The Reginald Perrin Omnibus (30 page)

‘I’m not surprised,’ said the man.

The shadows cast by small clouds were passing swiftly over the expanse of gravel outside the front door. In the centre of the gravel was a circular bed of small shrubs and ferns.

‘Are you alone?’ said the man.

He looked nervous. It crossed Linda’s mind that he might be a sex maniac. But she would be able to smell it, if he was. She smelt trust from this man. She liked him.

‘Don’t be afraid,’ he said.

‘Who are you?’ she said.

This may be a bit of a shock,’ he said. ‘It’s me, Linda. Your father.’

She just stood and stared foolishly.

‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘I didn’t kill myself.’

Linda felt incapable of any emotion except shock.

‘I saw Jimmy leaving,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘He – er – ’

‘He had a cock-up on the catering front?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I come in?’ he said.

‘Yes, of course. Sorry.’

She led him into the living room. She was numb.

‘I’m sorry it’s such a mess,’ she said.

‘That’s all right,’ he said.

He sat down on the chaise longue. He looked out of place and awkward. She could see now that it was him, but he had changed. He seemed grey and shrunken.

The delayed shock sapped all the strength from her body. She realized with horror that she hadn’t kissed him and hadn’t taken in a word of the story he was unfolding.

‘So that’s it, and here I am,’ said Reggie.

‘Yes.’

‘I want to tell your mother, but I don’t dare. I wondered if you could sort of pave the way,’ he said.

‘I’ll make you some coffee,’ she said.

He followed her into the kitchen.

‘I thought you might be able to make it less of a shock,’ he said. ‘Coming from a woman, I mean.’

‘Yes, all right. I’ll tell her,’ she said.

‘I just can’t,’ he said. ‘I feel such a fool.’

Linda rushed up to him and hugged him. Tears sprang to her eyes. She began to shake. Day after day of routine, then this, in one morning, first Jimmy and then this, one ordinary Friday morning, with the new one-man buses passing the front gate every twenty minutes as usual.

‘Oh by the way,’ he said, as they drank their coffee. ‘I met Tom at Henleaze Ffoliat, when I was posing as Lord Amhurst. He didn’t recognize me.’

He told her how anxious Tom had been to get home to her, and how loving he was. She burst into tears.

‘I understand. It’s a delayed reaction,’ he said, patting her head ineffectually. ‘It’s the shock of seeing me.’

He poured them both a glass of turnip wine.

It was Tuesday before Linda got a chance of seeing Elizabeth, because Elizabeth had gone down to Worthing for a long weekend.

Linda hadn’t told Tom about Reggie. She’d been intending to, but somehow she couldn’t start. Perhaps it was because it had happened so soon after Jimmy.

She sat in the Parker Knoll chair. Elizabeth had made a pot of tea, and there were chocolate biscuits. Her mother looked almost as nervous as she did.

‘I’ve something to tell you,’ said Linda.

‘I’ve something to tell you first,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m going to be married.’

‘What?’ said Linda, standing up abruptly.

‘Don’t look so shocked. It’s only to Henry Possett.’

Linda sat down again.

‘You’re shocked,’ said Elizabeth. ‘You think it’s too soon.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘It would be if it was a stranger. But I knew Henry before I knew Reggie. He’s the only person I could ever marry, after Reggie.’

‘It does seem a bit quick. I mean . . .

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘I thought about it a lot before I proposed.’

‘You
proposed?’

‘Oh yes. On Worthing pier. He’d never have dared propose to me. We’re keeping it a secret for a while of course. It wouldn’t be seemly to announce it so soon.’

‘I suppose not. Well, congratulations, mother.’

‘Thank you. I hope you’ll feel pleased when you get used to the idea.’

‘I expect I will.’

Linda kissed her mother, and Elizabeth insisted on broaching a bottle of hock.

‘Now,’ she said, when she’d poured out the wine. ‘What was your news?’

‘My news? Oh. Oh yes. Jocasta has two new teeth.’

‘Oh. Marvellous. Oh, by the way, I thought it best – and Henry agrees – and the vicar’s perfectly willing. We’re going to hold a memorial service for Reggie.’

September

‘Oh,’ said Reggie. ‘Well that’s that, then.’

‘Yes,’ said Linda. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘I hope she’ll be very happy,’ said Reggie.

‘Yes,’ said Linda.

‘How can she marry somebody with such thin lips,’ said Reggie.

