Yes, Minister - Part Five
I finally got around to proof-reading some more (a bit short, but the next section will be longer).
Jim Hacker / Bernard Woolley, also Jim Hacker / Annie Hacker
Rated R18+
Previous parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Part Five
As he travelled home, with jelly legs and his head spinning, Hacker found himself compiling a mental list of things he had learned that day:
In fact, he didn’t even have many boxes for that evening; just two, with little in them. He supposed Bernard hadn’t had the time-or the heart-to fill them. So, instead of drowning himself in whiskey and white papers, he took Annie to dinner like she always wanted. They shared a bottle of Bordeaux and the Peach Melba, with two spoons, and afterwards they made love, slowly, with the lamp on. It was not because he had a guilty conscience and not because he had a point to prove-well, not only that. More than anything he wanted to please her. Over the years he’d let things get rather humdrum, though it had taken Bernard to make him realise; to make him think he might still be worth wanting.
“I didn’t know politicians did that,” Annie said when he reappeared from the folds of her nightgown.
Hacker looked up. Annie’s wit was irrepressible but her red cheeks betrayed her. “That’s not all they do,” he said, grinning stupidly. He climbed into bed and slipped an arm around her waist. He could feel every curve through her nightgown-a silky blue thing, not new, but somehow he’d never noticed it before.
“I think you had a better day today,” Annie observed. “Was Sir Humphrey ill?”
“Humphrey’s never ill.” Hacker pulled her close and kissed her. It was easier than answering; easier than thinking.
Annie sighed happily. “I was wondering what happened to the fox I married.”
“He’s here,” said Hacker. It seemed he really did have the stamina of a twenty-four-year-old.
*
It was two in the morning and Hacker was utterly exhausted, but he could not forget the day’s events. They came to him in flashes whenever sleep tugged at him: Bernard, the floor, the jar of Vaseline. As he drifted off, he wondered whether he and Bernard would continue their… whatever it was. In that moment, with Annie asleep beside him, breathing softly against his shoulder, he could not imagine wanting anything more; could not have managed anything more. He felt well and truly fifty-four. But when he arrived at his office in the morning it didn’t take him long to want Bernard again. His nearness excited him: when he took his coat with a little smile that showed he remembered very well what had happened the last time; when they sat together to do his diary and Bernard drew up his chair rather closer than usual. Once or twice he caught Bernard looking at him and knew he felt the same way. Then Bernard explained he’d left the afternoon free-“To work on your policy, minister,”-and Hacker wondered how he would get any work done that day.
A morning of committee meetings should have calmed him down but it only made things worse. He wondered if he’d discovered why men became MI5 agents or had affairs (not that he was having an affair): secrecy was wonderfully stimulating, and Bernard didn’t help at all when he let their knees touch under the table. Hacker got hard during the Interdepartmental Committee on Complaints Processing and spent the second half of it thinking about losing an election, or losing a leg, in a desperate effort to squash himself before the time came to stand and shake hands. He said little but when everyone was ready to leave he insisted on reading through the memorandum. It was the only time he had intentionally prolonged a meeting.
Bernard seemed to understand, for he was upon him the minute the last committee member left. He looked into Hacker’s eyes and the next moment they were kissing, Hacker was stripping off his coat and Bernard was unzipping his fly.
“How long do we have?” the minister rattled, and when Bernard said half an hour, there was no stopping him. Soon their trousers were down and Bernard was bent over the conference table. The memorandum was still there, with Hacker’s annotations; he could have read it, if he’d wanted to, while he buggered Bernard for the second time in twenty-four hours.
It was easier the second time; the table helped, but above all they were more calm about the idea-though there was nothing calm about the act. Hacker had to jam his hand over Bernard’s mouth to keep him from telling the whole private office what a nice time he was having, and Hacker moaned too when he came, deep within him. He was grateful the office had a private washroom, so they could tidy up before the next deputation arrived.
“Do you think they’ll be able to tell?” Hacker asked as they fixed each other’s hair and straightened each other’s ties.
“They’d never even imagine,” Bernard reassured him.
