Empty Vessels by Marina Pascoe Page B

down his cup and saucer.
    Ê»Iʼve had an idea, well, my assistant has – itʼs something new; Boase has got lots of fresh, young ideas – some good, some not so good; you know what youngsters are like, think they know the secrets of the universe. This idea, though, might just help our enquiries.ʼ
    Bartlett put forward the plan he and Boase had talked about and the Berrymans, glad of another avenue to explore, agreed. Bartlett left the Berryman house and walked home to Penmere Hill. He arrived just as Irene was taking a very large casserole from the oven.
    Ê»Hello, Princess, Iʼm back. Hello, Irene.ʼ
    Ê»Your dinnerʼs just going on the table, George,’ Caroline called back from the kitchen, Ê»come and wash your hands, please.ʼ
    Bartlett smiled. He loved the way Caroline treated him like a child sometimes – she was the same with Irene who, now a young woman, hated it.
    New Yearʼs Eve 1921 came with an unexpected thaw giving a break in the harsh weather over Christmas. Revellers planned to dance and drink like never before – especially the younger members of the community. That night saw all the dance halls full – Kitty, Ruby, and Jack Pengelly were at the Magnolia Club in Arwenack Street where a new dance band were being introduced: Harryʼs Havana Orchestra led by Harry Watson-Booth, a twenty-two-year-old musician from Oxford. A talented concert pianist, he had now diverted his attention to setting up his own orchestra which had successfully travelled up and down the country for over a year. Now, however, something was keeping the players in Cornwall where they were experiencing more popularity than ever; they were quite happy to follow their leader and, as far as they were concerned, Harry Watson-Booth was in charge.
    At around eleven oʼclock, while the band were being inundated with requests, a very drunk Rupert Hatton fell up the front steps of the Magnolia Club and, in a bid to negotiate the revolving glass door, managed to almost encapsulate himself permanently therein. As he continued rotating, a doorman, who had been seeing someone into a taxi cab, saw Hattonʼs plight, stopped the revolving door, and pulled the drunk out by his coat tails.
    Ê»I say, old man, no need for that, what! Blast you, mind the suit – canʼt a fellow get a drink here?ʼ Rupert Hatton was indignant. The doorman pulled him further towards the club entrance.
    Ê»Iʼm sorry, sir, I think itʼs time you went home, donʼt you? Shall I call a taxi cab for you, sir?ʼ
    Rupert attempted to straighten his collar and tie.
    Ê»Unhand me, my good man. I do not want a car – look, I have my own, see? Thereʼs my driver waiting for me.ʼ He pointed to the road where a very large chauffeur-driven motor car had been parked.
    Ê»Iʼve come here to meet a friend, so please be good enough to permit me to enter.ʼ
    Ê»Iʼm sorry, sir. Youʼve had too much to drink to come in here tonight. Goodnight, sir.ʼ The doorman, extremely familiar with such scenes, firmly installed Rupert Hatton into the one quarter compartment of the revolving door with Ê»Remember to get out on the other side,ʼ and then returned to his duty.
    Oblivious to Hattonʼs plight – not that anyone would have cared anyway – the revellers continued their party. 1922 was close and hopes of happy times ahead were high. The Great War was beginning to recede further into the past and the future was eagerly anticipated. Times had been hard for many, and few had escaped with their families intact after the horror of war. Now the time had come to look forward. Tonight was no exception and the party was in full swing. The old-fashioned dances, as well as the latest crazes, could all be witnessed at the Magnolia Club tonight – as the band continued playing, a young man stepped on to the dance floor with his partner and, as they