Read Expo 58: A Novel for Free Online

do them, after all.’
    ‘ Do them , Mr Sykes? Do what ?’
    ‘There’s no point in pretending otherwise, really, is there?’
    ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
    ‘Well, you know. We all do . . . number twos.’
    ‘ Number twos? ’
    ‘Precisely!’ Gardner jumped to his feet and began pacing the perimeter of the table. ‘Sykes has put his finger on it. We all do them, Sir John. Even you! We all do number twos. We may not like to talk about them, we may not even like to think about them, but years ago, somebody did think about them, he thought about them long and hard – if you’ll pardon the expression – and the result was that we can now all do our number twos cleanly, and without embarrassment, and the whole nation – the whole world! – is a better place as a consequence. So why shouldn’t we celebrate that fact? Why shouldn’t we celebrate the fact that, besides conquering half of the globe, Britons have also fought a historic battle against their number twos, and emerged victorious?’
    He sat down again. Sir John stared across the table at him coolly.
    ‘Have you quite finished, Gardner?’ Taking his silence as consent, he added: ‘Might I remind you that at the entrance to this pavilion, which you propose to deface with this obscene display, visitors will find a portrait of Her Majesty the Queen?’
    Gardner leaned forward. ‘And might I remind you, Sir John, that even her Majesty – even her Majesty . . .’
    Sir John stood up, his brow furrowed with rage. ‘If you finish that sentence, Gardner,’ he said, ‘I shall have to ask you to leave this room.’ There was a tense, extended silence, as both men locked eyes across the table. When it became apparent that Mr Gardner was not going to add anything, Sir John slowly sat down again. ‘Now,’ he continued, ‘I expect you to forget all about this ludicrous idea, and concentrate on devising a display which does something to reflect not just the glory but the dignity of the people of these islands. Is that understood?’ Distinctly flustered, not pausing for an answer, he turned over his next sheet of paper and read the first few lines out quickly and automatically, without thinking about them: ‘Next – the ZETA project. “Proposal for transporting and exhibiting a replica of Britain’s . . .’ ”
    ‘ AHEM! ’
    Sir John glanced across the table again. The warning cough had come from one of the two mysterious men who had earlier caught Thomas’s attention: the one with the moon-shaped face and the slicked-back hair. He held a minatory finger up to his lips, and shook his head, almost unnoticeably. Whatever had prompted the gesture, Sir John took immediate notice of it, and turned the sheet of paper over in a casual movement, laying it face down on the table.
    ‘Quite right, of course. Not a priority at all. We can leave that until later. We have a far more important matter to consider, which is . . . Ah, yes! The pub. The famous pub.’ His features relaxed, and he looked enquiringly among the assembled faces. ‘Now, we should have a new recruit to our team, is that correct? Mr Foley, are you amongst us?’
    Thomas half-rose to his feet, then realized that this probably looked ridiculous, and sat down again. His voice, when he managed to find it, seemed impossibly thin and tentative.
    ‘Yes, that would be me, Sir . . . Sir John.’
    ‘Good. Splendid.’ A long, expectant silence ensued. When it became clear that Thomas had no intention of breaking it, Sir John said: ‘We’re ready to hear your thoughts, I believe.’
    ‘Ah. Yes.’ Thomas looked around the circle of distinguished faces currently trained on him, and swallowed hard. ‘Well, the Britannia, as you probably know, will be – in some ways – the focal point of the British exhibit. The original idea, as you probably know –’ (why was he repeating himself?) ‘– was to build a replica of – and here I quote – “an olde English inne” –