'Talk of the devil! Here he comes!' Georgie finished
pulling the pint, handed it over to her customer and waved to Dicky.
Bryn snorted his disapproval. 'Dicky Tutt! You mean you've lined him
up to launch it? What does he know about show business?'
'He doesn't need to, he's a natural. A born comic.'
Dicky came bounding across to the bar and ordered his drink. 'Good
evening one and all! My usual, please. And how's my Georgie tonight?
Blossoming bright and beautiful as always.'
'Flatterer!' she drew him his pint and as he paid her she felt him
give her fingers a slight squeeze. Georgie rewarded him with one of
her stunning smiles. 'You're on top form tonight.'
'Of course. Heard the one about the dog with two tails?'
Dicky launched himself into his story with extra verve, knowing full
well Bryn was on the qui vive as far as he was concerned. He'd honed
to perfection the art of taunting Bryn and felt guilty but also elated
by the knowledge. As Dicky reached the climax of the story Bryn leant
over the counter and waited for his chance to speak.
'Don't imagine for one moment that this is a dress rehearsal for a
slot in this ridiculous showbiz scheme Georgie's come up with . .
.'
Dicky pretended innocence. 'What ridiculous scheme?'
'This business of having entertainment on Fridays here in the bar.
I've put my foot down about it. We're not. Right?'
'OK. OK. I'm either way. Doesn't bother me.'
'Well, don't come up with any more bright ideas for in here, ever
again.'
'I didn't suggest it. It was Georgie's idea.'
Georgie intervened. 'It was, Bryn, honestly. It was me asked him.
I think you're being daft. We could just try it once or twice and
see what happens couldn't we?' She opened wide her lovely bright eyes
and looked up at Bryn to plead her cause. 'Please, just once. Dicky
would be a good one to start with. Dip our toes in the water, eh?
How about it?'
Bryn twirled his flying officer kite moustache and looked down into
the pretty face of the woman he'd loved for twenty years. He wanted
to please her, but something, he didn't know what, warned him to steer
clear and he couldn't bring himself to agree. 'No. Sorry. It'd lower
the tone.'
Dicky grinned up at Bryn. 'Eh! Come on, my jokes aren't mucky.'
'Not now they're not, but they might be once you get in your stride.'
'Oh no, they wouldn't be, I don't tell doubtful jokes. I've got all
my Scouts to think of, got to keep their respect.'
'Anyway, it doesn't matter whether they're smutty or not 'cos you're
not performing in here, in this pub, whilst ever my name is over the
door. I'm the licensee. Subject now closed.'
Jimmy Glover, for once drinking alone called across, 'Come on, Bryn,
liven the place up. Bring more trade in, surely you can't object to
that?'
'It's not bringing in more trade that I'm objecting to, it's what
it might lead to that worries me.'
Georgie and Dicky exchanged a quick glance. She hastily served a whisky
to a customer and as she pinged the till she said, 'There's nothing
for you to worry about, it's just an experiment and Dicky's willing
to give it a whirl and he's not expecting getting paid either. You
know how everyone loves his jokes. Come on, Bryn, let's give it a
try. Mmmmm?'
'Absolutely not.' Bryn began drying some glasses and turned his back
to her.'
She glanced at Dicky, pursed her mouth and shook her head. Dicky took
the hint. He stood with his back to the bar and looked round. Jimmy
was still alone and there were only three other punters in the bar
besides him and Jimmy. There was no doubt about it, the pub could
do with some new attraction to liven it up.
The outside door opened and in came Sir Ronald and Lady Bissett with
their little Pomeranian.
Dicky called out to them, 'Evening Sheila! Evening Ron. This round's
on me. What would you like?'
Sheila beamed her approval. She liked Dicky, he might be beneath her
in the social scale but she liked him nevertheless. 'Gin and tonic,
please Dicky. How are you?'
'I'm fine thanks. Ron, what's yours?'
'A pint of that special of Bryn's, please.'
Dicky ordered their drinks from Georgie and the three of them stood
at the bar discussing the weather. Sheila's dog Pompom had to be kept
on a tight lead because in his old age he had developed an alarming
habit of sinking his teeth into the ankle of anyone who happened to
displease him, and Dicky was a frequent target. Dicky moved away a
few more inches when he heard a low rumble in Pompom's chest.
Sheila bent down to pat him. 'Now, Pompom, now, now, it's only Dicky.
I think it's because he can't see as well as he did, he mistakes feet
for cats.'
Dicky chuckled. 'Does he indeed. I'll keep my distance then if you
don't mind!'
Ron, becoming increasingly hot in his ginger tweed that Sheila insisted
made him look like an English country gentleman, unwittingly brought
up a subject of conversation close to Dicky's heart. 'I was thinking
about you the other day, Dicky. Read an article in the paper about
how successful clubs are nowadays, working men's clubs and suchlike.
They're becoming the place to be discovered by a talent scout. They
have entertainers, weekends - the big clubs get the big names of course,
but they say the smaller clubs are a very good place to start. It
named a few comics, and singers, who've got their feet on the ladder
to success in the smaller clubs. I thought about you with your jokes.
You'd go down wonderfully well I'm sure. I'm still laughing over that
one you told us about the . . .'
Bryn poked a sharp finger into Ron's shoulder-blade. 'I don't know
if this is all part of a plot, but don't encourage him if you please.
I'm not having it and there's an end to it.'
Sir Ronald, surprised at receiving such a body blow, asked what made
Bryn so annoyed, all he'd done was mention . . .?
Sheila, feeling that a wholesale row was brewing and knowing she could
never rely on Ron to be tactful as she always was, interrupted by
saying, 'Let's hope this good weather holds for the Harvest Festival,
all that effort we put in, it does so put people off from coming when
the weather's bad.'
Dicky raised his glass to Sheila. 'I've nothing but admiration for
you on that score, Sheila, every year I think the church can't look
any better than it does this year and blow me next year it does. You've
had some wonderful ideas in the past, and I've no doubt it'll be decorated
even more brilliantly than last year.
Sheila beamed with pleasure. 'Why, thank you. It's all team work really,
my committee are very talented, believe me. You know, you really are
the most charming man.' She tapped a lacquered fingernail on Dicky's
sleeve. 'Most charming, your Bel did right to snap you up. In fact
if you weren't spoken for I could . . .'
Ron like a terrier at a bone said, 'Bryn! Sorry! Didn't mean to give
offence, though I don't know how I did, I was only . . .'
'Beg your pardon. It's just that Georgie here is wanting to start
entertainment on Friday nights, and I won't have it. I thought you
were encouraging her.'
Ron thumped the bar counter with delight. 'But there you are, there's
his chance. Dicky here would be excellent. Just the man for the job!
You'd do a turn wouldn't you?'
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