Civvy Street (7 page)

‘Good.’ There was a pause. ‘I’d like you to take over as PMC with immediate effect.’

‘Oh.’ Was this some kind of test? Seb wondered. And it also flashed through his mind that Maddy mightn’t be overjoyed at being the wife of the PMC but before he had time to consider all the implications of the offer the CO carried on speaking.

‘Yes, I don’t think Alan Milward is up to the job. Very old school. To be honest the mess operates more like the sergeants’ mess than the officers’ one and it certainly looks like one. That’s the problem with having a commissioned warrant officer do the job of PMC – old habits die hard.’

Hardly, the mess was beautiful and comfortable, and Milward had done a sterling job but Seb stayed quiet.

‘Yes, I think the furnishings need updating. Let’s get rid of all that dreary mahogany and damask and start again with some clean lines and modern textiles, linens and beech, for example, instead of that tatty, old-hat stuff.’

Seb was appalled. The lovely old furniture was part of the charm of the mess; 1 Herts had spent centuries acquiring the antiques in the building. OK, most of the better bits were the spoils of battles – looted by them, the victors, back in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Some of the stuff was priceless. And as for the silver... did the CO think it would be properly set off in a bunch of Ikea Billy bookshelves rather than on the wonderful pair of French Empire-style side tables that 1 Herts had ‘liberated’ in the Peninsular war? ‘I think, sir,’ said Seb carefully, ‘the regimental association might have a view on your plans.’

‘If they feel strongly, tell them they can have it for their museum. Most of that stuff belongs in one anyway. I want you to come up with some ideas for renovations. Maybe Maddy can help, sound her out for ideas; she’s young and on-trend.’

On-trend?
Maddy?! Seb loved his wife to bits but he’d never known her take the least interest in fashion and trends.

‘Come to me in a few weeks with your ideas. Let’s say mid-July. But don’t go talking to the other officers yet, eh? I don’t want this to go off half-cocked. I want to be able to present them with a comprehensive plan. That way they’ll more than likely agree that my idea is for the best. And I mean it, Seb, nothing to be said about this to anyone with the exception of Maddy. You understand, don’t you?’

His way or the highway, and everything to be done in secrecy. Just great. Talk about a poisoned chalice. The trouble was, now he’d accepted the job of PMC he could hardly hand it back, Seb thought as he left Rayner’s office.

But, as Seb knew, it wasn’t just the mess that Colonel Rayner seemed to want to change. He’d allowed a short period of grace after the departure of his predecessor but as soon as a couple of weeks had passed he’d set about changing things left, right and centre in the battalion.

‘It needs shaking up,’ he’d told the officers.

It didn’t, most of them had thought, but the CO had carried on anyway. The RSM, Mr Jenks, who had been as popular with the troops as an RSM was ever likely to be, had been posted out with unseemly haste and replaced with a man who had been universally loathed from the outset. The new RSM, Mr Horrocks, had come from one of the TA battalions and the
on dit
was that he’d spent most of his career with the TA because none of the regular battalions would have him once they realised what a useless NCO he was. And, since the quickest way to get rid of a dud soldier was to promote him beyond the unit’s establishment, he had to go somewhere where there was a vacancy for that rank. Horrocks had hurtled up to the top and was now a warrant officer class one – and with nowhere else to go, 1 Herts was stuck with him. But he and Rayner obviously got on well enough, to judge by the amount of time they spent in each other’s offices.

And with the arrival of a new RSM, the mood of the regiment shifted. The discipline had, apparently, been allowed to get exceedingly lax. Not that anyone had noticed but they certainly noticed the new regime; soldiers were picked up and charged for the least peccadillo, and the duty officer rota went out of the window as the junior ones found they were constantly picking up extras for the least thing.

Still, thought Seb, as he went back to his office, he was obviously doing
something
right if the CO had chosen him to be PMC, although at the back of his mind he had a faint niggle that he’d been given the post because Rayner thought that being such a junior major he might roll over and do as he was told.

Surprisingly though, when he told Maddy about being made the PMC, she seemed rather pleased.

‘I didn’t think you’d like the idea,’ he said. ‘I didn’t have you down for wanting to be the PMC’s wife; having to deal with the flower rota and make sure wives and girlfriends don’t violate the dress code.’

Maddy shuddered. ‘Gawd, spare me from the flower rota – although if you’re in charge I won’t be... spared it, that it. But as for the dress code... are you sure anyone at all cares about that these days?’

