The New Collected Short Stories (77 page)

During his first posting, to Nigeria, Percy told the Minister of Finance that he had no grasp of economics. The problem was that the minister
didn’t
have any grasp of economics, so
Percy had to be dispatched back to England on the first available boat.

After a couple of years in administration, Percy was given a second chance, and sent to Paris as an assistant secretary. He might have survived this posting had he not told the French
President’s wife at a government reception that the world was overpopulated, and she wasn’t helping matters by producing so many children. Percy had a point, as the lady in question had
seven offspring and was pregnant at the time, but he was still to be found packing his bags before lunch the following day. A further spell in admin followed before he was given his third, and
final, chance.

On this occasion he was dispatched to one of Her Majesty’s smaller colonies in Central Africa as a deputy consul. Within six months he had managed to cause an altercation between two
tribes who had lived in harmony for over a century. The following morning Percy was escorted on to a British Airways plane clutching a one-way ticket to London, and was never offered a foreign
posting again.

On returning to London, Percy was appointed as an archives clerk (no one gets the sack at the FCO), and allocated a small office in the basement.

As few people at the FCO ever found any reason to visit the basement, Percy flourished. Within weeks he had instigated a new procedure for cataloguing statements, speeches, memoranda and
treaties, and within months he could locate any document, however obscure, required by even the most demanding minister. By the end of the year he could offer an opinion on any FCO demand, based on
historic precedent, often without having to refer to a file.

No one was surprised when Percy was appointed Senior Archivist after his boss unexpectedly took early retirement. However, Percy still yearned to follow in his father’s footsteps and
become our man in some foreign field, to be addressed by all and sundry as ‘Your Excellency’. Sadly, it was not to be, because Percy was not allowed out of the basement for the next
thirty years, and only then when he retired at the age of sixty.

At Percy’s leaving party, held in the India Room of the FCO, the Foreign Secretary described him in his tribute speech as a man with an unrivalled encyclopaedic memory who could probably
recite every agreement and treaty Britain had ever entered into. This was followed by laughter and loud applause. No one heard Percy mutter under his breath, ‘Not every one,
Minister.’

Six months after his retirement, the name of Percival Arthur Clarence Forsdyke appeared on the New Year’s Honours List. Percy had been awarded the CBE for services to the Foreign and
Commonwealth Office.

He read the citation without any satisfaction. In fact, he felt he was a failure and had let the family down. After all, his grandfather had been a peer of the realm, his father a Knight
Commander of St Michael and St George, whereas he ended up a mere Commander of a lower order.

However, Percy had a plan to rectify the situation, and to rectify it quickly.

Once he had left the FCO, Percy did not head straight for the British Library to begin work on his memoirs, as he felt he had achieved nothing worthy of historic record, nor
did he retire to his country home to tend his roses, possibly because he didn’t have a country home, or any roses. However, he did heed the Foreign Secretary’s words, and decided to
make use of his unrivalled encyclopaedic memory.

Deep in the recesses of his remarkable mind, Percy recalled an ancient British law which had been passed by an Act of Parliament in 1762, during the reign of King George III. It took Percy some
considerable time to double-check, in fact, triple-check, that the Act had not been repealed at any time in the past two hundred years. He was delighted to discover that, far from being repealed,
it had been enshrined in the Treaty of Versailles in 1919, and again in the Charter of the United Nations in 1945. Clearly neither organization had someone of Percy’s calibre tucked away in
its basement. Having read the Act several times, Percy decided to visit the Royal Geographical Society on Kensington Gore, where he spent hours poring over charts that detailed the coastal waters
surrounding the British Isles.

After completing his research at the RGS, Percy was satisfied that everything was in place for him to comply with clause 7, addendum 3, of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762.

He returned to his home in Pimlico and locked himself away in his study for three weeks – with only Horatio, his three-legged, one-eyed cat, for company – while he put the final
touches to a detailed memorandum that would reveal the real significance of the Territories Settlement Act of 1762, and its relevance for Great Britain in the year 2009.

