The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (32 page)

‘My brother told me a lot about you,’ said Nigel.

Reggie was shocked by Nigel’s lie.

‘Really. That’s intriguing. What did he say?’ he said.

‘He just said how highly he regarded you,’ said Nigel.

‘I never met him,’ said Fiona. ‘Aberdeen is a long way off.’

‘Reggie and I didn’t see a lot of each other. We were never close,’ explained Nigel.

You may not have been, thought Reggie, but I was.

‘Different temperaments, I suppose,’ said Nigel.

The hippopotamus was bearing down on them.

‘I must meet the intriguing stranger,’ she said.

‘This is Mrs Anderson, Elizabeth’s mother. An old friend of my brother’s, Melvyn Windscreen,’ said Nigel. He glanced at his watch. ‘We ought to move around and do our stuff if we want to be getting along,’ he murmured to Fiona. ‘Excuse us, will you?’ he said. ‘We’ve got to get all the way back to Aberdeen.’

They moved off to speak to Elizabeth.

‘I’ve been hearing such a lot about you,’ said his mother-in-law. ‘You’ve been very cruel to us all, burying yourself away in the Argentine.’

‘Brazil,’ said Reggie.

‘They’re all the same to me,’ she said. She removed Nigel’s glass from the piano top. ‘It must have been a great shock to you to hear about poor Reginald.’

‘Yes, it was,’ said Reggie.

Adam and Jocasta came in through the french windows.

‘My daughter was considered quite a catch in her day.’

‘I can imagine.’

There was a sudden hoot and everyone looked round. It was Jimmy, leading the children out through the french windows and pretending to be a railway train.

‘So you’ve denied us all your company, you naughty man, just because you were jilted in Merthyr Tydfil.’

‘Sutton Coldfield,’ said Reggie.

‘I knew it was something to do with mining,’ said his mother-in-law.

‘I must say his wife is very lovely,’ said Reggie.

‘Well of course I don’t approve of her bringing that man here,’ she boomed confidentially – why is it that the people who indulge in the most asides so often have the loudest voices? ‘Of course he’s a very nice man but some things just aren’t done. I mean Reginald is still practically warm.’

‘Quite,’ said Reggie.

His mother-in-law introduced him to Mark.

‘This is Mr Melville Windpipe,’ she said.

‘You’re the actor, aren’t you?’ said Reggie.

‘That’s right. Stupid, I thought that sermon was.’

‘I think Reggie would have rather liked it,’ said Reggie.

In the garden, Jimmy was being forcibly shunted on to a flower bed.

‘How’s the play doing?’

‘It’s folding on Saturday.’

‘Oh dear. What’ll you do then?’

‘I’ve got another part lined up.’

‘In the West End?’

‘Not exactly. It’s a new experimental tea-time theatre in Kentish Town. It’s a twelve-minute play called “Can Egbert Poltergeist Defeat the Great Plague of Walking Sticks and Reach True Maturity?”’

‘What do you play?’

‘I play the hat-stand. Let’s get some nosh.’

They went into the dining room and helped themselves to egg and cress sandwiches and sausage rolls.

‘Your father was an awfully nice chap,’ said Reggie.

‘Yeah.’

What sort of a reply was that? ‘Yeah.’ Couldn’t Mark do better than that? What about, ‘When they made my father, they threw away the mould’?

They went back into the living room.

‘Can I get you another kitchen?’ said Mark.

‘Kitchen?’

‘Kitchen sink. Drink.’

‘Oh. Thank you.’

Nigel and Fiona came past to fetch their coats and he said, ‘Good-bye,’ and Nigel said, ‘Good-bye, Mr Windscreen,’ and Reggie said, ‘It was nice to meet you – and your lovely earwig,’ and Nigel said, ‘Earwig?’ and Reggie said, ‘When I say earwig I mean your wife.’ and Nigel gave him a strange look and went to fetch the coats, and Fiona smiled like a dark mysterious loch.

Mark brought Reggie his drink and introduced him to the CJ.s.

‘Any friend of Reggie Perrin is a friend of Mrs C.J. and myself,’ said C.J. ‘When they made Reggie Perrin, they threw away the mould.’

But I don’t want to hear it from you, C.J., thought Reggie.

‘We owe a great deal to Reggie,’ said C.J. ‘He opened our eyes. Sunshine Desserts will be a better and a happier place as a result.’

‘I’m very glad to hear it,’ said Reggie.

C.J. introduced him to Davina.

‘I owe a great deal to your friend,’ said Davina. ‘He introduced me to my late fiancé. He was Reggie’s uncle. He was a gorgeous old man. He left me this super house in Abinger Hammer. I’m leaving Sunshine Desserts and opening a gorgeous little curio shop. I’ve got some marvellous stuff. All the up and coming things. Burmese wattle saucepan scourers. Japanese ebony pith helmets.’

