I'm All Right Jack (3 page)

“Y
OU MUST
read this,” said the official in the Personnel Department. “Then sign the declaration on the other side.”

Stanley began reading.

“Oh yes, I can see the sort of thing,” said Stanley, turning it over to sing.

“Read it through fully, please.”

“Right you are.”

After some time the Establishments man looked rather irritably at his watch and said: “Finished?”

Stanley broke off his muttering to say, “Nearly, thanks.”

“You don’t have to memorize it,” said the official. “We give you a copy.”

Thus Stanley signed the Official Secrets Act, which, like Confirmation, leaves an indelible imprint on the soul, and which bound him to reticence till the day of his death.

“Your Branch Under-Secretary isn’t in the Office at the moment,” said the official. “He’s temporarily abroad. So for the time being you’ll be put to help out Mr
Hardy-Freeman
. I’ll get a messenger to show you.”

“I suppose you get a lot of interesting people here to show around,” said Stanley to the messenger chattily, as they went up and down staircases and long corridors.

“Not specially,” said the messenger. “You get all sorts. We ’ad Lord Nelson ’ere once.”

“You mean
the
Lord Nelson?”

“Course I do. Black feller, sings calypsos. Arf a mo now, you got me muddled.”

After asking in one of the Messengers’ Rooms he finally established where Mr Hardy-Freeman’s room was, and they found it at last up a neglected-looking flight of stairs.

“Come along in,” said Hardy-Freeman. “They rang up to say you were coming. My name’s Wallace
Hardy-Freeman
, as you gather.”

“I’m Stanley Windrush. The man who swore me in told me I’d be coming here. I thought he’d do the introducing, but I got the impression he didn’t quite know where you were.”

“Yes, I dare say. I shouldn’t really be here at all. Isn’t this an appalling place?”

“I don’t know yet. Is it?”

“Fantastic. I shouldn’t stay, my dear fellow. I’ve been in Bangkok most of my time. It’s different abroad, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, absolutely. But there was a bit of a mix-up out there and I was recalled here. But I shouldn’t really be here at all.”

“I see. Well, what do we do?”

“Well, frankly, there
is
a
frightful
lot to do. We do a lot of analysing reports from foreign parts, you know. God, it’s tedious. Not like abroad. Have you any specialities?”

“Japanese, I suppose.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Wallace. He selected three thick bundles from his middle tray. “They’re making a precis of these for the Board of Trade. Just up your street.”

“Oh?” said Stanley. “What are they?”

“Reports on Japanese shirt production. An in
ter
minable question.”

“They look like the London telephone directory.”

“Yes, don’t they. If you’re feeling strong some day, try and tear ’em in half. Mind you, if you can really master the question you’ll make some sort of name for yourself, if that’s the sort of thing you want. Incidentally, they’ll probably put you down for duty officer straight away. All you do for that is look at everything that comes in and ring people in the early hours, but I shouldn’t advise that much.”

“I suppose not.”

“No. In fact even here, lay off the telephone all you can. I’ve practically given it up. If you ring people they only send you more files. Well, there you are. I’ve got to rush about like a bee on heat now,” he added, opening a file in a leisurely fashion. “Got a Parliamentary Question to sort out for tomorrow.”

“Wallace,” said Stanley over beer and sandwiches in St Stephen’s Tavern.

“Yes, Stanley?”

“These shirts. There’s no end to it.”

“Oh, absolutely. One could kick oneself.”

“It isn’t all like this, is it?”

“Not in Bangkok it isn’t.”

No messages came in at all for the Duty Officer until half past three, when Stanley, nodding over the
Tatler,
was presented with a telegram.

Stanley rang up Wallace. The telephone rang for a long time before there was any reply. Finally a voice said: “Yerm?”

“That you, Wallace? Stanley.”

“Oh God. What?”

“I’ve just got a telegram in. It says——”

“Don’t read it to me over the telephone, idiot. Is it urgent?”

“I think it must be. What shall I do about it?”

Wallace made the peculiar noise of a man frustrated.

