One for the Pot

Scene: An English village, Time: The 1950s

* * *

Andrew Riley was arranging a brown earthenware teapot on the counter of his hardware shop when he was possessed by a sudden urge to check yet again that the wedding ring was safe in his pocket. On the following day he was to be best man at Fred Atkins' wedding. Fred had finally persuaded Kitty Dowd to marry him, her first husband Daniel having passed away more than a year since. It was to be a secret wedding, and Andrew had sworn not to reveal it to anyone, even his wife Rosalind. He had just taken the ring box from his pocket to check it, when Rosalind entered the shop. To prevent her seeing the ring, he popped it into the teapot.

"Hello, darling. Still here?" his wife greeted him. "I thought you had calls to make?"

"I have," he replied, "but that wretched Maisie is late again, so I'm just putting this teapot out. A dozen were delivered yesterday."

"A dozen? You ordered a dozen teapots? I don't suppose we sell more than two or three a year."

"I know, but there was such a good discount I took a full carton. There's plenty of space in the stock room for them, and I doubt if the price will go down."

"I hope you're right, love. Anyway, I'm here now, so you run along and I'll mind the shop until Maisie turns up."

Before Andrew could devise a means to distract his wife so that he might retrieve the ring, Mrs Wagstaff entered the shop.

"What a lucky coincidence!" she exclaimed. "Here am I needing a teapot, and in a hurry to get home, and there you are with one in your hand already! How much is it, Andrew?"

"They are 2/9d, Audrey. I'll get you another from the stock room. This one is a display item."

Rosalind pushed him aside. "Don't be silly, darling. You heard Audrey say she is in a hurry." With that, she put the teapot into its box, put the box into a brown paper carrier bag, and handed the bag to Mrs Wagstaff, who paid and left with her purchase.

Andrew grabbed his jacket, gave his wife a swift peck on the cheek, and hurried after Mrs Wagstaff, throwing "Must dash. See you later, darling," over his shoulder.

He was following Mrs Wagstaff at a discreet distance, trying to think of a means to recover the ring, when she turned into the beauty parlour. Andrew stopped in his tracks. Despite Mrs Wagstaff's claim to be in a hurry to get home, he knew from experience that most ladies considered two hours in a beauty salon to be but as the blinking of an eye, and there was nowhere he could linger unobtrusively for long outside Mlle Lascelles'. It would be better, he thought, to wait near Mrs Wagstaff's house and watch for her to return home. He turned on his heel and went off in that direction.

* * *

Constable George Bunting was making his rounds of the village in his usual leisurely fashion. He had seen Andrew and Mrs Wagstaff walking in the same direction, and had seen Andrew stop and change direction as soon as Mrs Wagstaff entered the beauty parlour. He wondered if Andrew could have been following her, but dismissed the idea. However, when his beat took him along the lane where the Wagstaffs lived, he saw Andrew standing across from their house behind a bush, looking up the road.

He came silently up behind him and said, "Morning, Mr Riley. Are you looking for someone, sir?" Andrew's reaction could, Bunting thought, legitimately be described as 'a guilty start.'

"Er, I thought I saw a willow warbler," Andrew improvised.

"A willow warbler, sir? In December? Are you sure it wasn't a chiffchaff?"

"A chiffchaff?" Andrew knew nothing about birds, and wondered if Bunting had just made the name up to trick him.

"Yes, sir. They're easily confused."

"So am I," thought Andrew, but he was spared any need to reply by the sight of Mrs Wagstaff approaching. He saw, to his dismay, that she no longer bore the carrier bag. "Oh Lord," he thought, "she must have left it at the beauty parlour." Abruptly he declared, "Oh well, constable, I can't stand here all day chit-chatting about chiffchaffs," and he hurried off down the road in the direction from which Mrs Wagstaff had come, giving her a quick nod as he passed.

As he approached the beauty salon, he saw Eugenie Lascelles leaving and locking the door behind her. She was bearing the brown paper carrier bag that held the teapot. He followed her surreptitiously to her bungalow. As soon as she entered the front door, he slipped around the side of the building and looked through a window, hoping to see where she put the teapot. As his eyes gradually made out the interior scene, he realised with horror that he was looking into the mademoiselle's bedroom, and he backed away guiltily.