‘Maybe not, but if some girlfriend did come in wearing something completely awful and inappropriate, I think it would be up to you to have a word.’

‘Or you could tell her partner to put her straight? Your mess, your rules...’

‘I suppose.’ Maddy had a point. No, it shouldn’t be down to her to enforce the rules. ‘Anyway, you don’t mind about me being PMC?’

‘No, not really. In fact it might be a good thing because Su—’ She stopped suddenly and changed tack. ‘I’m not sure about the modernisation though. I can’t see that going down a storm.’

Why on earth did Maddy think it might be advantageous for him to be PMC? Although, he was in agreement with her about the CO’s plans for updating the building and he was going to do all he could, short of disobeying the CO about telling others, to procrastinate over the project. He told Maddy as much.

‘Good plan. With luck, if you can procrastinate long enough, Rayner will have moved on before he can wreck everything. Or you’ll have come to the end of your term as PMC and someone else will get the job.’

‘So,’ he said, ‘I’m amazed you think me being PMC is a “good thing”.’

But instead of answering him, Maddy said, ‘Oops, forgot. A letter came for you today.’

She reached for a stiff white envelope that was sitting by the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘Looks rather posh,’ she said as she handed it over. ‘Don’t recognise the writing though.’

Seb took it from her and examined it.

‘You won’t find out who it’s from just looking at it,’ said Maddy, impatiently.

Seb slipped a finger under the flap and tore it open. He scanned the letter. ‘Bloody hell.’

‘“Bloody hell”, what?’ said Maddy, almost beside herself with curiosity.

‘It’s from Rollo.’

‘Rollo! You mean, rowing-Rollo?’ Rollo had rowed with Seb at their old Oxford college.

Seb nodded.

‘What does he want?’

Seb read the letter in double-quick time, then reread it. ‘He wants to come and stay.’

‘Here? Why on earth?’

‘He’s house-hunting, apparently.’

‘But why us?’

‘Don’t you want him to come?’

Maddy looked puzzled. ‘Yes... no... I mean, I don’t really care, per se. It’s just, wouldn’t he be more comfortable in a decent hotel than in a grotty quarter with two tiny kids?’

‘But it’d be nice to catch up.’

Maddy nodded. ‘I suppose.’

‘You liked him well enough when we were all up at Oxford.’

Even Seb knew that ‘liked’ might have been a bit of an overstatement. Seb had been part of Rollo’s circle because they were all in the same college eight and trying to get a seat in the Blue Boat – to row in the Boat Race – and Maddy was mad about Seb, so she hung around the same social set. But they’d never been bosom buddies.

However, Maddy said, ‘What wasn’t to like? He was loaded and threw great parties. On the downside he was a bit of a lech and a lush. Not that he leched after me much,’ she added hastily.

No, Seb didn’t think Rollo had. Although it was hard to remember. Rollo had leched after almost everything in a skirt and with a pulse. He laughed. ‘Remember that party at his parents’ gaff?’

Maddy raised her eyebrows. ‘As you know very well, it’s a bit – ahem – of a blur. I remember arriving and the hangover on the second day...’

She had got spectacularly drunk and passed out shortly after the dinner on the first night of a weekend house-party. And Seb remembered why... He moved away from the subject of the house party.

‘Rumour has it that Rollo’s calmed down a lot since those days. I think winning that medal at the Olympics made him grow up.’

Maddy looked sceptical. ‘Rollo? Grow up? You’re having me on.’

‘Seriously. He’s dropped the double-barrel and everything. Plain old Rollo Forster, now.’

Maddy snorted. ‘Rollo... plain? Seb is plain,
James
is plain.
Mark
is plain. Rollo...? Rollo is a toff’s name.’

Seb ignored her. ‘And does a lot of motivational speaking to schoolkids in his spare time, to get them to work hard and not get into drugs.’

Maddy started to properly laugh. ‘So, he doesn’t tell them about when he was a gold-medal-winning drinker and shagger?’

Seb couldn’t stop a grin. ‘I think he focuses on being an Oxford Blue and a rowing gold-medallist rather than his racy past.’

‘Bloody good thing too. I hope the kids don’t find out about that side of him – hardly role-model material.’

‘Maybe not. But I bet he’s good at it. He’s a good laugh – always was – so I bet he’s great with kids.’

