The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (55 page)

‘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?’

‘Something very similar to what I had at Sunshine Desserts,’ said Reggie. ‘You always said how nice that was.’

‘Ah. Yes. Quite. Good,’ said C.J.

Reggie stood up. C.J. and Elizabeth followed suit.

‘I thought your back was locked,’ said Elizabeth.

‘It’s unlocked itself,’ said C.J. ‘Funny things, backs.’

C.J. and Elizabeth made the long walk towards the door side by side.

‘One point, C.J.,’ said Reggie.

‘Yes?’

‘Do you feel that you can take on a new and challenging job in a highly modern business concept with drive and enthusiasm?’

‘I’m sure I can,’ said C.J.

‘Good,’ said Reggie. ‘I’m glad to hear it. We aren’t one of those dreadful firms who think people are old-fashioned just because they’re over fifty.’

Joan’s voice was icy.

‘Mr Webster is here,’ she said.

‘Send him in Joan.’

Tony entered the office jauntily but not too jauntily. The Flexisit chair had been returned to the makers on the grounds that it made an embarrassing noise, and he sat on a silent German model.

‘Good to see you again, Tony,’ said Reggie.

‘Great,’ said Tony.

‘I was sorry to hear about Sunshine Desserts.’

‘Yes. Dramatic happenings in jelly city.’

‘Quite. Cigar?’

‘Great.’

Tony took a large cigar and lit it with aplomb. Reggie ordered coffee.

‘Great pad you have here,’ said Tony, glancing appreciatively round Reggie’s lush executive womb.

‘Yes. What are you planning to do next, Tony?’

‘I’ve a lot of offers. I don’t know which to take up.’

‘There’s not much point in my offering you a job, then. Still, nice to see you.’

‘Oh, sod it,’ said Tony. ‘This is cards-on-the-table-ville. Obviously in the long term, in the
long
term, Tony Webster’s still the lad.’

‘But in the short term?’

‘Nobody’ll touch me with the proverbial.’

‘Tarred with the C.J. brush?’

‘Well, I should have seen the crash coming. It doesn’t reflect well on my vision.’

‘No.’

‘I’ve been a twat, Reggie. That bastard C.J. really stitched me up. It’s taught me a lesson, though. I’ve grown up at last.’

Joan entered with the coffee. Tony sprang to his feet.

‘I’ll take it,’ he said.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Joan.

Tony sat down reluctantly. Joan served coffee in icy silence.

‘Phew!’ said Tony when Joan had gone. ‘Ouch city. Icebergsville.’

‘She’s an attractive woman,’ said Reggie.

‘Oh, sure, it’s got good form.’

‘If you want to get anywhere with Joan,’ said Reggie, ‘may I suggest you trying saying “she’s very attractive” rather than “it’s got good form”?’

‘Thank you, Professor Higgins. Any other advice?’

‘Yes. Ask her out to lunch tomorrow.’

‘No chance. But no chance. Is this why you’ve got me here, to bring us together again? I always thought you fancied her yourself.’

‘I think that if you really want Joan, and if you show great patience, and eschew Helsinki ravers and their ilk, you could find yourself in Main Street, Reconciliationsville.’

Tony gawped, momentarily speechless.

‘Now to business,’ said Reggie. ‘I can offer you a job here, but you will not have the same status as you had at Sunshine Desserts. You’ll have to prove yourself anew.’

‘I will, Reggie.’

‘In that case, Tony, why don’t you start next Monday?’

‘Great.’

Reggie poured Tony a second cup of coffee.

‘I gave another Sunshine Desserts man a job last week,’ he said.

‘Oh. Who?’

‘That bastard C.J.’

‘I should be more careful of my tongue, shouldn’t I?’

Reggie picked up the red phone.

‘Ask the Head of Expansion (UK) to come in, would you, please, Joan?’ he said. ‘Your new boss,’ he explained to Tony.

Tony turned pale.

‘It isn’t C.J., is it?’ he asked.

