“A month, six weeks at the most,” replied the expert.
Gerald left the plush carpet of Asprey’s for the sewers of Nigeria. When a little over a month later he flew back to London, he traveled in to the West End for his second meeting with Mr. Pullinger.
The jeweler had not forgotten Gerald Haskins and his strange request, and he quickly produced from his order book a neatly folded piece of paper. Gerald unfolded it and read the tender slowly. Requirement for customer’s request: twelve diamonds, seven amethysts, three rubies and a sapphire, all to be of the most perfect color and of the highest quality. A peacock to be sculpted in ivory and painted by a craftsman. The entire chain then to be molded in the finest eighteen-carat gold. The bottom line read: “Two hundred and eleven thousand pounds—exclusive of VAT.”
Gerald, who would have thought nothing of haggling over an estimate of a few thousand pounds for roofing material or the hire of heavy equipment, or even a schedule of payments, simply asked, “When will I be able to collect it?”
“One could not be certain how long it might take to put together such a fine piece,” said Mr. Pullinger. “Finding stones of a perfect match and color will, I fear, take a little time.” He paused. “I am also hoping that our senior craftsman will be free to work on this particular commission. He has been rather taken up lately with gifts for the Queen’s forthcoming visit to Saudi Arabia so I don’t think it could be ready before the end of March.”
Still in time for next year’s Mayor’s banquet, thought Gerald. Councillor Ramsbottom would not be able to mock him on this occasion. The Mayor’s chain, fourteen-carat gold, had he said?
* * *
Lagos and Rio de Janeiro both had their sewers down and running long before Gerald was able to return to Asprey’s. And he only set his eyes on the unique prize a few weeks before Mayor-making day.
When Mr. Pullinger first showed his client the finished work the Yorkshireman gasped with delight. The Order was so magnificent that Gerald found it necessary to purchase a string of pearls from Asprey’s to ensure a compliant wife.
On his return to Hull he waited until after dinner to open the green leather box from Asprey’s and surprise her with the new Order. “Fit for a monarch, lass,” he assured his wife but Angela seemed preoccupied with her pearls.
After Angela had left to wash up, her husband continued to stare for some time at the beautiful jewels so expertly crafted and superbly cut before he finally closed the box. The next morning he reluctantly took the piece round to the bank and explained that it must be kept safely locked in the vaults as he would only be requiring to take it out once, perhaps twice, a year. He couldn’t resist showing the object of his delight to the bank manager, Mr. Sedgley.
“You’ll be wearing it for Mayor-making day, no doubt?” Mr. Sedgley inquired.
“If I’m invited,” said Gerald.
“Oh, I feel sure Ramsbottom will want all his old friends to witness the ceremony. Especially you, I suspect,” he added without explanation.
* * *
Gerald read the news item in the Court Circular of The Times to his wife over breakfast: “It has been announced from Buckingham Palace that King Alfons IV of Multavia will make a state visit to Britain between April 7 and 11.”
“I wonder if we will have an opportunity to meet the King again,” said Angela.
Gerald offered no opinion.
In fact Mr. and Mrs. Gerald Haskins received two invitations connected with King Alfons’ official visit, one to dine with the King at Claridge’s—Multavia’s London Embassy not being large enough to cater for such an occasion—and the second arriving a day later by special delivery from Buckingham Palace.
Gerald was delighted. The Peacock, it seemed, was going to get three outings in one month, as their visit to the Palace was ten days before Walter Ramsbottom would be installed as Mayor.
The state dinner at Claridge’s was memorable and although there were several hundred other guests present Gerald still managed to catch a moment with his host, King Alfons IV who, he found to his pleasure, could not take his eyes off the Order of the Peacock (Third Class).