“And you’re quite all right?” Hacker asked. He could not imagine Bernard felt entirely comfortable.
But Bernard smiled: “Yes, minister. Much better.”
*
It was a good thing they’d got the frantic part out of the way that morning because Humphrey came at five to four expecting to find the minister dashing off somewhere. Instead he found him flopped in an armchair talking to Bernard. Fortunately they were only talking.
“Still here, Bernard?” said Humphrey, with a look that Hacker didn’t understand. Then he whipped out a document and stuck it under Hacker’s nose before he could even find his reading glasses. “For your signature, minister.”
“Wait a minute, Humphrey.” Hacker got up. He was a little preoccupied, but he had not forgotten Bernard’s words of advice. “What am I signing?”
Humphrey was evasive. “Just a contract, minister.” It was worth a shot. “It needn’t detain you-you’ve already agreed to the content.”
That meant it was definitely the Universal contract. Hacker put on his glasses and examined the document. “Humphrey, this is a contract for three years’ supply of typewriter ribbons!”
“No, minister. It is a contract for all kinds of essential office consumables: suspension files, staples, Sellotape-”
“And a quarter of a million pounds worth of typewriter ribbons!”
“A very fair price,” said Humphrey. He could hardly deny what was written in the contract.
“I don’t care,” said Hacker. “Tear it up.”
“But you agreed-”
“I did not agree. No-one said a word about typewriter ribbons.” Hacker was sure of that; he’d checked Bernard’s minutes. “Tear it up, Humphrey, and show me a contract for the computers I asked for.”
Humphrey’s face darkened. “Minister, you cannot simply buy complicated new technological equipment and expect to be able to use it! Staff would need to be re-trained, new staff hired, workstations rearranged-”
“Then re-train them. Rearrange them. We went over this last week.”
“But the costs involved-”
Hacker stood his ground. “I don’t want to hear about the costs until you show me a plan for getting computers into this office and making them work.”
“Minister, I-” Humphrey was about to object again but he cut himself off. “Very well, minister. If that is your wish.”
“No, Humphrey-it is my command.”
“Yes, minister.” Humphrey bowed his head and left the office.
When he was gone, Hacker turned to Bernard. “You know, I think I’m finally getting somewhere with Humphrey.”
“I hope so,” Bernard mumbled. He liked seeing Hacker stand up to Sir Humphrey but he wondered how long it would last. Humphrey must have something up his sleeve or he would never have backed down so fast.
“A pretty low trick, that one,” Hacker grumbled. He couldn’t help wondering if he would have fallen for the contract, were it not for Bernard’s warning. “But he can’t resist forever. He must see how time marches forward. Technology is the way of the future, and we must lead the way. There’s no room for Luddites at the helm of state. No room for Luddites in this department!”
“Indeed, minister,” said Bernard. He supposed Hacker would be clutching his lapel soon.
“Humphrey’s not doing the Civil Service any good if he thinks he can resist,” Hacker went on. “He can sit in his ivory tower and speak Latin and write with a quill, for all I care, but he won’t stop progress. He’ll be left behind-the Civil Service will be left behind. Is that what he wants? Do you want to be left behind, Bernard?”
“No, minister.”
Hacker barely waited for his answer. “After all, we already use computers for half our operations. There’s a room full of them down the corridor! Why should Humphrey be so stubborn? Why should he resist what’s already happening under his own roof?”
“I think he feels threatened,” said Bernard.
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, he can’t type.”
“He has a secretary.”
“Yes, but she’s never used a computer, either.”
“She can learn.” Hacker sat down at his desk. He wasn’t interested in sex anymore, he was too annoyed; besides which, Bernard had said he could have the afternoon to work on his policy. “See what you can find out about computers,” he said. “Costs, training courses, that sort of thing. Have a look at all that information we were given at the conference and follow it up with local suppliers. When Humphrey comes back and tells me it’s impossible, I want something really solid to throw at him.”
Bernard couldn’t help himself: “What about a typewriter, minister?”
Hacker grinned. “Not a bad idea.”