‘Would I do a thing like that to you – make you work with C.J. again? Of course it isn’t C.J.’

‘Oh good.’

‘It’s David Harris-Jones.’

‘What?’

‘It’s David Harris-Jones.’

‘You mean I’m to be under David Harris-Jones?’

‘Yes.’

‘Bloody hell.’

‘Yes.’

There was a soft knock on the door.

‘Come,’ said Reggie.

David Harris-Jones approached them like a grounded bat.

‘Oh hello, Tony. Super to see you,’ he said.

‘Tony’s going to join us, David,’ said Reggie.

‘Super.’

‘He’s going to be working under you, David. You’re his new boss.’

David and Tony looked at each other in silence for some seconds. David seemed almost as thunderstruck as Tony.

‘Great,’ said David Harris-Jones at last.

‘Super,’ said Tony Webster.

Joan was late back from her lunch with Tony the following day.

‘Ah, you’re back,’ said Reggie as she entered with her dictation pad.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Perrin. I got held up,’ she said.

‘Nice lunch?’

‘Yes.’

She began to cross her legs, remembered, and uncrossed them.

‘Good. Good. To the Quicksek Employment Bureau. Dear Sirs, I am urgently looking for a high-class secretary … You aren’t taking it down, Joan.’

‘You haven’t replaced me yet, then, Mr Perrin?’

‘Not yet, Joan. I soon will, though, don’t worry. To the Quicksek Employment Bureau. Dear Sirs, …’

‘Would it be all right if I stayed on, Mr Perrin?’

It was in breach of their unwritten contract, but he gave her a kiss.

The weather turned cold again for the weekend. There was snow on many football grounds, and the Pools Panel was called in. There was snow at Hillingdon, causing the abandonment of the third round FA Trophy match between Hillingdon and Climthorpe. And there was snow at Bagwell Heath, but it wasn’t the snow that caused the abandonment of the match between James Gordonstoun Anderson and Lettuce Isobel Horncastle.

Chapter 19

The organist gave a spirited rendition of old favourites, and the heating system accompanied him with a cacophony of squeaks and gurgles.

There was a large gathering in the spacious fifteenth-century church with its famous Gothic font cover.

On the left were the friends and family of the bride.

There were small men with skin like old brown shoes.

There were large, fierce women, their massive faces so dark beneath their huge hats that it almost looked as if they could do with a shave. Truth to tell, several of them could.

There was one beautiful young blonde and a very tall distinguished man in morning dress.

There were eight rather embarrassed Indians in flowing robes, and three physiotherapists with hacking coughs.

On the right were the friends and family of the groom.

There were Tom and Linda and their two children, Adam and Jocasta. Adam had started proper school and nose-picking.

There were some old army colleagues, including a whitehaired old man in the uniform of a colonel in the Territorial Army. They had red noses indicative of liquid indulgence.

There were three rows of large men from the ranks of assorted families.

There were three rows of large men from the ranks of Jimmy’s secret army. They looked like retired boxers, sacked policemen and failed security guards.

Reggie and Elizabeth were just about to take their places in the church when an ancient Land Rover drew up, squirting slush across the pavement to the very foot of the white-coated lych-gate.

Out stepped Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther. He sported a carnation in his trench coat.

‘Hello there,’ he called to Reggie in an urgent but low voice.

Reggie walked hurriedly over towards him.

‘I’ve lost the groom,’ said Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther.

‘Lost the groom?’ said Reggie. ‘How can you lose the groom?’

‘Pub down road, quick one, Dutch courage. Groom goes for piss. Excuse language. Doesn’t return. I go look-see. Not pissing. Missing.’

‘What are we to do?’ said Elizabeth.

‘He may have just wanted a bit of time to himself to collect his thoughts,’ said Reggie.

‘Vamoosed,’ said Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther. ‘Cold feet. Don’t blame him.’

