The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (51 page)

‘Promise?’

‘Promise.’

Elizabeth put on her ‘Save The Children’ apron.

‘You’ll be bored,’ said Reggie. ‘It’s boring work.’

Elizabeth took the knife out of his hands.

‘Let me do the sprouts,’ she said. ‘You’ll take all night.’

Reggie opened the wine while Elizabeth did the sprouts.

‘So when are you seeing Joan?’ she inquired.

‘Next Thursday at the Dissipated Kipper on the Hog’s Back.’

‘Why there? That’s miles away.’

‘She works round there.’

‘On the Hog’s Back?’

‘She works in Godalming.’

‘Oh. Godalming.’

‘You say Godalming as if it has some special significance.’

‘I don’t,’ said Elizabeth. ‘What significance could Godalming possibly have?’

The doorbell rang. It was David Harris-Jones and his wife Prue, a pleasant young lady whose normally plump body was rendered huge by advanced pregnancy.

‘I hope we aren’t early, only we didn’t want to be late,’ said David.

‘You’re the first,’ said Reggie. ‘But somebody has to be first.’

‘That’s true,’ said Prue.

‘I must apologize for my wife’s condition,’ said David Harris-Jones.

‘Well, it is your fault,’ said Prue.

‘Drink?’ said Reggie.

‘Sherry, please. Super,’ said David Harris-Jones. ‘Oh. Sorry.’

‘What for?’ said Reggie.

‘Prue has this idea that I keep saying super,’ said David. ‘She’s trying to stop me.’

Reggie handed David and Prue their sherries.

‘Super,’ said David.

Next to arrive were Jimmy and his fiancee. She was a large woman of the kind euphemistically described as handsome. In the absence of anything else nice to say about it, people often said that her face showed sense of character. Reggie felt that Jimmy must have recruited her for military rather than sexual reasons. She would come in pretty handy driving a tank if the balloon ever did go up.

‘This is Lettuce,’ said Jimmy.

Drinks were poured. Introductions were effected. Congratulations were proffered with embarrassment and accepted coyly.

‘New pictures,’ said Jimmy, pointing to a selection of rather good abstracts. When Elizabeth’s mother had died, she had left them her pictures and in order not to have to put them in the living-room Reggie had bought six paintings at the Climthorpe Craft Centre.

‘Bit deep for me,’ said Jimmy.

‘Me too,’ said Lettuce.

‘I like them,’ said Prue.

‘How are things in your country retreat, Jimmy?’ said Reggie.

‘On course,’ said Jimmy. ‘On course.’

‘What exactly do you do?’ said David.

‘Business,’ said Jimmy. ‘Import export, eh, Lettuce?’

‘Very much so,’ said Lettuce.

Elizabeth entered with bowls of Japanese cocktail delicacies. Further introductions were effected. Their drinks rested on coasters decorated with pictures of famous English inns.

‘You were in the army, weren’t you, Jimmy?’ said David.

‘Yes. Sacked. Too old. No hard feelings, though.’

‘Hard feelings never won fair lady,’ said Lettuce.

‘And I have certainly done that,’ said Jimmy.

‘You certainly have,’ said Reggie.

He topped up their glasses from the wide array of bottles on the sideboard.

‘Tom and Linda are late as usual,’ he said.

‘Linda coming?’ said Jimmy eagerly.

‘Yes.’

‘Niece,’ said Jimmy to Lettuce. ‘Don’t know whether I’ve mentioned her in dispatches.’

‘Once or twice,’ said Lettuce.

‘Favourite uncle, that sort of crack,’ said Jimmy.

‘How’s Lofty?’ said Elizabeth.

‘Cilve’s in the pink,’ said Jimmy.

Prue shifted her bulk uneasily in the largest of the armchairs.

‘Are you comfy in that chair, Prue?’ said Elizabeth.

‘She’s fine,’ said David Harris-Jones. ‘She doesn’t want to be a nuisance, do you, Prue?’

‘Actually I’d be much more comfortable in an upright chair,’ said Prue.

‘Sensible girl,’ said Reggie, bringing forward a chair of exactly the kind indicated – viz. upright.

There was a pause.

‘We ordered some garden recliners and a canopy on Saturday,’ said David Harris-Jones.

‘Canopies, can’t beat them,’ said Jimmy. ‘Just the ticket out East.’

‘I thought it was better to get the summer stuff in the winter when there’s no rush,’ said David.

‘We’ll need some garden furniture,’ said Jimmy. ‘Eh, Lettuce? We’re both fresh air fanatics.’

‘I’ve got four canvas chairs and a slatted teak table,’ said Lettuce.

‘Have you now?’ said Jimmy.

‘When are you going back to Cornwall?’ said Elizabeth.

‘First light,’ said Jimmy. ‘Crack of.’

