by David Nobbs
He opened the case with tremulous fingers. Reggie gazed at an array of minuscule chairs, tables and wardrobes.
‘They look very nice,’ he said. ‘What exactly have you here?’
‘Gingerbread chairs,’ said Mr Fogden. ‘Toffee tables. A marzipan pouffe. A G-plan macaroon. A steak chair . . .’
‘A steak chair? Surely it’ll go off, become a high chair?’
‘They made the same cheap crack at Heals.’
‘Do you really think, Mr Fogden, that people will want to eat stuff that, has been sat upon by human bottoms?’ said Reggie.
‘Oh dear oh dear. Just what the man said at Waring and Gillow. Where is the spirit of innovation that made Britain great?’
Mr Fogden clipped his portmanteau shut.
‘This nation is the graveyard of its own inventors,’ he said. ‘Boffin Island? More like Baffin Island, say I.’
And he set off towards the door.
‘Wait a minute,’ said Reggie. ‘I’d like to try them.’
Mr Fogden reopened his portmanteau, and Reggie nibbled at two chairs, bit firmly into a table and toyed with a chest of drawers.
Surely nobody would buy edible furniture that tasted horrid?
He hadn’t taken Grot so seriously when he had founded it. Was he taking it so seriously now that there wasn’t room to provide a little income for this harmless lunatic in his declining years?
‘I’ll put the idea up to the board,’ he said.
Doc Morrissey sat in the easy chair by Reggie’s desk, clutching his sparkling new briefcase so tightly that there were white patches on his knuckles.
‘Are the shop girls all right?’ said Reggie.
‘Fine. Why?’
‘Do you ever sort of look at them?’
‘Do I ever sort of look at them? Well, of course I look at them.’
‘Do you ever make remarks?’
‘Do I ever make remarks? Well, of course I make remarks.’
‘Absolutely. Of course you do. Quite right too. Do you ever sort of brush up against them?’
‘Do I ever sort of brush up against them?’
‘Yes.’
‘Somebody’s been talking, haven’t they?’
‘No. No. I just thought: “I wonder if Doc Morrissey brushes up against people.” It was a silly thought. I mean, why should you?’
‘What are you talking about, Reggie?’
‘What indeed? Idle chatter, Doc. Well, that’s fine. Let’s have a look at the books, then.’
Doc Morrissey opened his briefcase, then shut it again.
‘I’m becoming a dirty old man,’ he said. ‘Give me one more chance, Reggie. I won’t frighten the girls any more.’
‘Can I be sure of that?’ said Reggie.
Doc Morrissey sighed.
‘Other species don’t suffer like people,’ he said. ‘Lizards don’t start to drink earlier and earlier in the day. Hartebeests don’t become dirty old hartebeests. Orang-outangs don’t dread redundancy. Llamas don’t go through the change of life. Elderly chameleons don’t fear old age and tell their bored infants: “Natural camouflage isn’t what it was when I was a lad.” ’
‘They all end in death,’ said Reggie. ‘And most of them are frightened every day of their life.’
‘Yes.’
‘And now I’m afraid I must look at the books.’
‘Yes.’
Doc Morrissey opened his briefcase again, then closed it again.
‘I don’t seem to have got the hang of the books,’ he said.
Reggie felt tempted to give him another chance. What did it matter?
Then he thought of the girls who worked at the Climthorpe branch, the staff that he had now built around him, their hopes and aspirations.
He thought of his new standing in Climthorpe, and how much it delighted and amused him.
‘I’m afraid I’ve got to sack you, Doc,’ he said.
‘Oh. Oh, I see.’
‘Business is business, Doc.’
‘Quite.’
‘Faint heart never won fair terms.’
‘No. Well, thank you for giving me the chance, Reggie. I’m sorry I let you down.’
Doc Morrissey left, and Reggie sat deep in thought.
He had sacked a man for inefficiency. He had caught himself using C.J.’s phrases. He had been on the point of turning down Mr Fogden’s edible furniture.
He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it a bit.
The weather improved. Climthorpe beat Tamworth 1-0 in the FA Trophy, thanks to a FITTOCK header.
