Expo 58: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page B

being in some sort of conspiracy. They were both (he would have guessed) in early middle age. One of them had slicked-back dark hair, and a moon-shaped face whose expression managed to be both vacant and intelligent at the same time. The other looked more benign, and less watchful; he had a noticeable scar down his left cheek, but the look of it was not at all sinister, and it did not detract in the least from his general air of dreamy good nature. They were the only two people who, throughout the entirety of the proceedings, were never named or introduced, and once he had noticed them, Thomas found their presence strangely distracting.
    ‘Well, I don’t know about you, but I think that’s an excellent proposal,’ Sir John was saying.
    Thomas realized that he had not been following the discussion. It appeared that Britain was being asked to make its own contribution to the contemporary music week, and the general feeling around the table was that a military tattoo would fit the bill perfectly.
    ‘The Grenadier Guards, perhaps?’ someone suggested.
    ‘Perfect,’ said Sir John, nodding to the secretary at his side, who duly made a note of the decision.
    At which point, from one corner of the table, came what could only be described as a derisive snort. ‘Ha!’
    Sir John looked up, in wounded surprise.
    ‘Mr Gardner – would you like to register an objection?’
    The lean, ascetic figure in question, who peered through conservatively horn-rimmed glasses but wore his hair rakishly long, waved his hand dismissively and said: ‘Really, Sir John, it has nothing to do with me. No, I don’t want to register an objection. But your secretary can register my amusement if she likes.’
    ‘And what, might we ask, is so amusing about a military tattoo?’
    ‘In this context? Well, if you can’t see that, Sir John, all I can say is . . . you are probably the ideal person to be chairing this committee.’
    Thomas was expecting a ripple of laughter, but there was only shocked silence.
    ‘Mr Gardner,’ said Sir John, leaning his elbows on the table and putting his fingertips together to form a pyramid, ‘I was going to defer discussion of your latest suggestions for the British pavilion, but perhaps after all this would be a good moment to consider them.’
    ‘They’re just ideas,’ said Gardner, of f hand.
    ‘The Brussels World’s Fair,’ Sir John reminded him, ‘opens in three months’ time. Work on the construction of the pavilion is running weeks behind schedule. Isn’t it a bit late to be pitching in with new ideas? Particularly ideas like . . .’ (he glanced down at his paperwork) “ ‘A history of the British water closet.’ ”
    ‘Oh,’ said Gardner, ‘didn’t you like that?’
    ‘It seems a trifle . . . well, “whimsical” would be a polite way of putting it.’
    ‘Don’t feel that you have to be polite if you don’t want to, Sir John. After all, we’re all friends here.’
    ‘Very well. I shall rephrase that, and say that this suggestion appears to me . . . downright stupid and offensive.’
    Several of the men (there were no women, apart from Sir John’s secretary) seated around the table looked up at this point, their interest keenly aroused.
    ‘I respectfully disagree, Sir John,’ said Gardner. ‘Britain’s contribution to the disposal of human waste has never been properly recognized. That’s not just my opinion, it is a historical fact.’
    ‘Gardner, you’re talking rot.’
    ‘Well –’ (there was an embarrassed cough from a pallid, undernourished young man sitting to the left of Mr Gardner, who seemed to be part of his team) ‘– not exactly, Sir John.’
    The Commissioner raised an eyebrow.
    ‘Not exactly?’
    The man who had spoken up seemed more embarrassed than ever. ‘What I mean is, Jim – I mean Mr Gardner – does have a point. Toilets are crucial to everyday life. I mean, we all use them, don’t we? We all . . .’ (he swallowed hard) ‘. . .