The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (79 page)

‘Yes.’

‘It might be more fun my way, though.’

‘You have a point, Reggie.’

They entered Number Seventeen and went into the sun room extension which now formed CJ.’s office.

The room, built for suburban relaxation, was filled with office furniture. There were three desks, two typewriters, six chairs, green filing cabinets, two waste-paper baskets, and a hat-stand.

The watery sun streamed in.

Thruxton Appleby and Arthur Noblet were waiting. C.J. explained the revised scenario.

C.J. settled himself behind his typewriter and the other three went into the back garden.

Reggie knocked.

‘Come in,’ said C.J. in a mincing, pseudo-female voice.

Reggie entered.

‘Can I help you?’ minced C.J.

Reggie laughed.

‘Reggie!’ said C.J. ‘This is an important social experiment, and all you can do is laugh. Immerse yourself in your role as I do. I become Cynthia Jones. C.J. is dead, long live Cynthia Jones. Now get out and come in.’

‘Sorry, C.J.’

Reggie went back into the garden.

He re-entered the sun room.

‘I meant, “Sorry, Cynthia”,’ he said. ‘Sorry, C.J.’

‘Get out.’

Reggie went out and knocked on the door.

‘Come in,’ said C.J.

Reggie came in.

‘Mr Noblet’s office,’ minced C.J. ‘Can I help you?’

‘The name’s Perrin,’ said Reggie. ‘Industrial relations research council.’

‘Ah, yes. Welcome to Hardcastle Handbags, Mr Perrin. Mr Noblet’ll be in in a jiffy.’

There was a knock.

‘Come in,’ said C.J.

Arthur Noblet entered.

‘No, no,’ said Reggie. ‘It’s your office. No need to knock.’

‘Sorry,’ said Arthur Noblet.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in,’ said Reggie. ‘But now that I have, may I make a point?’

‘Go ahead,’ said C.J.

‘Come in with a bit of authority,’ said Reggie. ‘Make some remark about your journey. “Twelve minutes late. Traffic lights out of order at Hanger Lane.” That sort of thing.’

‘Excellent,’ said C.J. ‘First-class remark. Take an umbrella.’ Arthur Noblet took an umbrella.

‘Go out and come in,’ said C.J.

Arthur Noblet went into the garden, where Thruxton Appleby was examining the veins on a rose leaf.

He re-entered the sun room.

‘Twelve minutes late,’ he said, hanging his umbrella on the hat-stand. ‘Traffic lights out of action at Hanger Lane.’

This is Mr Perrin, Mr Noblet,’ minced C.J. ‘He’s from the industrial relations research council.’

‘I’m holding a watching brief,’ said Reggie.

‘Ready for dictation,’ minced C.J., hitching up his trousers and crossing his legs.

There was a knock. Nobody answered.

‘Oh, that’ll be for me. It’s my bleeding office,’ said Arthur Noblet. ‘Come in.’

Thruxton Appleby entered with massive authority.

‘We want more fringe benefits, Noblet,’ he thundered.

‘OK. You deserve them,’ said Arthur Noblet.

‘No, no, no!’ said Reggie. ‘Pathetic! Abysmal! Appleby, you wouldn’t enter your office with massive authority if you were about to be interviewed by you. And Noblet, you mustn’t give in like that. You must get inside each other’s roles. Take your example from C.J., the Deborah Kerr of Botchley.’

C.J. waved the compliment aside modestly.

‘Right,’ said Reggie. ‘We’ll take it from Noblet’s entrance.’

Arthur Noblet and Thruxton Appleby went out into the sun-filled garden, where they could be seen arguing about their roles.

‘Nice morning. Miss Jones,’ said Reggie.

‘Very nice,’ said C.J., crossing his legs.

‘Have you planned your holiday yet. Miss Jones?’ said Reggie.

‘Well no, I haven’t had time to draw breath yet, truth to tell, what with moving flats and my boy friend’s promotion and that. I’m in a right tiswas,’ said C.J.

Arthur Noblet burst into the sun room.

‘Morning, Miss Jones,’ he said, hanging his umbrella on the hat-stand. ‘Sixteen minutes late. Jack-knifed juggernaut at Neasden. Have you typed the letter to Amalgamated Wallets?’

‘I’m just doing it, Mr Noblet,’ said C.J. ‘This is Mr Perrin, of the industrial relations research council.’

‘I’m extremely grateful to you, Mr Noblet,’ said Reggie, ‘both on behalf of myself and everyone at Research House, for letting me witness your arbitration procedures at ground roots level.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Arthur Noblet.

There was a knock.

‘Come!’ roared C.J.

‘No, no, no,’ said Reggie.

Thruxton Appleby entered.

