‘Let me see, weren’t you out of the office for the latter part of an afternoon one day last month, Harrison?’
‘Yes, I think I was, sir.’
‘I’m not complaining, of course.’
‘Nor am I, Mr Pollard.’
‘I think that’s all,’ said Mr Pollard.
It wasn’t quite all, however, because during the afternoon he again summoned Nick, who thought his eyes looked a little glazed.
‘You wanted me, Mr Pollard?’
‘Harrison?’ he croaked.
‘Yes, sir?’
His voice cracking, Mr Pollard said, ‘Go up to the fourth floor immediately.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Immediately.’
Up Nick went, thinking it meant trouble of an uncomfortable kind. The large oak door was open, as it had been on the first occasion. He walked through the ante-room and knocked on the inner door.
‘Enter, Harrison.’ The deep voice reached his ears, and he went in. God was standing with his back to the window. Nick advanced under the piercing gaze of the bewigged City gentleman in the painting. God, his optics glinting in his broad craggy face, waited until Nick came to a halt before his desk. Then he turned and said, ‘What d’you know about the human race, Harrison?’
‘Nothing, sir,’ said Nick, thinking what a peculiar start this was.
‘Nothing? Nothing?’
‘Well, not much, sir, except didn’t it all start with Adam and Eve?’
‘Adam and Eve?’ God growled like an unbeliever of biblical stories, which Nick thought very odd. ‘Are you an idiot, Harrison?’
‘Well, I probably am, sir, about the human race.’
‘The human race is burdened by its numeracy, Harrison. Do you know what that means?’
‘Yes, sir, there’s a lot too many of us. That’s what I meant, how Adam and Eve ever managed to—’
‘I noted your point, Harrison, and what I meant in return was that it’s idiotic to suggest Adam and Eve should shoulder the blame for the errors and omissions of the entire world.’ God was in his growling element. ‘What is the answer to the fact that there are too many of us?’
What a question, coming from him, thought Nick.
‘No idea, sir, except if the world was able to shake itself, a lot of us might fall off,’ he said.
‘Including yourself?’
‘Not if I could find a lamppost to hang on to,’ said Nick. The awesome chairman didn’t look impressed.
‘What if the wrong people fell off?’ he said. ‘What if we lost the world’s finest brains, the finest doctors and most of our child-bearing women?’
‘Well, rotten hard luck, sir, but if I might say so, I don’t think it would happen like that. I mean, not everyone would be out in the streets or hanging out their washing. A lot would be indoors, in their houses or workplaces. They wouldn’t be able to fall off, sir, they’d just rattle about.’
God’s expression became pitying.
‘What if those who just rattled about were the idiots of the world, or the parasites?’ he asked.
‘I suppose the world would feel sorry for itself, sir.’
‘The human race, Harrison, began to make the world feel sorry for itself centuries ago. What do you consider is your value to civilization?’
‘Just the value of a claims clerk, sir, although I can play football a bit.’
‘H’m.’ God might have rubbished that response, but didn’t. ‘Harrison, in the event of another flood, do you realize that the first people to be thrown off an overloaded ark would be the politician, the civil servant, the journalist, the banker and the insurance man? The carpenter, the engineer, the inventor, the builder, the doctor, the nurse and even the musician and diarist would all stay on. Either you or I would have to go. Now, tell me again what you consider to be your value to civilization.’
‘Well, sir, I – um—’
‘Get on with it.’
‘Well, sir, if you mean that whichever of us was aboard would be chucked off, then I suppose my value would be the same as yours.’
‘Which would be?’
‘Nil, sir.’
‘Exactly,’ said God, ‘though you’re a damned impudent scoundrel to say so. However, the point is to make sure events don’t give you an inflated sense of self-importance. Remind yourself from time to time that you’d be no loss to the world if you disappeared in another flood. Now, the time at the moment is just coming up to three-thirty. You are accordingly to be at the Exchange Teashop at not later than a quarter to four, where you will meet my niece, Miss Somers. Is that clear?’
