you,’ said Gooseneck. ‘Colonel Fagg has never quite come to terms with the end of the Second World War, I’m afraid, Elsa. He has ruled that the club should not employ anyone from a nation which fought against us. We ignore the rule and deceive him. Now dry your eyes and get back to work.’
‘And try to look Swiss,’ said Amiss encouragingly. ‘It’s eight-thirty, Mr Gooseneck.’
‘Ah, yes. Now listen carefully, Robert. Have you come across Mr Glastonbury yet?’
‘Yes,’ said Amiss cautiously. ‘I’ve seen him asleep and I’ve seen him waking up. That’s about it.’
‘Ah, then you probably have the general picture,’ said Gooseneck. ‘Now go into the kitchen and take the tray which you’ll find waiting on the table on the left and take it up to room five on the third floor.’
‘Can I go in the lift?’
‘May you, ’ corrected Gooseneck absentmindedly. ‘No. I fear you may not go in the lift.’
‘Oh, shit!’ said Amiss under his breath, beginning to turn towards the kitchen.
‘Not so fast, my fine fellow,’ said Gooseneck. ‘There’s more. When you get to room five you knock loudly and shout “Good morning, Master Boy. Here comes Nanny with your breakfast.” ’ Their eyes met: there was a brief silence. ‘“Master Boy”,’ said Amiss. ‘“Master Boy”,’ said Gooseneck.
‘“Nanny”.’
‘“Nanny”. Now perhaps you understand why it helps to have the occasional English person working here. Try explaining that to a Greek.’
‘What happens then?’ asked Amiss apprehensively.
‘All plain sailing after that,’ said Gooseneck. ‘He will call, “I’m awake, Nanny”. If he doesn’t, you go through the drill again until he does. Then you go in and by the time you’ve arrived at his bedside, he will have acquired a dim grasp of where he is. You then revert to the norm and say, “Good morning, sir”. It’s perfectly simple, really.’
As Amiss placed the tray on the table beside Glastonbury’s bed, he quickly sized up the room. Window wide open, no curtains and a narrow iron bedstead that looked no more comfortable than the one he had himself. Otherwise, the room was quite pleasant. An armchair, desk, a couple of straight chairs and other bedroom furniture were all Victorian. On the wall there were a few decent water-colours of the English countryside and in the far corner, several framed group photographs. Glastonbury was clearly not a scholar. Out of the corner of his eye Amiss could see that the single bookshelf seemed to contain mainly school stories and adventure yarns. Poor old devil, thought Amiss, as he fussed around the old man, removing dish-covers, undoing the napkin, helping him settle himself upright. His compassion intensified when he saw the other inhabitant of the bed – a small, shabby teddy-bear.
‘Thank you,’ said Glastonbury. ‘Thank you. Now you’re new, aren’t you? Aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before, I don’t think. Who are you?’
‘Robert, sir.’
‘Ah! English chap then. Jolly good, jolly good. Don’t get many of them any more. Can’t think why.’
‘Would there be anything else, sir?’
‘No, no. Thank you.’ Glastonbury gave him a vague smile of great sweetness and then fell upon the vast mound of ham and eggs. ‘Thank you, thank you.’
Amiss was stunned by the courtesy and curiously uplifted to find that not everyone in this establishment was like Colonel Fagg. He returned to his dining-room duties in a state bordering on good humour.
----
8
« ^ »
‘Sometimes I think I’m becoming institutionalised,’ wrote Amiss to Rachel a week later. ‘I’m forming habits and staking claims to little pieces of territory. Sunil has shown me places in the club where the members rarely go and where, therefore, it’s safe to read or write or sleep as long as you wear your uniform and can pretend to be doing something vaguely official if someone comes in.
‘I wait at breakfast every morning, including
‘And try to look Swiss,’ said Amiss encouragingly. ‘It’s eight-thirty, Mr Gooseneck.’
‘Ah, yes. Now listen carefully, Robert. Have you come across Mr Glastonbury yet?’
‘Yes,’ said Amiss cautiously. ‘I’ve seen him asleep and I’ve seen him waking up. That’s about it.’
‘Ah, then you probably have the general picture,’ said Gooseneck. ‘Now go into the kitchen and take the tray which you’ll find waiting on the table on the left and take it up to room five on the third floor.’
‘Can I go in the lift?’
‘May you, ’ corrected Gooseneck absentmindedly. ‘No. I fear you may not go in the lift.’
‘Oh, shit!’ said Amiss under his breath, beginning to turn towards the kitchen.
‘Not so fast, my fine fellow,’ said Gooseneck. ‘There’s more. When you get to room five you knock loudly and shout “Good morning, Master Boy. Here comes Nanny with your breakfast.” ’ Their eyes met: there was a brief silence. ‘“Master Boy”,’ said Amiss. ‘“Master Boy”,’ said Gooseneck.
‘“Nanny”.’
‘“Nanny”. Now perhaps you understand why it helps to have the occasional English person working here. Try explaining that to a Greek.’
‘What happens then?’ asked Amiss apprehensively.
‘All plain sailing after that,’ said Gooseneck. ‘He will call, “I’m awake, Nanny”. If he doesn’t, you go through the drill again until he does. Then you go in and by the time you’ve arrived at his bedside, he will have acquired a dim grasp of where he is. You then revert to the norm and say, “Good morning, sir”. It’s perfectly simple, really.’
As Amiss placed the tray on the table beside Glastonbury’s bed, he quickly sized up the room. Window wide open, no curtains and a narrow iron bedstead that looked no more comfortable than the one he had himself. Otherwise, the room was quite pleasant. An armchair, desk, a couple of straight chairs and other bedroom furniture were all Victorian. On the wall there were a few decent water-colours of the English countryside and in the far corner, several framed group photographs. Glastonbury was clearly not a scholar. Out of the corner of his eye Amiss could see that the single bookshelf seemed to contain mainly school stories and adventure yarns. Poor old devil, thought Amiss, as he fussed around the old man, removing dish-covers, undoing the napkin, helping him settle himself upright. His compassion intensified when he saw the other inhabitant of the bed – a small, shabby teddy-bear.
‘Thank you,’ said Glastonbury. ‘Thank you. Now you’re new, aren’t you? Aren’t you? I haven’t seen you before, I don’t think. Who are you?’
‘Robert, sir.’
‘Ah! English chap then. Jolly good, jolly good. Don’t get many of them any more. Can’t think why.’
‘Would there be anything else, sir?’
‘No, no. Thank you.’ Glastonbury gave him a vague smile of great sweetness and then fell upon the vast mound of ham and eggs. ‘Thank you, thank you.’
Amiss was stunned by the courtesy and curiously uplifted to find that not everyone in this establishment was like Colonel Fagg. He returned to his dining-room duties in a state bordering on good humour.
----
8
« ^ »
‘Sometimes I think I’m becoming institutionalised,’ wrote Amiss to Rachel a week later. ‘I’m forming habits and staking claims to little pieces of territory. Sunil has shown me places in the club where the members rarely go and where, therefore, it’s safe to read or write or sleep as long as you wear your uniform and can pretend to be doing something vaguely official if someone comes in.
‘I wait at breakfast every morning, including
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