Yes, Minister - Part Two
Still untitled, still G-rated, but things move along a bit when Jim and Bernard take the train to the Sheffield...
Part Two
When Hacker arrived at St Pancras station on Friday morning he found Bernard underneath the indicator board, anxiously checking his watch.
“Minister,” he said, “I just called your house. Our train left twenty minutes ago.”
“I know, I know. The lines were a mess because of all this rain.”
“I see.” Bernard ran his eye up and down the minister’s drenched overcoat. Hacker ran an eye over Bernard, wondering why he always looked so neat and tidy.
“Well, when’s the next train?”
“In forty minutes, minister. We’ll still make the opening ceremony without any trouble.”
“Good,” said Hacker. “Forty minutes-that’s time for breakfast, isn’t it? Have you had breakfast, Bernard?”
“Yes, but I’ll have coffee.”
Hacker led the way to the station cafeteria. A woman smiled at him as they passed in the doorway; he fancied she recognised him as the Minister for Administrative Affairs, though it was more likely she recognised him as a man who’d forgotten his umbrella.
*
The train was delayed, due to the weather, but Bernard assured the minister there would be time to get to the ceremony. As they left St Pancras, Hacker opened his briefcase and took out some of the papers he hadn’t managed to read the night before. Bernard supposed he’d better look busy too, and took out the minister’s speech on ‘Europe: The Administrative Challenge’-not that the minister had seen it yet. Of course, Sir Humphrey would say it was only natural for the minister to wade through every kind of triviality while his secretary wrote his speeches, but it occurred to Bernard then, as they sat side by side, that there was something ridiculous about the arrangement. In what Sir Humphrey would doubtless call a moment of pure madness, Bernard wanted to tell him the truth: that all the important documents were in Humphrey’s desk, and that very little of what he was allowed to see was of any importance whatsoever. But to tell the truth would almost certainly cost him his job. That was why, every week, Bernard filled box after box with the most innocuous, inane or inscrutable documents he could find-the minister read things even Under Secretaries didn’t read. It was harder, however, when he saw the toll it was taking: the circles under Hacker’s eyes were darker than usual, he’d fallen asleep at his desk twice that week, and the sound his shoulders made when Bernard took his coat in the mornings was appalling. Bernard could not help pitying him. The truth was Hacker was a good soul-if a little silly and more than a little vain-and Bernard felt genuine affection for him, something he had never felt for any other minister. He didn’t see why Hacker had to be broken just because he thought the civil service should cut its expenditure or because men like Sir Humphrey didn’t want to use computers. It wasn’t fair. He couldn’t let it go on.
Bernard watched the minister as he frowned over some document or other. For a moment he thought of Sir Humphrey and for a moment he hesitated, but Humphrey did not own his soul, not yet. He hemmed and said, “Minister… can I help?”
Hacker looked at Bernard as though he had just addressed him in Ancient Greek. “Can you?”
“Well, I… err,” Bernard hesitated again-after all, he was proposing to un-do what Sir Humphrey had explicitly told him to do; what Sir Humphrey considered his first duty as a Private Secretary-but he had made up his mind. “I thought perhaps I could look at some of the… longer documents,” (he could not very well say ‘unimportant’), “and read you the most important parts?”
Hacker didn’t reply immediately and Bernard worried that he’d said too much; that he’d given the game away. Hacker could very well ask why he’d been presented with a fifty-page report where a précis would suffice, and then what would he do? What would Sir Humphrey do? But Hacker didn’t ask.
“Thank you, Bernard,” he said.
“Minister?”
“Thank you.” Hacker divided his pile of papers and handed half of it to Bernard. “Just tell me anything you think I need to know.”
“Yes minister.” ‘Need to know’-they both knew how fraught that phrase was. “Of course, if you would prefer to form your own opinion-”
“No Bernard, I trust you.”
I trust you.
Sir Humphrey would have cried fool, but Bernard was strangely touched. Hacker trusted him. Either he was as foolish as Sir Humphrey thought or he knew Bernard better almost than Bernard knew himself. His heart was on Hacker’s side, and if any doubt remained, that trust was enough to make him completely trustworthy-at least while Sir Humphrey was out of sight.
*
They had been travelling for less than an hour when the minister began to nod. Bernard turned a blind eye at first, but when the manila folder fell from his hands, Bernard was obliged to rescue pages three through seventeen of the Waste Board’s quarterly report. No sooner had he replaced the errant pages when the minister’s head dropped forward. His mouth was open and his glasses slipped to the end of his nose. It was not an entirely dignified position.
“Minister?”
“You weren’t saying anything,” Hacker murmured.
“No, minister, I-”
Hacker sat up but didn’t open his eyes. “You said you were going to read me the important parts.”
