Irregular Verbs

Sir Arnold Robinson, with a sly smile, beckons Sir Humphrey Appleby closer: "Do lean in a bit, I’d like to share some news with you." He glances at Bernard Woolley: "The rest hardly need to know just yet… especially not the ministers." Bernard hastily drops his gaze to his cup of cocoa — will they really not let him finish it this time again? And another thing: will Sir Arnold and Sir Humphrey ever offer him the brandy they usually enjoy together in these afternoon hours or is that privilege reserved for their own private rituals? Bernard waits meekly for the order to be dismissed, but it doesn’t happen. This time, it seems, they aren’t sending him away. He risks another glance at his senior colleagues. Sir Arnold’s lips are nearly brushing Sir Humphrey’s cheek, so close their heads are inclined. One’s elbow presses firmly against the other’s. Sir Arnold’s fingers linger for a heartbeat, stroking the back of Sir Humphrey’s hand before returning to the armrest. And Sir Humphrey... ah. His eyes gleam beneath half-lowered lashes; a delicate flush rises to his cheekbones. Whatever story Sir Arnold is whispering to him now must be fascinating indeed. Sir Arnold leans back for a moment, tucking a stray curl behind the ear of his deeply attentive confidant. In that gesture, and in the soft smile that touches Sir Humphrey’s lips, Bernard catches something thrillingly intimate, something not meant for an outsider’s eyes. He deliberately clinks his spoon against the cup, stirring the sugar, just in case they’ve forgotten his presence. Sir Humphrey’s gaze flicks to him at once, sharp as a papercut. "Don’t you have a minister to attend to, Woolley?" Sir Arnold remarks dryly. Bernard is startled he even remembers his name! "Apologies, I really should be getting back." For some reason, he checks his watch, then begins fussing with the stack of documents he’d brought to the clubroom for Sir Humphrey’s signature, shoving them into his briefcase with excessive diligence — anything to avoid meeting his seniors’ eyes. He curses his imagination (or his observational skills), feeling the blood rush to his face. The last thing he notices before closing the door — and immediately orders himself to forget — is how tenderly Arnold pulls Humphrey closer, drawing him in. And how Humphrey lets out a soft, contented sigh, looking as though he might rest his head on his mentor's (no, more than that: his idol’s) shoulder any moment now. "Gosh, no", Bernard whispers to himself. The knighted Sirs can be as sweet and affectionate with each other as they like, but the humble private secretary from the minister’s office like himself saw nothing. Officially. On his way back to the DAA, he argues with himself: could it really be that the Head of the Civil Service and the Permanent Secretary of the one of largest Ministries… Even in his thoughts, Bernard lacks the dare to call things by their proper names. And it’s not as if there haven’t been… whispers. That Appleby might have obtained the position of Permanent Secretary for a ministry as vast and crucial as the DAA at such a (frankly, near scandalous) young age by Whitehall standards. And that Robinson had allegedly pulled considerable strings to make it happen. Rumor has it he all but served the appointment to his dear friend on a silver platter. Cleared a couple of serious obstacles from his path, twisting arms (figuratively speaking, and very gentlemanly, of course) of anyone who considered his protégé an unsuitable candidate. A protégé he’d nurtured and cherished more tenderly than… than a prized rose in his garden? Here, Bernard stumbles mentally: or is it lilies that are tended? Such friendship undoubtedly demands from Sir Humphrey an extreme degree of loyalty... one that Bernard finds almost frightening to contemplate. Sir Arnold could only be satisfied by absolute devotion, the kind that paradoxically combines with remarkable moral and ethical flexibility, enabling one to instantly and wholeheartedly adopt his viewpoint on any matter, no matter how it might shift or evolve. All while maintaining sincere willingness and heartfelt gratitude in the process. And to do so with sincere willingness and gratitude. Somehow, Humphrey Appleby manages to perfectly embody these neurotically contradictory traits. Naturally, Bernard doesn’t doubt the existence of friendship as a concept. Not even here, in Whitehall. Though all his observations of Mandarin elite scheming suggest an utter inability not just to befriend, but to form even remotely successful long-term tactical alliances. Out of sheer habit, Woolly adds another entry to his mental collection of "Irregular Verbs":

- I am a true friend;

- You are like a brother to me;

- We share a touching mutual attachment;

- He harbors a suspicious weakness toward him;

- They are engaged in an unnameable, unnatural liaison.

It doesn’t sound quite right, so Bernard twists the idea this way and that, hoping to improve it:

- I am merely and exclusively a friend;

- You have simply reached a certain gentleman’s agreement with him;

- They are just a pair of confirmed bachelors, married to their work.

That’s better. It would never occur to Bernard to judge anyone... Especially when that someone happens to be his immediate superior! Besides, it's not like he's without sin himself: for instance, this silly game of Irregular Verbs was something he and Tom Sargent, the previous DAA minister, invented together about a month ago. They kept competing at it right up until the general election, even though such foolishness and camaraderie between a Permanent Secretary and his political master goes against every unwritten rule... But it made the job far more entertaining, so Bernard very much hopes to continue in the same vein with the new minister. And, of course, he has no intention of sharing this particular example of his Irregular Verbs about chivalrous friendship with anyone. Bernard Woolley is far better at keeping secrets and confidences than Sir Arnold and Sir Humphrey might think.