The Reginald Perrin Omnibus by David Nobbs Read Free Book Online

now?’
    ‘Well, if it’s not a nuisance. It’ll only take an hour or so.’
    ‘I’m in the middle of doing the Sunday dinner.’
    ‘Well couldn’t you finish doing the dinner and take a taxi over? I’ll reimburse you.’
    He sat naked from the waist up, on the settee. He tried to picture Joan, standing in the hall perhaps, near an umbrella stand, even her apron immaculate, and certainly not naked from the waist up.
    ‘Couldn’t you come over here?’ she said.
    ‘Not really.’ He lowered his voice. ‘I can’t explain over the phone. I’m not alone.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘Suffice it to say that the whole future of Sunshine Desserts is at stake – not to mention Reginald Iolanthe Perrin.’
    ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll come.’
    He put his hand over the mouthpiece and let out a huge sigh of relief.
    Then he went into the bathroom and had a shower.
    He imagined taking a shower with Joan, running a piece of Yorkshire pudding gently across her glistening stomach, and then eating it together, nibbling till their lips met. Perhaps my imagination’s diseased, he thought.
    When he’d put on some clean clothes, he got out a bottle of medium dry sherry and two glasses. He decided to have a glass while waiting.
    He sipped his sherry, trying not to drink too fast. The sun moved slowly across the sky, creature of habit, suburban orb. Pink hats bobbed home from church, joints of beef began to splutter in pre-set ovens and somewhere, inevitably, there would be the hottest June temperature since records began.
    Mrs Milford left in the smaller car, to join Mr Milford for a snifter. A coven of puffy clouds with thick dark edges gathered round the sun. Reggie became afraid that he would sweat again, and this fear made him sweat.
    He had another shower and changed into light grey trousers and a blue open-neck shirt. It made him feel young. Surely today even Joan would sweat?
    The one o’clock news spoke of thunderstorms in the west, with flooding at Tiverton and freak hailstones at Yeovil. The hottest June temperature since records began had been recorded at Mildenhall, Suffolk. He had a second glass of sherry.
    The phone rang, and his heart almost stopped. But it was only Elizabeth, safely arrived in Worthing. No, he wasn’t working too hard. No, he wouldn’t forget the cold meats. No, he probably wouldn’t bother to have apple sauce with his cold pork, but if he did he’d certainly remember that there were Bramleys in the fruit rack. Goodbye, darling. Kiss kiss.
    The living room ran the full depth of the house, and a small window looked out over the front garden. Reggie stood by the window, to see Joan before she saw him.
    At last the taxi came. She looked immaculate in a blue and white summer dress. She walked calmly up the garden path, between flocks of somnolent greenfly. She peered uncertainly at the house, as if waiting for the porch to nod and say, ‘Yes, this is it.’ She was relaxed, unsuspecting, a secretary arriving to do some work in Surrey.
    She rang the bell. It sounded cool and clear, in the thick heat.
    He opened the door.
    ‘Hullo, Joan,’ he said. ‘Come in.’
    ‘Sorry I was so long.’
    ‘Rubbish. It’s good of you to come.’
    ‘So this is your house,’ she said. ‘It’s nice.’
    ‘Have a sherry.’
    She looked at him in surprise.
    ‘Just a little one, before we go upstairs.’
    ‘Well, all right. Thank you.’
    He handed her the sherry. She still suspected nothing. Presumably she pictured a group of men in conference, in a study, upstairs.
    ‘Cheers.’
    ‘Cheers.’
    He sat down. She followed suit, pulling her dress down as far as it would go towards her bony knees.
    ‘What’s all this about?’ she asked.
    ‘Later.’
    ‘I thought it was urgent. Look, Reggie, I’ve come twenty-five miles. Can’t we get straight down to it?’
    ‘We’ll get down to it in a minute, Joan.’ He was holding his arm across his lap so that she wouldn’t see the bulge of excitement in his