by Simon Royle
“Good afternoon, sir. You must be Jonah Oliver. Please follow me, sir – the Director only arrived moments ago and informed me that you would be joining him for lunch.” The man turned and walked through the three meter high double doors of dark varnished mahogany, across the black and white polished granite floor into the restaurant. The domed white interior of the ceiling soared above me and, belying the stern entrance, the interior was light, spacious and alive with green palm trees and other foliage. It had the essence of a summer park.
The maître d’ led me to an alcove corner hidden from the main door by a golden palm in the shape of a fan. I saw my uncle sitting at a table next to the window preparing to place the white linen napkin on his lap. Sir Thomas looked up, his head suddenly jerking back, and dropped the napkin on the floor as I, dressed in my new formal, walked around the palm. Sir Thomas rose, ignoring the fallen napkin, and came around the table to greet me, his hand held out in front of him. The Chinese maître d’ recovered the napkin with a quick swoop as my uncle shook hands formally with me. The maître d’ then peeled off, and with a smile and a little nod at me, walked backed to his guard post at the entrance.
“Jonah, so very good of you to come and join me. Sorry for the short notice, but I will be leaving New Singapore soon and I wanted to catch up with you before I left. Come, come, sit down and tell me all about what you have been up to.”
Saying this, my uncle led me over to the table and, rejoining his seat, waved at the opposite one for me. I sat with my hands in my lap, straight-backed, and waited for my uncle to continue.
“Well it’s been quite some time since we had the chance to have a good chat, hasn’t it? Why, I think the last time we met was over that troublesome mess with that runner, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Uncle,” I said, and smiled, but wondered inwardly if he was going to ask me about my trip to the Moon. Instead he picked up the menu and smiled at me. Everything in here was old-fashioned, I thought. Paper menus, wooden tables, even my uncle, it all creates an illusion of the past.
“So Jonah, would you like an alky? As I understand that you have left your contribution, it shouldn’t corrupt your thoughts too much, I hope?”
“No, Sir Thomas. I mean yes, I would like an alky, and no it won’t corrupt my thoughts too much.”
The Chinese maître d’ appeared again, this time with a napkin folded over his arm which was across his stomach.
“Charles, I’ll have a single malt. Make it a double.”
The maître d’, who I now knew was called Charles, turned his head, his body remaining perfectly still. For a brief sec, I wondered if Charles was a Servbot and almost laughed out loud at the thought.
“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”
“Would you like our draft or bottled beer, sir?”
“The draft would be fine, thank you.”
Sir Thomas leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hand together with his forearms on the table, tilting his balding, short cropped grey haired head towards me, and softly chided in a voice that evoked a hundred memories, “You could have told me of your decision to quit your contribution. It was a little embarrassing finding out from Bill that you had decided to move on, hmm?”
“Yes, Sir Thomas, that was thoughtless of me. Please do accept my deepest apologies,” I said, tilting my head forward in slight formal bow.
Sir Thomas gave me straight hard look, and then his eyes softened and he smiled, “Apology accepted, and please accept mine for also not informing you of my resignation.” Sir Thomas’s smile turned into a grin, the horizontal slash set in the Moon-white round face turning up slightly as he registered the shock on my face.
“Resignation? Are you retiring, Uncle?”
Sir Thomas straightened fully in his seat, the grin disappearing to be replaced by his stone look. “Hah! Me retire? No, far from it – I will be busier than ever. The only time I’ll retire is when my work is done, and that shall be after I expire.”
“Yes, of course, uncle. Forgive me for the foolish suggestion,” I said with just a little trace of sarcasm in my voice. It brought a different kind of grin to my uncle’s face. This one more competitive in nature and accompanied by another hard stare.
“So if you’re not retiring, what are your plans?”
“I’m moving on from UNPOL, that’s for sure. As for other plans? Well, I have a few irons in the fire, shall we say. And what are your plans, Jonah?”
I waited before answering as Charles came back with our alkys balanced on a silver tray. He placed the single malt within reach of Sir Thomas’s left hand. Coming around the table, he set the tall, frosted schooner glass at my right hand . He also placed a menu on the white table cloth in front of me, and departed with a slight bow of the waist, his arm providing a fulcrum.
“I really don’t have any plans. I was just not happy doing what I was doing. It wasn’t my calling. You could say that it was an impulsive decision.” On saying this I picked up the frosted schooner and brought it to my lips. Sir Thomas raised his drink with his left hand in my direction and I pushed the schooner out from my lips in response, toasting him. Forestalling the need to say anything more about my plans or the lack of them, I picked up the stiff white card menu and started reading. Sir Thomas gave me a look with a quirky uplift of one corner of his mouth and also picked up the menu.
Charles appeared back at the side of our table. He moved silently. I hadn’t noticed him until he came into my peripheral vision. He must wear very soft-soled footwear, I thought, not looking up from the menu. Sir Thomas cleared his throat, a harsh rasping sound, and turned his head to Charles, passing him the menu at the same time.
“I’ll have the chicken with the gruyere sauce, and the lobster bisque to start.”
Charles turned to me. “And I’ll have the stuffed aubergine and the salmon,” and also handed over my menu.