‘Yes, it’s clear, sir, but—’
‘Buts are not permitted in this office, Harrison. They’re detrimental to the health of the company. Just one thing more. Don’t speak of this conversation or of my niece. Wait. State the cost of the bill at the teashop a month ago.’
Nick saw what that meant, that it was against God’s inclinations to allow his niece to be treated by one of his insignificant clerks. But Nick had his own ideas about what was right and proper.
‘I forget, sir,’ he said.
God vibrated.
‘Oh, you do, do you, you pipsqueak?’
‘It’s not important,’ said Nick.
‘Dismiss,’ growled God.
Down went Nick to inform Mr Pollard he had to go out. Mr Pollard, looking ill, informed him in turn that he was excused for the rest of the afternoon.
She was there, in the teashop, sitting at the same corner table and wearing the same hat and coat. It was a horrible November day, damp and murky, but she looked vivacious and alive. Annabelle was indeed very much like Lizzy, her mother, in her young years. Lizzy had actually been only fourteen when Ned fell into her big brown eyes and drowned himself beyond recovery. Without knowing anything about Lizzy and Ned Somers, Nick might all too easily have fallen into their daughter’s optical pools if he hadn’t been on his guard. On his guard he had to be.
‘Hello again,’ he said, reaching the table.
‘Well, I’m blessed,’ said Annabelle, ‘it’s you. Have you been lying in wait? I’m flattered if you have. I mean, I don’t think anyone’s ever lain in wait for me before. Are you going to sit down?’
Nick, sitting down, said, ‘Listen, what’s going on?’
‘Pardon?’ said Annabelle. ‘Oh, I’ve ordered, by the way. Same as before, pot of tea and two toasted crumpets each.’
The teashop was full of the tinkling sounds of spoons, cutlery and china as City gents and messengers enjoyed an old-fashioned break. Annabelle was full of seeming innocence and Nick full of suspicions that God’s favourite young relative was having him on in some way or another. It didn’t occur to him that far from having him on, Annabelle felt she had met a young man who was excitingly interesting. Being a very self-assured young lady, with an angelic gift for getting her own way, she hadn’t had to work terribly hard to persuade her great-uncle to let her meet one of his clerks again. Uncle John had scowled, growled, rumbled and muttered, but was outdone by her feminine determination in a very short time. Of course, he’d said things like any girl who wants to hobnob with a petty clerk needs to have her brains examined, but that was only eyewash, because he’d been a petty clerk himself once.
‘I’m scratching my head about you, Miss Somers,’ said Nick.
‘I told you last time, boo to Miss Somers,’ said Annabelle. ‘I don’t know how you can be so stuffy when we’re going to have tea and crumpets again. I can call you Nick, can’t I?’
‘Help yourself,’ said Nick.
‘Well, then. By the way, was Uncle John nice to you?’
‘Not much. He spent ten minutes proving I was nobody.’
‘But I told you, no-one can be nobody,’ said Annabelle. ‘Didn’t you point that out to him?’
‘What, and been struck by lightning? We don’t have much, me and my family, but we’re all alive, and none of us wants to disappear in a flash of fire and a puff of smoke. Did you come up to
have lunch again with your uncle?’
‘Yes, but I didn’t have much lunch, so I’m sort of famished for tea and crumpets. Oh, famous, here they come.’
The same waitress brought the tray. The aroma of the hot buttered crumpets brought a sigh of bliss from Annabelle, which made Nick smile.
‘Here we are,’ said the waitress, a nice-looking girl.
‘You’re getting to be a favourite with me,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, a pleasure to see you and your young lady again, sir.’
‘Don’t tell God that,’ said Nick.
‘Beg your pardon?’ said the waitress, having set everything out on the table.
‘It’s all right,’ said Annabelle, ‘he’s having another of his funny days.’
The waitress laughed.
‘I like his funny days,’ she said, and departed.
‘Well, I’m blessed,’ said Annabelle, milking cups, ‘I’ll have to speak to Uncle John about you.’
‘What for?’
