The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (28 page)

It was hot, with a heat that seemed to be composed entirely of noise. The ground was smoking. Stones were hurled in the air. The lawns buckled and caved in. The earth’s crust was opening. Reggie was sinking into the hot, smoky earth. It was deafeningly hot now. He was falling, falling through smoke and space and heat, down, down, away from the heat and’ the noise. It grew quiet now, cool and dank. He was on a playground slide. He could hear all the noise receding far away. He slid for several miles. Below him there was light. The slide began to level up. Suddenly he was in the open air. The slide deposited him quite gently upon a perfect lawn. He stood up. He still had his spade in his hand. He was in a huge, formal garden, with rows of statues and hundreds of fountains. Joan was wheeling her husband along, in the hot sunshine. She was entirely naked. Her pubic hair had been shaved off except for a tiny triangle, and she had three breasts, a small one nestling between two huge ones. Already, faintly, far away, Reggie could hear the lark. This repetition was far more frightening than anything that had gone before. ‘I’ve been here before!’ he shouted. ‘I’ve been here before!’ But nobody took any notice.

And then he was awake, shouting, ‘I’ve been here before!’ Sweat was pouring off him and his bed-clothes were all tucked up round his neck.

When Miss Pershore waylaid him in the hall next morning, he asked her if she had heard him shouting.

‘So that’s what it was,’ she said. ‘I thought I was dreaming.’

‘No, I was dreaming,’ said Reggie.

‘Come in and have a spot of lunch with me, and we can watch the one-thirty at Wincanton,’ said Miss Pershore. ‘I don’t believe in gambling, but a little flutter never did anyone any harm, and one of my friends from the Chamber of Commerce has given me a red hot tip.’

‘I can’t today, thank you,’ said Reggie, ‘I have a prior engagement.’

The prior engagement was not a success. It consisted of a visit to see Elizabeth, but his courage failed him as he walked through the Poets’ Estate, wandered along those wealthy streets, looked at those tranquil houses. He walked down Coleridge Close and went straight past the house, pausing only to avoid being run over by the Milfords as they set off for their snifter at the nineteenth.

A few minutes later he walked back along the other side of the road. He looked across at his house. How enormous it seemed now, compared with Number thirteen, Clytemnestra Grove. He could see no sign of life, and he knew that he would never dare to reveal himself to Elizabeth.

He must keep away. He must find the strength to keep away. He couldn’t keep walking up and down Coleridge Close, a desperate furtive figure.

If Reggie didn’t see Elizabeth, it is equally true to say that she didn’t see him. She was busy in the kitchen, for she had six people coming to Sunday lunch, and it was the first time she had entertained since her bereavement. Her mother was coming, and Mark, and Linda and Tom, and Henry Possett and his sister Vera.

Henry Possett worked for the government. His job was hush-hush. He spoke several languages. No doubt he was used to eating frightfully sophisticated meals. So Elizabeth was going to great lengths to make the lunch a success.

A strange thing was happening to her as she sliced the aubergines and washed the baby marrows. She had been bracing herself for an ordeal, for putting a brave face on things, but now she was actually beginning to enjoy her preparations. For the first time since Reggie’s death, she was actually looking forward to a social occasion, albeit apprehensively.

Sunday morning was misty, grey and cool, almost a winter’s morning. She wished it was nicer for them.

Mark was the first to arrive. He was quite respectably dressed, in flared grey trousers, brown corduroy jacket, and a tolerably clean yellow shirt. She wanted to ask him to speak nicely in front of Henry Possett, but she was frightened that if she did he would speak worse on purpose.

The Worthing contingent arrived next. Henry Possett was wearing a lightweight fawn suit and a check shirt. Mark looked terribly short beside him. Why did he always have to be so short?

Mark did the drinks while Elizabeth saw to some last-minute things in the kitchen.

‘Can I help?’ said Vera.

‘No. You’re to relax,’ said Elizabeth.

Vera Possett seated herself carefully on the sofa. She was handsome in a rather severe way. She didn’t resemble Henry except in the thinness of her lips. She was manageress of an employment agency. There had once been talk of an American, but it had come to nothing and nobody had ever liked to ask.

‘Tell me all about the theatre, Mark,’ she said.

‘I can’t afford to go,’ said Mark.

Over by the piano, Elizabeth’s mother had cornered Henry Possett, and was having a word in his ear.

‘How do you think she’s looking?’ she said in a loud theatrical whisper.

‘Elizabeth?’ he said. ‘She seems to be bearing up.’