Sir Thomas sat back from the table with both of his hands resting on its edge and regarded me with an appraising eye. He brought his drink up and took a sip. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me with a slight smile twitching around the corner of his mouth. But his eyes, while not cold, were not warm neither, and I felt compelled to add to my previous statement.
“Uncle, I do appreciate the support you gave me to achieve that contribution, and I believe that I contributed well in the four years I was there. I’m thirty-four. This feels like a good time to take stock and plan what I should do next. I’d like to start my next contribution when I’m ready, maybe after my thirty-fifth birthday. Give myself a good seven months of contemplation time.”
Sir Thomas responded with a series of curt nods at each of my assertions. I wasn’t sure if this meant that he had merely heard, understood or agreed with what I was saying but chose the last as the most preferable outcome. I took another long draught of my beer, inviting my uncle to fill the void between us with words. He’d already won the ‘who would speak first’ competition and I didn’t want a second round.
It seemed however that my uncle was in a good mood, and after another sip of his malt, he said, “Actually I think your resignation is a good thing, and your decision of taking time to plan your next move, a sound one. I have had very similar thoughts, but in a different context of course. I am seventy-five, well past the age that one usually continues to contribute, but as I pass the fitness, health and mental tests for my position each year UNPOL has seen fit to allow me to retain a post of some significance and influence. But the time has come to pass that mantle to other hands. Unlike you, I have a concrete idea of what I will do next. However I will take some self-time before I start to fully plan what that will be.”
“What is it that you will be doing, Uncle?” My talks with Sir Thomas had always been formal. As long as I could remember, he had never encouraged familiarity. I was surprised that he was talking to me in this confidante way, and felt a little unease at the conversation.
Sir Thomas formed a steeple with his hands and spoke without expression. “
In the last few years of my tenure at UNPOL, I have seen many changes in society. Some good and some, in my opinion, bad. You attain a certain perspective on what the world really needs when you reach my age. The question of life becomes less important than the question of death and what your legacy will be. Some are content to wind down, to hand over the reins and enter the receiving part of their contribution. Others of us feel that our experience and knowledge should be further contributed. In short, I have decided to devote my entire time to running the Oliver Foundation, hands on, providing guidance and direction for the orphans it sponsors.”
“I see. Well congratulations, Uncle. When will you officially resign your post at UNPOL?”
“Not until I’ve caught the terrorists that blasted Paris and New Manhattan.” As he said this he stabbed the air with his knife. I steered the conversation back to calmer waters.
“So, will you be returning to the England Geographic?” I asked: the headquarters of the Oliver Foundation had long been established in London.
“Good God, no. Miserable place, terrible weather and not a palm tree in sight. No, I’ll be moving the foundation’s headquarters to New Singapore. Already got a nice complex picked out in the SingCom Building.”
“Congratulations,” I said, raising my Schooner and smiling.
Sir Thomas raised his single malt again. Smacking his lips at the taste, he said, “I plan to announce my resignation on the global feeds next Tuesday and that I’ll stay on until I’ve caught these terrorists. When I hand over the bridge it will be when the ship is in smooth waters and safe seas.”
“Tuesday evening is New Year’s eve,” I said, and turned to see Charles wheeling a silver trolley to our table.
An efficient disbursement of cutlery and food later, Sir Thomas, face tilted down, dipping a chunk of crusted bread into his lobster bisque, said in a much less formal tone, “Yes, New Year’s eve. My resignation is my New Year’s gift to the children of the foundation.”
My mind flashed an image of Sir Thomas making his resignation speech, under a spotlight, a redundant mic in front of him to tell the masses he was making a speech. A somber tone, humble, thanks for the years of civic duty, and then he would switch to ‘good ole Uncle Tom’.
Sir Thomas leveled a spoon of bisque into his mouth, swallowed, and said casually, “After the announcement I’ll be having a small gathering of close friends and associates over to the Penthouse. I’d like it if you were there.”
I sawed through a piece of stuffed aubergine and pesto sauce. It really was very tasty so my concentration on cutting gave me a few seconds to formulate my reply.
“I’m sorry, Uncle. I’ve made plans for New Year and I can’t change them.” I popped the piece of aubergine into my mouth so that I’d have time to think up a reply to whatever my uncle’s response was going to be.
Sir Thomas didn’t say anything. Sitting straight-backed in the comfortable chair, lifting the spoon to his mouth with almost mechanical precision, he ate his bisque without expression. He waited out my aubergine chewing.
I looked Sir Thomas directly in the eyes and placed my hands on the side of my plate, my knife and fork at the salute angle. “Uncle, I understand that this is a big occasion for you, but I’ve met a woman and it will be our first New Year’s eve. I had planned on making it a special one for her.”
Sir Thomas set his spoon down into the now empty bowl and reached for the single malt with the same left hand. This method of eating always left his stabbing hand free to reach for the carbon fiber stiletto sheathed under his left armpit.
“By woman I assume you mean Mariko?”
I was somewhat, but not really surprised, that he knew of my relationship with Mariko. My uncle had often let me know in subtle ways that he kept tabs on what I was doing. Of course this time he was hardly being subtle about it. Well two can play at that game I thought.