‘Sorry,’ said C.J. ‘My fault that time. A case of the pot calling the kettle a silver lining, I’m afraid. Let’s take it from Appleby’s entrance. Appleby, go out and come in again.’

The massive textiles tycoon left the room meekly.

Almost immediately he knocked.

‘Enter,’ said Arthur Noblet, with a shy smile at his powers of verbal invention.

Thruxton Appleby entered. His demeanour was cowed, yet implicitly insolent.

‘Sit down, Appleby,’ said Arthur Noblet. ‘This is Mr Perrin, of... er ... ’

‘IRRC,’ said Reggie. ‘I’m holding a watching brief.’

‘Now, what’s this little spot of bower, Appleby?’ said Arthur Noblet.

‘The chaps on the floor want more fringe benefits,’ said Thruxton Appleby. ‘Silly of them, the lazy good-for-nothings, but there it is.’

‘What do you mean, silly of them?’ said Arthur Noblet. ‘How you blokes are expected to make ends meet when berks like me cop for twenty thousand
a
year defeats me.’

‘No, no, no,’ said Reggie. ‘Useless. Oh, sorry, C.J. I didn’t mean to get involved. Oh well, I’ve started now. Appleby, you really believe you deserve the fringe benefits. Noblet, you seriously believe you can’t afford them. But you say the rest, C.J. This is your show.’

‘Thank you, Reggie,’ said C.J. through clenched teeth. ‘Right, we’ll take it from Appleby’s entrance. We’ll take your knock as read, Appleby.’

I’d rather knock, if you don’t mind,’ said the burly West Riding chrome-dome.

‘OK, bloody well knock, then, but just get on with it,’ snapped C.J.

Thruxton Appleby knocked, Arthur Noblet yelled ‘Come!’, Thruxton Appleby came, C.J. simpered flirtatiously at the typewriter, Reggie was introduced, and the negotiations began.

‘The lads are a bit cheesed off,’ said Thruxton Appleby. ‘I know times have been hard, with the fluctuating of the yen, and we’ve had to announce a reduced dividend of seven and a half per cent, but the lads would like improved fringe benefits.’

‘What kind of improved fringe benefits?’ said Arthur Noblet.

Thruxton Appleby thought hard. He’d never taken much interest in workers’ fringe benefits.

‘Five weeks’ holiday, automatic membership of the golf club, free investment advice, company cars, and increased share holding, and an improved dividend,’ he said.

‘Piss off,’ said Arthur Noblet.

‘No, no, no,’ said Reggie. ‘No, no, no, no, no. Mind you, that was better. I won’t say another word, C.J. This is your show.’

‘Well...’ said C.J.

‘Just an idea,’ said Reggie. ‘Supposing you and I demonstrate our idea of negotiation techniques?’

‘Would that really have much value?’ said C.J.

‘With you as the powerful boss and me as the downtrodden worker,’ said Reggie.

‘It might be worth a try, I suppose,’ said C.J. ‘Hang it on the clothes line, see if the cat licks it up.’

And so Arthur Noblet became Cynthia Jones, Thruxton Appleby became the man from the Research House, Reggie became the workman, and C.J. became C.J.

Arthur Noblet installed himself behind the typewriter, while the others went into the garden.

Arthur mimed a last glance at the mirror, Thruxton Appleby entered and was introduced, C.J. entered, hurled his umbrella at the hat-stand, missed, said, ‘Twenty-two minutes late. Failure of de-icing equipment at Coulsdon,’ and sat down, and Reggie knocked, was invited to enter, and did so.

‘Now then, Perrin, what’s the trouble?’ said C.J.

‘It’s like this, guvnor,’ said Reggie sitting down facing C.J. ‘We’re falling behind as regards differentials and that.’

‘Who’s falling behind as regards differentials?’

‘Everybody.’

C.J. looked pained.

‘Everyone can’t fall behind as regards differentials,’ he said.

‘No, what I mean is,’ said Reggie, ‘we’re falling behind visà-vis workers in strictly comparable industries, i.e. purses, brief-cases, and real and simulated leather goods generally, like.’

‘You had a rise eight months ago, in accordance with phase three of stage eight,’ said C.J. ‘Or was it phase eight of stage three? Anyway, there’s a world-wide handbag slump. Do you expect me to run at a loss?’

‘Course not, guv,’ said Reggie. ‘Stone the crows, no. You’re in it for the lolly, same as what we all are. You’re forced to be. Forced to be. Course you are. You’re forced to be forced to be. Course you are. We aren’t arguing about the basic wage. Basically the basic wage is basically fair. It’s the fringe benefits, innit?’

‘What sort of fringe benefits?’ said C.J.