It was Friday morning. The children were back at nursery school, and Reggie had taken the morning off. He was wearing his gardening clothes, so that he could go straight on to the mental home afterwards.

Linda poured him a glass of sultana wine, and they went out into the garden. It was a day of mild September wistfulness.

They sat on the rustic seat, under an apple tree.

‘Cheer up, father,’ said Linda.

‘I love your mother,’ said Reggie.

‘You’ll get over it,’ said Linda.

Reggie picked up a windfall and hurled it savagely into the rare shrubs.

‘They’re holding a memorial service for you,’ said Linda.

‘Good God.’

‘Next Thursday. Your brother’s coming down from Aberdeen.’

‘Good God.’

‘There’s a piece in this morning’s local paper about it.’

‘Good God.’

There were fluffy toys and overturned lorries lying on the lawn.

‘I’ll have to come to that,’ said Reggie.

‘What? You can’t go to your own memorial service,’ said Linda.

‘I should have thought I above all people had a right to be there.’

‘People will recognize you.’

‘No, they won’t. You didn’t. Nobody has. I’m at the bottom of the sea as far as they’re concerned.’

‘I don’t like the idea of your going,’ said Linda.

‘I’m going to be there – and that’s all there is to it,’ said Reggie.

A hedge sparrow was watching them from the roof of the folly.

‘I wonder if I’ll ever marry,’ said Reggie. He stood up. ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I want to see that article. It’s not often I get my name in the paper.’

‘It isn’t exactly your name,’ said Linda.

She led him into the living room and handed him the paper. She poured another glass of sultana wine while he read.

MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR CLIMTHORPE MAN

There is to be a memorial service for the local businessman who was presumed to have drowned himself after his clothes were found piled by the sea on a beach in Dorset in June.

He is Mr Reginald I. Perry, who lived in Coleridge Close, Climthorpe.

He is Mr Reginald I. Perry, who lived piled by the sea on a beach in Dorset in June.

At the time of his death an official of the well-known London firm of Sunshine Desserts stated that Peppin had been ‘over-corked’.

A police spokesman told us today, ‘We have no reason to suppose that Mr Peppin is not deaf, although his body has never been found.’

The memorial service will be piled by the sea on a beach in Dorset in June.

‘It’s a fitting obituary,’ said Reggie.

‘Oh, father!’ said Linda.

A car pulled up on the gravel outside. A door slammed tinnily. There were loud footsteps. The bell rang firmly.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Linda. ‘Whoever it is, I won’t let them in.’

It was Major James Anderson, serving his last month with the Queen’s Own Berkshire Light Infantry.

‘Come in, Jimmy,’ she said.

She led him into the living room. He was in uniform, and wearing his medal. She saw Reggie stiffen with shock. She only hoped Jimmy wouldn’t recognize him.

‘I have the plumber here,’ she said. ‘Uncle Jimmy, this is the plumber. The plumber, this is Uncle Jimmy.’

They shook hands.

‘Watcher, mate,’ said Reggie, and he knocked back the remains of his sultana wine. ‘Yeah – well – I’ll be off then, lady. Ta for the vino. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble in so far as your ballcock. And I’ve cleared your persistent drip. That’ll be six pounds seventy-five. I’d like it in cash if you don’t mind, lady. I don’t declare everything to the tax people, why should I, nobody else does.’

Linda handed her father six pounds seventy-five.

‘I’ll see you out,’ she said.

When she opened the door she could see the sadness in Reggie’s eyes. She wanted to kiss him good-bye, but Jimmy might be surprised if she kissed the plumber.

She returned to the living room, and offered Jimmy a glass of sultana wine.

‘Bit early for me,’ he said. ‘Just a small one.’

She poured out the drink.

‘Do you usually give your plumber sultana wine?’ said Jimmy.

‘You have to give them things these days, if you want to keep them,’ said Linda. ‘My french polisher has smoked salmon sandwiches.’

She sat on the chaise longue. Jimmy sat in the rocking chair. He rocked cautiously, stiffly, regimentally.

‘Just came round, apologize,’ he said.

‘There was no need,’ said Linda.

‘Nonsense. Bad business. Your own uncle. Almost like incest. Chaps cashiered for less.’

‘Really, Jimmy, it’s over and done with,’ said Linda.

Jimmy came over and sat on the chaise longue beside her. He put his hand on her right knee.

‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I’m only apologizing.’

He caressed the smoothness of her leg through a small hole in her tights.

‘I love you,’ he said.

