, old girl!” Mr. Periwinkle shouted. Apparently, a good deal of sherry had been poured in a very short time.

“Where is it?” Maudie squealed, grabbing Molly’s left hand.

In the flurry of excitement, Molly and Emily looked at each other.

“He wants me to help him write his financial memoirs,” Molly said, with just a hint of sadness.

“Well,” Emily said bravely, linking her elbow through Molly’s, “Then it’s my help he’ll need writing that marriage proposal!”

Emily always did know how to bring things round a bit sunnier, and as they closed the office for the day, Molly had almost forgotten her disappointment, in the presence of her true friends. They managed to pack Mr. Periwinkle off home, and Maudie whipped up a delicious supper of cold lobster, the preparation of which required absolutely no coals whatsoever.