‘Areas where I could suggest amelioration of traditional benefits would include five weeks’ ‘oliday a year, rationalized shift bonuses, increased production incentives, longer tea breaks, coffee breaks brought up to the tea break level, a concessionary handbag for every year of service, and fifteen minutes unpenalized latitude for lateness due to previously notified genuine unforeseen circumstances.’

‘I see,’ said C.J. ‘Well, Perrin, I might see my way to recommending the board to give a day’s extra holiday and a seasonal shift bonus adjustment, and we might be able to work something out on incentives, and then report back to you.’

‘Well,’ said Reggie, ‘I can put that to my members, and see if we can draft a resolution that the negotiations committee might be prepared to put to the steering committee, but I have a feeling my members will want something on the table now.’

‘I’m afraid that may not be possible,’ said C.J.

‘We just want a fair share of the cake,’ said Reggie.

‘Ah, but can you have your fair share of the cake and eat it?’ said C.J.

‘We want deeds, not words,’ said Reggie. ‘Otherwise we’re coming out.’

‘I will not yield to threats motivated by political scum,’ said C.J.

‘I don’t think my members will appreciate that nomenclature,’ said Reggie.

‘It’s what they are, isn’t it?’ shouted C.J. ‘Marxist scum. Reds under the handbags. I will flush them out.’

‘Right. It’s all out then,’ said Reggie quietly.

‘You’re all sacked,’ said C.J.

‘You bastard!’ said Reggie.

There was a moment’s silence.

‘Yes, well, you get the general idea,’ said Reggie. ‘Seeing the other person’s point of view, that’s what it’s all about.’

That evening Reggie and Elizabeth went to the George and Two Dragons after dinner. Several other members of the community were in evidence, both staff and guests. C.J. was drinking with Thruxton Appleby. Reggie was delighted when Arthur Noblet joined them. Tony Webster was chatting up Hilary Meadows, and getting nowhere expensively. The middle manager was talking to Mr Pelham. Subjects discussed included porkers and other kinds of pigs. McBlane popped in for a few minutes. He was on dry gingers as he’d found that alcohol played havoc with his psoriasis.

‘I’ve just realized what’s missing,’ Reggie told Elizabeth. ‘All these people shouldn’t be down the pub every night. A community should have social evenings.’

Two days later, at the group meeting, Reggie made an announcement.

‘Every evening, after dinner,’ he said, ‘there will be a social gathering. These gatherings will be totally voluntary. Obviously I hope everyone will attend, but there’s no obligation.’

That evening, Reggie and Elizabeth sat in the living-room of Number Twenty-one, waiting.

Nobody came.

At the next group meeting, Reggie spoke to them all again.

‘I can’t see how any guest who intends to get full value from the community wouldn’t come to some at least of these gatherings, and I’d be very disappointed if members of staff didn’t set an example by frequent attendance,’ he said. ‘Though of course I will emphasize once again that it is entirely voluntary.’

‘You, you and you,’ said Jimmy.

Reggie gave him a cool look.

‘Sorry,’ said Jimmy. ‘Slipped out. Army volunteering. You, you and you. Wasn’t suggesting that here. No need. Stampede.’

‘You didn’t exactly stampede last time,’ said Reggie.

‘Prior engagement,’ said Jimmy. ‘Wedding plans. All invited. Refusal
de rigueur.’

‘De rigueur
means essential,’ said Reggie.

‘Exactly,’ said Jimmy. ‘Essential, all present, church parade, twenty-first December. Hope all be on parade tonight too. As I will, living-room, twenty-thirty hours, delights social various for the enjoyment of.’

Jimmy was as good as his word. In fact he was the first to arrive that evening.

Others swiftly followed. Soon the living-room was packed. Every available seat was occupied, and latecomers had to find a place on the floor.

The smokeless fuel glowed in the grate. The curtains were drawn on the cold October night.

Present were Reggie, Elizabeth, C.J., Doc Morrissey, Jimmy, Tom, Linda, Joan, David, Prue, Thruxton Appleby, Mr Pelham, the insurance agent who had lost his motivation, Diana Pilkington, Hilary Meadows, the VAT inspector from Tring, the probation officer from Peebles, the unemployed careers officer, the director of the finance company, and the middle manager.

Absent were Tony (down the George and Two Dragons), Arthur Noblet (down the Botchley Arms), and Bernard Trilling (watching TV).

The evening began stickily, but slowly began to develop its style. They shared cigarettes, passing them round after each puff.

‘This is just as much fun as smoking pot,’ said Reggie.

‘I didn’t get where I am today by smoking pot,’ said C.J., who was sitting on the rug in front of the fire.

When the conversation flagged, Reggie asked if anybody had seen anything beautiful during the day.

‘The sunset was beautiful,’ volunteered Hilary Meadows.