‘Bet you hanker for the Row now and then.’
‘Ah well, the Row,’ Pendel agreed heartily, succumbing to a wistful vision of himself safely consigned to an earlier century, measuring for tailcoats and breeches. ‘Yes, the Row’s a different thing again, isn’t it? If we had more of Savile Row as it used to be and less of some of the other things we’ve got today, England would be a lot better off. A happier country altogether, we’d be, if you’ll pardon me.’
But if Pendel thought that by mouthing platitudes he could divert the thrust of Osnard’s inquisition, he was wasting his breath.
‘Tell us about it.’
‘About what, sir?’
‘Old Braithwaite took you on as an apprentice, right?’
‘Right.’
‘Aspiring young Pendel sat on his doorstep day after day. Every morning when the old boy clocked in, there you were. “Good morning, Mr Braithwaite, sir, how are we today? My name’s Harry Pendel and I’m your new apprentice.” Love it. Love that sort o’ chutzpah.’
‘I’m very glad to hear that,’ Pendel replied uncertainly as he tried to shake off the experience of having his own anecdote retold to him in one of its many versions.
‘So you wear him down and you become his favourite apprentice, just like in the fairy tale,’ Osnard went on. He didn’t say which fairy tale, and Pendel didn’t ask him. ‘And one day – how many years is it? – old Braithwaite turns round to you and says, “All right, Pendel. Tired o’ having you as an apprentice. From now on, you’re crown prince.” Or words to that effect. Give us the scene. Mustard for it.’
A frown of ferocious concentration settled over Pendel’s normally untroubled brow. Placing himself at Osnard’s left flank, he looped the tape round his rump, coaxed it to the amplest point and again jotted in his notebook. He stooped for the outside leg measurement, straightened and, like a failing swimmer, sank again until his head was at the height of Osnard’s right knee.
‘And we dress, sir -?’ he murmured, feeling Osnard’s gaze burning the nape of his neck. ‘Most of my gentlemen seem to favour left these days. I don’t think it’s political.’
This was his standard joke, calculated to raise a laugh even with the most sedate of his customers. Not with Osnard apparently.
‘Never know where the bloody thing is. Bobs about like a windsock,’ he replied dismissively. ‘Morning, was it? Evening? What time o’ day did ‘e pay you the royal visit?’
‘Evening,’ Pendel muttered after an age. And like an admission of defeat: ‘A Friday like today.’
Assuming left but taking no chances, he conveyed the brass end of his tape into the right side of Osnard’s fly, studiously avoiding contact with whatever lay within. Then with his left hand he drew the tape downward as far as the upper sole of Osnard’s shoe, which was of the heavy, officer-off-duty type and much repaired. And having subtracted an inch and written down his finding, he bravely stood his full height, only to discover the dark round eyes so tightly upon him that he had the illusion of having walked into the enemy’s guns.
‘Winter or summer?’
‘Summer.’ Pendel’s voice was running out of power. He took a brave breath and started again. ‘Not many of us young ones fancied working Friday evenings in the summertime. I suppose I was the exception, which was one of the things about me that commended me to Mr Braithwaite’s attention.’
‘Year?’
‘Well, yes, my goodness, the year.’ Rallying, he shook his head and tried to smile. ‘Oh dear me. A whole generation ago. Still, you can’t sweep back the tide, can you? King Canute tried it and look where he ended up,’ he added, not at all sure where Canute did end up, if anywhere.
All the same, he was feeling the artistry coming back to him, what Uncle Benny called his fluence.
‘He was standing in the doorway,’ he resumed, striking a lyrical note. ‘I must have been absorbed in a pair of trousers I’d been entrusted with, which is what happens to me when I’m cutting, because it gave me a start. I looked up and there he was, watching me, not saying anything. He was a big man. People forget that about him. The big bald head, big eyebrows – he was imposing. A force. A fact of life -‘