The Museum of Things Left Behind. Seni Glaister

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ think that group should just about cover it. Those mentioned will be required to satisfy a quorum. I apologize to those of you who cannot be part of the committee on this auspicious occasion, but I’m sure your expertise will be called upon in time. Sometimes it’s better to keep an operation a little leaner, just to ensure that we’re working as efficiently as possible. The rest of you, consider yourselves back-up of the very finest order.’ Sergio smiled at his men.

      They looked at each other, trying to find a common expression that fell neatly between congratulations and commiseration.

      ‘That will be all, then. Those of you not directly involved in the proceedings are dismissed. The rest of you, let’s gather for the first ever meeting of the Committee to Ensure the Safe Arrival, Visit and Return of our VIP. That will be the …’

      ‘CESAVROV?’ interjected Angelo from the corner.

      Sergio considered this. ‘Hmm, that’s not going to run. Work on it, will you, Angelo? Table it for the first meeting. OK, men, on with your day, please. I know it’s a disappointment but only committee members are now required.’

      ‘Sir?’ said Angelo, from the corner. ‘According to my minutes, everyone here has been appointed to the committee.’

      ‘Have they?’ The president frowned the most fleeting of frowns. ‘Of course they have. You will find that is because they are indispensable. There is not a man among them who could be spared from a visit of such national importance.’ Sergio used the moment to appraise them slowly, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group. Drawing himself tall, he dismissed them with a curt nod that interrupted any possibility of his eyes misting with tears. ‘Well, carry on, then. What are you standing around for?’ He ran a finger around his collar to loosen it a little.

      The twelve men filed out to take their places at the boardroom table and begin the serious business of planning.

      Several hours later, whoops and hollers could be heard from the assembled group and Sergio flushed with pleasure. A breathless Angelo came flying in. ‘It was tough, sir, but I do believe we’ve cracked it. The project will be named the Planning for English Guest and the Safe Undertaking of Security …’

      Sergio thought for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face, revealing itself eventually as a triumphant grin. ‘PEGASUS,’ he murmured, rolling the word around on his tongue and trying it from every angle. ‘Yes, excellent work. That, Angelo, will most certainly fly.’

CHAPTER 6

       In Which Enough Tea Is Grown

      Shortly afterwards, in the opulent surroundings of the Upper House, the Special Furthering of Agricultural Development Committee was gathering for its monthly appraisal. Eleven of the twelve quorum were assembled around the vast cherry-wood boardroom table, six positions marked out to each side of the president. Each member sat straight-backed, awaiting the moment at which the discussion would be initiated by the president, but no deliberation could begin until the tea had been poured. In front of each committee member sat two bone china teacups, a pair of identical silver tea strainers and a small, lidded china pot. Angelo, the president’s chief of staff, the cabinet member responsible for the care of Parliament Hall but also for the day-to-day care of the president, discreetly opened the proceedings by preparing Sergio’s tea. With minimal fuss, he poured it from pot to cup, then from cup to cup, through a fine-meshed strainer. Expertly, with a trained eye and an accomplished hand, he filtered it back and forth. With each passing, the dark green liquid took on a lighter tone until, with an almost imperceptible nod, Angelo indicated that it had achieved the requisite tint of amber and, as such, was ready for drinking. Then each committee member began to strain their own tea, with less precision and a lot more haste, catching up with their leader in time to join him as he leaned forward to take his first slurp.

      Oh, the first taste of afternoon tea! It didn’t matter how many times the ritual was performed, the first sip always delivered a powerful shock to the system. Sergio slurped the liquid noisily through his teeth, allowing the bitter flavour to coat the inside of his mouth and marvelling as the aftershocks ricocheted through his upper jaw and settled somewhere beneath his eye-sockets. He grimaced and sucked in both cheeks to lessen the impact. After an involuntary shake of his head his entire upper body shuddered, allowing the effect of the tea to cascade through his frame, working its magic on every area that called for special attention, from his stiff knee and ankle joints to his cramping toes. As the president savoured the moment, the committee members joined in with the noisy ceremony, adding their own facial tics, scowls, lip smackings and flinches to the ritual.

      ‘Aaaah,’ pronounced the president. ‘That’s better. Shall we begin?’ He glanced around the room, taking a mental register of his staff, beginning on his left with Dottore Decio Rossini, minister for health (mental, physical and metaphysical). The doctor’s pallid, doughy face sported heavy brown bags under the eyes. His shirt, slightly fraying at the collar, bore the unmistakable yellowing stains of fatherhood on both shoulders – he had seven small boys. While Sergio eyed him, the weary doctor stifled a yawn and wondered where he would find the energy to keep trying to produce a daughter for his wife. The president noted his physician’s exhaustion but appreciated the reasons behind it and allowed his eyes to travel beyond him to Signor Vlad Lubicic, minister for employment and personal development. Vlad had telltale purple bags but his eyes today were dreamy, preoccupied, and he’d barely touched his tea. There had to be a significant new woman in his life, of that Sergio was certain. Excellent. The president made a mental note to find out who she was and, if appropriate, to hurry proceedings to their proper conclusion. It would be more efficient and a better use of ministerial time to bring the pining phase to an end as quickly as possible. And an official wedding was always good for the nation’s morale. Third on his left sat Signor Marcello Pompili, minister for recreation. Hair slicked back, rosy cheeks pumiced to a shine, keen, bright eyes glinting with vigour, Signor Pompili sat forward in his seat with a youthful ardour that radiated gusto. Yes, an excellent advertisement for the role, an outlook to be encouraged and replicated. Sergio’s appraisal continued to Signor Cellini, minister for leisure. What he observed here was far less encouraging. Where his colleague Signor Pompili shone, Cellini drooped. His shoulders slumped; his body language told of dissatisfaction or worry. His Adam’s apple leaped feverishly up and down his throat, sending out little signals of anxiety, and his eyes darted around the room, stealing glances at his colleagues and at the president but managing to avoid contact with either. Signor Cellini was brother-in-law, of course, to Signor Roberto Feraguzzi, minister of finance, seated now to Sergio’s right. Feraguzzi was a cool customer and, apart from the almost imperceptible tic that tugged occasionally at his upper left cheek, there was barely an anxious bone in his body. He chewed his inner cheek from time to time, in a subtle bid to disguise the tic, but Sergio knew that this meant nothing. His face had twitched for as long as the president had known him. Of much more concern was the remote but entirely plausible explanation that Feraguzzi had knowledge of a pending financial crisis and had chosen to share it with brother-in-law Cellini, whose face was less able to smother his emotion.

      Between Feraguzzi and Angelo there was an empty chair, the usual seat of the minister for agricultural development. That they were assembled to hear from him made his lack of punctuality doubly irritating. Sergio’s eyes rested on the empty chair and glared accusingly, prompting Angelo to speak out.

      ‘Mr President, Signor Civicchioni sends his apologies. He will be joining us a few minutes late today, but he will bring with him a special report from the American consultant, who is available to meet with the committee today, should you wish it. I understand that the report was late being prepared because the typist was late for work due to problems of a feminine nature. I understand, however, that a second typist was subsequently drafted in and the completed report СКАЧАТЬ