All The Nice Girls (25 page)

‘No they can’t.’

‘Why not? I would have said they had a cast-iron case . . .’

‘You might, but they haven’t. There’s a little thing called Section Four of the Trades Disputes Act, 1906. The whole thing is a lot of legal Japanese to me but briefly it all boils down to the fact that you can’t nail a man for anything he does in the name of or on behalf of a trade union. It’s very complicated but that’s what it comes down to. You just can’t nail these buggers. Or at least it’s not easy. And they know it.’

‘So that’s that.’

‘So that’s that. As for poor old McGillvray, the reason he was sacked …’

‘So he
was
sacked?’

‘Oh yes, he got the sack all right and the reason he did dates back to about six thousand years B.C. The Greeks and Romans used to do it. The ancient Britons used to do it. The Aztecs did it. All primitive peoples, including politicians and the ship-building industry, still do it.’

‘Do what, sir?’

‘Choose a scapegoat. Blame everything on one man, pour shit and derision on his head and kick him out. Then everyone else miraculously feels better for it and they all go on their way singing a gipsy song. You’re living in the dark ages here, Dagwood. Once you get past that policeman at the gate you’re back in the Stone Age.’

‘Poor old McGillvray.’

‘Oh, there’s nothing personal about it! The lot just fell on him. Last time it was the Foreman of Glass-cutters, a more inoffensive man you could never hope to meet! I think Sir Rollo picks the names out of a hat. One day I expect he’ll pick me or old Swales. Well, now the strike’s over, we can all get back to work, can’t we? You’ll have to cut down on the gay life a bit, won’t you?’

‘Gay life, sir?’ Dagwood’s face clouded. Talking of the ‘gay life’ had reminded him of a private problem which had been troubling his mind for some days and which would soon need a solution.

‘Don’t try and kid me,’ said Mr Tybalt. ‘I see you flashing here, flashing there. Now push off a moment and let me have another bash at your programme.’

Dagwood went back to his own office to think his problem over.

Mr Tybalt was allowed no time to work upon
Seahorse
’s programme. His next visitor was The Bodger, accompanied by a short, ginger-haired man who bounced into the room as though on rubber heels.

‘Morning, Frank. How do we find you this morning?’

‘Oh you know how it is, Bodger. Little drops of water, little bits of sand, make a mighty ocean and send you round the bend.’

‘Frank, I’ve brought someone to see you. An old friend of mine, Commander Jerry Leanover, from the Admiralty. This is Frank Tybalt, Jerry, the Chief Constructor here.’

Mr Tybalt and Commander Leanover shook hands.

‘Didn’t I see a letter about you the other day?’ said Mr Tybalt. ‘A fact-finding tour, or something?’

Commander Leanover guffawed. ‘I suppose you could call it that!’ He crossed to Mr Tybalt’s window and looked out. ‘God, what a prospect! I thought the Admiralty was bad enough but that’s positively beautiful compared with this!’

‘It’s not very breath-taking,’ Mr Tybalt conceded. ‘What sort of facts are you looking for, Jerry?’

Commander Leanover turned from the window. ‘I’m not sure myself old boy,’ he said. ‘It’s all a bit vague. Somebody in the Controller’s Department rang me up a month or so ago, gave me a list of firms and told me to find out which, if any of them, are capable of building whole or parts of nuclear submarines.’

‘I
see
,’ said Mr Tybalt.

‘It was stupid asking
me
, in any case. I don’t know anything about nuclear submarines. I wouldn’t know one if it got up and bit me in the backside. I don’t even know anything about ordinary submarines! I was only ever in one once, when I was a midshipman. It was cold and it was wet and it was draughty and it hurt my ears. Never again, I told myself. But the call went out ‘Leanover to look at submarines,’ so Leanover goes.’

‘But I suppose you have a team of advisers?’

‘
Advisers
?’ Commander Leanover’s china-blue eyes popped. He looked quite shocked by the suggestion. ‘The more advisers you have the less facts you get. I don’t need advisers. I go by the managing director’s secretary and the lunch they give me.’

Mr Tybalt and The Bodger exchanged glances.

‘ ... If the gel’s got good legs and the lunch is good then there can’t be much wrong with that firm, eh? I was at Maxwells last week, that firm across the way there. D’you know them?’

‘Yes, we know them,’ said Mr Tybalt.