Eugenie entered her bungalow and walked through to the kitchen in the rear. As she passed her partly open bedroom door, out of the corner of her eye she saw Andrew peering in through the window. "Well, well," she thought, "Andrew Riley a peeping tom! Who would have thought it? If I'd known he was going to be watching, I could have given him something to look at. I wouldn't mind adding his scalp to my belt. Never mind, perhaps it's not too late." She put the carrier bag on the kitchen table, switched the kettle on, and went out through the back door and around the corner of the bungalow.

"Hello, Andrew, looking for me? Come on in."

Embarrassed at having been caught, but grateful that Eugenie did not appear to take any exception to it, Andrew muttered something about seeing an intruder, and followed her back into the bungalow. In the kitchen he saw the carrier bag on the table. He was pleased to think that he was close to attaining his goal. If he could just find an excuse to slip into the kitchen alone, he could get the ring and leave.

Eugenie led him through to the sitting room. "I'll make some coffee," she said. "Sit here, dear. You'll get a better view," and she motioned to a chair. It was a strange thing to say, Andrew thought, since the chair she indicated had its back to the window.

When Eugenie returned with two cups of coffee, she had discarded her jacket and undone some buttons on her blouse. She placed her own cup on a side table next to a chair facing the window, then leaned over Andrew as she gave him his. She took her time lowering the cup, giving Andrew ample opportunity to find that he could see inside her blouse all the way down to the waistband of her skirt. Acutely uncomfortable, he managed to avert his head, difficult though it was at such close quarters. Eugenie noticed the movement. "Ah," she thought, "he must be a leg man."

She returned to her chair and swept her skirt from under her as she sat, with a motion akin to that of a gentleman wearing a tailcoat. She crossed her legs and hitched the hem of her skirt above her knee. Andrew now understood what she meant by 'a better view,' as his startled eyes beheld the thin black straps of her suspenders contrasted against two creamy white thighs stretching from the tops of her black silk stockings to the lace of her black silk knickers. His shirt collar seemed suddenly tighter, and he lowered his eyes to his coffee cup, summoning all his will to look anywhere but at his hostess.

Noting his averted gaze, Eugenie thought, "Not a leg man either? Well, that only leaves . . ." Aloud she said "Oh dear, I've dropped my spoon," flicking that item from her saucer as she spoke. Contriving to keep her skirt hitched high, she knelt and rummaged under her chair. At the sight now on offer, Andrew trembled like a fly held fast in a spider's web. Eugenie looked back over her shoulder and was puzzled to see that he had screwed his head around to look out of the window. Resuming her seat, she was more than a little vexed at his lack of interest. While both of them sat at a loss for words, the doorbell rang, and Eugenie went to answer it.

Andrew could hear what was being said. The caller was a boy scout soliciting items to sell at a jumble sale being held in the church hall that very afternoon. Andrew heard Eugenie say, "Just wait there. I may have something for you." He rose from his chair swiftly and silently, hoping that he might have a chance to retrieve the ring while Eugenie was away rummaging in corners looking for jumble. In this hope he was disappointed. Eugenie walked through to the kitchen, picked up the carrier bag, carried it to the front door, and handed it to the boy scout, saying, "Here, you can have this. It's a teapot, quite hideous, but somebody might be willing to give sixpence for it."

As soon as the boy had left, Andrew offered an excuse and made a rapid departure. He caught up with the boy just outside the gate. "Here, son, no need to take that to the sale. I'll buy it off you now for half a crown." The boy however refused, claiming that he was authorised only to collect items, not to sell them. In vain Andrew upped his offer, first to five shillings, and then to six. "You can buy two new teapots for that!" he insisted, but the boy was adamant.

"You'll have to come to the sale and buy it there, mister. That's the rule. Nothing gets sold until the sale starts at twelve o'clock." With that the boy made off, and Andrew despondently made his way home.

Eugenie had watched the negotiations from her doorway. She had seen Andrew offer the boy scout money, and the boy shake his head, to Andrew's obvious annoyance. "So that's the way the wind blows!" she thought. "No wonder I couldn't get anywhere with him. Poor Rosalind, what a brave face she has been putting on it!"

PC Bunting was another witness. He had observed Andrew following Mlle Lascelles and sneaking up the side of her bungalow. He had been taken aback when she invited him inside, and had hung around, half hoping to hear her scream for help. He was disappointed in that expectation, and did not know what to make of the interchange between Andrew and the scout.

* * *

Andrew was at the church hall before ten to twelve, determined to have first chance for the teapot. He could not see it on any of the stalls, but to his horror saw that there were four identical teapots on the table where tea was being served. He went across to the vicar's wife, who was laying out cups and saucers.