“Yes, Mariko. Does UNPOL have a problem with that?”
He deflected my barb at his prying with a tight grin, saying, “No, of course not, Jonah. Happy to see that you have found someone that you’re happy with. Fine girl, our Mariko.”
I felt a hot flush of anger, as he said, ‘our girl’, but held it down and didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust my voice not to betray my feelings. Sir Thomas continued.
“Look never mind. Perhaps the two of you could visit me after the New Year and I can have a good look at this young lady who has so charmed you, eh?”
“Yes, Uncle, that would be nice. Only it might be some time. You see I’m moving out of New Singapore. I’m staying in the region though as I’m going to have to find some way to contribute, and New Singapore is the financial center of the region. But I am moving out to Sisik – I want to get out of the metropolis and I’ve found a new Env in Sisik. Do you know it?”
Sir Thomas nodded, and then glanced up at Charles who was removing his soup bowl and substituting a plate of chicken smothered in a creamy mushroom sauce. “Yes. In the Malaysian Geographic about three hundred kiloms from here.”
“Yes, that’s right.” I smiled – my uncle’s photographic memory never ceased to amaze me. It wasn’t a well-known fact and Sir Thomas did not broadcast his ability. But he could remember everything he’d read whether digital or not. “Well, I’ve found an Env out there that I can afford....”
“Hmph,” Sir Thomas cut me off. “You can afford the best Topside Env in New Singapore with your inheritance.”
“Yes, I know, but I prefer not to use that cred as you know.”
I had never touched the cred left to me by my parents, held at first in trust to Sir Thomas as the executor of the will and then later passing to me when I had demonstrated the ability to understand its value. Although that had happened when I was a fourteen, I had never touched a single unit. The trust had stayed invested in the original Ents and as they had prospered so had the trust. It was by any accounts a large amount of cred – I could have bought all of Sisik had I wanted – but I preferred to think of myself as independent, and part of that was using what I had earned and saved. The trust was something I would have to do something about one day, but in the meantime I chose not to use it.
“Anyway, the place is a bit run down and I plan to do some work to clean it up and also to spend some time writing.”
“Writing?” asked Sir Thomas, pausing mid-chew. He had a speck of the creamy mushroom sauce on his upper lip.
“Yes, I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading lately, and the more I read, the more I get the urge to write about my own feelings and experiences.”
“Hmm, I see, and do you think this writing about your feelings is going to earn the cred you need to exist?”
“Well, I don’t know about that yet, but I plan to try.”
Sir Thomas stopped eating for a moment and pointed his knife at me. He said, “Write for me then. I’ll cred you.”
I looked at my uncle, my head jerking back in surprise. “Write what?”
“My memoir.” Sir Thomas looked out at the view of thunderous black clouds. “You can keep whatever we sell it for, including the royalties. How’s that?”
“I’ve never written anything other than legal briefs before. I’m not sure that I’m qualified to write your memoir.”
“Neither am I,” said Sir Thomas with a deadpan expression, and the hint of a smile buried in his eyes, “and what’s your point?”
I smiled a wry grin at my uncle and looked at him under lidded eyes. “All right, I can try.”
“Good, that settles it then. As soon as we’ve finished lunch I’ll set up my base Dev to provide you with a secure means of communication with me. I’ll send you a brief of what we need to cover, and provide you with my notes. You must be totally secret and discreet regarding what you write. I am trusting you with a great deal here, Jonah. The fact that you are related to me by blood is the reason behind my offer.”
Saying this Sir Thomas fixed me with a clenched jaw expression that defied any response other than that which he w
as looking for.
“Yes, Uncle, I understand, and please don’t forget I am an arbitrator, even if an unemployed one at present. You are still protected by client relationship, and disclosure of any sort would lead to me being struck off.”
Sir Thomas relaxed his look, leaned back in his seat and said, “Ah yes, of course. I had forgotten that.”
My uncle never forgot anything. The Devstick in my inside pocket tickled my nipple, vibrating with an incoming call, but I ignored it. My uncle was a formal man and answering a Devstick while having lunch would be frowned upon at best.
“Can I ask about your plans for the Foundation?”
“Hmph,” Sir Thomas half grunted and snorted. “Simply put? Growth. For too long I’ve left a bunch of incompetent fools in management at the Foundation and now is the time to change all of that. We have over fifty Oliver homes around the planet, but I intend to double that figure within a year or two. Children are the future, Jonah, and it disturbs me to see so many of our young wasted with a poor upbringing.
“I’m well aware of what I am, and I am not a charismatic man. I am a not Shaw, or Hei Lin, nor a Bo Vinh. What I am is a student of human nature, and human nature can be trained. I will lead the young children of the Oliver Foundation by example and teaching.
“I won’t bore you with all the theory now. Suffice to say that nature is Darwinian and we must prepare the youth of today to succeed. To take us forward in time, in a way that will best prepare us as a race. My goal is to take the Oliver Foundation to new levels of support for the disadvantaged and appeal to the lowest echelon of humans with ambition: those people who wish to better themselves but do not have the means to do so.”
