Perfection Comes at a Price, page 6
“Are you a new member, Eric? I’ve not seen you before.”
“I’ve been a member for some time, but usually I play on Thursday evenings. This is my first time on a Saturday, and it is only now that I realise what I’ve been missing. All the lovely ladies. I shall have to come here on more Saturdays in order to enjoy their company.”
As he said that, he looked rather pointedly at Philippa and gave her his foxy grin. It was his dimple on the left-hand side that created that foxy look. Women found it irresistible – and Philippa was no exception.
After that Eric did notice that on every second Thursday evening Philippa was at the bridge club as well. He would have short, polite exchanges of words with her. He also decided to go on Saturdays from time to time. When the right moment occurred, Saturdays allowed for the possibility of asking a lady to linger for a coffee at the club. There were a couple of sofas for that purpose. Ideal for the beginning of a relationship.
Katie was most disappointed by the bridge.
“It is very annoying that you are so often invited on a Saturday evening to a bridge party. That should be our time. We only have the weekends.”
“Look, Katie, it is important for me to respond to these invitations. I am getting to know people. You have never liked cards, that cannot be helped. Otherwise I would have suggested that you learn it with me. Also bridge enables me to mix with higher classes of people which I might not otherwise be able to do. I am still at the bottom of the pile. However, if I am at bridge on a Saturday, then let’s arrange for you to come already on a Friday on those week ends. All right?”
“Oh yes, that would make it better. I just want to be with you all the time. Soon I hope we will be able to do just that.”
“I am always home by midnight. I never stay late. I tell my hosts that I need to leave by eleven the latest. They are happy with that. It is for you that I hurry.”
“It’s still very boring to sit here all that time on my own. There is nothing to do.”
“You could read.”
“Not the type of books that you have here. If we could afford a television, it would be marvellous.”
“Well, we can’t yet. I’m sorry.”
“One day we’ll be able to afford it. You are doing so well. You will get promoted, and then we won’t look back.”
The office had been busy. A lot of paper was created by the Commonwealth Immigrants Act 1968 which reduced the number of immigrants from the Commonwealth countries.
“I think I must have been a donkey in another life,” complained Malcolm.
What makes you think you were a donkey in another life?” piped in Horace, “You could have fooled me, though you are awfully good at braying.”
“Who is good at braying?” asked Cecil who had just walked in.
“Don’t let it worry you, Cecil,” said Eric, “it’s only Malcolm and Horace at each other’s throats.”
“I’ll load our donkey with a few more papers to cart. To make sure of speed, I’ll put some nettles under his tail. This stuff needs to get to the relevant desk officers as of an hour ago. If you don’t get moving, The Handbag will snap.”
“Will it indeed?”
The voice of Mr Bracknell came loud and clear. The culprits turned and reddened.
“I gather that among worthy literature you have come across Oscar Wilde. That aside, the situation is beginning to calm down, so it’ll be more relaxed next week. Meanwhile, would Ernest start in earnest to fill those latest jackets,” said Mr Bracknell pointing his finger at Horace and then going out with heaving shoulders. The three young men were so amusing and likeable.
The following day was a Friday.
“Malcolm,” said Horace, “I am penitent. I come with gifts to soothe your ruffled feathers.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve got four free tickets to the Lyric theatre for tonight where they are showing “Lady Windermere’s Fan”. Any of you interested?”
“Definitely,” said Malcolm, Eric and Cecil in unison.
“The Lyric is just round the corner from you, Eric, isn’t it?” said Horace.
“Yes, it is.”
“Right, boys, we’ll go afterwards to Eric’s place. You must come and see his seduction couch.”
“Good heavens, you’ve got me all curious,” said Cecil.
“Fairy tales, as always,” said Eric. “After work let’s go straight to the theatre. They’ve got a café where we can get sandwiches.”
The play was good. The four young men enjoyed it thoroughly. When they got to Eric’s, the other two were as impressed as Horace had been when he first saw it.
“Hmm. This is indeed a seduction couch,” said Malcolm, “who is Eric seducing?”
“None of the office secretaries, though they are, one and all, panting with passion after him,” said Horace, “with Eric’s looks, you better ask him how many has he on the go.”
“I haven’t time for too many frivolities. Now, what would you like? I’ve got a bottle and a half of whisky and a bottle of dry sherry.”
“Whisky, please,” came the answer from all three.
The atmosphere was full of jokes. The odd cigarette was smoked. At one stage Horace went to the loo, and when he returned, he had red rouge circles on his cheeks and he was wearing lipstick.
“I’ve discovered Eric’s make-up kit,” giggled Horace. “I’m wearing Orchid Blush rouge and Red Berry lipstick.”
“A dark horse, you are, Eric,” mused Cecil, “only a real girlfriend would leave such items behind.”
“I occasionally do have some love-life, but let’s not harp on that. Why don’t we concentrate in finding you, Cecil, a sweetheart? Your eyes are forever roving round the typist pool.”
“Yes, let’s,” said Horace.