‘Yes, but she needs to be taken out of herself,’ she hissed. ‘I mean it must have been a shock.’

‘Yes.’

‘I mean she must wonder sometimes if she was in any way to blame. Not that she was, of course. Reginald always had been delicate.’

‘Suicide is hardly the preserve of the delicate,’ said Henry Possett.

‘Well I think these things often go hand in hand. I don’t want to speak out of turn, and I
was
very fond of Reginald, we all were, naturally, but I know that you and Elizabeth were friends, and I don’t think she ought to be allowed to dwell on things too much, if you know what I mean.’

‘Yes,’ said Henry Possett. ‘I do.’

Mark interrupted them, bearing olives and squares of cheese. Elizabeth’s mother popped into the kitchen. Elizabeth was testing the joint with a fork.

‘It’s going to be late,’ she said. ‘I think the pressure’s down.’

‘How do you think Henry’s looking?’ said her mother.

‘Very well.’

‘Of course he’s not strong. I think he’s rather under his sister’s thumb. It would do him good to get out more.’

The subject of their conversation was at that moment talking to Mark.

‘Tell me all about the theatre, Mark,’ he said.

‘I can’t afford to go,’ said Mark.

It was a relief when Tom and Linda arrived.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said Linda. ‘We did rush. Phew, I’m in a muck sweat!’

Henry Possett’s eyebrows barely registered his distaste. Drinks were served, and introductions effected. There was an animated discussion about Worthing and its environs. Tom intimated that he and Linda weren’t seaside people.

Elizabeth apologized for the delay. She’s as nervous as a kitten, thought Linda.

At last lunch was served. They all took their places in the dining room. The napkins on the oval walnut table matched the dark green wallpaper. Elizabeth suddenly felt ashamed of Mr Snurd’s pictures.

‘Who did your pictures?’ said Henry Possett.

‘Our dentist,’ said Mark.

‘I’m sorry it’s such a rotten day for you,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Henry likes mist,’ said Vera Possett. ‘Sometimes I think he’s only really cheerful when he’s feeling melancholy.’

‘That’s very unfair,’ said Henry Possett. ‘But I must admit I do find the hot climates rather monotonous.’

‘Heat brings me out in great red lumps,’ said Tom. ‘They don’t irritate much, but they’re unsightly.’

Linda gave him a look, but he didn’t notice.

‘Lindyplops and I went to Tunisia before the children came along,’ he said. ‘And we both came out in great red lumps.’

‘This ratatouille is delicious,’ said Henry Possett.

‘Marvellous,’ said Tom.

‘I just followed the recipe,’ said Elizabeth.

‘How’s work coming along, Mark?’ said Linda.

‘I’ve got a part in a West End play,’ said Mark.

‘Oh how wonderful!’ said Elizabeth. ‘Darling, why didn’t you tell us?’

‘It’s only a small part,’ said Mark.

‘You’ve got to start somewhere,’ said Vera Possett.

Mark served the wine while the women helped to fetch the main course. He couldn’t get the cork out.

‘Blast and damn it,’ he said.

‘Let me help,’ said Henry Possett.

Henry Possett eased the cork out without difficulty.

‘Evidence of a mis-spent life,’ he said.

Elizabeth brought in the roast beef.

‘It’s only roast beef, I’m afraid,’ she said.

‘Henry loves beef,’ said Vera.

‘The roast beef of old England,’ said Elizabeth’s mother.

‘You carve, Mark,’ said Elizabeth.

‘I can’t carve,’ said Mark.

‘Offer, Henry,’ mouthed Vera.

‘Oh. Well – I’ll carve, if you like,’ said Henry Possett.

‘I’ll carve,’ said Tom.

‘It’s been decided now,’ said Linda. ‘Henry’ll carve.’

Henry Possett carved beautifully. The beef was delicious.

‘What have you done with the dustbins?’ said Mark to Linda.

‘Dustbins? Is that rhyming slang – dustbin lids – kids?’ said Henry Possett.

‘Yes,’ said Mark coldly.

‘Fascinating,’ said Henry Possett. ‘Oh, I’m sorry I interrupted. What have you done with the dustbins?’

‘We’ve farmed them out to some friends,’ said Tom.

‘It’s not overdone, is it?’ said Elizabeth.

‘Perfect,’ said Henry Possett.

‘Lovely,’ said Vera. ‘I wish I could get my potatoes as crisp as this.’

Mark went round topping up the glasses.

‘What a nice cruet set. I don’t think I’ve seen it before, have I?’ said Elizabeth’s mother.