Chapter 18
Joan started work on the first Monday in February. When Reggie arrived he found her already seated in her place in the outer office.
‘Good morning, Mr Perrin,’ she said.
‘Good morning, Mrs Webster,’ he said. ‘Twenty-two minutes late. Obstacles on the line at Berrylands.’
It was almost like old times. He threw his umbrella at the hat-stand joyously, and watched it sail through the window, which was open for purposes of cleaning.
He picked up the yellow phone.
‘Ah, Mrs Webster,’ he said. ‘Your . . . er . . . your first task. I wonder if you’d mind going out and round the back of the building and you’ll find my umbrella stuck in a grating.’
‘Certainly, Mr Perrin.’
When Joan returned, Reggie said, ‘Ah, there you are!’
He must stop stating the obvious.
Take a letter, please, Mrs Webster,’ he said.
Joan sat in the dictation chair, began to cross her legs, remembered not to, and uncrossed them hastily.
They laughed nervously. The new relationship wasn’t going to be easy.
‘To C.J., Blancmange Cottage, Godalming. Dear C.J., I was deeply distressed to read of all the troubles that have assailed you so undeservingly.’
He noticed an ironic gleam in her eyes. It was unnerving.
‘It must be very distressing to Mrs C.J. and you. Elizabeth and I send you our deepest sympathy. It is very sad when a firm of the reputation and quality of Sunshine Desserts runs into little difficulties such as . . . er . . . bankruptcy and liquidation, and even more distressing when it is associated with vile calumnies which I am certain have no basis whatsoever in reality.’
He smiled at Joan. Again, the irony flickered across her eyes, and he almost wished he was dictating to Miss Erith.
‘I am about to enter upon an expansionist phase, in my little business, and will need to recruit extra staff. If you feel that it would be of interest to you to come and discuss the position, I would indeed be honoured.’
Elizabeth came into the office.
‘Hello, darling,’ he said.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said.
‘This is my new secretary, Joan Webster, darling,’ he said.
‘Not exactly new, darling,’ said Elizabeth.
‘No, not exactly new, darling. My old secretary who has now become my new secretary.’
‘We know each other,’ said Joan. ‘We worked together.’
‘We’re old friends,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Joan’s been to our house.’
‘Oh yes,’ said Reggie. ‘So she has.’
‘But unfortunately I was away,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Yes, that was unfortunate,’ said Reggie. ‘That will be all, Mrs Webster.’
Joan closed the door behind her so softly that it was as if she was emphasizing how much she would have liked to slam it.
Reggie and Elizabeth exchanged the sort of meaningful looks in which each knows that the other is being meaningful but doesn’t know what they are meaning.
‘I thought you were rather bitchy then,’ said Reggie.
‘You’re always surprised when you find that I’m human,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m sure Joan says bitchy things about me. Do you rebuke her?’
‘I can’t really. She’s only my secretary. You’re my wife.’
Elizabeth stood at the window and glared at the offices of Amalgamated Asbest
os as if they were responsible for all the troubles in the world.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at length. ‘I was in the wrong. We mustn’t let personal feelings interfere with our work.’
‘Of course we mustn’t.’
He went up to the window and kissed her.
‘Personal feelings don’t come into it,’ he said, holding his hands lightly on her breasts.
‘Business is business,’ she said, running her hands gently round his backside.
‘Someone from Amalgamated Asbestos will see us,’ he said.
They waved to Amalgamated Asbestos. Nobody waved back.
When Elizabeth had gone, Reggie sat in his chair, had a quick swivel, and sent for Joan. He swivelled slowly round and round, not looking at her legs. She sat, pencil poised, not crossing her legs and not looking at Reggie.
‘I’m sorry about my wife’s remarks,’ he said.
‘I ignored them,’ said Joan. ‘We mustn’t let personal feelings interfere with our work.’
‘No. Quite. Ring Luxifoam Furniture of Market Harborough, would you, and try and get me a Flexisit Executive Chair for immediate delivery.’
‘Certainly, Mr Perrin.’
‘To Tony Webster. You have his address?’
‘Of course I do.’
“Dear Tony, I was sorry to hear the sad news about Sunshine Desserts. If you would care to join my modest little business …’ You’ve stopped, Mrs Webster.’
