blue-pinstriped oleaginous creep. Podgy and suntan-brown as well as greasy, heâd just been holidaying, he had to tell us, somewhere in the Caribbean, Dominica I think he said, and kept finding opportunities to slip offhand references to the place into the chat. He sleazed around the major, whom he treated, beneath his unctuous surface, with a condescension betrayed in his eyes and in his sneering answers to the majorâs questions. âNo, no, sir, that sort of thing went out years ago! . . . Youâve rather let the property decline, not a wise tactic, major, if I may say so. Youâll be well advised to give it a good going over with a paintbrush, if nothing else . . . Weâll do the best we can for you, major â thereâs always a dumb punter around whoâll buy anything, if you know how to sell it.â âYour job, your job,â commanded the major as to a parade (he was hard of hearing as well as regimental). âAnd weâll do it, sir, weâll do it, leave it to me!â mimicked Brown-and-Greasy.
I watched him, and thought of them at school, with their careers advice. âBanking is safe. Or you might like to follow in your fatherâs footsteps and become a solicitor, or a barrister even. Thereâs the stock market of course, but itâs very competitive, which is hardly you, is it? Accountancy might suit you, thatâs fairly solid, though your maths isnât up to much, but itâs a nicely paid profession. Or computing, what about that? Or business management? Or you could do worse than property and estate agenting. Pays well and you could combine it with the law and do well in both areas.â
Watching him, I heard them banging on about earning power and status and career prospects and security, and knew that oleaginous prat was what they meant, what they wanted me to become, and rejected it there and then, that very moment, finally, for ever.
I donât mean thereâs anything intrinsically wrong with the law or accountancy or business management or even handling property. Whatâs wrong is why Brown-and-Greasy and his kind do it. As a means to something else. To money for moneyâs sake, and living off the fat at other peopleâs expense, usually the people who actually producethings that make the money the B-and-G brigade are after. Theyâre bloodsuckers. And they have the cheek to parade about as if they are the ones who matter, the ones who are superior, the ones who make the world turn. When what they really are is a drain on the rest of us. Parasites. Weâd be better off without them.
An hour after theyâd gone, Bob Norris returned. I was reading by the fire.
âNo more easy life for you, sonny boy,â he said, in no mood for jokes. âThe majorâs in a huff.â
âHow come?â
âThat flaming agent stirred him up. I knew heâd cause trouble. The major wants the place renovated and completely repainted, inside and out. Iâll bring in a builder for the renovation work but youâll have to do the painting. And a proper job, mind, not just to make it look a bit better.â
âOn my own?â
âHeâll do another inspection in three weeks.â
âIâll never finish by then.â
âDo the best you can. Heâll probably forget. Canât remember when yesterday was most of the time.â
âWhat about some help?â
âThink yourself lucky youâre still here. Heâs laying off more men. Weâre down to three. Three! Used to be fifteen only two years ago.â
âBut if I canât get it done?â
âDonât cross your bridges . . .â
âIâm not a professional decorator, you know that.â
âYouâll manage. Learn as you go. Any problems, ask. Iâll keep an eye when I can.â
âAnd I have to take the tolls as well, remember.â
âLook, son,
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