The vicar rode up on his bicycle and wobbled to a slippery halt in the slush.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I feared I was cutting it fine, but I see no sign of the happy couple.’

‘You may not do,’ said Reggie. ‘We appear to have lost the groom.’

‘Lost the groom?’ said the vicar. ‘How can you lose the groom?’

‘Stop off, pub, quick fortifier,’ said Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther. ‘Groom goes for a …’

‘Groom goes to smallest room,’ said Reggie hastily. ‘Doesn’t return. Best man worried. Best man goes to smallest room. No groom.’

‘I see,’ said the vicar. ‘Well, maybe he just wanted a few minutes to himself. Believe me, in the nervous excitement of one’s wedding day, anything can happen. Even I, so calm when officiating, felt decidedly queasy when I was on the receiving end. I expect he’ll draw up any moment in a taxi.’

‘He’s vamoosed,’ said Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther. ‘He’s gone
AWOL.’

‘He’s a military man,’ said Reggie.

‘Ah!’ said the vicar, as if that explained everything.

The vicar looked up and down the road.

‘Still no sign of the lovely bride either,’ he said.

‘Without wishing to strike an uncharitable note on such a potentially auspicious occasion,’ said Reggie, ‘I think it is germane to the issue that the bride cannot by any stretch of the imagination be described as lovely.’

‘Reggie!’ said Elizabeth. ‘What an awful thing to say!’

‘Bloody true, though,’ said Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther. ‘She’s as ugly as sin.’

‘Sin is not ugly, because it is redeemable,’ said the vicar. He glanced at his watch. ‘What is the groom like? Is he also – excuse my bluntness – an horrendous specimen?’

‘I’m his sister,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Dear lady, forgive me,’ said the vicar.

‘That’s all right,’ said Elizabeth. ‘He isn’t horrendous, but he’s no oil-painting.’

‘Perhaps the bride won’t turn up either,’ said the vicar.

‘He’s vamoosed,’ repeated Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther. ‘He’s deserted in the face of the enemy.’

‘And here comes the enemy now,’ said Reggie.

A beribboned Rolls-Royce drove slowly round the edge of the churchyard, past the great yew.

‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ said the vicar, and he rushed up the snowy path and round the side of the church.

‘You’ve still got your bicycle clips on,’ called Reggie, but he was too late.

The driver of the Rolls-Royce braked. The car slid remorselessly onwards across the treacherous slush. It struck the vicar’s bicycle a glancing blow before running gently into the back of the Land Rover.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther.

The driver descended from the car and examined the damage. Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther hurried over to remonstrate with him and examine the rear of the Land Rover.

The radiant bride descended slowly from the car. Nothing, it seemed, could spoil the greatest day of her life. Her incredulous father stepped out behind her, and two tiny bridesmaids in shocking pink held her proud white train clear of the slush.

Reggie stepped forward to speak, but his hesitant ‘er … excuse me’ was tossed into the sky by the mocking wind of March.

The bride slid remorselessly past him, as unstoppable in her white tulle as a great tanker gliding down the slipway into the smooth waters of a Japanese inlet.

The procession swept into the church, and moved slowly up the aisle, while Reggie and Elizabeth crept round the side-aisle to their seats.

The organist, who had been approaching the end of his repertoire, struck up ‘Here Comes the Bride’ with joyous relief. The happy music swelled and burst upon bearded lady, bewildered Indian, bewhiskered colonel and bored right-wing fanatic alike. The right-wing fanatics gazed at Lettuce in open-mouthed astonishment.

Her father stepped back to stand alongside Clive ‘Lofty’ Anstruther, and the hapless cleric stood irresolute in his bicycle clips, as the bride turned a face stiff with exultation towards the empty space where the groom should have stood. The organist came to the end of the tune, and the church was filled with a dreadful silence, broken only by the coughing of the three physiotherapists.

The radiance on the bride’s face turned to puzzlement. The vicar cleared his throat. The organist began ‘Here Comes the Bride’ at the beginning again.