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Authors: Jeffrey Archer

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BOOK: The Collected Short Stories
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“Why the rush, Ted? What's the panic?”
“Mountbatten's coming.”
“When?” Hazel asked quietly.
“Tomorrow afternoon. Four o'clock.”
“That is a good reason to panic,” Hazel admitted. She dumped the flowers in a vase on the windowsill and took a seat opposite her husband on the other side of his desk. “Perhaps this isn't the best time to let you know that Mrs. Rogers is out sick.”
“You have to admire her timing,” said Ted. “Right, we'll just have to bluff it.”
“What
do
you mean, ‘bluff it'?” asked Hazel.
“Well, let's not forget that Mountbatten's a member of the royal family, a former chief of the Defense Staff, and an Admiral of the Fleet. The last colonial post he held was Viceroy of India, with three regiments under his command and a personal staff of over a thousand. So I can't imagine what he'll expect to find when he turns up here.”
“Then let's begin by making a list of things that will have to be done,” said Hazel briskly.
Charles removed a pen from his inside pocket, turned over the cover of his pad, and waited to write down his master's instructions.
“If he's arriving at the airport, the first thing he will expect is a red carpet,” said Hazel.
“But we don't have a red carpet,” said Ted.
“Yes, we do. There's the one that leads from the dining room to the drawing room. We'll have to use that, and hope we can get it back in place before he visits that part of the house. Charles, you will have to roll it up and take it to the airport—” she paused “—and then bring it back.”
Charles scowled, but began writing furiously.
“And Charles, can you also see that it's cleaned by tomorrow?” interjected the governor. “I hadn't even realized it was red. Now, what about an honor guard?”
“We haven't got an honor guard,” said Hazel. “If you remember, when we arrived on the island we were met by the prime minister, the chief justice, and six off-duty policemen.”
“True,” said Ted. “Then we'll just have to rely on the Territorial Army.”
“You mean Colonel Hodges and his band of hopeful warriors?
They don't even all have matching uniforms. And as for their rifles …”
“Hodges will just have to get them into some sort of shape by four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. Leave that one to me,” said Ted, making a note on his pad. “I'll phone him later this morning. Now, what about a band?”
“Well there's the town band,” said Charles. “And, of course, the police band.”
“On this occasion they'll have to combine,” said Hazel, “so we don't offend either of them.”
“But they only know three tunes between them,” said Ted.
“They only need to know one,” said Hazel. “The national anthem.”
“Right,” said the governor. “Since there are sure to be a lot of musical feathers that will need unruffling, I'll leave you to deal with them, Hazel. Our next problem is how we transport him from the airport to Government House.”
“Certainly not in the old Rover,” said Hazel. “It's broken down three times in the last month, and it smells like a kennel.”
“Henry Bendall has a Rolls-Royce,” said Ted. “We'll just have to commandeer that.”
“As long as no one tells Mountbatten that it's owned by the local undertaker, and what it was used for the morning before he arrived.”
“Mick Flaherty also has an old Rolls,” piped up Charles. “A Silver Shadow, if I remember correctly.”
“But he loathes the British,” said Hazel.
“Agreed,” said Ted, “but he'll still want to have dinner at Government House when he discovers the guest of honor is a member of the royal family.”
“Dinner?” said Hazel, her voice rising in horror.
“Of course we will have to give a dinner in his honor,” said Ted. “And, worse, everyone who is anyone will expect to be invited. How many can the dining room hold?” He and Hazel turned to the private secretary.
“Sixty, if pushed,” replied Charles, looking up from his notes.
“We're pushed,” said Ted.
“We certainly are,” said Hazel. “Because we don't have sixty plates, let alone sixty coffee cups, sixty teaspoons, sixty …”
“We still have that Royal Worcester service presented by the late king after his visit in 1947,” said Ted. “How many pieces of that are fit for use?”
“Enough for about fourteen settings, at the last count,” said Hazel.
“Right, then that's dealt with how many people will be at the top table.”
“What about the menu?” asked Charles.
“And, more important, who is going to cook it?” added Ted.
“We'll have to ask Dotty Cuthbert if she can spare Mrs. Travis for the evening,” said Hazel. “No one on the island is a better cook.”
“And we'll also need her butler, not to mention the rest of her staff,” added Ted.
By now Charles was on his third page.
“You'd better deal with Lady Cuthbert, my dear,” said Ted. “I'll try to square Mick Flaherty.”
“Our next problem will be the drinks,” said Hazel. “Don't forget, the last governor emptied the cellar a few days before he left.”
“And the Foreign Office refuses to restock it,” Ted reminded her. “Jonathan Fletcher has the best cellar on the island …”
“And, God bless him, he won't expect to be at the top table,” said Hazel.
“If we're limited to fourteen places, the top table's looking awfully crowded already,” said Ted.
“Dotty Cuthbert, the Bendalls, the Flahertys, the Hodgeses,” said Hazel, writing down the names. “Not to mention the prime minister, the chief justice, the mayor, the chief of police, plus their wives—let's hope that some of them are indisposed or abroad.” She was beginning to sound desperate.
“Where's he going to sleep?” asked Charles innocently.
“God, I hadn't thought of him sleeping,” said Ted.
“He'll have to take our bedroom. It's the only one with a bed that doesn't sink in the middle,” said Hazel.
“We'll move into the Nelson Room for the night, and suffer those dreadful woodwormed beds and their ancient horsehair mattresses.”
