The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (31 page)

That must be Fiona beside him, in the fur. His brother’s first wife had been Danish, his second French, yet he had always seemed to Reggie to be an insular man. Men who took foreign wives often were. Perhaps it was a form of self-protection.

There she was, his mother-in-law, in black coat and simply enormous navy blue hat with a black band, steeped in the enjoyment of mourning, the hippopotamus shedding crocodile tears.

Where was Mark?

Joan Greengross wasn’t there but that was only to be expected.

There was an unnatural chill in the church, as if central cooling had been installed.

High up, a sparrow was flying from ledge to ledge.

The friendship department was represented by two friends of half a lifetime – Michael Wilkinson and Roger Whetstone. Yet in the last year or two Reggie had hardly seen either of them. Oh, the waste.

The Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson entered. There was a moment of uncertainty. Nobody knew what to do, never having been to a memorial service before.

Then they all stood up.

‘Let us pray,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson.

They all knelt.

Reggie didn’t listen to the words. Prayer had no efficacy as far as he was concerned.

He watched the mourners. Jimmy was concentrating with strong devotion. Tom was watching the sparrow. Linda was trying to stop Tom watching the sparrow. Nigel was concentrating hard on simulating deep concentration. Elizabeth moved her head instinctively in the direction of Henry Possett, for moral support. Michael Wilkinson and Roger Whetstone weren’t kneeling, they were just sitting forward and crouching. C.J. appeared to be kneeling, getting his knees dusty.

A hymn followed. Everybody stood up. Mark entered the church during the first verse and spent the whole hymn trying to find the number. He found it in time to sing the last line.

Jimmy bellowed, his fervency exceeded only by his tunelessness. Beside him Sheila twitched rhythmically. Elizabeth’s lips moved but no sound came out. Davina sang piercingly. Michael Wilkinson and Roger Whetstone murmured incomprehensibly in embarrassment. The sparrow cheeped monotonously. The Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson sang some lines very loud, others not at all.

Nigel read the first lesson. He read in a stiff, staccato voice, rendering it all meaningless. The sparrow cheeped throughout, and Adam and Jocasta were beginning to talk.

There were more prayers, then the second lesson was read by C.J. He went to the other extreme, investing the words with too much emotion, too much dignity, too much sonorance, too much sincerity. He gave the impression of a man who hadn’t got where he was today without knowing how to read the second lesson.

C.J. rolled to his conclusion. He paused. ‘Here endeth the second lesson,’ he thundered. He closed the great bible carefully, like a celestial Eamonn Andrews saying, ‘Reggie Perrin, that was your life.’

Stop being so tart, Reggie, said Reggie to himself. Stop criticising. But I can’t help being tart, because I’m moved. We’re singing a hymn now but I’m not conscious of the words. I am only conscious of the people. I am moved by Jimmy’s simple warmth, at knowing that Mark is upset, at watching Elizabeth and knowing that she loved me truly, at knowing that I must live the rest of my life away from her. I am moved that all this gathering is for me, goofy old me, and I am moved not only with pride but also with shame, because of all the empty pews, because this is such a pathetic occasion. I am moved with wonder at the existence of religious belief, which seems to me so truly extraordinary and so far beyond my capacity. Add to this my fear of recognition, and it’s no wonder if I take refuge in criticism.

The hymn was over. The Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson was climbing the pulpit steps. They all sat down.

The congregation cleared their throats, as if it was they who were going to speak. The sparrow flew over them and landed on a window ledge in the north aisle. Adam said, ‘Is it over?’ loudly and Linda whispered, ‘Not yet, dear. The man’s going to speak to us.’

The Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson waited patiently for silence.

‘“Here are the gumboots you ordered, madam,”’ he began. ‘“Here are the gumboots you ordered, madam.” A strange choice of text, perhaps. It comes not from the Old Testament, not from the New Testament, but from a play I saw on Tuesday night. We are gathered here in memory of Reginald Perrin – Reggie to his many friends – for Reggie was nothing if not a friendly man. I went to see this play, because Reggie’s son Mark was appearing in it, and also because I thoroughly enjoy a visit to the boards.

‘Mark’s part in the play was not a large one. He had just one line. Yes, you’ve guessed it. “Here are the gumboots you ordered, madam.”’

Reggie glanced at Mark, who was looking down at the floor in deep embarrassment.

