Helen Simonson - Major Pettigrew's Last Stand

“Oh, goodness no,” said Roger finally. “We have no plans to get married anytime soon, or I would have told you.”

“No plans?” asked the Major. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I mean, once you’re married people start thinking ‘family man,’ and before you know it your whole career smells of impending nappies,” said Roger, twirling the wine cork in his fingers. He used it to mash the pile of bread crumbs into a tiny patty. “I’ve seen it nail people to their current job title.”

Sandy paid close attention to her wineglass and said nothing.

“Marriage is a wonderful part of life,” said the Major.

“Yes, so’s retirement,” said Roger. “But you might as well put them both off as long as possible.”

“Are you not afraid it will suggest dilettantism and lack of moral fiber?” said the Major, doing his best to contain his outrage. “All this lack of commitment these days-doesn’t it smack of weakness of character?”

“As one who has been weak,” said Abdul Wahid in a quiet voice, “I can attest to you that it is not a path to happiness.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean you, Abdul Wahid,” said the Major, horrified that he had unintentionally offended his guest. “Not at all.”

“Look, Sandy’s her own boss, and she has no problem with it,” said Roger. “Tell them, Sandy.”

“It was my idea, actually,” said Sandy. “My firm kept the whole visa thing dangling over my head, so getting engaged to a Brit seemed the ideal answer. I don’t mean to offend you, Abdul Wahid.”

“I am not offended,” said Abdul Wahid. He blinked several times and took a deep breath. “Only sometimes when we pick and choose among the rules we discover later that we have set aside something precious in the process.”

“But everyone puts off marriage if they can,” said Roger. “I mean, just look at the royal family.”

“I won’t stand for you being disrespectful, Roger,” the Major responded. The current fashion for bandying about stories and jokes, as if the royal family were the cast of a TV soap opera, was deeply distasteful to him.

“I must get back to the shop now.” Abdul Wahid stood up from the table and inclined his head to the Major and to Sandy. The Major rose to see him out of the room.

“I hope we see you again,” said Sandy.

“What’s his problem?” said Roger when the Major returned.

“Abdul Wahid has just discovered he has a son,” said the Major. “It is a warning to all of us that unorthodox romantic arrangements are not without consequences.”

“I agree you’re right, at least when it comes to the working classes and foreigners,” said Roger. “Totally oblivious about birth control and things. But we’re not like them, Sandy and I.”

“The human race is all the same when it comes to romantic relations,” said the Major. “A startling absence of impulse control combined with complete myopia.”

“Look, we’ll see how it goes with the cottage, Dad,” said Roger. “Who knows, maybe in six months we’ll be ready to commit.”

“To marriage?”

“Or at least to buying a place together,” said Roger. Sandy drained her wineglass and said nothing.

After lunch, Roger wanted to smoke a cigar in the garden. The Major made a pot of tea and tried to dissuade Sandy from washing dishes.

“Please don’t clear up,” he said. He still found all offers of help in the kitchen to be an embarrassment and a sign of pity.

“Oh, I love doing dishes,” said Sandy. “I know you probably consider me a dreadful Yank but I’m so in love with the fact that people here are able to live in tiny houses and do chores without complicated appliances.”

“I should point out that Rose Lodge is considered rather spacious,” said the Major. “And I’ll have you know I own a rather top-of-the-line steam iron.”

“You don’t send out your ironing?”

“I used to have a woman come in,” said the Major, “when my wife was ill. But she ironed my trouser seams until they were shiny. I looked like a damn band captain.” Sandy laughed and the Major did not wince quite so much. Either he was getting used to her, or the claret had not yet worn off.

“Maybe I won’t bother getting a dishwasher for the cottage,” said Sandy. “Maybe we’ll keep things authentic.”

“The way my son uses saucepans, I think you need one,” said the Major chipping at the burnt frying pan with a fork and speaking loudly so that Roger, coming in from the garden, would register the remark.

“I went down to the club last week,” said Roger taking the dry tea towel the Major offered him but then sitting down at the table instead of helping.

“I heard,” said the Major. “Why on earth didn’t you call me so I could take you down and introduce you properly?”

“Sorry. I was just passing, really, and I thought since I’d spent all those years as a junior member that I might as well just pop in and check out what’s what,” said Roger.

“And what exactly was what?” asked the Major.

“That old secretary is a damn idiot,” said Roger, “But I ran into Gertrude Dagenham-Smythe and she fixed everything. I told Sandy it was quite funny to see the club secretary fawning all over her. He couldn’t have whipped me out a membership application any faster.”

“I’ll need to fill out a sponsorship document, of course,” said the Major. “You shouldn’t have upset the secretary.”

“Actually, Gertrude said she’d have her uncle sponsor me,” said Roger indulging in a wide yawn.

“Lord Dagenham?”

“When she offered, I thought I might as well get sponsored by someone as high up the food chain as possible.”

“But you don’t even know her,” said the Major, who still thought of Gertrude as the lady in the bucket hat.

“We’ve met Gertrude a few times in town,” said Sandy. “She remembered Roger right away-joked about how she had a crush on him one summer when she visited.”

The Major had a sudden vision of a tall, thin girl with a blunt chin and green glasses who had haunted the lane one summer. He remembered Nancy inviting her in a couple of times.

“I remember Roger being very rude to her,” said the Major. “Anyway, it’s out of the question. It simply wouldn’t do not to be sponsored by your own family.”

“If you insist,” said Roger, and the Major could only fume as he realized he had been put in the position of begging not to be cut out of Roger’s social progress. “Do you remember how she was always popping out of the hedge and presenting me with gifts?” continued Roger. “She was as plain as the back of a bus and I had to drive her off with a pea-shooter.”

“Roger!” said the Major. The young lady’s status as Lord Dagenham’s niece was enough to grant her a certain distinction if not beauty.

“Oh, he’s very attentive to her now,” said Sandy. “She asked his help with this golf club dance and he agreed right away. Good thing I’m not the jealous type.”

“I’m not at all happy with the dance,” said the Major. “There are some ridiculous ideas floating about that you must help me quash.”

“I’m your man,” said Roger. “I don’t want anything silly detracting from the central theme-the glory of the Pettigrew name.”

“But that’s precisely the piece we need to quash,” said the Major. “I don’t like our name being bandied about as cheap entertainment.”

“But how else would we get our named bandied about so fast?” asked Roger. “They’ve asked me to play Grandfather Pettigrew. It’s unbelievably good luck.” He yawned again.

“It’s an outrage,” said the Major.

“It’s a boost to my social career and it won’t cost you a penny,” said Roger. “Would you deny me that chance?”