‘First class firm! Sir Charles gave me the lunch of a lifetime and that secretary of his must have stepped straight out of a Hollywood line-up! What’s this fellow over here like? Sir Rollo Whatshisname?’

‘He’s a very good chap,’ said The Bodger, mendaciously.

‘That’s not what I heard across the river, Bodger. Sir Charles put me in the picture. He said, “You’ll like old Rollo. You always know where you stand with him. Beneath that cold exterior there beats a heart of stone.” ‘

The Bodger concealed a grin. ‘You should be all right, Jerry, with your well-known charm of manner.’

Commander Leanover ducked his head modestly. ‘But you’ve got to watch some of these people. They’ll pull a fast one over you as soon as look at you. Did I tell you about that ball-bearing factory I visited? Don’t ask me why I went there, it was on me list. Fascinating place. You been there?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Tybalt and The Bodger together.

‘That room full of girls! Where they test the balls or something! Incredible! They asked me if I’d like a go at it and you know what? The cheeky monkeys, they tried to palm me off with a batch of duff balls!’

Mr Tybalt caught the shrewd twinkle in Jerry Leanover’s eye and found himself regarding him with a growing respect; it occurred to Mr Tybalt that underneath the flippant manner and the casual assertions of ignorance there was more to Commander Leanover than met the eye.

‘I don’t think anyone will try and pull a fast one over you here, Jerry,’ he said.

‘I hear strange things about this firm. Don’t they strike over nothing at all?’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ said The Bodger. ‘It won’t happen again. We’ve found the right approach now.’

‘Still,’ Commander Leanover said, doubtfully, ‘it’s one of the things we have to consider . . .’

‘Just a minute,’ Mr Tybalt broke in. ‘What was that you said about the strike, Bodger?’

‘Nothing, I merely said we’d found the right approach.’ Mr Tybalt leaned back in his chair with a flabbergasted expression on his face. The Bodger could see realisation rising in him like a perceptible fluid level.

‘I might have guessed it,’ said Mr Tybalt. ‘I should have recognised that fine Greek hand behind it all. How did you do it, Bodger?’

The Bodger grinned. ‘Do you remember me telling you about my Civil Defence Committee? Did you know that old Lady Drummond was the patroness of Civil Defence in Oozemouth?’

Air Tybalt shook his head. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Neither did I until I saw her name at the top of the official writing paper. I wrote to her and asked if she’d like to turn up at one of the committee meetings one day. I told you you should pay more attention to these committee meetings, Frank.’

‘And did she come?’

‘Of course she did. The old girl was flattered to death.

I don’t think she even knew she was the patroness or if she did she’d forgotten it. While she was there, I just happened to mention that the men were on strike, which she knew, and why they were on strike, which she didn’t know, and she stormed off at once to see about it. I gather that everybody at the yard was searching for an excuse to come back without losing face and the old lady provided it. It’s what I always say, if you want something you must not only ask for it you must pick your time to ask for it.’

Commander Leanover was intrigued. ‘Is this sort of thing normal, Bodger?’ he asked. ‘All these
machinations
behind the scenes?’

‘Not always, Jerry. Now, I’m going to leave you with Frank for a minute. When he’s finished behaving like a goldfish out of water he’ll give you a few more facts about this firm. I’m just going to pop down and see young Dagwood.’

The Bodger found Dagwood staring glumly at the office bulkhead, grappling with his private problem.

‘Cheer up, Dagwood! You look as though you’re just about to go over the top!’

‘That’s a very good description, sir. That’s exactly how I do feel.’

‘What’s the trouble?’

Dagwood hesitated; he appeared to be groping for words. ‘Well, sir . . . Well . . . It’s about Caroline and me . . .’

‘Sir Rollo’s daughter, you mean?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What about her?’

‘I don’t suppose you’ve noticed that I’ve been taking her out quite a bit, sir?’

‘I hadn’t noticed particularly, no,’ lied The Bodger, ‘but so what? What’s so strange about it? From the little I’ve seen of her she struck me as being a very nice girl . . .’

‘Oh she is, sir,’ said Dagwood, warmly. ‘The fact is . . . We want to get married, sir!’

‘Splendid, Dagwood! Congratulations!’

Dagwood went beetroot red. ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘But it’s not quite as simple as that. You know what Sir Rollo’s like about the Navy. He’s got a thing about naval officers. The idea of having a naval son-in-law is going to take a bit of selling and I’m just sitting here wondering what’s the best way of going about it.’