Jim Hacker / Bernard Woolley, also Jim Hacker / Annie Hacker
Rated R18+
Previous parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Part Five
As he travelled home, with jelly legs and his head spinning, Hacker found himself compiling a mental list of things he had learned that day:
- That a fifty-four-year-old could have the stamina of a twenty-four-year-old, or at least a forty-four-year-old;
- That Bernard’s powers of invention were not limited to silly puns and mixed metaphors;
- That sex was much more enjoyable than other forms of wrestling with civil servants, and no less productive.
In fact, he didn’t even have many boxes for that evening; just two, with little in them. He supposed Bernard hadn’t had the time-or the heart-to fill them. So, instead of drowning himself in whiskey and white papers, he took Annie to dinner like she always wanted. They shared a bottle of Bordeaux and the Peach Melba, with two spoons, and afterwards they made love, slowly, with the lamp on. It was not because he had a guilty conscience and not because he had a point to prove-well, not only that. More than anything he wanted to please her. Over the years he’d let things get rather humdrum, though it had taken Bernard to make him realise; to make him think he might still be worth wanting.
“I didn’t know politicians did that,” Annie said when he reappeared from the folds of her nightgown.
Hacker looked up. Annie’s wit was irrepressible but her red cheeks betrayed her. “That’s not all they do,” he said, grinning stupidly. He climbed into bed and slipped an arm around her waist. He could feel every curve through her nightgown-a silky blue thing, not new, but somehow he’d never noticed it before.
“I think you had a better day today,” Annie observed. “Was Sir Humphrey ill?”
“Humphrey’s never ill.” Hacker pulled her close and kissed her. It was easier than answering; easier than thinking.
Annie sighed happily. “I was wondering what happened to the fox I married.”
“He’s here,” said Hacker. It seemed he really did have the stamina of a twenty-four-year-old.
*
It was two in the morning and Hacker was utterly exhausted, but he could not forget the day’s events. They came to him in flashes whenever sleep tugged at him: Bernard, the floor, the jar of Vaseline. As he drifted off, he wondered whether he and Bernard would continue their… whatever it was. In that moment, with Annie asleep beside him, breathing softly against his shoulder, he could not imagine wanting anything more; could not have managed anything more. He felt well and truly fifty-four. But when he arrived at his office in the morning it didn’t take him long to want Bernard again. His nearness excited him: when he took his coat with a little smile that showed he remembered very well what had happened the last time; when they sat together to do his diary and Bernard drew up his chair rather closer than usual. Once or twice he caught Bernard looking at him and knew he felt the same way. Then Bernard explained he’d left the afternoon free-“To work on your policy, minister,”-and Hacker wondered how he would get any work done that day.
A morning of committee meetings should have calmed him down but it only made things worse. He wondered if he’d discovered why men became MI5 agents or had affairs (not that he was having an affair): secrecy was wonderfully stimulating, and Bernard didn’t help at all when he let their knees touch under the table. Hacker got hard during the Interdepartmental Committee on Complaints Processing and spent the second half of it thinking about losing an election, or losing a leg, in a desperate effort to squash himself before the time came to stand and shake hands. He said little but when everyone was ready to leave he insisted on reading through the memorandum. It was the only time he had intentionally prolonged a meeting.
Bernard seemed to understand, for he was upon him the minute the last committee member left. He looked into Hacker’s eyes and the next moment they were kissing, Hacker was stripping off his coat and Bernard was unzipping his fly.
“How long do we have?” the minister rattled, and when Bernard said half an hour, there was no stopping him. Soon their trousers were down and Bernard was bent over the conference table. The memorandum was still there, with Hacker’s annotations; he could have read it, if he’d wanted to, while he buggered Bernard for the second time in twenty-four hours.
It was easier the second time; the table helped, but above all they were more calm about the idea-though there was nothing calm about the act. Hacker had to jam his hand over Bernard’s mouth to keep him from telling the whole private office what a nice time he was having, and Hacker moaned too when he came, deep within him. He was grateful the office had a private washroom, so they could tidy up before the next deputation arrived.
“Do you think they’ll be able to tell?” Hacker asked as they fixed each other’s hair and straightened each other’s ties.
