# Good night, Vienna
# You city of a million… something or others
# La, la, la, la, la, la
# La-la, la-la
# La-la, la-la, something else
# Good afternoon, Jeeves… #
Good afternoon, sir.
No, no. That’s the song, Jeeves. And a rum song it is, too. I don’t know how they think them up.
No, sir, it is a great mystery.
I mean, fancy writing a song about saying good night to a whole city. You may as well say, “Good afternoon, Manchester”, or “Fancy bumping into you, Basingstoke.”
Yes, sir.
Or “I didn’t see you at the club, Cleethorpes.”
I take your point, sir. Perhaps if you sang the rest of the lyric, it might throw light on the matter.
I don’t know the rest of the lyric. I heard it at the cinema and that’s all I can remember. It goes…
# Good night, Vienna
# You city of a million…
Or maybe it’s thousands. Some fairly substantial number, anyway. I wonder if Uncle George isn’t thinking of
Going off to foreign parts.
Sir?
Well, he’s asked me to ankle round to his club to discuss some urgent matter or other.
Hmm.
Morning.
Good morning, sir.
Lord Yaxley.
Young Lord Yaxley in the dining room, sir. But he won’t want to be disturbed at his lunch.
Well, he did say it was quite urgent.
Well, off you go.
Thank you.
What ho, Uncle George.
Ah, Bertie. Sit down, sit down. I don’t eat much at midday, I’m afraid. It’s my stomach lining. My man in Harley Street says it’s very sensitive. Had your luncheon?
Yes, thanks, I have. Yes.
Good.
I got a message that it was urgent.
Oh, it is. Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. What I wanted to ask you was… where do you get those ties you wear?
Ties?
Like that.
Erm… Bookers
in the Burlington Arcade.
Good. Good. Thank you.
I’m not so old.
So old as what?
Properly considered, I’m in my prime. Besides, what a young and inexperienced girl needs is a man of… weight and years to lean on.
Great Scot, Uncle George, you’re not thinking of getting married?
Yes, confound you, I am thinking of getting married. If your Aunt Agatha comes sticking her oar in, I’ll… Well, I’ll know what to do about it. A man is as young as he feels.
No, no, no, Jeeves.
Do you know what my Uncle George is thinking of doing?
Contracting a matrimonial alliance, sir.
Good lord! How did you know that?
Oddly enough, I am acquainted with the other party in the matter.
The girl?
Yes. But it was from her aunt, a Mrs Wilberforce who resides with her, that I received the information.
So who is she, this other person?
A Miss Rhoda Platt, sir, of Wisteria Lodge, Kitchener Road, East Dulwich.
Young?
Yes, sir.
The old fat-head.
Yes, sir. The expression is one which I would not have employed myself, but I do think his lordship ill-advised. One must remember that it is not unusual to find gentlemen of a certain age yielding to a sentimental urge. The phenomenon is particularly noticeable, I understand, in the United States of America amongst the wealthier inhabitants of Pittsburgh. It’s notorious I’m told that sooner or later, unless restrained, they always endeavour to marry a chorus girl. The high turnover rate of chorus girls in the state of Pennsylvania has been a matter of comment for some time.
Have you finished, Jeeves?
Thank you, sir, yes.
Uncle George’s manner, as he referred to Aunt Agatha’s probable reception to the news, I gather that Miss Platt is not of the noblesse.
No, sir. She is a waitress.
How is Aunt Agatha going to take to that?
She’s not like me. I’m broad-minded.
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