The trip to Buckingham Palace a week later was Gerald and Angela’s second, following Gerald’s investiture in 1984 as a Commander of the British Empire. It took Gerald almost as long to dress for the state occasion as it did his wife. He took some time fiddling with his collar to be sure that his CBE could be seen to its full advantage while the Order of the Peacock still rested squarely on his shoulders. Gerald had asked his tailor to sew little loops into his tailcoat so that the Order did not have to be continually readjusted.
When the Haskinses arrived at Buckingham Palace they followed a throng of bemedaled men and tiaraed ladies through to the state dining room where a footman handed out seating cards to each of the guests. Gerald unfolded his to find an arrow pointing to his name. He took his wife by the arm and guided her to their places.
He noticed that Angela’s head kept turning whenever she saw another tiara.
Although they were seated some distance away from Her Majesty at an offshoot of the main table, there was still a minor royal on Gerald’s left and the Minister of Agriculture on his right. He was more than satisfied. In fact the whole evening went far too quickly, and Gerald was already beginning to feel that Mayor-making day would be something of an anticlimax. Nevertheless, Gerald imagined a scene where Councillor Ramsbottom was admiring the Order of the Peacock (Third Class), while he was telling him about the dinner at the Palace.
After two loyal toasts and two national anthems the Queen rose to her feet. She spoke warmly of Multavia as she addressed her three hundred guests, and affectionately of her distant cousin the King. Her Majesty added that she hoped to visit his kingdom at some time in the near future. This was greeted with considerable applause. She then concluded her speech by saying it was her intention to make two investitures.
The Queen created King Alfons IV a Knight Commander of the Royal Victorian Order (KCVO), and then Multavia’s Ambassador to the Court of St. James a Commander of the same order (CVO), both being personal orders of the monarch. A box of royal blue was opened by a court official and the awards placed over the recipients’ shoulders. As soon as the Queen had completed her formal duties, King Alfons rose to make his reply.
“Your Majesty,” he continued after the usual formalities and thanks had been completed. “I also would like to make two awards. The first is to an Englishman who has given great service to my country through his expertise and diligence—” the King then glanced in Gerald’s direction. “A man,” he continued, “who completed a feat of sanitary engineering that any nation on earth could be proud of and indeed, Your Majesty, it was opened by your own Foreign Secretary. We in the capital of Teske will remain in his debt for generations to come. We therefore bestow on Mr. Gerald Haskins, CBE, the Order of the Peacock (Second Class).”
Gerald couldn’t believe his ears.
Tumultuous applause greeted a surprised Gerald as he made his way up toward their Majesties. He came to a standstill behind the throned chairs somewhere between the Queen of England and the King of Multavia. The King smiled at the new recipient of the Order of the Peacock (Second Class) as the two men shook hands. But before bestowing the new honor upon him, King Alfons leaned forward and with some difficulty removed from Gerald’s shoulders his Order of the Peacock (Third Class).
“You won’t be needing this any longer,” the King whispered in Gerald’s ear.
Gerald watched in horror as his prize possession disappeared into a red leather box held open by the King’s private secretary, who stood poised behind his sovereign. Gerald continued to stare at the private secretary, who was either a diplomat of the highest order or had not been privy to the King’s plan, for his face showed no sign of anything untoward. Once Gerald’s magnificent prize had been safely removed, the box snapped closed like a safe of which Gerald had not been given the combination.
Gerald wanted to protest, but t
he Queen smiled benignly up at him.
King Alfons then removed from another box the Order of the Peacock (Second Class) and placed it over Gerald’s shoulders. Gerald, staring at the indifferent colored glass stones, hesitated for a few moments before stumbling a pace back, bowing and then returning to his place in the great dining room. He did not hear the waves of applause that accompanied him; his only thought was how he could possibly retrieve his lost chain immediately the speeches were over. He dumped down in the chair next to his wife.
“And now,” continued the King, “I wish to present a decoration that has not been bestowed on anyone since my late father’s death. The Order of the Peacock (First Class), which it gives me special delight to bestow on Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.”