‘So when does he want to come over?’

‘In a couple of weeks. You don’t mind, do you Mads?’

She said she didn’t but she didn’t look wildly enthusiastic.

It was just for a weekend, thought Seb. What could go wrong?

‘Come on,’ said Maddy, ‘chop chop.’ She picked up Seb’s bowl and whisked it away as soon as he’d laid his soup spoon back in it.

‘But...’

‘But, you’d finished.’

‘Only just. What’s the hurry?’

‘I need you to hurry up and get out of my hair. I’m off out with Susie in a little while.’

‘Going somewhere nice?’

‘There’s a house in Winterspring Ducis she wants to look at so I’ve promised to drive her over for a viewing. Mike’s in Salisbury... got a job interview.’

‘Finally.’

Maddy nodded. ‘I know. I mean we all thought he’d get snapped up but...’ Maddy shrugged.

It was Seb’s turn to nod.

‘By the way...’

There was something in her tone that put Seb on his guard. ‘Yes?’ he said warily.

‘Don’t sound so suspicious. I was just wondering when McManners is going?’

‘Next month. Why?’

‘No reason, beyond that as PMC I think you ought to organise a whip-round for him. He’s done everyone proud over the years.’

‘That’s a good idea. He ought to get something nice from the mess members for all his efforts.’

Maddy preened. ‘When are you interviewing for replacements?’

‘Next week.’

‘I haven’t seen it advertised.’

‘No, well... it’s a sort of an in-house thing.’

‘What if someone from outside wants a pop at that job?’

Seb’s suspicions were really aroused. ‘Why, you’re not thinking of doing it, because—’

Maddy held her hand up to silence him. ‘Me? Don’t be daft, of course not. I just thought in the interests of equal opportunities and all that guff... Aren’t there rules about advertising jobs?’

‘Maybe. I’m sure it’s all been done properly and with proper compliance to all the rules and regulations.’

‘I’m sure. Anyway, I need to get the kids ready to go out with Susie.’

Seb stared after her as she left the kitchen. He been married long enough to know she was up to something, he just didn’t know what it was – except, of course, that it concerned McManners in some way.

*

As Susie got in Maddy’s car Maddy said, ‘I think we need to go via the mess.’

‘Why?’

Maddy started the car and pulled out onto the main road through the patch. ‘Because, if you want McManners’ job, you need to pull your finger out. He’s going next month and they’re interviewing next week.’

‘No! I didn’t know. I didn’t even know they’d invited applications.’

‘Exactly. Seb says it’s in-house, which means they’re probably after another time-serving sergeant. It’s more than likely they advertised the post in the regimental magazine or on orders which is why neither of us spotted it.’

‘Do you think I’m too late to apply?’

‘Got to hope not.’

A couple of minutes later Maddy parked up outside the mess and Susie belted in the front door to talk to the mess manager. To pass the time she put a CD of nursery rhymes on for the benefit of Nathan and programmed the satnav to take her to the postcode on the house particulars that Susie had been sent by the estate agent. The picture on the details showed the sitting room, which looked bland but no worse than most of the quarters Maddy had seen. However, it didn’t take long to read through the estate agent’s blurb and, by the time Susie returned, and Nate had demanded ‘The Wheels on the Bus’ for the sixth time, she was almost catatonic with boredom.

‘Success?’ she said as Susie slid into the passenger seat.

‘Well, the application is in although McManners was very sceptical about whether or not I was eligible for the job.’

‘Not that it’s up to him.’ Maddy slipped the car into gear and headed back out of the barracks.

‘No, but I bet he’s got some sort of say in who takes over from him.’

Maddy glanced across at her. ‘But it’s Seb who’s going to have the final say. He’s been made PMC.’

‘No!’

Maddy nodded. ‘And I think Seb owes me, don’t you?’

‘Maddy?’ Susie searched Maddy’s face.

‘Look, he still doesn’t know that I know about his affair with Michelle – in fact I still don’t even know for definite if he actually
had
an affair. For all I know that awful Michelle-woman was delusional and made up the whole scenario. But, on the other hand, there’s no smoke without fire. But even if Seb has the squeakiest of cleanest pasts I’ve put up with an awful lot of shit as an army wife, as have you and, if nothing else, we deserve a break now and again. If he’s got any sense of decency, he’ll give you a proper crack of the whip. And I intend to make absolutely sure that you get it.’