“I will when I find them,” said Bernard. He was yet to find anything the minister needed to know; he was yet to find anything anyone needed to know. He turned through a few more files: an invoice for repairing the compactus in the private office, New Filing Procedures for Patronymics, a news story Hacker had already seen, because he had told Bernard about it at breakfast… Then he came across the minutes of the meeting with the office supply company, which Hacker had expressly asked for and which Sir Humphrey had expressly said he should not see. Bernard had hesitated when he put it in the box and, now he had the chance to reconsider, it was hard not to think of Sir Humphrey; after all, Sir Humphrey would be his boss for many years, while the minister might be replaced next week. It would be easy to bury those pages at the back of the pile and let events take their course-but the minister trusted him and he wanted to deserve that trust. “Ah… err…” Bernard tried to decide how to tell the minister that he had agreed to purchase a quarter of a million pounds worth of typewriter ribbons in the same week he proposed to bring in computers.
Hacker didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence. “Here,” he said, without opening his eyes, and handed him the Waste Board report, still open to page three. If there was nothing important in Bernard’s pile, Bernard might as well start on his.
Bernard was loyal, but nonetheless he was grateful for the reprieve. He left the minutes on the top of the pile-Hacker could find them for himself-and flipped through the report. “The Waste Board has introduced a new scheme to make it easier for staff to transfer between treatment plants… controls are in place to ensure appropriate staffing levels are maintained… there will be seven hundred new staff-minister?”
Hacker had nodded off again, this time with his head on Bernard’s shoulder. Evidently he recognised the Waste Board report for what it was: a waste of time. Bernard took the other files from Hacker’s lap and replaced them in his briefcase, careful not to disturb him. He didn’t mind the minister sleeping on his shoulder, though he was glad there was no-one else in the first-class compartment. Bernard would not have admitted it, even to himself, but it was nice to be close to someone on a cold rainy day.
*
Hacker slept soundly for half an hour, until the inspector came and Bernard was obliged to find their tickets. The movement roused the minister, who sat up abruptly.
Bernard handed over the tickets. The inspector punched them and handed them back.
“Thank you, gentlemen.” He gave no sign that he had just seen the Right Honourable James Hacker slumped on his private secretary, but when he left the compartment he stopped to look at them through the small window. Bernard was glad he didn’t have a camera, for that would have been almost as bad as the minister’s infamous ‘night in the gutter’.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, Bernard,” Hacker said once the inspector was gone. “That’s not in your job description.”
“That depends on what one understands by ‘Private Secretary’.”
Bernard meant it as a joke, but Hacker looked acutely embarrassed.
“It’s quite all right, minister,” Bernard reassured him.
Hacker took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I’m just glad you’re not Sir Humphrey.”
“I’m rather glad myself,” said Bernard. “I wonder what he’d do?”
“I hope I never find out.” Hacker looked out the window. “Where are we, anyway?”
“We just left Leicester.”
“Shouldn’t we be going faster than this?” The train was moving slowly enough that they could read the hoardings on the passing buildings.
“We should pick up speed once we leave town.”
The train did not pick up speed. Instead it came to a complete stop. An announcement explained that there would be unavoidable delays due to bad weather on the line.
“More delays?” said Hacker. “I think I’ll mention this when I meet the head of British Rail next week.”
“If you like, minister, though I don’t think there’s much they can do about the weather.”
“I suppose not,” Hacker sighed.
*
They eventually got to Sheffield an hour after the opening ceremony was meant to begin. The car that was supposed to take them to the repository was nowhere to be seen, and the station was practically deserted, which was not surprising given the storm that had passed through not long before. The rain had stopped but the gutters were overflowing and branches torn from the scrawny trees littered those parts of the street that were still above water.
“What? Why didn’t they wait?” said Hacker.
“We are two and a half hours late, minister.”
“They can’t just abandon me-can they?”
“Well, it’s after five…” said Bernard. It wasn’t quite an answer.
“Probably gone to the pub,” Hacker agreed.
“Shall I call a cab, minister?”
Hacker looked at the place where the car should have been, then at his watch, then at the gloomy sky. “Oh, what’s the point? It will be dark by the time we get there. Let’s go to the pub.”
Bernard raised his eyebrows. “To find the driver?”
“No, Bernard-to have a drink.”
Hacker set off and Bernard trotted after him. They only had to walk half a block before they found a pub full of soggy locals drinking Yorkshire bitter.
“One drink, then we’ll go back to London,” Hacker said as he pulled out his wallet. “What will you have? Scotch? Double scotch?”
“Thank you, minister.”
“Two double scotches,” Hacker said to the barman, and to Bernard, “I do wish you’d call me Jim.”
*
As Bernard had expected, one drink quickly turned into three.
“I’m sure they understand-on account of the weather-probably not much of a turn-out anyway,” said Hacker, slurring a little. “I wonder if the press bothered, in the end?”
“Probably not, minister,” Bernard assured him. It was the second time he’d asked.