“Ring someone sensible,” he said in a strained voice. “Ring the Minister of State if you like, but not me.”

There was a click.

Stanley picked up the other telephone and dutifully rang the Minister of State.

“Well?”

“Urgent telegram, sir?”

“I should damn well think so. Who’s dropped the Bomb?”

“No one, sir. This is what it says.” Stanley began reading.

There was silence when he finished.

“Thank you very much indeed,” said the voice finally. “Now why don’t you go and boil your fat head?”

“Hullo, is that Mr Brimpton?”

“Bloody lucky for you it isn’t. I’m Julian Briggs, the PA. And who are you? Windrush? Well, I’ll do the same for you some time, I hope.”

“Good morning, Wallace.”

“Good morning, Stanley. Improperly dressed for London, I see. Where’s your billy?”

“One of my great-aunt’s dogs chewed the brim
overnight
.”

“Badly?”

“I’m afraid so. Why did you tell me to ring up
Brimpton
?”

“Well, he’s such a keen type. He was my CO in the Army, incidentally. It
was
a rotten unit. You didn’t actually ring him though, did you?”

“Yes, but I got his secretary. He wasn’t too pleased.”

“Ah well. Oh, by the way, I’m down to fetch and carry at this Coloured Conference at Plantagenet House
tomorrow
. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do when I’m away. Onward with the shirts.”

“I think I’ll burn down shirt factories in my spare time if they send me to Japan.”  

The much-publicised Coloured Conference had originally been a scheme to bring to London as many eminent black, brown and yellow men as possible, in order to feel the way towards some method of increasing waning British influence in the world, and promoting trading arrangements which did not involve lending any money.

At first it had been going to include representatives from the British Colonies, who, it was hoped, would be able to convince the coloured foreigners what a good thing it was to trade with the Old Country. The affair was then to have been run jointly by the Foreign and Colonial Offices. There had been, however, some reluctance by certain states to come on this inferior footing, and friction had arisen between the two departments.

Eventually, the idea of including the Colonials was
dropped and only the non-British coloured men invited. A large number of these were coming, mostly for the ride, and visits for them had been arranged, after the early meetings of the Conference, to academic and industrial centres. Several large firms were giving hospitality, and the Universities of Oxford and Cambridge had been prevailed upon to give, more economically, a number of honorary doctorates. The whole business, vigorously opposed by the
Daily
Rapid,
seemed likely to last well into the autumn.

Plantagenet House, a nobleman’s former town residence sold very profitably to the nation, and now the scene for international consultations in an ostentatious mood, was all a-bustle with preparations for the conference, and presently, with the airborne arrivals of delegations filling the television newsreels, the conference began.

Wallace, in his confidential messenger-boy role, almost forgot his yearning for Bangkok in the unaccustomed glamour of the proceedings, but on the evening of the ninth day, when the expensive conference was nearly reaching agreement on what was to be discussed, a motor car knocked him down in Park Lane, and he was taken concussed to Charing Cross Hospital and treated for a fracture of the right leg.

At four o’clock the next morning the telephone rang in the hall at Eaton Square. After some time Stanley became aware of it and went down. One or two of Aunt Dolly’s dogs, roused by the noise of Stanley’s walking into a door on the way down, accompanied him.

He groaned into the telephone.

“Ullurgh?”

“That you, Stanley? Julian.”

It was Brimpton’s secretary.

“Oh, is it? You know the time? I’ve just walked into a door because of you.”

“Bad luck. However, Wallace has broken his leg. I’ve just had a message you’re to stand in for him today. Thought I’d give you as much notice as possible.”

“Very thoughtful of you. You couldn’t have waited a few hours, I suppose?”

“Sorry, Wallace has just woken up too. That’s how the hospital knew who he was. Anyway, I had to check up you were available.”

“Well, thanks very much. Now I’ll go and lie down again if you don’t mind.”

“Entirely a matter for you to decide, my dear fellow. Oh, and better come to the office to start with, and go on from here.”

The dogs followed Stanley indifferently up the stairs.