‘Reggie bought it. He had good taste,’ said Elizabeth.

The mention of Reggie brought a temporary halt in the conversation.

‘What a lot of crime there is these days,’ said Elizabeth’s mother. ‘I blame the Labour Government. Don’t you, Mr Possett?’

Henry Possett put his glass down and smiled.

‘I don’t discuss politics at meal times,’ he said. ‘I never mix business with pleasure. Though I must admit I can usually be prevailed upon to mix pleasure with business.

Elizabeth and her mother laughed excessively.

‘I don’t see how you can say that,’ said Mark. ‘You can’t just separate life and politics. I
am
left wing. I can’t suddenly forget that this is a bloody awful world because somebody serves a meal.’

He avoided everyone’s eye and cut his beef viciously.

‘I heard a very funny joke on Friday,’ said Tom. ‘I don’t usually tell jokes but this one was so funny. At least I thought it was funny. Now I must get it right.’ Suddenly he remembered Linda warning him not to be a bore. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not all that funny.’

‘Oh come on!’ said Henry Possett. ‘We’re intrigued now!’

‘Don’t make him tell it if he doesn’t want to,’ said Vera.

‘No, you see, the thing is,’ said Tom, ‘I’ve just realized that you wouldn’t really understand it unless you were an estate agent. And none of you is.’

‘Well, if you’ve all finished, I’ll clear away,’ said Elizabeth.

Everyone except Mark helped to clear away the plates. Elizabeth brought in the mousse, Henry Possett the cream, Tom the cheese and Linda the biscuits.

‘Well, that was a wonderful lunch,’ said Henry Possett when they had finished.

‘We’ll leave the washing up,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You’re all to enjoy yourselves.’

‘All right, but Linda and I will clear away,’ said her mother.

When she was alone with Linda, she said: ‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘What do you think?’

‘What about?’

‘Henry, of course. Do you think he’d do her good?’

‘Mother? Yes, I suppose he would. It’s a bit soon, though, isn’t it?’

‘It’s never too soon to start.’

They piled plates and glasses on to their trays. Mark had left half his cheese and biscuits.

‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong with him, do you?’ said Elizabeth’s mother.

‘Wrong?’

‘You’re being stupid today, Linda. Wrong. You know. Wrong. Something not quite right about him. I can’t put it much plainer than that. I mean, I know he went out with Elizabeth once but I mean he’s never married.’

‘Oh, I see. Good God, no! He’s not queer. Can’t you tell?’

‘I haven’t had much experience of that sort of thing,’ said her grandmother huffily.

‘No, I think he’s just a bit ascetic,’ said Linda.

‘Good lord, what do they do?’

‘They practise self-denial.’

‘It doesn’t sound very healthy to me. They’ll go blind,’ said her grandmother.

Linda and Tom left as soon as they had finished their coffee. Mark followed soon after.

‘Sorry I lost my bottle with the lipless wonder,’ he said to Elizabeth at the door. ‘I’m afraid he gets on my wick.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Elizabeth.

‘How are you off for bread these days?’ he said.

‘I could let you have a loaf.’

‘Not bread. Bread. Dough. The old readies.’

‘Oh. Well, really Mark, aren’t they paying you for this play?’

‘Yeah. I’m just a bit short of the old readies, that’s all. I’ll pay you back. You know that. I mean, I only need a tenner.’

Elizabeth gave him a tenner, waved good-bye, and returned to her guests.

‘Vera, I’ve something I want to show you,’ said her mother, and she led Vera out of the room.

Elizabeth smiled.

‘Well, she’s got us alone,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Henry Possett.

There was a pause. Henry Possett seemed tongue-tied.

‘Would you like to come to a concert some time?’ said Elizabeth.

‘Well – er – yes, that would be lovely,’ said Henry Possett.

Reggie made another determined effort to forget his old life. All week he laboured in the gardens, the hours passing more and more slowly. He didn’t see Joan Greengross again, but he saw her husband being wheeled round the garden on more than one occasion.

The following Friday night, in the Clytemnestra, Miss Pershore drank too much Guinness.

‘My friends from the Chamber of Commerce won’t take no for an answer,’ she explained to Reggie as he escorted her home through the sodium mist of a suburban night.

She invited him in for a cup of coffee, and he didn’t like to refuse her in that condition.

She had big armchairs with drooping springs and faded floral loose covers. Her lounge was full of bits of crochet work which she had done over the years. She was fifty-three years of age, and had four cats.