Three years later Halifax had a fine new sewerage system, and the Midland Bank was delighted to be holding Haskins of Hull’s company account.
Over the next fifteen years Chester, Runcorn, Huddersfield, Darlington, Macclesfield, and York were jointly and severally grateful for the services rendered to them by Gerald Haskins, of Haskins & Co PLC.
Haskins & Co (International) PLC then began contract work in Dubai, Lagos, and Rio de Janeiro. In 1983 Gerald received the Queen’s Award for Industry from a grateful government, and a year later he was made a Commander of the British Empire by a grateful monarch.
The investiture took place at Buckingham Palace in the same year that King Alfons III of Multavia died and was succeeded by his son King Alfons IV. The newly crowned king decided something finally had to be done about the drainage problems of Teske. It had been his father’s dying wish that his people should not go on suffering those unseemly smells, and King Alfons IV did not intend to bequeath the problem to his son.
After much begging and borrowing from the West, and much visiting and talking with the East, the newly anointed monarch decided to invite tenders for a new sewerage system in the kingdom’s capital.
The tender document supplying several pages of details and listing the problems facing any engineer who wished to tackle them arrived with a thud on most of the boardroom tables of the world’s major engineering companies. Once the paperwork had been seriously scrutinized and the realistic opportunity for a profit considered, King Alfons IV received only a few replies. Nevertheless, the king was able to sit up all night considering the merits of the three interested companies that had been shortlisted. Kings are also human, and when Alfons discovered that Gerald had chosen Multavia for his honeymoon some twenty-five years before, it tipped the balance. By the time Alfons IV fell asleep that morning he had decided to accept Haskins & Co (International) PLC’s tender.
And thus Gerald Haskins made his second visit to Multavia, this time accompanied by a site manager, three draftsmen, and eleven engineers. Gerald had a private audience with the king and assured him the job would be completed on time and for the price specified. He also told the king how much he was enjoying his second visit to his country. However, when he returned to England he assured his wife that there was still little in Multavia that could be described as entertainment before or after the hour of seven.
A few years later, and after some considerable haggling over the increase in the cost of materials, Teske ended up with one of the finest sewage systems in Central Europe. The king was delighted—although he continued to grumble about how Haskins & Co had overrun the original contract price. The words “contingency payment” had to be explained to the monarch several times, who realized that the extra £240,000 would in turn have to be explained to the East and “borrowed” from the West. After many veiled threats and “without prejudice” solicitors’ letters, Haskins & Co received the final payment, but not until the King had been given a further grant from the British government, a payment which involved the Midland Bank, Sloane Street, transferring a sum of money to the Midland Bank, High Street, Hull, without Multavia ever getting its hands on it. This was after all, Gerald explained to his wife, how most overseas aid was distributed.
Thus the story of Gerald Haskins and the drainage problems of Teske might have ended, had not the British foreign secretary decided to pay a visit to the kingdom of Multavia.
The original purpose of the foreign secretary’s European trip was to take in Warsaw and Prague, in order to see how glasnost and perestroika were working in those countries. But when the Foreign Office discovered how much aid had been allocated to Multavia, and after they explained to their minister its role as a buffer state, the foreign secretary decided to accept King Alfons’s long-standing invitation to visit the tiny kingdom. Such excursions to smaller countries by British foreign secretaries usually take place in airport lounges, a habit the British picked up from Henry Kissinger and, later, Comrade Gorbachev; but not on this occasion. It was felt that Multavia warranted a full day.
As the hotels had improved only slightly since the time of Gerald’s honeymoon, the foreign secretary was invited to lodge at the palace. He was asked by the king to undertake only two official engagements during his brief stay: the opening of the capital’s new sewage system, and a formal banquet.
Once the foreign secretary had agreed to these requests the king invited Gerald and his wife to be present at the opening ceremony—at their own expense. When the day of the opening came the Foreign Secretary delivered the appropriate speech for the occasion. He first praised Gerald Haskins for a remarkable piece of work in the great tradition of British engineering, then commended Multavia for her shrewd common sense in awarding the contract to a British company in the first place. The foreign secretary omitted to mention the fact that the British government had ended up underwriting the entire project. Gerald, however, was touched by the minister’s words, and said as much to the foreign secretary after the latter had pulled the lever that opened the first sluice gate.
That evening in the palace there was a banquet for over three hundred guests, including the ambassadorial corps and several leading British businessmen. There followed the usual interminable speeches about “historic links,” Multavia’s role in Anglo—Soviet affairs, and the “special relationship” with Britain’s own royal family.
The highlight of the evening, however, came after the speeches when the king made two investitures. The first was the award of the Order of the Peacock (Second Class) to the foreign secretary. “The highest award a commoner can receive,” the king explained to the assembled audience, “as the Order of the Peacock (First Class) is reserved for royalty and heads of state.”
The king then announced a second investiture. The Order of the Peacock (Third Class) was to be awarded to Gerald Haskins, CBE, for his work on the drainage system of Teske. Gerald was surprised and delighted as he was conducted from his place on the top table to join the king, who leaned forward to put a large gold chain encrusted with gems of various colors and sizes over his visitor’s head. Gerald took two respectful paces backward and bowed low, as the foreign secretary looked up from his seat and smiled encouragingly at him.