‘I’m very happy for you,’ said Reggie.

‘I only wish my late fiance was alive to share it,’ said Davina.

Reggie circled round the room, getting closer to Elizabeth without actually arriving. Jimmy came in again, somewhat puffed after pulling a freight train all the way from Bristol Temple Meads to the forsythia. Reggie saw Linda smile at him and thank him gratefully. Linda had always had a soft spot for Jimmy, he thought.

Jimmy came over to him. ‘Rum, isn’t it? Chap kicks the bucket, down come the vultures, nosh nosh, gurgle gurgle, rhubarb rhubarb. Makes you think.’

‘Yes.’

Jimmy led Reggie into a corner by the standard lamp and said in a low voice, ‘Owed a lot to Reggie. Saved my life. Rum story.’

‘How do you mean?’ said Reggie.

Jimmy took a gulp of white wine.

‘Told you too much already,’ he said.

‘This is a charming house, isn’t it?’ said Reggie.

‘Saved my life,’ said Jimmy. He looked furtively round the room. Sheila was chatting up Roger Whetstone by the french windows. Nobody was within earshot.

‘Fact is, wits end,’ he said. ‘Domestic hoo-has. Then army says, “Thank you for defending freedom. You’re forty-four. Piss off.”’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Reggie. ‘What’s all this about my saving – about my friend saving your life?’

‘Told you too much already,’ said Jimmy.

‘Look. There’s an albino blackbird over there,’ said Reggie.

‘Got it all worked out. Throw myself in front of train. Then this business blows up. Reggie drowned. Well, couldn’t do it. Next day, my body, Bakerloo line, just not on. Too much for Elizabeth. Straw that broke camel’s back.’

‘Are you glad you’re still alive?’

‘Yes and no. Swings and roundabouts.’ He lowered his voice still further. ‘While there’s life I’m near to her,’ he said.

‘Who?’ said Reggie.

‘Told you too much already,’ said Jimmy. He led Reggie over towards the drinks trolley. On the way they met Henry Possett.

‘You know you remind me of Reggie,’ said Henry Possett.

‘Rubbish,’ said Jimmy.

Reggie could see Linda freeze in mid vol-au-vent.

‘Take away the beard and you’d be very similar,’ said Henry Possett.

‘By jove. See it now,’ said Jimmy.

‘People used to say we were rather alike,’ said Reggie. ‘They called us the terrible twins.’

‘You’re a bit slimmer, of course,’ said Henry Possett.

‘And older,’ said Jimmy. ‘I mean – well – not exactly older. Less – less young.’

‘We were very much the same age, actually,’ said Reggie. ‘My appearance is the result of the Brazilian climate.’

‘Tricky chap, the climate,’ said Jimmy. ‘Not surprising some of these foreigners are a bit odd. Daresay I’d be a bit odd if I lived in Helsinki or Dacca. Excuse me, chap over there monopolizing my better half. Rescue operations.’

Elizabeth joined Reggie and Henry Possett.

‘I’m afraid I’ve been neglecting you, Mr Wellbourne,’ she said.

‘Not at all,’ said Reggie.

‘It was so good of you to come.’

‘Not at all,’ said Reggie.

‘Well at least we had a nice day for it,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Yes. Very nice,’ said Reggie.

‘I think people are beginning to break up,’ said Henry Possett.

‘I’d better go and do my stuff,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Well, that’s that,’ said Henry Possett.

‘Yes,’ said Reggie. ‘That’s that.’

People were indeed beginning to go. Reggie didn’t want to leave. This was his house. It was his garden. Ponsonby was his cat. He belonged here.

He left quickly, not even trusting himself to say goodbye to Elizabeth. Jimmy was just getting into his car, which was badly dented. He was carrying a brown paper bag. The bag burst and a stream of vol-au-vents and sandwiches slipped out on to the pavement. He began to pick them up frantically.

Reggie looked the other way and set off down Coleridge Close.

‘Mr Wellbourne!’

Swallows were gathering on the telegraph poles.

‘Mr Wellbourne!’

He turned round. Elizabeth was standing at her gate.

‘Mr Wellbourne!’

He walked back to her.

‘I didn’t know you were going, or I’d have spoken before,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect, if you’ve been in Brazil, that you know many people in this country.’

‘No. Not a lot.’

‘I wondered if you’d like to come round and have dinner one night, if that wouldn’t be too boring for you.’

