Part 9 (1/2)
”Oh no,” I said, ”I don't agree at all with that. Part of the excitement of Christmas is sending cards and getting surprise presents.”
”Well, I can do without surprise presents, thank you very much,” replied Julie, flicking half-heartedly through the mail. She looked up. ”You know what surprise present I got from Paul last year?”
”I don't,” I said, 'but I guess you are about to tell us.”
”Red underwear! That's what I got. Shocking, skimpy, red silk underwear. Now who in their right minds apart from Mrs. Savage and a French prost.i.tute would be seen dead in red underwear?”
”Although I am not an expert on ladies' lingerie,” said David, ”I do think red underwear sounds rather attractive on a woman that is.”
”There's the typical man speaking,” Julie told him. ”I wouldn't be seen dead in red underwear.”
”It could have been worse,” I ventured. ”Paul could have given you oven gloves.”
”Well, at least I would have worn the oven gloves,” retorted Julie. ”He's certainly not getting me into, red underwear.”
”So what about Christmas Day?” I asked. ”Have you cancelled that?”
”We're going out for dinner. That's the other big improvement. Christmas Day last year was a disaster. Mum put the turkey giblets in a dish and when she came to make the gravy they'd mysteriously disappeared. You would have thought that she'd lost all her life savings the fuss she made. Eventually, Uncle Tom admitted that he had given them to the dog. We had Mum moaning, Uncle Tom apologising, Auntie Pat crying, Dad ignoring it all and then the dog was sick. Granddad nearly choked on a silver sixpence and Grandma lost an earring so we spent the afternoon playing clean the carpet, find the sixpence and hunt the earring. Then we watched Chitty, Chitty, b.l.o.o.d.y Bang Bang for the umpteenth time on the telly until we all fell asleep. It was a nightmare. Four days of living h.e.l.l.”
”You had a lively time and no mistake,” remarked David, chuckling to himself.
”That's just it, Mr. Pritchard, I don't want a lively time. I have enough of a lively time with you inspectors all the year round. At Christmas I want peace and quiet, with no ha.s.sle, no noise, no stress.”
”And speaking of ha.s.sle, noise and stress,” said David, cupping a hand around his ear, ”I think I can hear the dainty tread of the Inspector for Visual and Creative Arts on the stairs.”
”And that's another thing,” said Julie, pursing her lips before holding up the papers in front of her, ”I've got a mountain of work to finish for Mr. Clamp and I was hoping to get off a bit earlier tonight to finish my Christmas shopping.”
A moment later Sidney burst into the office. ”Happy Christmas!” he roared, throwing his briefcase on Harold's chair. ”I just love this time of year. The smell of pine in the air, shop windows crammed with colourful gifts, carols and cribs, fairy lights, holly and mistletoe, and Santa's grotto, ho! ho! ho! It just grabs you by the throat and says, ”Peace and goodwill to all men”.” He pulled off his coat, hung it up roughly and flopped at his desk. ”Christmas makes you feel so well disposed to others, it's .. . it's .. . what's the word, Gervase? Infectious, yes, that's what it is, infectious. Why, at this time of year I could kiss Connie and hug Mrs. Savage.” Sidney suddenly stopped. The three of us were staring at him in bemused silence. ”Is it something I've said?”
”May I remind you, Sidney,” said David, 'that schools have not broken up for the holidays yet and Christmas has not arrived. We all have quite a bit of work to do before the term ends and I believe you, in particular, have a great deal to finish.”
”I've somehow gone back in time,” said Sidney dramatically, talking to no one in particular, 'and found my way into the office of Ebeneezer Scrooge.”
Julie placed the thick pile of papers on his desk. ”Dr. Yeats wants the report on Loxley Chase School before the end of the afternoon. He was on the phone twice yesterday. You have six letters to sign, the questionnaire on ”Painters in Schools” to complete, your January course applications to check over and you still haven't finished the Arts Council response that Dr. Gore asked you to do. In today's mail there are two items marked ”very urgent” and two more marked ”urgent”. And, by the looks of it,” she said, indicating the papers before him, 'you've omv got two greetings cards this morning in that little lot. Happy Christmas!”
”Will someone tell me what I have done?” appealed Sidney, watching Julie totter out of the door on her high heels.
”It's what you haven't done,” said David, pointing to the mound on his colleague's desk. ”Julie was not intending to work late tonight. She was wanting to finish her Christmas shopping. If I were you, Sidney, I'd make a start.”