Gerald was the last foreign guest to leave the banquet that night. Angela, who had left on her own over two hours before, had already fallen asleep by the time he returned to their hotel room. He placed the chain on the bed, undressed, put on his pajamas, checked his wife was still asleep, and then placed the chain back over his head to rest on his shoulders.
Gerald stood and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror for several minutes. He could not wait to return home.
The moment Gerald got back to Hull he dictated a letter to the Foreign Office. He requested permission to be allowed to wear his new award on those occasions when it stipulated on the bottom right-hand corner of invitation cards that decorations and medals should be worn. The Foreign Office duly referred the matter to the palace, where the queen, a distant cousin of King Alfons IV, agreed to the request.
The next official occasion at which Gerald was given the opportunity to sport the Order of the Peacock was the mayor-making ceremony held in the chamber of Hull’s City Hall, which was to be preceded by dinner at the Guildhall.
Gerald returned especially from Lagos for the occasion, and even before changing into his dinner jacket couldn’t resist a glance at the Order of the Peacock (Third Class). He opened the box that held his prize possession and stared down in disbelief: the gold had become tarnished, and one of the stones looked as if it was coming loose. Mrs. Haskins stopped dressing in order to steal a glance at the order. “It’s not gold,” she declared with a simplicity that would have stopped the IMF in its tracks.
Gerald offered no comment and quickly fixed the loose stone back in place with Krazy Glue but he had to admit to himself that the craftsmanship didn’t bear careful scrutiny. Neither of them mentioned the subject again on their journey to Hull’s City Hall
.
Some of the guests during the mayor’s dinner that night at the Guildhall enquired after the history of the Order of the Peacock (Third Class), and although it gave Gerald some considerable satisfaction to explain how he had come by the distinction and indeed the queen’s permission to wear it on official occasions, he felt one or two of his colleagues had been less than awed by the tarnished peacock. Gerald also considered it was somewhat unfortunate that they had ended up on the same table as Walter Ramsbottom, now the deputy mayor.
“I suppose it would be hard to put a true value on it,” said Walter, staring disdainfully at the chain.
“It certainly would,” said Gerald firmly.
“I didn’t mean a monetary value,” said the jeweler with a smirk. “That would be only too easy to ascertain. I meant a sentimental value, of course.”
“Of course,” said Gerald. “And are you expecting to be the mayor next year?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
“It is the tradition,” said Walter, “that the deputy succeeds the mayor if he doesn’t serve for a second year. And be assured, Gerald, that I shall see to it that you are placed on the top table for that occasion.” Walter paused. “The mayor’s chain, you know, is fourteen-carat gold.”
Gerald left the banquet early that evening, determined to do something about the Order of the Peacock before it was Walter’s turn to be mayor.
None of Gerald’s friends would have described him as an extravagant man, and even his wife was surprised at the whim of vanity that was to follow: At nine o’clock the next morning Gerald rang his office to say he would not be in to work that day. He then traveled by train to London, to visit Bond Street in general and a famed jeweler in particular.
The door of the Bond Street shop was opened for Gerald by a sergeant from the Corps of Commissionaires. Once he had stepped inside Gerald explained his problem to the tall, thin gentleman in a black suit who had come forward to welcome him. He was then led to a circular glass counter in the middle of the shop floor.
“Our Mr. Pullinger will be with you in a moment,” he was assured. Moments later Asprey’s fine-gems expert arrived and happily agreed to Gerald’s request to value the Order of the Peacock (Third Class). Mr Pullinger placed the chain on a black velvet cushion before closely studying the stones through a small eyeglass.
After a cursory glance he frowned with the disappointment of a man who has won third prize at a shooting range on Blackpool Pier.
“So, what’s it worth?” asked Gerald bluntly after several minutes had elapsed.
“Hard to put a value on something so intricately”—Pullinger hesitated—“unusual.”
“The stones are glass and the gold’s brass, that’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it, lad?”
Mr. Pullinger gave a look that indicated that he could not have put it more succinctly himself.
“You might possibly be able to get a few hundred pounds from someone who collects such objects, but …”
“Oh, no,” said Gerald, quite offended. “I have no interest in selling it. My purpose in coming up to London was to find out if you can copy it.”
“Copy it?” said the expert in disbelief.
“Aye,” said Gerald. “First, I want every stone to be the correct gem according to its color. Second, I expect a setting that would impress a duchess. And third, I require the finest craftsman put to work on it in nothing less than eighteen-carat gold.”
The expert from Asprey’s, despite years of dealing with Arab clients, was unable to conceal his surprise.
“It would not be cheap,” he uttered sotto voce: The word “cheap” was one of which Asprey’s clearly disapproved.
“I never doubted that for one moment,” said Gerald. “But you must understand that this is a once-in-a-lifetime honor for me. Now, when could I hope to have an estimate?”
“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 rental 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.”
Well in time for next year’s mayor’s banquet, thought Gerald. Councillor Ramsbottom would not be able to mock him this time. Fourteen-carat gold, had he said?
Lagos and Rio de Janeiro both had their sewers up 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 silent 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 around 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 enquired.
“If I’m invite 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 7th and 11th.”
“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’s 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, 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, fol
lowing 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 a 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’s a commander of the same order (CVO), both being personal orders of the monarch. A box of royal blue was opened by the court chamberlain 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.
Collected Short Stories Page 59
