but it was a pity because the canteen system had worked extremely well till then. the idea was that when she found anything nasty in the post she would stick it in there until i was strong enough to be told. the day would come when my spirit was high for some reason - the lawnmower had started first go perhaps or i'd typed a couple of pages without getting the carbon backwards, and she would see that the time was right. by the way, she would say, this came last week, handing me a monumental garage bill - which in fact i knew about already. oh yes indeed, good heavens yes - gerald c. potter is nobody's fool.how i found out is rather interesting. it was about a year ago, i met my accountant at the victoria station taxi rank. (not a bad appointment, i try to avoid doing that.) he just happened to be in front of me up ahead in the queue, and although i naturally tried to hide behind some luggage, he spotted me just as his taxi came up. and he said, with one of those inscrutable accountant's looks: "how about that letter i sent on to you from h.m. inspector london provincial district number 16?" and and drove off in a flurry of executive briefcases.
well to the best of my knowledge and belief (as you have to say in income tax circles) he hadn't sent me any letter from this person. but back home, looking for an old cigar i knew i had somewhere because even the shortest meeting with an accountant calls for a steadying of the nerves, there was this inspector cradled in the green bays, about two weeks old, just the age you can't tell if they're burping or gurgling. obviously diana, who'd opened him up but not read him, assumed that he was burping up a demand for a thousand or so. he in fact was gurgling a rebate for about sixteen quid. she was very impressed, i remember, with the way i took it when she finally passed it on.
...
what the canteen system was not intended for, and to which i objected very strongly, was her keeping her secrets from me. i always know of course when she's stuck something away in there. it takes a long time for her to come back from scooping the post off the mat because she nips into the dining room first and conceals the evidence, and as soon as she is out of the way, i nip in there and unconceal it. and that was what happened on monday. but instead of something routine, like a bank statement addressing mr g. potter, i found this confirmation from [the cavendish lady author's club] addressed to miss magnolia badminton, the name by which she is known to the gullible reading public.
...
her story was it was going to be a surprise, and i said that it was certainly that. i mean not only the idea of her being a clubwoman at all, exchanging smoking room stories with barbara cartland, but what was she doing, i demanded at breakfast on tuesday, with a reservation for easter saturaday night? and i'm sorry to say that she had a very good answer. or in the time-honour phrase:"i can explain everything."
... "besides you're going to like it."
"like what?"
"the fifth floor... i'm afraid it's a bit of a walk to the bathrooms but when you convert a stately london home and the husbands are in the service quarter it naturally doesn't come out like claridge's."
"are you explaining everything? what husbands are these?"
"you for instance."
...
"diana, i warn you i'm going to be very calm. now please listen carefully i want a truthful answer. am i hearing you - are you sitting there telling me, in your own words, that i'm going to spend saturday night in in a positive harem of women authors, with a long walk to the bathroom? if so i would like to say that i can imagine no conceivable inducement in any circumstances whatsoever..."
from the small, intricate life of gerald c. potter, series 2 ep 3.