The Queen rose from her place as the King’s private secretary once again stepped forward. In his hands was held the same red leather case that had snapped shut so firmly on Gerald’s unique possession. The case was reopened and the King removed the magnificent Order from the box and placed it on the shoulders of the Queen. The jewels sparkled in the candlelight and the guests gasped at the sheer magnificence of the piece.
Gerald was the only person in the room who knew its true value.
“Well, you always said it was fit for a monarch,” his wife remarked as she touched her string of pearls.
“Aye,” said Gerald. “But what’s Ramsbottom going to say when he sees this?” he added sadly, fingering the Order of the Peacock (Second Class). “He’ll know it’s not the real thing.”
“I don’t see it matters that much,” said Angela.
“What do you mean, lass?” asked Gerald. “I’ll be the laughingstock of Hull on Mayor-making day.”
“You should spend more time reading the evening papers, Gerald, and spend less time looking in mirrors and then you’d know Walter isn’t going to be Mayor this year.”
“Not going to be Mayor?” repeated Gerald.
“No. The present Mayor has opted to do a second term so Walter won’t be Mayor until next year.”
“Is that right?” said Gerald with a smile.
“And if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, Gerald Haskins, this time it’s going to cost you a tiara.”
JUST GOOD FRIENDS
I WOKE UP before him feeling slightly randy but I knew there was nothing I could do about it.
I blinked and my eyes immediately accustomed themselves to the half light. I raised my head and gazed at the large expanse of motionless white flesh lying next to me. If only he took as much exercise as I did he wouldn’t have that spare tire, I thought unsympathetically.
Roger stirred restlessly and even turned over to face me, but I knew he would not be fully awake until the alarm on his side of the bed started ringing. I pondered for a moment whether I could go back to sleep again or should get up and find myself some breakfast before he woke. In the end I settled for just lying still on my side daydreaming, but making sure I didn’t disturb him. When he did eventually open his eyes I planned to pretend I was still asleep—that way he would end up getting breakfast for me. I began to go over the things that needed to be done after he had left for the office. As long as I was at home ready to greet him when he returned from work, he didn’t seem to mind what I got up to during the day.
A gentle rumble emanated from his side of the bed. Roger’s snoring never disturbed me. My affection for him was unbounded, and I only wished I could find the words to let him know. In truth, he was the first man I had really appreciated. As I gazed at his unshaven face I was reminded that it hadn’t been his looks which had attracted me in the pub that night.
I had first come across Roger in the Cat and Whistle, a public house situated on the corner of Mafeking Road. You might say it was our local. He used to come in around eight, order a pint of mild and take it to a small table in the corner of the room just beyond the dartboard. Mostly he would sit alone, watching the darts being thrown toward double top but more often settling in one or five, if they managed to land on the board at all. He never played the game himself, and I often wondered, from my vantage point behind the bar, if he were fearful of relinquishing his favorite seat or just had no interest in the sport.
Then things suddenly changed for Roger—for the better, was no doubt how he saw it—when one evening in early spring a blonde named Madeleine, wearing an imitation fur coat and drinking double gin and its, perched on the stool beside him. I had never seen her in the pub before but she was obviously known locally, and loose bar talk led me to believe it couldn’t last. You see, word was about that she was looking for someone whose horizons stretched beyond the Cat and Whistle.
In fact the affair—if that’s what it ever came to—lasted for only twenty days. I know because I counted every one of them. Then one night voices were raised and heads turned as she left the small stool just as suddenly as she had come. His tired eyes watched her as she walked to a vacant place at the corner of the bar, but he didn’t show any surprise at her departure and made no attempt to pursue her.