‘I want to give in my notice, Mr Perrin.’
‘You’ve only been here an hour and a half.’
‘The situation is impossible. I’m not working here with him,’ said Joan.
‘We mustn’t let personal feelings interfere with our work,’ said Reggie.
Joan refused to reconsider her notice. She never crossed her long, lovely legs and Reggie never looked at her long, lovely legs.
C.J. wrote a guarded reply saying that he would be delighted to see Reggie and suggesting Tuesday, March the second, at three-thirty.
Reggie replied that Friday, February the twenty-sixth, at ten would suit him very well.
Tony Webster wrote a guarded reply saying that he would be in town on Friday, February the twenty-sixth, and any time that day would be great.
Reggie replied that it would be great if Tony could come and see him at three-thirty on Tuesday, March the second.
Despite the absence of leading scorer Fittock, Climthorpe Albion beat Wigan 3-2 away in the third round of the FA trophy, with CLENCH recording the first hat trick of his career.
Mr Bulstrode returned to work after his severe attack of pneumonia. He arrived two hours late due to snow.
In the West Country, severe floods caused water rationing.
The days grew longer, and the weather grew harder. The pond by the cricket ground was quite frozen over.
The day of Jimmy’s wedlock approached apace. Elizabeth bought them a magnificent set of matching sheets, towels, pillow-cases, bath-mat and lavatory seat-cover.
The sales in Grot shops began to grow more quickly. The new gilt imprint was now being put on every single item.
Four new shop sites were found and approved. Each would be designed in a very fashionable style, emphasizing the exclusiveness of Grot as the place for rubbish.
Climthorpe defeated Ashford 2-0 to move into tenth place in Division One South of the Southern League. PUNT and RUTTER were the scorers. The crowd was 602. The Ashford manager complained that the match should have been called off due to frost on the pitch.
On the last day but one of the penultimate week of Joan’s brief stay at Perrin Products, the Flexisit Executive Chair arrived.
The following day, prompt on the dot of ten, C.J. arrived.
Reggie felt a frisson as he picked up the red phone and heard Joan say: ‘C.J. is here, Mr Perrin.’
‘I shan’t keep him a moment,’ said Reggie.
He adjusted the position of the Flexisit chair, made sure that there were cigars in the box, tidied his hair, twiddled his thumbs, and sent for C.J.
Reggie had expected that C.J. would reveal some signs of the disappointments and ordeals that he had been through, but there were none.
They shook hands firmly.
‘Good to see you, C.J. sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said. ‘Do sit down.’
He indicated the Flexisit chair. C.J. sat. The chair made a raspberry noise. Reggie laughed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s that damned new chair. Most embarrassing.’
‘Yes,’ said C.J.
‘The perils of buying British,’ said Reggie.
‘Absolutely, Perrin,’ said C.J.
‘How are you?’ said Reggie.
‘Bearing up, Perrin,’ said C.J.
‘Cigar?’ said Reggie, pushing the box to the end of the desk.
‘Thank you.’
C.J. tried to reach the cigar without getting up from the chair, but the chair was too far away from the desk. He stood up, pulled the chair forward, took a cigar and sat down. The chair blew another raspberry.
‘Well,’ said Reggie. ‘We meet in altered circumstances.’
‘We do indeed,’ said C.J.
‘The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, C.J.’
‘Well put, Reggie.’
‘The night is darkest before the dawn,’ said Reggie.
‘Precisely,’ said C.J. ‘I didn’t get where you are today without knowing that the night is darkest before the dawn.’
C.J. knocked the ash off his cigar into a Grot ashtray.
‘That’s a Grot ashtray,’ said Reggie. ‘It’s got holes in it.’
‘So it has,’ said C.J., lifting the ashtray off the arm of the chair and watching the ash descend towards the thick pile carpet.
‘Not one of our best sellers,’ said Reggie.
‘You astound me,’ said C.J.
Joan entered with a tray of coffee. She looked at the two men, Reggie behind the large desk, C.J. uneasy in the Flexisit chair.
