Free A Bit of a Do by David Nobbs Page B

energetically.
    ‘Your wife is stunning,’ said Larry Benson, trying to breathe in her lingering aroma without being seen to do so. He ran a small firm called Kitchen Wonderland. His wonderland was situated between two Indian restaurants, at the wrong end of Commercial Street.
    ‘Yes,’ said Laurence, whose chosen apéritif that night was gin and tonic. ‘It’s local brandy mixed with lemon juice and beaten white of egg. Surprisingly enough, it’s very good.’
    ‘She must have been quite a sensation in Peru,’ said Larry Benson, whose tipple was whisky.
    ‘Yes. Though why I say “surprisingly” I don’t know. They wouldn’t drink it if it wasn’t. Peruvians aren’t daft. Oh Lord, here are Paul’s parents.’
    Ted and Rita Simcock approached bravely. They were already aware that they were the only people in the room in evening dress.
    ‘Oh God, they’re in evening dress!’ said Laurence. He turned towards them, putting on a smooth, false smile.
    ‘Ted! Rita! Good to see you.’
    He introduced them to Larry Benson.
    ‘I’m sorry, Laurence,’ said Rita, pink spots showing on her cheeks. ‘I feel mortified. Ted said it was evening dress.’
    ‘Never mind,’ said Laurence. ‘It sometimes is. It’s up to the incumbent dentist. In my presidential year, it was evening dress.’It would have been, thought Ted. ‘Anyway, you both look terribly distinguished.’
    Laurence Rodenhurst was lying. Ted always looked like a head waiter in evening dress, and Rita’s long, heavy, dark blue gown hung around her in folds that made her look more curtained than dressed.
    ‘What did his wife see in him?’ said Larry Benson, the moment Laurence had gone to buy them drinks. ‘She could have had anybody. She’s an amazingly lovely woman.’
    ‘Is she? I hadn’t really … er …’ For an awful moment Ted thought he was going to blush. He looked round and saw Liz, chatting to Timothy Fincham, president of the area dental association for the year. Helen Fincham was at his side, as always. Ted’s eyes practically popped out of his head at the sight of Liz’s stunning outfit. ‘Yes … I … er … I suppose she … er … are you a dentist, Barry?’
    ‘Larry. No, I’m in kitchens.’
    ‘So am I, most of the time,’ said Rita. ‘Perhaps that’s why I’m not amazingly lovely.’
    There was a pause. Larry Benson, of fitted kitchen fame, sensed that perhaps he had not been entirely tactful. Ted spent longer studying a smiling photograph of Ian Botham than its message, ‘A smashing evening. Cheers. Ian’, could possibly justify. Rita looked round the room, seeking escape, finding none. Larry Benson seemed on the verge of one or two remarks, only to abandon them. Would it be fanciful to imagine that one of the abandoned remarks had been, ‘But you are amazingly lovely, Mrs Simcock’?
    At last he hit upon a gem that satisfied him. ‘Are you a dentist, Fred?’ he said.
    ‘Ted. Oh no, no. I run a little foundry, forge type of effort. You’ve probably heard of us. The Jupiter Foundry.’
    ‘No,’ said Larry Benson. After another brief pause he added, ‘Well, excuse I. Must go and rescue my lady wife.’
    ‘Rita!’ said Ted, when Larry Benson had gone.
    ‘Well! People!’
    ‘I agree, but … I mean … Rita!’
    ‘I want to go home.’
    ‘Rita!!’
    ‘Is this some memory training like the Americans? Do you keep repeating my name for fear you’ll forget it?’
    ‘Rita!’
    ‘Well, you’ve no interest in me.’
    ‘Rubbish.’ He looked round, and met Liz’s eyes. She winked. He looked away hastily. ‘Absolute rubbish. You’re my wife, Rita.’
    ‘Precisely. What on earth gave you the idea he’d said evening dress? I feel awful.’
    ‘Rita! Love! Brazen it out. Show a bit of style.’
    ‘I haven’t got any style. I don’t like style. I don’t trust style.’
    Laurence returned with a whisky and American for Ted, and a gin and tonic for Rita. They raised their glasses in acknowledgement of