Her exit was my cue to enter. I almost leaped from behind the bar and, moving as quickly as dignity allowed, was seconds later sitting on the now empty stool beside him. He didn’t comment and certainly made no attempt to offer me a drink, but the one glance he shot in my direction did not suggest he found me an unacceptable replacement. I looked around to see if anyone else had plans to usurp my position. The men standing round the dartboard didn’t seem to care. Treble seventeen, twelve and a five kept them more than occupied. I glanced toward the bar to check if the boss had noticed my absence, but he was busy taking orders. I saw Madeleine was already sipping a glass of champagne from the pub’s only bottle, purchased by a stranger whose stylish double-breasted blazer and striped bow tie convinced me she wouldn’t be bothering with Roger again. She looked well set for at least another twenty days.
I looked up at Roger—I had known his name for some time, although I had never addressed him as such and I couldn’t be sure that he was aware of mine. I began to flutter my eyelashes in a rather exaggerated way. I felt a little stupid but at least it elicited a gentle smile. He leaned over and touched my cheek, his hands surprisingly gentle. Neither of us felt the need to speak. We were both lonely and it seemed unnecessary to explain why. We sat in silence, he occasionally sipping his beer, I from time to time rearranging my legs, while a few feet from us the darts pursued their undetermined course.
When the publican cried, “Last orders,” Roger downed the remains of his beer while the dart players completed what had to be their final game.
No one commented when we left together and I was surprised that Roger made no protest as I accompanied him back to his little semidetached. I already knew exactly where he lived because I had seen him on several occasions standing at the bus queue on Dobson Street in a silent line of reluctant morning passengers. Once I even positioned myself on a nearby wall in order to study his features more carefully. It was an anonymous, almost commonplace face but he had the warmest eyes and the kindest smile I had observed in any man.
My only anxiety was that he didn’t seem aware of my existence, just constantly preoccupied, his eyes each evening and his thoughts each morning only for Madeleine. How I envied that girl. She had everything I wanted—except a decent fur coat, the only thing my mother had left me. In truth, I have no right to be catty about Madeleine, as her past couldn’t have been more murky than mine.
All that had taken place well over a year ago and, to prove my total devotion to Roger, I have never entered the Cat and Whistle since. He seemed to have forgotten Madeleine because he never once spoke of her in front of me. An unusual man, he didn’t question me about any of my past relationships either.
Perhaps he should have. I would have liked him to know the truth about my life before we’d met, though it all seems irrelevant now. You see, I had been the youngest in a family of four so I always came last in line. I had never known my father, and I arrived home one night to discover
that my mother had run off with another man. Tracy, one of my sisters, warned me not to expect her back. She turned out to be right, for I have never seen my mother since that day. It’s awful to have to admit, if only to oneself, that one’s mother is a tramp.
Now an orphan, I began to drift, often trying to stay one step ahead of the law—not so easy when you haven’t always got somewhere to put your head down. I can’t even recall how I ended up with Derek—if that was his real name. Derek, whose dark sensual looks would have attracted any susceptible female, told me that he had been on a merchant steamer for the past three years. When he made love to me I was ready to believe anything. I explained to him that all I wanted was a warm home, regular food and perhaps in time a family of my own. He ensured that one of my wishes was fulfilled, because a few weeks after he left me I ended up with twins, two girls. Derek never set eyes on them: he had returned to sea even before I could tell him I was pregnant. He hadn’t needed to promise me the earth; he was so good-looking he must have known I would have been his just for a night on the tiles.
I tried to bring up the girls decently, but the authorities caught up with me this time and I lost them both. I wonder where they are now? God knows. I only hope they’ve ended up in a good home. At least they inherited Derek’s irresistible looks, which can only help them through life. It’s just one more thing Roger will never know about. His unquestioning trust only makes me feel more guilty, and now I never seem able to find a way of letting him know the truth.
After Derek had gone back to sea I was on my own for almost a year before getting part-time work at the Cat and Whistle. The publican was so mean that he wouldn’t have even provided food and drink for me, if I hadn’t kept to my part of the bargain.
Roger used to come in about once, perhaps twice a week before he met the blonde with the shabby fur coat. After that it was every night until she upped and left him.
A Twist in the Tale Page 8
