“She needs it,” said Ursula. “She needs it desperately. You see, she’s just lost her own Bow-wow.”
“She’s lost her what?” I asked.
“Her Bow-wow,” said Ursula.
“You mean her dog?” I said.
“Yes,” said Ursula. “That’s what he was called. Bow-wow.”
“And so she needs another one?” I said.
“Of course,” said Ursula. “She doesn’t want one, but she needs one.”
“Are you, um, giving her this puppy because you think she needs one?” I enquired.
“But of course! Anyone with half an eye could see she needs one,” said Ursula.
“It strikes me,” I said, “that you spend most of your time interfering in your friends’ affairs when they don’t really want it.”
“Of course they want it,” said Ursula earnestly. “They want it but they don’t realise that they want it.”
I gave up.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s go to Poole.”
So we went. When we got to Poole, Ursula dived immediately into the back streets and eventually ended up at one of those tiny little houses, two up and two down, that stare frostily at each other across streets. This one had a highly polished brass doorknob and I noticed that the step was a beautiful white as evidence of hard scrubbing on someone’s part. Urusla banged vigorously with the knocker and presently the door was opened by a tiny, grey, frail, old lady.
“Why, Ursula!” she said. “Miss Ursula, it’s you!”
“Emma, darling!” said Ursula and enveloped this fragile wisp of a person in a vast embrace.
“We’ve come to visit you,” she said, unnecessarily. “This is Gerry.”
“Oh, do... do come in,” said the little old lady, “but I do wish you’d let me know. I’m all untidy and the house is in such a mess.”
She ushered us into a living-room full of the most ugly furniture I have ever seen in my life, that glowed with love and polish. It spoke of the most impeccable bad taste. It was a room which had been cherished as things are cherished in a museum. Nothing was out of place; everything glittered and gleamed and the air smelt faintly of furniture polish and antiseptic. Carefully arranged on the upright piano, that didn’t look as though it had ever been used, were a series of photographs, two of them portraits of a heavily moustached gentleman standing rigidly, and the rest of a fluffy mongrel in various attitudes. Most of them were blurred and out of focus, but it was obvious that the moustached gentleman took second place to the dog. This, I suspected, must have been Bow-wow.
“Do sit down. Do sit down,” said the little old lady. “I must make you a cup of tea. I’ve got some cake. What a merciful thing, I made a cake only the other day. You will have a slice of cake and a cup of tea?”
My one desire at the precise moment was for several very large pints of beer, but I said that I would be delighted with tea.
Over tea and a slice of sponge cake that was as light and frothy as a pound of lead, Ursula chattered on. It was obvious that Emma Golightly had, at some time, been somebody in her father’s household for whom she quite obviously had a great affection. It was extraordinary to watch the effect of Ursula’s exuberance on Emma. When she had opened the door to us her face had been grey and gaunt, now it was flushed and smiling and she was obviously injected with some of Ursula’s enthusiasm.
“Yes, yes!” she kept saying, “and do you remember the time...”
“But of course!” Ursula said.
“And then do you remember that other time when...” And so it went on interminably.
Eventually, with masterly adroitness, Ursula steered the subject on to Bow-wow.
“Er, Gerry doesn’t know about Bow-wow,” she said, looking at Emma commiseratingly. “You tell him.”
Emma’s eyes filled with tears.
“He was a wonderful dog,” she said. “A wonderful dog. Really. you know, he could almost speak... almost speak, he really could. And then, one day, I let him out and some bloke in a car came down here and knocked him over. Didn’t even stop... he didn’t even stop. I took him to the vet... he was all covered in blood. I took him to the vet, and I said... I’ll pay anything, anything to keep him alive. ’Cos, you see, after my husband died, he was all I had. And he was a lovely dog, he really was. You would have loved him if you’d known him. And he was all covered with blood and he didn’t seem to be suffering much, but they said there was nothing they could do. They said the kindest thing would be to put him out of his misery. Well, now, he’d been my companion ever since my husband died. For... for years I’d... I’d had him... For nearly twelve years. And so you can imagine it was a bit of a shock to me. So as they said it was the only thing to do, I said, ‘Well, all right, well — go ahead and do it.’ And so they... they put him down.”
She paused for a moment and blew her nose vigorously.
“It must have been a great shock to you,” I said.
“Oh, it was. It was a tremendous shock. It was like taking away part of my life, because, as I said to you, ever since my husband died he’d really been my only companion.”
I wasn’t quite sure how to continue this conversation because it was obvious that if Emma went on talking about Bow-wow she would break down and I didn’t know how we could cope with that situation. But at that moment Ursula, as it were, unveiled her guns.
“Darling Emma,” she said. “It’s because of the way you treated Bow-wow... the way that you looked after him and gave him such a happy life... it’s for that reason that I want to... I want to ask you a very great favour. Now please say no, but I do wish that you’d consider it.”
“A favour, Miss Ursula?” said Emma. “Of course I’ll do you a favour. What do you want?”
“Well,” said Ursula, prevaricating like mad, “this friend of mine has got this puppy. Unfortunately, owing to illness in the family — his wife is desperately, desperately ill — he can’t give it the attention that it really deserves, and so — just for a week or so — he wants somebody to look after it. Somebody who’ll love it and give it the affection it needs. And immediately I thought of you.”
“Oh,” said Emma, “A puppy? Well, I... I don’t know. I mean, after Bow-wow... you know, you don’t seem to want another dog, somehow.”
“But this is only a puppy,” said Ursula, her eyes brimming. “Only a tiny, tiny little puppy. And it’s only for a week or so. And I’m sure that you could look after it so marvellously.”
“Well, I don’t know, Miss Ursula,” said Emma. “I... I wouldn’t like to have another dog.”
“But I’m not asking you to have it,” said Ursula. “I’m just asking you to look after it for this poor man whose wife is terribly, terribly ill. He’s torn between his wife and his dog.”
“Ah,” said Emma. “Just as I was when Bill was ill. I remember it now. I sometimes didn’t know whether to take Bow-wow out for a walk or stay with Bill, he was that sick. Well, what sort of a dog is it, Miss Ursula?”
“I’ll show you,” said Ursula. She bent down and opened the basket. The pekinese was lying curled up, exhausted by his cultural afternoon at the Pavilion, sound asleep. She picked him up unceremoniously by the scruff of his neck and held him before Emma’s startled eyes.
“Look at him,” said Ursula. “Poor little thing. ”
“Oh,” said Emma. “Oh, poor little thing.” She echoed Ursula unconsciously.
Ursula attempted to cradle the puppy in her arms and he gave her, to my satisfaction, a very sharp bite on the fore-finger.
“Look at him,” she said, her voice quivering, as he struggled in her arms. “A poor little dumb animal that doesn’t really know whether he’s coming or going. He’s been wrenched away from the family life that he is used to. Surely you will take pity on him, Emma?”
I began to feel that the whole scene was taking on the aspect of something out of Jane Eyre, but nevertheless I was so fascinated by Ursula’s technique that I let her go on.