‘Trying your luck with a waitress when you’re with me. It’s very bad manners.’ Annabelle passed him a cup of piping hot tea, then helped herself to a crumpet.
Nick took one, then said he supposed she had a very easy job if it allowed her to come up to the City once a month. Annabelle said it wasn’t at all easy, it was a bookkeeping job, and that it was her immediate boss who gave her the time off. Well, he was her mother’s eldest brother.
‘Another uncle?’ said Nick.
‘Smashing,’ said Annabelle, ‘he’s my Uncle Boots.’
‘Who?’
‘Oh, he’s always been called Boots ever since being born a baby boy. Would you like to meet him one day?’
‘Well,’ said Nick, a young man with his social horizons limited by reason of certain family circumstances, ‘if I ever get kicked out of insurance by your Uncle John, I might ask if your Uncle Boots could give me a job.’
‘Oh, yes, shall I give you my telephone number?’ said Annabelle.
‘Not likely,’ said Nick. ‘If your Uncle John only half suspected I had your telephone number, he’d chop me up on the spot. I can’t afford to be chopped up, I’d have to give up work. Where’d you live, by the way, in a mansion?’
‘What a daft question,’ said Annabelle, enjoying not only her crumpet but the occasion as well. She was entirely pleased with herself, carried along by a belief that a girl could always get what she wanted if she went the right way about it. She twisted boys round her little finger with ease, and although she was aware that Nick wasn’t a boy, but a young man, she was quite confident she could become his one and only within a few months. She had made up her mind about that during her time in this teashop with him a month ago. He was so much more grown up than boys. ‘What makes you think I live in a mansion?’
‘Well, you look like that and sound like it,’ said Nick, who was fighting a battle while Annabelle was only indulging in whims and wishes. If he wasn’t careful he’d start thinking about roses round the door. That wouldn’t do at all. Ma would have fits. Ma needed the whole family to help keep the secret which, if it came out, would make it necessary for them to move again. Probably to Australia this time. She knew and they all knew that the only friends they could have were those who wouldn’t do more than brush the surface of the family, like Freddy and Cassie, Dumpling and Danny. Nick could not afford a close relationship with any girl. Suffering sociability, he thought, why does this girl have to be gorblimey tophole? That made a little grin appear on his face. Annabelle didn’t miss it.
‘Are you pleased?’ she smiled, and the smile made her look like peaches and cream in Nick’s eyes. Well, when a bloke was finding a girl so good to look at, that was the sort of phrase that came into his mind.
‘Am I pleased about what?’ he asked. They were on their second crumpets.
‘That I look and sound as if I live in a mansion.’
‘Is that my crumpet you’re eating?’ asked Nick.
‘No, it’s mine.’
‘You ate mine last time.’
‘Only half of it,’ said Annabelle, ‘and stop dodging the question. I’m not posh, nor’s my family. My grandmother’s an old-fashioned cockney, a wonderful lady. My mother’s wonderful too. So am I, but we don’t live in a mansion. Nick, where do you live?’
‘With Ma and my sisters,’ said Nick.
‘I know that, you silly. I mean where, not who with. We’re off Denmark Hill.’
‘Well, that’s pretty posh,’ said Nick. The houses there had bathrooms. He and his family used Manor Place public baths. He and Alice paid for themselves, but it cost Ma one-and-six a week for herself, Amy and Fanny. It was an amount she always had to allow for. ‘I suppose your Uncle John, not having any children of his own, is going to make you his heiress.’
‘Crikey,’ said Annabelle in good old family fashion, ‘whatever gave you that idea? I don’t come first. There’s my dad and my dad’s father and my dad’s mother, who’s Uncle John’s sister-in-law. Look, you still haven’t said where you live.’
‘Walworth,’ said Nick. Brown eyes opened wide.
‘No, do you really? That’s where my mother and her family lived for years. Well, I think that’s promising, don’t you?’
‘Promising for what?’ asked Nick, deciding to take his mind off her and think about football.
‘For being friends,’ said Annabelle, not given to shyness or hesitations.
‘I’ll have to ask God about that,’ said Nick.