Once he’d completed his task, he placed the nineteen-page handwritten document, along with a copy of the 1762 Act showing one particular clause highlighted, in a large white envelope which
he addressed to Sir Nigel Henderson KCMG, Permanent Secretary to the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, King Charles Street, Whitehall, London SW1A 2AH. He then put the unsealed envelope in the top
drawer of his desk, where it would remain for the next three months while he disappeared off the face of the earth. Horatio purred.

On 22 June 2009, Percy took a taxi to Euston station, where he boarded the overnight sleeper for Inverness. His luggage consisted of an overnight bag and his old school trunk,
while inside his jacket pocket was a wallet containing two thousand pounds in cash.

On arrival in Inverness, Percy changed platforms and, an hour later, boarded a train that would take him even further north. The five-carriage shuttle stopped at every station on its long and
relentless journey up the north-east coast of Scotland, until it finally came to a halt at the remote harbour town of Wick.

When Percy left the station, he commandeered the only taxi, which took him to the only hotel, where he booked into the only available room. After a one-course meal – the menu being fairly
limited, and the kitchen staff having all left at nine o’clock – Percy retired to his room and read
Robinson Crusoe
before falling asleep.

The following morning he rose before the sun, as do most of the natives of the outer reaches of Scotland. He feasted on a large bowl of porridge oats and a pair of kippers that would have graced
the Savoy, but rejected an offer of the
Scotsman
in favour of studying a long list of the items that would have to be acquired before the sun had set that afternoon.

Percy spent the first hour after breakfast walking up and down the high street, trying to identify the shops he would have to patronize if his trunk was to be filled by the time he left the
following morning.

The first establishment he entered was MacPherson’s Camping Store. ‘Everything a hiker needs when trekking in the Highlands’ was stencilled boldly on the window. After much
bending over, lying down and crawling in and out, Percy purchased an easy-to-erect, all-weather tent that the proprietor assured him would still be standing after a desert storm or a mountain
gale.

By the time Percy had left the store he had filled four large brown carrier bags with his tent, a primus stove, a kettle, a goose-down sleeping bag with an inflatable pillow, a Swiss army knife
(he had checked that it had a tin opener), a pair of Wellington boots, a fishing rod, a camera, a compass and a portable telescope.

Mr MacPherson directed Percy towards the MacPherson General Store on the other side of the road, assuring him that his brother Sandy would be happy to fulfil any other requirements he might
still have.

The second Mr MacPherson supplied Percy with a shovel, a plastic mug, plate, knife, fork and spoon, a dozen boxes of matches (Swan Vesta), a Roberts radio, three dozen Eveready batteries, four
dozen candles and a first-aid kit, which filled three more carrier bags. Once Percy had established that there wasn’t a third MacPherson brother to assist him, he settled for Menzies, where
he was able to place several more ticks against items on his long list – a copy of the
Radio Times
, the
Complete Works of Shakespeare
(paperback), a day-to-day 2009 diary (half
price) and an Ordnance Survey map showing the outlying islands in the North Sea.

Percy took a taxi back to his hotel, accompanied by nine carrier bags, which he dragged in relays up to his room on the second floor. After a light lunch of fish pie and peas, he set off once
again for the high street.

He spent most of the afternoon pushing a trolley up and down the aisles of the local supermarket, stocking up with enough provisions to ensure he could survive for ninety days. Once he was back
in his hotel room, he sat on the end of the bed and checked his list once again. He still required one essential item; in fact, he couldn’t leave Wick without it.

Although Percy had failed to find what he wanted in any of the shops in town, he had spotted a perfect second-hand example on the roof of the hotel. He approached the proprietor, who was
surprised by the guest’s request but, noticing his desperation, drove a hard bargain, insisting on seventy pounds for the family heirloom.

‘But it’s old, battered and torn,’ said Percy.

‘If it’s nae guid enough fur ye, sur,’ said the owner loftily, ‘ah feel sure y’ll bi able tae find a superior wan in Inverness.’ Percy gave in, having
discovered the true meaning of the word
canny
, and handed over seven ten-pound notes. The proprietor promised that he would have it taken down from the roof before Percy left the following
morning.