‘Just one line,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson. ‘Yet, a vital line, for if the lady had not received the footwear in question, she would not have gone out into the farmyard mud on that wild night, she would not have been ritually slaughtered by the maniacal cowman, and there would have been no play.’

‘Cheep, cheep,’ said the sparrow.

‘It was a line, too, that was delivered by Mark with rare skill. He wrung every possible drop of emotion from it. He became that servant, handing over the gumboots and then retiring, wistfully, to the periphery of life’s stage.

‘I chose this text for several reasons,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson. ‘Firstly, because I have a sneaking feeling that Reggie would have liked it. He was a man with a taste for the unexpected. And I chose this text because I think that Reggie himself had an innate sympathy with those on the periphery of life. Beneath the cloak of cynicism which he sometimes donned there beat a kindly heart, a heart very much in sympathy with the underdogs, the misfits, the backroom boys, the providers of life’s actual and metaphorical gumboots.

‘Thirdly, I chose this text because in remembering Reggie Perrin, what better memorial can there be than the human one, a son of whom he may be justly proud?

‘We think also today of Elizabeth, a brave woman much loved by us all, whose good works in this parish have been legion. We offer her our sympathy in her time of loss but we also hope that she can draw strength and happiness from the memory of Reggie Perrin.

‘And we think too of Linda, whose vocal skills once graced our choir here in this very church. Linda is married now, she has a fine husband, and they in their turn have two fine children.’

‘I wanna go home,’ said Adam.

‘One of the most attractive aspects of Reggie’s character was his love of children,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson. ‘But of course he was not only a family man. I am not qualified to speak of his contribution to British industry. He worked, in his characteristically self-effacing way, half a lifetime for one firm. Loyalty was a virtue he prized highly. Let us not forget that. And it is a measure of the esteem that is inspired by loyalty that the managing director of his firm has taken time off to be with us today. That speaks louder than anything I can say.’

Jocasta began to howl, louder than anything the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson could say. Tom and Linda whispered together for a moment, then Tom led Adam and Jocasta out. Everybody turned to watch them, except Linda, Elizabeth, Henry Possett and Jimmy.

‘It would be presumptuous of me to speculate on the reasons behind this tragic death,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson. ‘It may well be that the rat-race had become increasingly distasteful to this least ratlike of men. It may be that his conscience could not rest at peace in a world that knows very little peace.’

Reggie caught his mother-in-law staring at him as she turned round to count how many people were there. He didn’t think she had recognized him. Probably she was just wondering who he was.

‘Reggie did not call himself a Christian. He did not visit this church,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson. ‘But when I called at his delightful house I was always assured of a friendly reception from him. Indeed he liked nothing better than the cut and thrust of ethical debate. “What about that earthquake last Tuesday, padre?” he’d say. “How do you explain that one away?” A jocular remark, and yet one was left with a glimpse of the feeling that it cloaked, of the real concern for the moral problems of this day and age.’

‘Cheep, cheep,’ said the sparrow.

‘It may seem paradoxical that a man of so strong a conscience should not call himself a Christian,’ said the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson. ‘It is I think a paradox that we would do well to ponder on. We Christians do not have a monopoly of conscience, any more than the secular world has a monopoly of sin.

‘Let us all examine our consciences, and ask ourselves if we are aware enough, if we care enough, if we do enough. Would
we
be able to say, with dignity and without envy and resentment, “Here are the gumboots you ordered, madam”?

‘But let us also take some comfort in our religion, in our faith. There is a sense in which Reggie Perrin is not dead. He is, in a real and meaningful way, here with us today, in this very church, at this very time.’

Reggie’s blood ran cold. Linda instinctively looked round towards him. They sang a hymn, the Rev. E. F. Wales-Parkinson said a final prayer, and the memorial service was over.

The September sunshine seemed very bright after the church. Reggie shook hands with the vicar.

‘I don’t think I . . .’ began the vicar.

‘I was an old friend,’ said Reggie.

Thank you so much for coming,’ said the vicar.

Reggie approached Elizabeth. He could see Linda watching him nervously, and he could feel his heart pounding.

‘My deepest sympathy, Mrs Perrin,’ he said.

Thank you,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I don’t think I . . .’

‘Martin Wellbourne,’ said Reggie. ‘I’m an old friend. We lost touch.’

‘Well it’s always a pleasure to meet an old friend of Reggie’s.’