‘Uncle John? Blessed saints,’ said Annabelle, ‘I don’t let him choose my friends for me, I just let him take me to lunch once a month because he doesn’t have any granddaughters he can fuss and spoil. He’s a gruff old thing, but his bark’s a lot worse than his bite.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Nick, and Annabelle refilled their cups. ‘D’you want any cake?’ He had a little more money in his pocket this time.
‘No, not really,’ she said. ‘Next time you see Uncle John, stand up to him. He’ll like you if you do.’
‘With any luck, I might be able to keep out of his way.’
‘I told him it was disgraceful, you being a junior clerk,’ said Annabelle.
‘And what did he say to that?’ asked Nick.
Annabelle laughed. Two crusty city gents turned their heads to look at her.
‘He said he didn’t make a habit of discussing pipsqueak employees with little girls.’
‘Never mind,’ said Nick, ‘little girls are like Christmas decorations, nice to have around.’
‘Are you looking at me?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Don’t leave it too long before you’re on your way,’ said Nick, ‘it’s dark and murky outside. I’ll settle the bill and walk you back to the offices, shall I?’
‘Oh, yes, I want to leave a little earlier in case the fog comes down. But it’s my turn to pay this time.’
‘No, it’s not,’ said Nick, ‘you don’t have turns to pay, it’s not what young ladies are for.’
‘My, aren’t you masterful?’ said Annabelle. ‘When did you say you were twenty-one?’
‘Tomorrow week,’ said Nick.
‘Oh, famous,’ said Annabelle, ‘you’ll be a man then, officially.’
‘Well, at least I’m no longer a junior clerk,’ said Nick, ‘and what juniors there are around the offices have to call me Mr Harrison now.’
‘Well, I’m not going to,’ said Annabelle.
‘You’d have to if you were a junior yourself with the company,’ said Nick. ‘Either that or sir.’
‘Don’t make me giggle,’ said Annabelle. ‘But I do wish you many happy returns for next week, Nick, and lots of congratulations. Shall we go, then?’
Nick paid the bill, raising a smile in the young waitress with the tip he gave her. When he left with God’s young and fascinating niece, the day was dark and murky all right, but there was no yellow fog. They parted company when they reached Holborn. Nick opted for a lighthearted goodbye.
‘So lon
g, Miss Somers, it’s been a pleasure,’ he said.
‘Oh, don’t mention it, Mr Harrison,’ said Annabelle. ‘But thanks ever so much for treating me again.’
‘Enjoy your life,’ said Nick, and Annabelle smiled. If he thought he wasn’t going to see her any more, he’d better think again.
‘’Bye, Nick,’ she said and whisked away, disappearing into the murk.
Nick went home reflecting on the fact that a girl of peaches and cream could make life difficult for him. Well, what bloke could introduce a girl like that to a family with an uncomfortable secret to keep?
‘Uncle Boots?’ Annabelle put her head into the office of her favourite relative.
‘You’re back?’ said Boots, a man with a liking for young people.
‘Yes, I’m here,’ said Annabelle. The time was five-fifteen. ‘I just have one or two little things to do. Uncle Boots, thanks ever so much for always giving me time off to have lunch with my Uncle John once a month.’
‘Well, once a month doesn’t make for problems,’ said Boots, and noted Annabelle’s little sparkle of excitement. ‘Your flush isn’t on account of the Growler, is it?’ The Growler was how he saw Annabelle’s great-uncle.
‘What d’you mean?’ asked Annabelle.
‘Who’s been kissing you?’ smiled Boots.
‘What a funny question,’ said Annabelle. ‘I’ve just come back to do one or two little things before everyone leaves.’
‘Help yourself,’ said Boots, and Annabelle went to her little office, where she checked that a certain slip of paper was safely tucked into her handbag. Yes, there it was, an address written on it. She’d wheedled it out of Uncle John, who’d had to use the internal office telephone system to get it from a department, which had made him growl a bit about pipsqueak clerks and misguided girls.
Pride of Walworth Page 14