‘Thank you, Joan,’ said C.J., accepting the proffered beverage. ‘Enjoying working for Mr Perrin, again, are you?’
‘I’m leaving next week, C.J.,’ said Joan. ‘We don’t see eye to eye.’
‘Ah! Very wise in that case,’ said C.J. ‘One can’t put one’s nose to the millstone if one doesn’t see eye to eye.’
‘One certainly can’t,’ said Reggie.
Joan closed the door gently behind her.
‘I met your brother,’ said Reggie.
‘Ah!’ said C.J. ‘All men are brothers, but some are more brothers than others.’
‘What are your work plans?’ said Reggie.
‘Nobody’ll touch me with a barge-pole,’ said C.J.
Reggie stirred his coffee slowly and deliberately – and unnecessarily, since he didn’t take sugar.
‘Do you think you could work happily with me as your boss?’ he said.
C.J. drew thoughtfully on his cigar.
‘I’ve always taken great pains not to talk in clichés,’ he said.
‘You certainly have, C.J.’
‘Mrs C.J. and I have always avoided clichés like the plague.’
‘Absolutely, C.J.’
‘A cliché to me is like a red rag to a bull. However, it’s the exception that proves the rule, as they say, and there is one cliché that fits my situation like a glove.’
‘What’s that, C.J.?’
‘Necessity is the mother of intention.’
‘Very apt, C.J.’
C.J. tipped his ash into a proper ashtray, sipped his coffee, and grimaced.
‘What’s your offer?’ he said.
‘The same in real terms as you gave me at Sunshine Desserts,’ said Reggie.
‘You strike a hard bargain, Perrin.’
‘Yes. More coffee, C.J.?’
C.J.’s chair was now near enough to Reggie’s desk to enable him to hold his cup out without leaving his chair.
‘I want you to work on our expansion into Europe,’ said
Reggie, as he poured the acrid liquid into C.J.’s cup. ‘The opportunities are boundless.’
He almost felt sorry for C.J., but he fought against it. When had C.J. ever felt sorry for him?
‘You would be a totally independent operator,’ said Reggie. ‘But you would be directly accountable to my Joint Managing Director, and you would work in close liaison with her.’
‘Her, Reggie?’
‘My wife.’
‘Ah! Your wife. I see. I … er … I see. I’ll take the job, Perrin.’
They shook hands, and Reggie sent for Elizabeth on red.
‘You know Elizabeth, don’t you?’ he said.
‘Yes, I … I know Elizabeth.’
‘Of course you do. Well no doubt you’ll get to know her a whole lot better now you’re working together.’
‘No doubt I will,’ said C.J.
Elizabeth entered the office.
‘C.J.!’ she exclaimed.
‘Hello, Elizabeth. Excuse me if I don’t get up,’ said C.J. ‘My back’s locked.’
He shook hands with Elizabeth and she sat in the chair next to him. It was not a Flexisit chair and it did not blow a raspberry.
‘C.J. has agreed to join our little team, I’m delighted to say,’ said Reggie.
‘What?’
‘You’re surprised, eh?’ said C.J.
‘He’ll look after our European efforts and he’ll be directly responsible to you,’ said Reggie.
‘And you fixed all this up without consulting me?’ said Elizabeth.
‘Does the idea of working with me appal you, Mrs Perrin?’ said C.J.
‘Er, no, of course not.’
Elizabeth smiled weakly.
‘Do you have something against C.J.?’ said Reggie.
‘Er … no … no. It’s just that I like to be consulted,’ said Elizabeth lamely. ‘I don’t like being presented with a fait accompli.’
‘I hope I’m not a fait accompli worse than death,’ said C.J., and he gave a sharp bark of mirthless laughter.
‘I suggest that C.J. starts on Monday week,’ said Reggie. ‘That’ll give us a chance to get an office ready.’
‘Ah!’ said C.J. ‘An office!’
He glanced with approval at Reggie’s large desk, elegant light fittings and large plate window, and gave a slight frown at the pictures by Drs Snurd, Underwood and Wren.
‘I’m a bit of a stickler for offices,’ he said. ‘I didn’t get where you are today without being a bit of a stickler for offices. What sort of thing did you have in mind?’