Thereafter, the first part of the day was unusually quiet. Sidney soon settled down to his reports and letters and all that could be heard above the gentle hum of the traffic on Fettlesham High Street were the scratching of pens, the occasional sigh and grunt, and the sc.r.a.ping of a chair on the hard wooden floor. When the clock on the County Hall tower struck eleven o'clock, Sidney's pen bounced off the page in a flourish as he stabbed the final full stop to the Loxley Chase Report. Then he leaned back in his chair, placed his hands behind his head and exhaled heavily. David peered over his gla.s.ses and I looked up from my work.
”I take it that our young secretary,” announced Sidney, 'bearing in mind the mood she was in when I arrived, will not be forthcoming with the libations this morning.”
”You know where the mugs are,” murmured David, returning to his report.
”And since you are so full of the Christmas spirit, Sidney,” I told him, 'oozing with goodwill to all men and infected with festive kindness, perhaps you would like to make David and me some coffee at the same time.”
Sidney thought for a moment, smiled dramatically, then jumped up from his chair. ”Of course, dear boy, nothing would give me greater pleasure. I shall take these letters and this completed report through to Julie to placate her as well.”
Over coffee, Sidney began one of his all too familiar interrogations. ”I a.s.sume that over Christmas you are taking the blonde love G.o.ddess of Winnery Nook to some faraway, exotic location, Gervase?”
”No,” I replied curtly.
”No?” he retorted. ”Is it a wet weekend in Whitby, then?”
”Actually, we are not spending Christmas together. I'm going to my brother's in Retford again. I'm hoping we can have a few days together in the New Year.”
”Barbados, Nice, St. Tropez, Paris?” ”Settle.”
”Seattle!” exclaimed Sidney, reaching for his coffee. ”Well, well, Gervase, you are las.h.i.+ng out. This sounds serious. A trip to the States. Seattle will be beautiful at this time of year.”
”No, Sidney, I said Settle, not Seattle.”
”Settle! Settle!” he cried. ”You're taking her to Settle? The pot-holing capital of the Dales. What are you intending doing? Creeping about on all fours underground with lamps on your heads? Hiking over the slippery limestone in driving sleet? Trekking through the snow?”
”Actually, Settle is spectacular in winter,” announced David, taking off his spectacles.
”Don't tell me you're taking him with you as well?” asked Sidney.
”As a matter of fact, it was I who recommended Settle to Gervase. There is a very pleasant little hostelry there called The Traddles. The food is outstanding, the views magnificent and the people who own it very friendly. Also, it's a very romantic place.”
”But it is still Settle,” groaned Sidney. ”And has she agreed to go?”
”I haven't asked her yet,” I said. ”I want it to be a surprise.”
”It'll be a surprise all right!”
”I booked a couple of days back in October and'
”Well, don't hold your breath,” Sidney told me, ”I think staying at home is preferable to Settle in winter.” He changed the subject. ”And what have you got your inamorata for Christmas?”
”A locket,” I replied.
”Oh dear, oh dear. A locket! A locket is something you give your maiden aunt or a little girl about to make her First Communion.”
”As a matter of fact,” said David again, 'it was I who recommended to Gervase the Mezzo Gallery in Skipton. They design and make the most unusual silver jewellery.”
”But a locket is not a present you give to the woman of your dreams. What he needs for a feisty young beauty of Christine Bentley's obvious charm, attraction and elegance is something particularly feminine, something which expresses his simmering pa.s.sion, his ardour, something which speaks of his undying devotion, like a ma.s.s of red roses, an obscenely large bottle of French perfume, a huge box of Belgian chocolates, a delicate diamond pendant'
”You mean something tasteful like red silk underwear?” suggested David.
”That's exactly the sort of thing women love,” enthused Sidney. ”They really go for men who are unpredictable and impulsive, who surprise them with unusual gifts. Unlike your other ideas, David, red underwear is an inspired suggestion. Now I will take you to Hoopers of Harrogate, Gervase, and help you select'
”There is no way I am giving Christine red underwear!” I said emphatically.
”But she will adore it!” cried Sidney, just as Julie appeared with his letters for signing. ”Now what woman could resist red silk underwear? Wouldn't you agree, Julie?”
Julie gave him a long, blistering look before slowly leaving the office.
”You know, I think Christmas brings out the worst in some people,” sighed Sidney shaking his head.