“They’d never even imagine,” Bernard reassured him.
“And you’re quite all right?” Hacker asked. He could not imagine Bernard felt entirely comfortable.
But Bernard smiled: “Yes, minister. Much better.”
*
It was a good thing they’d got the frantic part out of the way that morning because Humphrey came at five to four expecting to find the minister dashing off somewhere. Instead he found him flopped in an armchair talking to Bernard. Fortunately they were only talking.
“Still here, Bernard?” said Humphrey, with a look that Hacker didn’t understand. Then he whipped out a document and stuck it under Hacker’s nose before he could even find his reading glasses. “For your signature, minister.”
“Wait a minute, Humphrey.” Hacker got up. He was a little preoccupied, but he had not forgotten Bernard’s words of advice. “What am I signing?”
Humphrey was evasive. “Just a contract, minister.” It was worth a shot. “It needn’t detain you-you’ve already agreed to the content.”
That meant it was definitely the Universal contract. Hacker put on his glasses and examined the document. “Humphrey, this is a contract for three years’ supply of typewriter ribbons!”
“No, minister. It is a contract for all kinds of essential office consumables: suspension files, staples, Sellotape-”
“And a quarter of a million pounds worth of typewriter ribbons!”
“A very fair price,” said Humphrey. He could hardly deny what was written in the contract.
“I don’t care,” said Hacker. “Tear it up.”
“But you agreed-”
“I did not agree. No-one said a word about typewriter ribbons.” Hacker was sure of that; he’d checked Bernard’s minutes. “Tear it up, Humphrey, and show me a contract for the computers I asked for.”
Humphrey’s face darkened. “Minister, you cannot simply buy complicated new technological equipment and expect to be able to use it! Staff would need to be re-trained, new staff hired, workstations rearranged-”
“Then re-train them. Rearrange them. We went over this last week.”
“But the costs involved-”
Hacker stood his ground. “I don’t want to hear about the costs until you show me a plan for getting computers into this office and making them work.”
“Minister, I-” Humphrey was about to object again but he cut himself off. “Very well, minister. If that is your wish.”
“No, Humphrey-it is my command.”
“Yes, minister.” Humphrey bowed his head and left the office.
When he was gone, Hacker turned to Bernard. “You know, I think I’m finally getting somewhere with Humphrey.”
“I hope so,” Bernard mumbled. He liked seeing Hacker stand up to Sir Humphrey but he wondered how long it would last. Humphrey must have something up his sleeve or he would never have backed down so fast.
“A pretty low trick, that one,” Hacker grumbled. He couldn’t help wondering if he would have fallen for the contract, were it not for Bernard’s warning. “But he can’t resist forever. He must see how time marches forward. Technology is the way of the future, and we must lead the way. There’s no room for Luddites at the helm of state. No room for Luddites in this department!”
“Indeed, minister,” said Bernard. He supposed Hacker would be clutching his lapel soon.
“Humphrey’s not doing the Civil Service any good if he thinks he can resist,” Hacker went on. “He can sit in his ivory tower and speak Latin and write with a quill, for all I care, but he won’t stop progress. He’ll be left behind-the Civil Service will be left behind. Is that what he wants? Do you want to be left behind, Bernard?”
“No, minister.”
Hacker barely waited for his answer. “After all, we already use computers for half our operations. There’s a room full of them down the corridor! Why should Humphrey be so stubborn? Why should he resist what’s already happening under his own roof?”
“I think he feels threatened,” said Bernard.
“Why?”
“Well, for one thing, he can’t type.”
“He has a secretary.”
“Yes, but she’s never used a computer, either.”
“She can learn.” Hacker sat down at his desk. He wasn’t interested in sex anymore, he was too annoyed; besides which, Bernard had said he could have the afternoon to work on his policy. “See what you can find out about computers,” he said. “Costs, training courses, that sort of thing. Have a look at all that information we were given at the conference and follow it up with local suppliers. When Humphrey comes back and tells me it’s impossible, I want something really solid to throw at him.”
Bernard couldn’t help himself: “What about a typewriter, minister?”
Hacker grinned. “Not a bad idea.”