‘Which route do you take?’ said David Harris-Jones.

‘
A
.303,’ said Jimmy, ‘
A
.30 dead loss, motorway tedious.’

‘I hate motorways,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Fond of the old
A
.303,’ said Jimmy. ‘Soft spot.’

‘You’re very quiet, Prue,’ said Reggie. ‘No thoughts about the old
A
.303?’

Prue smiled.

‘I know David gets nervous and wishes I’d talk more and shine more,’ said Prue.

‘I don’t,’ said David Harris-Jones.

‘You think people will think I’m dull,’ said Prue. ‘Probably they will. You see, Reggie, now that I’ve got the baby inside me, all growing and kicking and alive, well somehow I just can’t be bothered to talk about things like garden furniture.’

‘What a splendid young woman you’ve married, David,’ said Reggie.

Linda arrived at last, but without Tom.

‘Tom sends his apologies,’ she said, accepting a drink and a handful of seaweed crunchies. ‘He’s suddenly come down with the most appalling cold.’

‘Again?’ said Elizabeth.

‘He’s having one of those winters,’ said Linda. ‘He’s getting cold after cold.’

‘That’s the fourth cold he’s had to my knowledge,’ said Elizabeth, ‘and it isn’t even Christmas yet.’

‘Winter colds are nasty,’ said Lettuce. ‘Sometimes they come back for a second bite.’

‘Summer colds can be tricky customers,’ said Jimmy. ‘Persistent little pip-squeaks, summer colds.’

‘There are an awful lot of awful colds around,’ said David Harris-Jones. ‘Especially in Surrey. Or so I heard.’

‘I read that too,’ said Lettuce. ‘It said that the Bagshot district was practically awash.’

‘Is it really? Amazing,’ said Reggie. ‘Any news of Woking?’ Elizabeth stood up hurriedly.

‘Will you help me a moment, darling?’ she said, striding to the door.

‘Right,’ said Reggie. ‘Jimmy, give everyone a refill will you?’

‘Message received,’ said Jimmy. ‘Drinks situation in control.’

‘I had to get you out of there,’ said Elizabeth, when they were in the kitchen. ‘You looked as if you were ready to explode.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, but it isn’t exactly Café Royal stuff, is it? I mean I don’t imagine Oscar Wilde said: “Hello, Bosie. What’s the old
A
.282 like these days? Only I haven’t seen it recently, because I’ve had this awful runny summer cold, I’ve been sneezing all over my new slatted garden furniture.”’

Elizabeth peered into an orange casserole, and a succulent aroma of fowl and wine arose.

‘Do you think Tom’s all right?’ she said.

‘He’s got a cold.’

‘He’s had several colds.’

‘All right. He’s had several colds.’

‘It’s not like him. He’s not a cold person. He told me so himself.’

‘I’m sure he did.’

She tasted the succulent dish, and it evidently pleased her, since she added no further seasoning.

‘Do you think he’s run down because things aren’t “all right” between him and Linda?’

‘What? Women and their imaginations – you’re incredible. I distinctly heard Mrs Milford sneeze the other day. Is divorce pending, do you think?’

‘Sarcasm is not a lovable trait, Reggie.’

‘I’m sorry, darling. M’m, that smells good.’

Elizabeth laughed. He kissed her. They stood in front of the oven, and their tongues entered each other’s mouths.

‘Oops, sorry,’ said Lettuce, turning scarlet. ‘I’m looking for the powder-room.’

Reggie explained the way and Lettuce departed in some confusion.

‘That’ll give her something to think about while she clips her moustache,’ said Reggie.

‘Reggie!’ said Elizabeth, and then she laughed. ‘Poor Jimmy!’ she said. ‘Poor Jimmy and poor Linda. Do we ever like the people our loved ones love?’

Reggie behaved himself at dinner, and the wine and conversation flowed round the oval walnut table in the dignified, rarely used dining-room with its dark green striped wallpaper.

Tom arrived as they were finishing the kipper pâtè.

‘How did you get here?’ said Linda.

‘Taxi,’ said Tom.

‘How’s your cold?’ said Elizabeth.

Linda did a frantic sneezing and nose-blowing mime to Tom. He stared at her in astonishment.

‘What cold?’ he said. ‘I haven’t got a cold.’

‘Linda said you had a frightful cold,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Several colds,’ said Reggie.

‘Of course I haven’t got several colds,’ said Tom.

‘Tom!’ said Linda.

‘These are nice chairs,’ said David Harris-Jones.

‘Top-hole chairs,’ said Jimmy.

‘How could I have several colds?’ said Tom.

‘A-1 seating arrangements,’ said Jimmy.

‘One cold at a time,’ said Reggie. ‘You’ve been absent from our gatherings with a string of absolute snorters.’