The party went on till past midnight, and then Eric piled his three friends into a taxi. He cleaned up, aired the room and then sat for a while resting. He was not drunk, has had only pretended to sway. From then on he would check before going anywhere that any tell-tale signs of female presence were removed.
They had got to April. Then a mighty upheaval was caused by the Rivers of Blood speech by Enoch Powell. It launched Eric into a speech to Katie.
“Such a direct speech is going to cost the man dear.”
“Will there be rivers of blood? And when, Eric?”
“I have no idea, Katie. Maybe yes, maybe no. Sometime in the future. But this is creating racial tensions. There will be major reactions from many parts of the world.”
“Is he right?”
“He may be. I can think of situations where this prediction could indeed become true. But before that, a lot of changes would have had to take place. We are not there now.”
“Then let’s not dwell on it. Let’s think of your holidays. How are you going to spend them? Could we go on a coach tour?”
“Yes, we could. At the end of July I am allowed two weeks so we could go for a week to Wales. How does that sound? The other week we could stay in London and enjoy it here.”
“Brilliant, Eric. I can’t wait.”
Eric was sitting at his portering job at the hospital. He was not reading. He was just sitting and thinking. It was becoming more and more clear to him that Katie was waiting for him to marry her. She often referred to the two of them as “we” in the sense of a couple. He shuddered when he thought that he had nearly asked her to marry him before last Easter. When the bedsit had been nearly done. But then Mr Hargreaves’ visit had made him pause. That had made a complete difference to Eric’s thoughts. What he had said about having no funds nor future to offer to a potential spouse he firmly believed. For a short moment he had toyed with the thought that money would be enough, and provided they had sufficient money, he and Katie could live “happily ever after”. As soon as Mr Hargreaves had mentioned the Diplomatic Service, Eric’s eyes had opened to the fact that he needed a real career if he was going to be fulfilled. Only that could really change his life. From then on a veil had come down between him and Katie, he no longer felt he could confide in her entirely. His actual plans had to be kept secret in order not to hurt her, but that was no solution because in the end there would be the hurt. Both to her and to himself. By the beginning of summer, he had begun to think actively about finding a suitable spouse. This had had its kick-start that first Saturday when he had gone to the bridge club.
Now that he was in the Foreign Office and saw what a different world there was to achieve, he saw how wise Mr Hargreaves had been. The old man had correctly read Eric’s character and had spent time in thinking what would be the best future for him. How right the man had been. Eric might eventually have stumbled into that career, but Mr Hargreaves’s words had precipitated the issue, and now Eric had an early opportunity to start a forward move.
They were now in September. What had started Eric’s ruminations that Sunday was that he could not get away from the fact that Katie could not follow anything that he was really involved in. When, on the 21st of August, the Soviet Union had invaded Czechoslovakia, the Foreign Office had buzzed like a beehive. Activity was overflowing. There was pressure everywhere. Eric loved the buzz. It did not matter to him if he needed to work late. He had had a stroke of luck because of The Handbag. The man had had a nervous breakdown because his younger brother had been diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer in July with a very poor prognosis. The doctors spoke of weeks rather than months. They had been right, the patient lived for only five weeks till the first days of August. This had taken its toll on the elder brother and the Office had given Richard Bracknell three months compassionate leave. This at a time when they needed all hands to the pumps. So Eric had been singled out to help at one of the special units that had been set up to deal with the crisis. It suited him down to the ground. It gave him a chance to be noticed with his future in view.
Marriage with Katie sank into the background. She was so beautiful, so warm-hearted, and she adored the ground he walked on. Their sex life was perfect. And he loved her. However, he was interested in everything he could possibly learn in this life. She was interested only in him. That was the big problem. Even though she had been there to see his progress, she had not really taken it in. She did not understand properly his need for advancement in order to change his entire life-style. She was there to observe it, but she had not got the point. Eric felt that he had given a fair amount of effort towards trying to encourage Katie forward in life. It had not worked, and he could not force-feed her with culture. She only basked in the idea that a marriage between them would make them automatically happy forever. She would be the little woman to cook and clean for him.
No, that was not enough. Eric had learned that diplomatic life needed a lot from a spouse. Input by a spouse was invaluable, and the Office regarded a husband and wife as a team. A smoothly working team. Cooking and cleaning did not come into it. A diplomatic wife needed to be educated, speak languages, have read books and be on top what was going on. She needed to be a hostess at formal occasions and know about seating plans and topics of conversation, and also to know how to keep up appearances. She could not produce gaffes. A difficult or stupid spouse held a man’s career back.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear! Katie did not live up to par. Not even near. She had remained a back-street girl whilst he, Eric, had kicked the shackles of his back-street persona well away. Katie would only flounder while he had come out on top. His past would stay a secret from the world. Nobody should ever be able to guess it. In order to keep up appearances, he could not marry Katie. She would show him up. With Katie by his side she would only hamper all his promotions. With a heavy heart Eric realised that these were now the last days of their relationship. When he got the desired promotion to a Third Secretary, then he would no longer be able to have Katie around. He would then set to look for a wife who would enhance him. He still had time with Katie but from then on his mind was actually made up. He only pretended to himself that such was not the case.