She led the way upstairs, and they made love on the striped sheets. Linda was on fire and Jimmy groaned hoarsely as they reached a marvellous climax together.

Afterwards they dressed in silence and didn’t look at each other.

‘Only came round to apologize,’ said Jimmy. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ said Linda.

‘Chap comes round to say, “Sorry. Bad show”. Does it again. Shocking show,’ said Jimmy.

‘Well at least let’s try and enjoy it,’ said Linda. ‘Let’s not ruin it with guilt.’

‘Quite right. Sorry. No guilt. Enjoyed it. Enjoyed it very much. Wouldn’t mind doing it again,’ said Jimmy.

‘No,’ said Linda. ‘Now, can I get you some food?’

‘Lord no, didn’t come round for that. Unless you’ve got the odd scraps.’

‘I’ll see what I can find,’ said Linda.

‘Last consignment much appreciated. Literally saved our bacon,’ said Jimmy. ‘Top-hole pheasant paté. General verdict – yum-yum.’

Linda gave him cold roast beef, hare terrine, bloaters, instant coffee, a smoked trout, six oranges, half a pound of Cookeen and a damson pie.

He kissed her decorously on the cheek, ran his hand briefly over her stomach and heard her gasp.

‘Don’t come to apologize again,’ said Linda.

‘No. Sorry. Take it as read,’ said Jimmy, and he drove off through the gate.

He limped back, carrying the remains of the gate.

‘Awfully sorry,’ he said. ‘Bad show. Blasted plumber must have closed it. Pay for a new gate. Insist.’

‘I want you to come to the Memorial Service,’ said Elizabeth.

‘Oh, I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right,’ said Henry Possett.

The scene was an expensive London restaurant. It was pink. They had been to the second night of Mark’s play.

‘I agree we shouldn’t announce our engagement yet,’ said Elizabeth, ‘but I don’t want to hide you away. I’m not ashamed of loving you. It doesn’t make any difference to what I felt for Reggie.’

‘Well, all right, then,’ said Henry Possett.

An ancient, white-haired waiter brought their chateaubriand.

‘Poor Mark,’ said Elizabeth.

‘I thought he said his line very well,’ said Henry Possett. ‘He didn’t fluff a single word.’

‘I’m glad we didn’t tell him we were going, though. He’s so sensitive.’

After their meal she drove Henry to his pied-à-terre off the Brompton Road, which he shared with four other people on a rota basis, thus enabling them all to have a late evening in London every week.

He didn’t invite her in for a cup of coffee.

Reggie crept out of Number thirteen, Clytemnestra Grove at six-thirty a.m., in order to avoid Miss Pershore. He was wearing his new suit and doing his best not to look like Donald Potts. He was Martin Wellbourne, an old friend of the deceased, whom he had not seen for many years, having sequestered himself in Brazil following an amorous disappointment in Sutton Coldfield.

It was a cool, misty morning. He had breakfast at Waterloo Station, rang to tell Mr Bottomley he had a migraine, and waited in the station forecourt until it was time to catch his train to Climthorpe.

Soft music played over the loudspeakers and the cracked old woman was busy accosting people. Reggie was nervous. Supposing somebody did recognize him? They shouldn’t, with his grey hair, beard, lined face, deep tan, slimmer build, more erect posture, and the subtle changes of voice and mannerism which he had adopted. But supposing they did?

The train was almost empty, and he couldn’t see any other mourners. The sun came out shortly after Surbiton. They were going to have a nice day for it.

The service was just about to commence when Reggie entered the church. He sat at the back, as you should do at your own memorial service.

The Victorian church was tall and dark, conceived more in righteousness than love, more in sorrow than in anger.

The few mourners in their subdued clothes seemed a pitifully small group in this great vault.

Elizabeth was there, of course and Linda and Tom, with Adam and Jocasta looking puzzled and over-awed. Linda looked round, saw him, and gave no sign. She looked very nervous.

There was Henry Possett, in an immaculate dark suit, with a striped shirt, and white collar. Reggie hadn’t expected him to be there.

His eyes roamed round the dimly-lit nave. There was Davina, dressed in silky pink, with a black arm band.

Reggie was surprised to see C.J., who was accompanied by Mrs C.J.

There was Jimmy, and Reggie was amazed to see that Sheila was with him.

There was no sign of Mark.

His heart gave a little jump as he saw his elder brother Nigel, the engineer, whom he had loved and admired so much. Reggie hadn’t seen him for nine long years.