Timothy Lea's Complete Confessions. Timothy Lea

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      ‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag him away.’

      ‘And you’re not going?’

      ‘He might get hurt again. I couldn’t bear to watch that.’ She smoothes a non-existent ruckle out of her slacks. Slacks! There’s a ridiculous word for them. There is more tension going on down there than at a meeting of the Labour Party Executive. ‘I was thinking that it might be fun to organise a little team activity of our own. Quite a number of the girls aren’t all that keen on rugger.’

      Hello, hello! What’s all this then? Do I detect intimations of immorality? (It’s wonderful what a course at the Polytechnic can do for your vocabulary, isn’t it?)

      ‘Oh, yes,’ I say, dead casual. ‘I saw you talking to one of your friends.’

      ‘Judy? Yes, she was very keen on the idea. She feels the fish market has little more to offer her.’

      ‘Very understandable. Quite what was she considering as an alternative?’

      ‘Well,’ Mrs Fatso takes a deep breath. Something she does rather well. ‘A party might be fun, mightn’t it? If you could round up some more able-bodied men we might pass the afternoon in more agreeable fashion than standing on a sodden touch-line shouting “oily, oily, Rottingfestrians”.’

      ‘Sounds a very nice idea. My colleague, Mr Noggett, has a suite of rooms which would be ideal for the purpose. I’m certain he would be only too glad to participate.’

      ‘Can’t you think about anything else but nooky at a time like this?’ says Sid irritably when I tell him.

      ‘No. What is there?’

      Sid thinks for a moment. ‘You’re right. What time does the party start?’

      I tell him that I have laid it on for when all the Rottingfestrians have trotted off to the rugby game and his face creases into a faint smile for the first time in days.

      ‘Frisky load of fillies, aren’t they?’ he says. ‘I won’t be sorry to get amongst that lot after what I’ve been through with their old men. Now we’ve only got to worry about stalling Rigby.’

      To my surprise, Rigby does not show up promptly at lunch time and it is only when the Rottingfestrians are having their last pint before leaving for the game that the Rolls slides up outside the hotel entrance. Its arrival draws a cheer from the crowd of half-pissed thicknecks milling about outside the bar and this does not go down well with Rigby.

      ‘Take a good look,’ he sneers, indicating the car. ‘It’s about as near as any of you will ever get to one.’

      This remark provokes an immediate outcry and Sid moves forward fast to avoid a possible lynching.

      ‘Come and have a drink,’ he says civilly. Rigby jerks his head towards the bar.

      ‘Not in here, thanks. I don’t like drinking with scruffy schoolkids.’

      ‘Come into the office.’ Sid leads the way to Miss Ruperts’ cubby hole and we are fortunate enough to find half a bottle of scotch that the old bat has left over from breakfast.

      ‘I’m not here to pay a social call. Are you ready to sign?’

      ‘We’ve given it a lot of thought–’

      ‘You’ve had a lot of time.’

      ‘–but we won’t be able to give you our decision until tomorrow.’

      ‘Right! Well, you’re going to have a sleepless night to think about it. I’m walking straight out of here and I’m giving my boys the go ahead to start moving in. You’d better start getting the cotton wool out of the medicine cabinet.’

      ‘Mr Rigby? How fortunate to find you here.’ The words fall from the lips of Doctor Carboy who comes bustling through the door carrying a bulging briefcase. Hard behind him is Miss Ruperts, her face flushed with what I imagine to be a few hastily snatched glasses of lunch.

      ‘Who is this?’ snarls Rigby.

      ‘I represent those interests of this lady and gentleman that are not covered by liquor, sex and drugs,’ says Carboy evenly. ‘I have been bringing myself up to date with their affairs. I had to go to London to read all the relevant Sunday newspapers.’

      ‘I’m not interested in jokes,’ says Rigby, sourly.

      ‘What a pity. With a face like that I’d have thought you would have had to have been.’

      ‘I didn’t come here to be insulted.’

      ‘No, I’m certain a man of your standing can be insulted anywhere. In fact, now I come to mention it, I’m certain a man of your standing could be standing anywhere. Like outside in the rain for instance. There’s a Rolls-Royce outside the front door. Why don’t you go and stand under it and I’ll tell you when it’s stopped raining.’

      ‘Do you know who I am?’ screeches Rigby.

      ‘Of course I do. You’re King Farouk’s younger brother thinking that nobody is going to recognise you without the flower pot and the dark glasses. Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I know who you are. I told you when I came in. Don’t say you’ve forgotten already?’

      ‘Don’t beat about the bush, Walter,’ pants Miss Ruperts, casting about her for the whisky bottle. ‘Tell him. Odious little man.’

      ‘I beg your pardon.’

      ‘Not you, Walter! Him!’

      ‘Very well. If you insist, dear lady. I’m sorry, Ratby, I mean Rigby, but I’m afraid you’ve been taken over.’

      ‘What!’ Rigby’s face turns a different shade of scarlet.

      ‘Yes. The Rigram Property Company is now owned by a consortium in which my fair companion here is the major shareholder. Yes, Rigby, money talks, and to you it says: “Shove off and see if you can get a job posing for a Warfarin advertisement.”’

      ‘You expect me to believe that?’

      ‘I don’t care whether you believe it or not. Why don’t you ring your accountant? Mr Ransome, isn’t it?’ Rigby’s face achieves another remarkable change of shade. ‘How did you–?’

      ‘Suffice to say that we have ways, Rigby. Now if you will excuse me. I have to cut my toenails and I don’t want anyone to get hurt by flying trimmings.’

      ‘I’ll get–’

      ‘ “Out” is all you’re entitled to get at the moment.’ There is a hard edge to Carboy’s voice that suggests that he does not spend all his time helping old ladies across badly marked zebra crossings. Rigby looks round desperately.

      ‘You haven’t heard the last of this. I’ll be in touch.’

      ‘I’ll buy a pair of gloves just in case. Good afternoon.’ Carboy opens the door and Rigby storms out. The minute he has gone we both turn on Carboy.

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