Eric’s first year had gone well. Nothing as earth-shattering as the Prague Spring had occurred in 1969. At home some very positive things had happened. The Victoria Line had been opened by the Queen. That eased the Underground travel, and it opened new areas to the commuters. Then there had been the television documentary, “The Royal Family”, which had attracted a record number of viewers, over 30 million! Eric and Katie had been among those to watch. Both had been riveted by the program.
“We are so fortunate to be a Monarchy,” said Eric, “this program really showed how involved in everything our Queen is. She has an enormous work load on her shoulders. But the others, too, are active. I am impressed.”
“Oh Eric,” sighed Katie, “the Queen’s jewellery is wonderful. It was a magnificent colour pageant. I love the horses and the carriages. No other country has them like us.”
“We are lucky indeed,” said Eric.
Not long after that there was the televised investiture of Charles, the Prince of Wales, with his title at Caernarfon. Eric and Katie had been glued to the box.
At the office, the four friends were still together as none of them had so far been posted anywhere, pending of course the crucial exam.
The four were sitting at lunch in the canteen. It was cheap and cheerful.
“We’ve all been in the Office for nearly two years. Soon we will have our exams. If all goes well, where would you boys like to be posted?” Malcolm asked.
“For me it would be China, I love the East,” said Horace.
“For me the ideal would be Italy,” said Cecil, “with my parents we have toured up and down that beautiful country, and the girls are lovely.”
“Trust you to think of that,” said Horace with a grin, “our skirt-chaser has not changed his spots. However, should you not get the land of your dreams, there are skirts to be chased everywhere. The ladies will no doubt swoon in bliss as soon as they see our Seducer-en-Titre arrive.”
“Oh shut up,” mumbled Cecil through his sandwich.
“For me it would be America,” said Malcolm, “North or South, I don’t mind. I have been on the Portuguese courses in the hopes of getting to Brazil. I thought that you, Cecil, were panting to go to Russia since you have been labouring heavily with that language.”
“Russian women are said to be sexy,” crooned Horace, pouting his lips in imaginary kisses, “but on to other things, don’t you find it extraordinary that none of us three has been taken by the much-raved about hippy culture?”
“We didn’t get into the Foreign Office for being birdbrains. Hippy culture stands for nothing, delivers nothing, enhances nothing. Their constant talk about love is nothing but hyper-exaggerated self-love – that of the sponger. Sponging on parents, sponging on society. For them the expression “hard work” is nothing but two four-letter words to be avoided at all costs.” Eric had got on his high horse.
“Boys,” crooned Horace, “wouldn’t you just love to vegetate?”
“Right. You’ve just invented your own nickname “The Vegetable,” said Malcolm, picking up a carrot on his fork and holding it up.
“I’ll write a poem in Chinese called “For the Love of Vegetables”. I have a ready market at once: the vegans. The poem will be translated into thirty languages. I could continue…”
“Eat up, oh thou Vegetable. We must go back to the coalface,” said Eric, “we musn’t worry The Handbag. We don’t want to be the cause of any further nervous breakdowns.”
When Christmas approached, Eric took Katie to see the sixth James Bond film “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” which had just been released. As they had enjoyed all the previous James Bond films, so they enjoyed this one.
Christmas itself Eric would celebrate alone. He had done so ever since he moved to his bedsit. Katie was naturally with her parents and they had asked Eric to come but he had declined, as he had always done. It was beyond him to be at the estate for Christmas. He would, in the New Year, pay his parents a visit. For Christmas he liked to go to the Midnight Mass and then loll about on Christmas Day, tucking into cold cuts and downing a bottle of good wine.
In January, Eric was told that he would be taking the crucial examinations for grade 9 in April. All was going as it should.
In March there was another flurry in the Office which got Eric involved. It was because Rhodesia declared itself a republic and thus broke ties with the British Crown. At home the government refused to recognise the new state as long as the Rhodesian Government opposed majority rule. Being so busy at the emergency Unit, Eric had no time to worry about his coming exam.
Chapter 12
In September 1970, three months before his twenty-fifth birthday, Eric was appointed to the desired grade 9, the starting point of the “B” stream. He would now cease to be a Registry clerk and would have the chance to rise to the top of the Foreign Office. He could now say that he was a diplomat. All his efforts at getting somewhere, ever since nine years old, were finally beginning to bear fruit. He had sighed an enormous sigh of relief. He would be taking a desk officer’s job in September. All this showed what a concentrated effort at educating oneself could do. It had been a hard road with not much free time. But then, as everything interested him what would he have needed more free time for?
Katie was over the moon. She went to her parents to brag.
“Mum, Dad, Eric has been made a grade 9.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“I don’t quite know, but it means that now his job is secure, and he will get foreign postings. This will now mean marriage.”