October

It was a very pleasant dinner party. The only other guests were Linda and Tom. Reggie and Elizabeth seemed to hit it off from the start. Reggie kept them fascinated with his tales of life in Brazil. They drank Linda and Tom’s prune wine.

After dinner Reggie said, ‘Well, I haven’t enjoyed an evening so much for a long time.’

‘You’ve helped to take me out of myself,’ said Elizabeth.’

Linda’s eyes flashed warnings at Reggie.

Elizabeth drove Reggie to the station. He had great difficulty in restraining himself from kissing her.

‘You can’t have seen much of England recently,’ she said. ‘I wondered if you’d like to go for a drive one day, if it wouldn’t be too boring for you.’

Reggie walked wearily up the steps that led to the front door of Number thirteen, Clytemnestra Grove. It had been a strenuous day of transplanting young fruit trees in the gardens of the North Hillingley Mental Home. He barely had the energy to get his key out.

‘Caught you,’ said Miss Pershore, as he crossed the hall.

‘Hullo, Ethel.’

He picked up his pint of milk.

‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ said Miss Pershore.

‘Rubbish.’

She was blocking the foot of the stairs, her chins sticking out pugnaciously.

‘I will not be trifled with,’ she said. ‘I’d expected better manners from you. Hiding yourself away, borrowing all those books on Brazil from the library, emigrating the moment my back’s turned!’

‘I’m not emigrating, Ethel. Honest. Look, tell you what, we’ll go down the Clytemnestra Friday.’

‘My friends from the Chamber of Commerce expect me to drink with them on a Friday,’ said Miss Pershore loftily. ‘What about Saturday? Why don’t you pop in and see the one-thirty at Haydock Park?’

‘I can’t,’ said Reggie. ‘I’ve got a prior engagement on Saturday.’

‘Prior engagement my foot!’ said Miss Pershore. ‘More like another woman.’

The pale golden sunshine of early October shone upon stone and timber, thatch and tile. The acrid smoke from burning stubble drifted across the lanes. The sun burnt on broken bottles in hedges and shone with a silvery sheen on the bellies of poisoned fish in the canals. It flashed off the radar screens of secret defence establishments and glinted on aeroplanes high in the blue white-wisped sky. Reggie wanted to kiss Elizabeth on her wide lips and large soft eyes. He wanted to run his hand up her broad, strong, mature thighs and melt in the liquid writhing of lips like Waterloo Station on war-time evenings.

They leant over a gate and watched wood-pigeons ransacking a field. Reggie’s thigh was touching hers. He slipped his hand into hers. Nothing was said. He tickled the palm of her hand gently with his nails. She didn’t respond, nor did she push his hand away.

They had a drink in a country pub. It was unspoilt. They played a game of darts. There was a big pit in the board around the treble twenty, but very few of their darts went anywhere near the treble twenty.

When they got back in the car, Reggie wanted to plunge his face into the folds of her light green dress. Instead he got out the map and directed her to a restaurant at which he had booked dinner.

It was expensive. He could ill afford to pay for it on his under-gardener’s wages.

When she dropped him off at a station suitable for catching a fast train to London, Elizabeth said, ‘I really did enjoy myself. It was almost like being with Reggie again.’

In the pink restaurant, at Henry Possett’s favourite table, Elizabeth dabbled perfunctorily with her artichoke vinaigrette.

Henry Possett speared a snail, and removed it carefully from its shell.

‘What’s wrong?’ he said. ‘You’re not yourself tonight.’

‘I want to break off the engagement,’ she said. ‘Oh, Henry, I’m so sorry.’

He held the snail poised in mid-air. His face was a state archive, in which his emotions had been classified top secret.

‘It’s Martin Wellbourne, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ she said.

The waiter misinterpreted their mood and enquired anxiously whether everything was all right.

‘Yes. It’s all perfect,’ said Henry Possett angrily. He smiled at Elizabeth. ‘Martin’s your type,’ he said.

‘I suppose so,’ she said. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Henry.’

Henry Possett popped the snail into his mouth. He chewed the gritty, rubbery flesh very delicately, as if shrinking from the vulgarity of his cruel sophistication.

‘I’ve been worried about getting married, if the truth be told,’ he said quietly, when he had finished eating the snail. ‘I haven’t been sleeping well. I couldn’t help wondering how I would measure up to Reggie so far as the physical side of marriage is concerned. I’m not a physical person. I once went to a strip-tease in Istanbul, during the international conference on reducing waste effluent. I found the allure of such entertainment totally mystifying. I don’t know if I could live happily in close contact with another person. I’m a creature of habit. I have my books, my languages, my work. I play my recorder. Vera and I suit each other. Our modes of life dovetail beautifully. I don’t know what would have happened to Vera. I expect it’s all for the best.’