‘I was shocked when I read the announcement,’ said Reggie. ‘I felt I must come. I do hope you don’t mind.’

‘I’m very glad you did,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m having a few people back to the house. I do hope you’ll be able to join us.’

And so he entered his own house once again. Ponsonby miaowed and rubbed against his leg.

‘She’s taken to you,’ said Tom.

‘It doesn’t mean anything with cats,’ said Reggie.

‘I don’t get on with cats,’ said Tom. ‘I’m a dog person.’

There was an excellent selection of cold foods laid out on the dining room table. A choice of red or white wine accompanied them. Reggie had never questioned the propriety of eating and drinking on such occasions, but now he wasn’t certain that he really liked being sent on his way with prawn and chicken vol-au-vents.

He took two vol-au-vents and a sausage on a stick, because they were there. Then he introduced himself to Linda.

‘I haven’t seen Reggie for over twenty-five years,’ said Reggie. ‘I sequestered myself in Brazil, following an amorous disappointment in Sutton Coldfield.’

‘Ah, the cat lover,’ said Tom, joining them by the drinks trolley.

Reggie was formally introduced to Tom.

‘These scampi concoctions are delicious,’ said Tom.

Through the french windows, Reggie could see Adam and Jocasta chasing Ponsonby round the garden.

‘You believe in introducing your children to death rather young,’ he said.

‘We’re bringing them up to accept it as quite natural,’ said Tom.

‘Yes. People do get such a thing about death,’ said Linda.

‘Death ruins lots of people’s lives,’ said Tom. ‘We saw a dead hedgehog last week, and Jocasta really showed a very mature attitude.’

‘Yes, darling, but I don’t think she really grasps the implications. She’s only two,’ said Linda.

‘You weren’t there,’ said Tom. ‘She knows what it’s all about.’

‘Sad thing, death,’ said Jimmy, passing by on his way to collect another drink.

‘This is Elizabeth’s brother Jimmy,’ said Tom. ‘Jimmy, this is Mervyn Wishbone.’

‘Chap pegs out, everybody comes round, nosh nosh, gurgle gurgle, waffle waffle. Odd,’ said Jimmy.

‘Yes. Very odd,’ said Reggie.

Sheila came threading her way through the gathering towards the drinks trolley. Jimmy put his arm round her with a gesture that said, ‘Got you.’

‘I was just getting a drink,’ she said.

‘Do you really need another one?’ said Jimmy.

‘Yes, I do,’ she said, rather loudly.

‘All right,’ said Jimmy hastily.

When she’d got her drink, Jimmy introduced her to Reggie.

‘Darling, come and meet an old friend of Reggie’s, Melvyn Washroom,’ said Jimmy.

Reggie shook hands.

‘Well, it’s a nice day for it,’ said Sheila.

‘Yes.’

‘I always say it makes all the difference.’

‘Yes. Yes, it does,’ said Reggie.

‘Mr Washroom has lived in Peru,’ said Jimmy.

‘Brazil,’ said Reggie.

‘Brazil. Sorry. Memory like sieve,’ said Jimmy.

‘It must be very interesting, living in Brazil,’ said Sheila.

‘It is,’ said Reggie.

‘Come on, dear. Circulate,’ said Jimmy.

‘I want to talk to Mr Washroom,’ said Sheila. ‘You circulate.’

‘Now come on, dear,’ said Jimmy.

‘I’ll shout,’ said Sheila.

‘Sorry. Right. I’ll circulate,’ said Jimmy, and he wandered off hastily towards the french windows.

‘Let’s have a refill,’ said Sheila.

‘I don’t think we ought to drink too much,’ said Reggie. ‘I don’t think there’s much left.’

‘Reggie didn’t like me.’

‘Didn’t he?’

‘None of his family liked me. They had it in for me from the start.’

‘Really, I don’t think . . .’

‘You don’t know. You weren’t there, Mr Washroom.’

‘That’s true.’

Jimmy returned and took Reggie by the arm.

‘Come and meet Reggie’s brother, Mr Washroom,’ he said, and he led Reggie firmly across the room towards Nigel and Fiona. They were standing in isolation by the piano.

‘This is an old friend of Reggie’s, Melvyn Washroom,’ said Jimmy. ‘Reggie’s brother Nigel, and Fiona.’

They shook hands. Nigel’s hands were cold. So were Fiona’s.