After such an exhausting day, Percy felt he had earned a rest, but he still had one more task to fulfil before he could retire to bed.

At supper in the three-table dining room, the head waiter (the only waiter) told Percy the name of the man who could solve his final problem, and exactly where he would be located at that time
of night. After cleaning his teeth (he always cleaned his teeth after a meal), Percy made his way down to the harbour in search of the Fisherman’s Arms. He tapped his jacket pocket to check
he hadn’t forgotten his wallet and the all-important map.

When Percy entered the pub he received some curious stares from the locals, who didn’t approve of stray Englishmen invading their territory. He spotted the man he was looking for seated in
a far corner, playing dominoes with three younger men, and made his way slowly across the room, every eye following him, until he came to a halt in front of a squat, bearded man dressed in a thick
blue sweater and salt-encrusted jeans.

The man looked up and gave the stranger who had dared to interrupt his game an unwelcoming gaze.

‘Are you Captain Campbell?’ Percy enquired.

‘Who wants tae ken?’ asked the bearded man suspiciously.

‘My name is Forsdyke,’ said Percy, and then, to the astonishment of everyone in the pub, delivered a short, well-rehearsed speech at the top of his voice.

When Percy came to the end, the bearded man placed his double four reluctantly back on the table and, in a brogue that Percy could just about decipher, asked, ‘An wur exactly dae ye expect
mi tae tak’ ye?’

Percy opened his map and spread it out on the table, propelling dominoes in every direction. He then placed a finger in the middle of the North Sea. Four pairs of eyes looked down in disbelief.
The captain shook his head, repeating the words ‘Nae possible’ several times, until Percy mentioned the figure of five hundred pounds. All four of the men seated around the table
suddenly took a far greater interest in the Englishman’s preposterous proposal. Captain Campbell then began a conversation with his colleagues that no one south of Inverness would have been
able to follow without a translator. He finally looked up and said, ‘Ah want a hundred pound up front, noo, an’ the ether four hundred afore ah let ye oan ma boat.’

Percy extracted five twenty-pound notes from his wallet and handed them across to the captain, who smiled for the first time since they’d met. ‘Bi stannin’ on the dockside ae
Bonnie Belle
at five tamorra moarnin’,’ said Campbell as he distributed the cash among his mates. ‘Once I have the ether four hundred, I’ll tak’ ye to your
island.’

Percy was standing on the quayside long before five the following morning, an overnight bag, his battered old school trunk and a ten-foot pole at his feet. He was dressed in a
three-piece suit, white shirt, his old school tie, and was carrying a rolled umbrella. Standard FCO kit when one is posted to some foreign field. He braced himself against the biting wind as he
waited for the captain to appear. He felt both exhilarated and terrified at the same time.

He turned his attention to the little fishing vessel he’d chartered for this expedition, and wondered if it had ever ventured outside territorial waters, let alone into the middle of the
North Sea. For a moment he considered returning to his hotel and abandoning the whole exercise, but the vision of his father and grandfather standing on the dock beside him strengthened his
resolve.

The captain and his three mates appeared out of the early morning mist at one minute to five. All four of them were dressed in exactly the same clothes they had been wearing the night before,
making Percy wonder if they’d come straight from the Fisherman’s Arms. Was it a seafarer’s gait they displayed as they strolled towards him, or had they spent his hundred pounds
on what the Scots are most celebrated for?

The captain gave Percy a mock salute, and thrust out his hand. Percy was about to shake it, when he realized that it was being held palm upwards. He handed over four hundred pounds, and Captain
Campbell ordered his crew to carry Percy’s luggage on board. Two of the young men were clearly surprised by how heavy the trunk was. Percy followed them up the gangway, clinging on to the
pole which never left his side, even when he joined the captain on the bridge.

The captain studied several oceanographic charts before confirming the exact location at which Percy had asked to be abandoned and then gave the order to cast off. ‘Ah think it’ll
tak’ us at least a day an’ a night afore wi reach oor destination,’ said the captain, ‘so perhaps, laddie, it might bi wise fur ye tae lay doon. The waves cin bi a wee bit
choppy wance wi leave the shelter ae the harbour.’