‘I haven’t had a cold for six years,’ said Tom.

‘Tom!’ said Linda.

‘Have I said something wrong?’ said Tom.

‘Yes, Tom, you have,’ hissed Linda. ‘Those times you wouldn’t come, I pretended you’d got colds.’

Elizabeth gave Tom some pâté. He sat between Prue and Lettuce and ate hungrily.

‘If you said I’d got a throat it would have sounded more convincing,’ he said with his mouth full. ‘I do get the occasional throat. My throat’s my Achilles heel. Some people are throat people. Other people are cold people. I’m a throat person.’

Linda burst into tears and rushed from the room. Jimmy hurried after her. He caught her up on the landing.

‘Chin up,’ he said, and kissed her.

‘Not here,’ she said, pushing him off. ‘Not here.’

‘Sorry. Out of bounds,’ he said, handing her one of his demob handkerchiefs. ‘Good blow.’

Linda blew her nose and returned to the dining-room. Lettuce gave Jimmy a cold look. Elizabeth brought in the casserole of pigeons in red wine and there were exaggerated cries of delight.

Tom patted Linda’s hand across the table.

‘Sitting at home, all alone, I thought what a fool I’d been,’ he said.

‘Every marriage, bad patches,’ said Jimmy. ‘Par for course. Bad patch in my marriage. Honeymoon to divorce.’

‘That’s all in the past,’ boomed Lettuce.

‘Thanks, Lettuce,’ said Jimmy, stroking the rocky amplitude of her knees beneath the table. On its way back to his glass Jimmy’s hand rested briefly on what he thought was Linda’s thigh. Feeling his thigh being stroked, Tom gazed at Prue in some surprise.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Prue. ‘I’ve gone a bit funny with food lately. I can’t seem to eat birds.’

‘She doesn’t mind just sitting there and having nothing, though, do you?’ said David Harris-Jones.

‘There’s one thing I would like, if you’ve got it,’ said Prue. ‘Bath Olivers and marmite.’

They demolished their pigeons and Prue demolished her Bath Olivers and marmite.

‘Lettuce, Prue?’ said Reggie, passing round the green salad.

‘No thank you. It wouldn’t really go,’ said Prue.

‘Lettuce, Lettuce?’ said Reggie.

‘Thank you,’ said Lettuce.

Reggie caught Linda’s eye.

Elizabeth asked Jimmy to help her clear up.

‘Message received,’ he said. ‘Chin-wag time.’

In the kitchen Elizabeth said: ‘I have to ask you. Will you give up your private army now you’re engaged?’

“Fraid not, old girl,’ said Jimmy. ‘I’ve put Lettuce in picture. She approves. Grand girl, isn’t she?’

‘Yes.’

Jimmy picked up the large cut-glass bowl containing the lemon mousse.

‘No oil-painting myself,’ he said.

‘It’s been over two years,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Do you really think your army will ever be needed?’

‘Hope not,’ said Jimmy. ‘Deterrent. Prevention better than cure.’

They all enjoyed the lemon mousse, except for Prue.

‘It’s the texture,’ she said. ‘I’ve suddenly gone all silly over textures.’

‘You’re a sensible girl not to be embarrassed,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Prue is a lovely girl,’ said Reggie. ‘She’s not embarrassed. She doesn’t talk about garden furniture. She’s going to have a lovely baby.’

‘I tell you what I’d really like,’ said Prue. ‘Some more Bath Olivers and marmite.’

They soon polished off the lemon mousse, and there was cheese to follow. Prue soon polished off the Bath Olivers and marmite, and there were Bath Olivers and marmite to follow.

‘Last time I came to this house,’ said David Harris-Jones, ‘I got drunk. I got blotto. I got arse-holed.’

David Harris-Jones roared with laughter. Tom and Linda wanted to do the washing up. So did Jimmy and Lettuce.

‘Let Tom and Linda do it,’ said Reggie.

When they had left the room, Reggie said: ‘They want to be alone for a few minutes to patch up their differences.’

David Harris-Jones fell asleep, and Prue’s contractions began.

‘I think I’m starting,’ she said.

They woke David Harris-Jones up and told him the news. He fainted.

There was a loud crash of crockery from the kitchen, followed by the slamming of a door. Then the door slammed again, and a car drove off very fast.

David Harris-Jones began to come round, Prue had another contraction, and the doorbell rang.

It was Tom.

‘Linda’s driven off in the car,’ he said.

Reggie took Prue, David and Tom in his car. He dropped David and Prue at the maternity home and took Tom to his home.

It was five past two when he got home.

‘I don’t dislike people,’ he said. ‘Just dinner parties.’

Chapter 16

Doc Morrissey arrived promptly at twelve on the Tuesday. He sat down with alacrity and back-ache.