"Hello, Joyce. What's going on here then? Don't you usually have one giant teapot?"

"Oh, hello, Mr Riley. Yes we do, but someone dropped the wretched thing and broke it, so poor Claud had to dash to your shop and get these. It's quite a nuisance as they only hold about four cups, but we'll just have to make do."

"Oh. They were all right, were they? I mean, were they empty, or was there anything in any of them?"

Joyce Sniggers looked at him in surprise. "Anything in them? Should there have been?"

"No, of course not. I just wondered, you know . . ."

"Oh, you mean were they dusty inside? Don't worry about that, Mr Riley. Naturally we gave them all a good wash and rinse before we used them."

Andrew spotted the boy who had collected the teapot, and accosted him. "Here, boy, where's that teapot you were given this morning?"

"You're too late, mister, it's already been sold."

"Already been sold? Who bought it?"

"Mrs Wagstaff."

"But it's not twelve o'clock yet. You told me nothing could be sold before twelve o'clock."

"I know, but Mrs Wagstaff insisted."

"I insisted, but you wouldn't let me have it!"

"You're not Mrs Wagstaff, are you? Nobody says 'no' to Mrs Wagstaff."

Andrew could not fathom Audrey's actions. "What the devil does she think she's doing?" he asked himself. "First she buys the teapot, then she gives it to the mademoiselle, who gives it for jumble, so la Wagstaff buys it back again! To hell with subtlety! I'm going to go round and ask her what she's playing at!"

* * *

Mrs Wagstaff received him warmly and invited him in. As politely as he could, he asked her to explain what was going on with the teapot. She laughed.

"Yes, I suppose it must look rather strange, but it's really quite straightforward. The other day, when I was at the beauty salon, I accidentally broke the pot that the mademoiselle uses to make tea for her clients, so this morning I bought one to replace it and gave it to her. Then when I went round to the church hall to see how preparations for the sale were going, I discovered that the cheeky minx had given it for jumble! I ask you! It was a perfectly good teapot, as you know. A little plain, I suppose, and utilitarian, but there's nothing wrong with that. Why, I have an identical one in my kitchen which I use every day."

Mrs Wagstaff paused to check Andrew's reaction to her tale so far, and he nodded in sympathy. "So," she continued, "I thought I'd teach her a lesson. As you know, every year before Christmas I hold a party for my ladies, and I give them each a little present, usually some small item of costume jewellery. Well, I thought, this year I'll give Eugenie the teapot she gave away! Here, come with me and I'll show you."

She led him into the drawing room which had been prepared for her party. In the bay window stood a large Christmas tree, with half a dozen gift-wrapped packages under it. All of them were only two or three inches square apart from one, which Andrew recognised to be the size of the boxed teapot.

"Imagine her face when she opens that and finds the teapot!" Mrs Wagstaff exclaimed. "That will teach her to be proud. Of course," she added, "I've sweetened it."

Andrew should have heeded the last remark, but he was too busy noting that all the presents were wrapped in the same design of gift paper, one which was sold in his shop. A plan was forming in his mind. All he needed to do was to wrap a new teapot in the same paper, and exchange it for the one under the tree. He took his leave of Mrs Wagstaff and went home to work out how he might accomplish the switch.

* * *

After lunch, his wife said, "I hope you don't mind, dear, but Audrey Wagstaff and I have volunteered to do an hour or so minding a stall at the jumble sale, so I shall be leaving you on your own."

Andrew was delighted at this unexpected solution to his problem, and replied, "That's fine, darling. As it happens, I've got one or two things to do myself."

As soon as his wife had gone, he hurried to his hardware shop. There were no customers. Maisie was reading Girls' Fun, and paid no attention to him as he selected a sheet of the wrapping paper and went into the back, where he wrapped one of the teapots. He placed the package in a carrier bag, and left the shop.

Outside the shop, he ran into PC Bunting, who eyed him suspiciously. "Afternoon, sir. Been shopping, have we?" He chuckled at his own pleasantry.

"No, just going for a walk, constable."

"Do you always take a shopping bag with you when you go for a walk, sir?"

"Not invariably, constable. Only when the mood takes me."

"And what do you carry in your shopping bag when the mood takes you, sir, if I may make so bold as to ask?"