“Agreed,” said Hazel. “I'll make sure all our things are out of the Queen Victoria Room by this evening.”
“And Charles,” said the governor, “phone the Foreign Office, would you, and find out Mountbatten's likes and dislikes. Food, drink, eccentric habits—anything you can discover. They're sure to have a file on him, and this is one gentleman I don't want to catch me making a mistake.”
The private secretary turned over yet another page of his pad, and continued scribbling.
For the next hour, the three of them went over any and every problem that might arise during the visit, and after a sandwich lunch, departed in their different directions to spend the afternoon making begging calls all around the island.
It was Charles's idea that the governor should appear on the local television station's early-evening news, to let the citizens know that a member of the royal family would be visiting the island the following day. Sir Ted ended his broadcast by saying that he hoped as many people as possible would be at the airport to welcome “the great war leader” when his plane touched down at four the following afternoon.
While Hazel spent the evening cleaning every room the great war leader might conceivably enter, Charles, with the aid of a flashlight, tended to the flower beds that lined the driveway, and Ted supervised the shuttling of plates, cutlery, food, and wine from different parts of the island to Government House.
“Now, what have we forgotten?” said Ted, as he climbed into bed at two o'clock that morning.
“Heaven only knows,” Hazel said wearily before turning out the light. “But whatever it is, let's hope Mountbatten never finds out.”
The governor, dressed in his summer uniform, with gold piping down the sides of his white trousers, decorations and campaign medals across his chest, and an old-fashioned Wolseley helmet with a plume of red-over-white swan's feathers on his head, walked out onto the landing to join his wife. Hazel was wearing the green summer frock she had bought for the governor's garden party two years earlier, and was checking the flowers in the entrance hall.
“Too late for that,” said Ted, as she rearranged a sprig that had strayed half an inch. “It's time we left for the airport.”
They descended the steps of Government House to find two Rolls-Royces, one black, one white, and their old Rover standing in line. Charles followed closely behind them, carrying the red carpet, which he dropped into the trunk of the Rover as his master stepped into the back of the leading Rolls-Royce.
The first thing the governor needed to check was the chauffeur's name.
“Bill Simmons,” he was informed.
“All you have to remember, Bill, is to look as if you've been doing this job all your life.”
“Right, Guv.”
“No,” said Ted firmly. “In front of the admiral, you must address me as ‘Your Excellency,' and Lord Mountbatten as ‘My Lord.' If in any doubt, say nothing.”
“Right, Guv, Your Excellency.”
Bill started the car and drove toward the gates at what he evidently considered was a stately pace, before turning right and taking the road to the airport. When they reached the terminal fifteen minutes later a policeman ushered the tiny motorcade out onto the tarmac, where the combined bands were playing a medley from
West Side Story
—at least, that was what Ted charitably thought it might be.
As he stepped out of the car Ted came face to face with three ranks of soldiers from the Territorial Army standing at ease, sixty-one of them, aged from seventeen to seventy. Ted had to admit that, although they weren't the Grenadier
Guards, they weren't like something from TV's “Dad's Army” either. And they had two advantages: a real-live colonel in full-dress uniform, and a genuine sergeant-major, with a voice to match.
Charles had already begun rolling out the red carpet when the governor turned his attention to the hastily erected barriers, behind which he was delighted to see a larger crowd than he had ever witnessed on the island, even at the annual football derby between Suffolk and Edward Islands.
Many of the islanders were waving Union Jacks, and some were holding up pictures of the queen. Ted smiled and checked his watch. The plane was due in seventeen minutes.
The prime minister, the local mayor, the chief justice, the commissioner of police, and their wives were lining up at the end of the red carpet. The sun beat down from a cloudless sky. As Ted turned in a slow circle to take in the scene, he could see for himself that everyone had made a special effort.
Suddenly the sound of engines could be heard, and the crowd began to cheer. Ted looked up, shielded his eyes, and saw an Andover of the Queen's Flight descending toward the airport. It touched down on the far end of the runway at three minutes before the hour, and taxied up to the red carpet as four chimes struck on the clock above the flight control tower.
The door of the plane opened, and there stood Admiral of the Fleet the Earl Mountbatten of Burma, KG, PC, GCB, OM, GCSI, GCIE, GCVO, DSO, FRS, DCL (Hon.), LL.D. (Hon.), attired in the full dress uniform of an Admiral of the Fleet (summer wear).
“If that's what he means by ‘fairly informal,' I suppose we should be thankful that he didn't ask us to lay on an official visit,” murmured Hazel as she and Ted walked to the bottom of the steps that had been quickly wheeled into place.
As Mountbatten slowly descended the stairway, the crowd cheered even louder. Once he stepped onto the red carpet the governor took a pace forward, removed his
plumed hat, and bowed. The admiral saluted, and at that moment the combined bands of town and police struck up the national anthem. The crowd sang “God Save the Queen” so lustily that the occasional uncertain note was smothered by their exuberance.
When the anthem came to an end, the governor said, “Welcome to St. George's, sir.”
“Thank you, Governor,” replied Mountbatten.
“May I present my wife, Hazel.” The governor's wife took a pace forward, did a full curtsey, and shook hands with the admiral.
“How good to see you again, Lady Barker. This is indeed a pleasure.”
The governor guided his guest to the end of the red carpet and introduced him to the prime minister and his wife, Sheila; the local mayor and his wife, Caroline; the chief justice and his wife, Janet; and the commissioner of police and his latest wife, whose name he couldn't remember.
BOOK: The Collected Short Stories
2.6Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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