“Not the weather for photographers. Not the weather for anything, really.” Hacker looked out the window where he could see the rain slanting under the street lights. “What time is it?” he asked, oblivious to the fact that there was a clock on the wall directly opposite him. It was easy to depend on Bernard, even for the hour of the day. Bernard was so dependable.
“Quarter to seven,” he answered.
“Seven? We’d better get going. When’s the next train?”
Bernard opened his briefcase and took out the note where he’d written all the train times from Sheffield to London. “Well, we’ve just missed one, so the next will be seven-forty-if the trains are running, that is.”
“Good point, Bernard-do you think you could find out? You could ask the publican.”
Bernard glanced at the bar, but the line-up hadn’t changed since they came in. “I’ll walk up to the station and check.”
“No, Bernard, no sense in getting wet. Let’s have another drink and see if the rain stops, unless…”
“Unless?”
“Unless it would be better to stay here tonight, and get the train down in the morning. It’s Saturday tomorrow-no early meetings-and it seems silly to rush off, having taken so long to get here.”
There was no need for Bernard to give his opinion, since it was clear the minister had made up his mind, but he had no objections; even if the trains were running, it would be midnight by the time they got home.
“I’m sure we can find a hotel,” said Hacker, “and somewhere to eat.” Now he’d decided, he was enthused by the idea. “If it’s all the same to you,” he added. “I don’t want to keep you if you need to get home.”
“It’s no trouble to me, minister,” said Bernard. The only trouble he could foresee was making sure the minister stayed sober enough to put himself to bed. There had been a couple of close-calls in Brussels and Bernard didn’t fancy his chances of carrying him to his room, if he passed out.
“Then let’s have one more drink before we find something to eat.” The minister had no difficulty formulating policy where food and drink were concerned. “But I must call Annie-she’ll think I’ve fallen down a mine shaft! Is there a phone here?”
Bernard pointed, next to the door.
Hacker fumbled for change in his wallet. “Do you want to call home, Bernard? I feel selfish, abducting you like this.”
“There’s no need, minister-”
“No, please, go ahead,” said Hacker. He still couldn’t find more than a few pence, not enough for long-distance. “Your wife must hate me as much as Annie hates Sir Humphrey!” He found a shilling and looked up. “You are-are you married, Bernard?”
“Um-no, minister.”
Bernard looked embarrassed. Hacker looked guilty.
“I’m sorry, Bernard. How thoughtless of me, not to know.”
“But I never told you, minister.”
“All the same, how thoughtless of me.” Hacker was not sure what to say. If he had not been drunk he would not have pried into his secretary’s private life in the first place. After all, something terrible might have happened-a tragic accident or a horrible divorce? It was callous to speculate but frankly he was surprised. Bernard struck him as the sort of man to be snapped up straight away: good manners, good job, good teeth… Annie had married him with none of those things.
“Do you need some change, minister?”
“Change?” said Hacker.
Bernard’s way of putting him at ease was to act as if nothing had happened. “Change for the phone.”
“No no, I’ve got it. But what can I get you to drink?”
“Scotch and soda,” said Bernard. He had planned to remain sober, but he could see it was going to be a strange night.
*
“I was engaged once,” Bernard explained, after a good roast and half a bottle of wine, “but I never married.”
“What happened?” said Hacker, genuinely interested.
“She said she’d forgotten what I looked like.”
“What you looked like?”
“Yes, minister-she complained that she never saw me.”
“Couldn’t you have sent her a photo?” Through a haze of whiskey and wine, Hacker imagined a heady romance in Hong Kong or an inopportune posting to Qumran.
“That wouldn’t have helped much, minister. You see, we lived together, but she said she never saw me because I was always at work.”
“So the Civil Service has taken over your life?”
“More or less, minister.”
“That’s dreadful!” Hacker thought the Civil Service had taken over his life, but at least he had Annie and Lucy. “In the future, you must make sure you leave the office at a reasonable hour. I don’t want to take over your life!”
“Oh, it was nothing to do with you, minister. I was an under secretary at the time.”
“But why did you have to work such long hours?”
“I didn’t, really, but she worked night-shifts as a nurse, so I suppose you could say I never saw her either.”
Hacker shook his head. “Bernard, that’s very sad. A real Romeo and Juliet for the post-industrial age. I do hope there’s a happy ending, one day.”
“So do I, minister.” Bernard didn’t like the idea of poisoning himself over Linda Crawford’s body. He reached for his wine. If it had not been for the wine, and the scotch beforehand, he would never have told Hacker any of that-but there was something about Hacker, too, that made Bernard want to unburden himself. He listened and he didn’t laugh, unlike Sir Humphrey, who ridiculed him for living with a cat called Onions (after the editor of the Oxford English Dictionary).
Hacker looked at Bernard and wondered if he would ever think of his cheerful private secretary in quite the same way again. There was nothing for it but to order desert-and port. “Now,” he said, “will you have the cheese board or the sticky toffee pudding?”
*