"If you must know, constable, I have a teapot in the bag, though how that knowledge helps you in your duty of maintaining the Queen's peace escapes me."

"A teapot? You are taking a teapot for a walk?"

"Yes, I am taking a teapot for a walk. I don't believe I need a licence for that activity, although you, with your superior knowledge of the law, may be about to correct me in that assumption. Do I need a licence?"

"No, sir, you do not."

"Then I shall say good day to you, constable. Good day."

Andrew hurried off on his mission. Bunting would have liked to follow him, but was on his way to serve a summons, and reluctantly allowed Andrew to pass from his sight.

* * *

No-one was about when Andrew reached the Wagstaff house. To be on the safe side, he rang the bell, but it was not answered. He went round to the back door and found it unlocked. He entered and moved through to the drawing room. He took the tag from Eugenie's gift under the tree and attached it to the package he had brought with him. He placed the new package under the tree, and left with the one from the tree in the carrier bag. Delighted with the success of his mission, he whistled on his way back to the shop.

As he reached the shop, PC Bunting came around the corner. The summons safely served, he had returned to see if he could pick up Andrew's trail.

"Afternoon, sir. Had a nice walk? I see you still have your teapot with you."

Andrew was feeling pleased with himself, and decided that he could safely toy with Bunting. "I have had a nice walk, thank you, constable, but as it happens I do not still have with me the teapot which you are pleased to designate 'my teapot'."

"Really, sir? May I then enquire what you do have in the carrier bag?"

"Certainly, officer. I have a teapot in the carrier bag."

"But you just said you didn't, sir."

"No I didn't. What I said, officer, was that I do not have the particular teapot you referred to. I have another teapot."

"Oh, I see, a different one."

"No, officer, not a different one. As a matter of fact it is the same in all respects as the other one, identical one might say - certainly indistinguishable. It is not different in any way. It is simply another one."

"When I said it was a different one, sir, I meant it was another one. It's the same thing, isn't it?"

"You think that 'a different one' means the same as 'the same thing'? Doesn't that get rather confusing?"

Bunting took a deep breath. "No, sir, not when I'm talking to anyone else. It is you who are confusing, sir."

"I'm sorry, constable. I didn't mean to be. Look, to make things clear, let us call the teapot I went out with A."

"Eh?"

"That's right, A. And let us call the teapot I came back with B. See?"

"BC?"

"No, B - no C."

"No B and no C? What then?"

"B, just B."

"Just be what, sir?"

"Perhaps A and B was a mistake. Let's call them X and Y instead. Let A be X, and B be Y."

"ABX and BBY? Is that some kind of code, sir?"

"You are not trying, constable."

"I wish I could say the same of you, sir."

"Look, for the last time, the first teapot we are going to call X."

"X."

"Exactly. And the second teapot we are going to call Y."

"Y."

"Because I say so. Now X and Y are two different teapots."

"I thought you said they were the same, sir. Identical, you said. Indistinguishable, even."

"Did I? I must have meant that there was no difference between them."

"But you just said there was, sir. 'Two different teapots,' that's what you said. I heard you."

"Is that what I said? Perhaps I should have said 'Two distinct teapots'."

"But then they couldn't be indistinguishable, could they, sir? Being distinct means that they can be distinguished."

"Oh, these teapots couldn't be distinguished if they tried, constable. Quite the opposite. Plain, run-of-the-mill teapots, that's what they are. Working class teapots, common as muck. Teapots for the hoi polloi,. The sort of teapots that wouldn't be allowed within a mile of a Buckingham Palace garden party. Distinguished they are not."

"I see, sir, distinct but not distinguishable, the same but different. All I can say, sir, is that it's a good job it's not a coffee pot you are carrying."

"Why's that, constable?"

"Because if it was a coffee pot, sir, there might be grounds for suspicion."

Feeling that he had maintained the honour of the force, Bunting continued on his beat.

Andrew entered his shop. Behind the counter, Maisie still had her head in Girls' Fun. Andrew went through to the stock room and unwrapped the package he had brought from Mrs Wagstaff's. In the teapot was a ring box. Moving quickly, lest Maisie should take it into her head to follow him, he put the ring box in his pocket, and returned the teapot to stock in its box, throwing the gift wrap paper into the waste bin. Satisfied that all was now well again, he went home.

* * *

An hour or two later, Rosalind Riley returned home. She approached her husband with a roguish air and one hand behind her back. "Hello, darling. Sorry if I'm late. Is everything OK?"