‘There are other ways,’ The Bodger suggested, tentatively. Inwardly, he was administering to himself a severe reprimand; this was a snag he should have foreseen. ‘Other ways like . . . Special licence? . . . Gretna Green?’

Dagwood shook his head emphatically. ‘That’s right out, sir. Caroline says she wants a white wedding and be given away by her old man with all her chums and relatives there and all the trimmings. It’s that or nothing as far as she’s concerned.’

‘I don’t blame her,’ said The Bodger. ‘Women set a lot of store by these things. Now look, Dagwood, what I always say is, you’ve not only got to ask for what you want, you’ve also got to choose the right time to ask for it. What I suggest we do is this …’

‘Ollie, have you seen the paper this morning! ‘

Ollie was accustomed to being woken from a deep sleep by a wife who was bubbling over with news; normally it meant that some girl Ollie could barely remember had just had a third baby.

‘How could I have seen it when you’ve got it?’ he said grumpily. ‘Has somebody been blowing up Harvey McNichol and Drummond’s without telling me?’ Ollie sat up in bed and glared at the front page. ‘Hell’s teeth! I see what you mean! They’ve made it!
Three
nuclears! That’ll be one in the eye for Maxwells! I wonder ...’

‘Not the front page, stupid,’ Alice retorted, taking the paper from him and folding it. ‘The engagement page. There! ‘

‘Blow me down! So Dagwood’s taken the great plunge after all! He’s a quiet bastard, you know. He never mentioned a word . . .’

‘He didn’t need to. It’s been written all over his face for weeks.’

‘I would have said that Dagwood was the least likely man I know to get married.’

‘Darling Ollie, how can you be so stupid! He’s been dying to get married!’

‘All right dear, if you say so.’

In his office later that morning Mr Tybalt read his morning paper with a mixture of wonder and excitement. Furthermore, Mr Tybalt had on his desk a copy of a personal directive to all yard managers, signed by Sir Rollo himself, which referred in particular to the refit of H.M.S.
Seahorse
and ended with the significant words ‘the great resources of this great shipyard must be fully utilised to give this Sovereign’s ship a fresh start in life.’ Mr Tybalt read the concluding phrases over and over again, tasting the words on his tongue.

Mr Tybalt needed no prompting at all to discern once more the fine Greek hand of The Bodger. He reached for his telephone.

‘Bodger . . .’

‘Morning, Frank! All parts taking an even strain down there! It’s not every day …’

‘How did you do it?’

‘
I
didn’t do anything, Frank. It was Jerry. He said there was nothing to it. Sir Rollo may have his faults but even he could see what a nuclear contract would do for his yard. Jerry told me that after he’d dropped a few references as to the possibility of a nuclear
fleet
, and the possibility that
Maxwells
would get the contracts, he had Sir Rollo more or less eating out of his hand. Then Jerry said that of course any future work would depend naturally on the success of the present refit of H.M.S.
Seahorse
.
Naturally
. I must admit that was a refinement I suggested to Jerry. That settled Sir Rollo. Our next problem was Jerry. As you know, he didn’t have a very good opinion of your yard so we had to do something about that. Ivy, Sir Rollo’s secretary, well, she’s got a heart of gold but she’s no oil painting so we simply substituted Caroline while Jerry was around . . .’

‘Good God!’

‘ ... Sir Rollo always does himself well in the lunch line anyway, and he rather took to Jerry and pushed the boat out for him in a big way. Jerry eventually tottered off about four o’clock breathing brandy fumes and benevolence over everybody . . .’

‘Good God!’

‘... As for the engagement, that was too easy. If you were Sir Rollo and you had the chance of a contract from the Navy which would put your yard on its feet again and then immediately afterwards a naval officer appears with your daughter and asks for her hand in marriage, what would you say?’

‘Good God.’

‘Not in so many words, you wouldn’t. You’d say “Blessings on you, my children, for warming a father’s tired old heart.” Or words to that effect. I wasn’t actually present, of course, but I imagine it would be something on those lines. Is that all you wanted to know, Frank?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Tybalt, weakly. ‘I suppose that’s what I wanted to know.’

‘Good . . .’

‘I just can’t help thinking that I slipped up in my education somewhere, Bodger. I was taught how to build ships and how to repair them. Nobody ever told me about all this behind-the-scenes stuff.’