ReginaldChapter 19
- 3 years ago
- 22
- 0
Reginald's DisasterChapter 5 free porn video
Frances stormed out of the room, and almost bumped into the hotel manager.
“Oops. Sorry, Frances. I was just coming to let Mr Robertson know that we have the local reporter for the Scarborough News downstairs near the front door.”
“Damn. No chance he will go away?”
“No. He says his boss told him not to come back before he got the story of the Robertson group from the rail crash. He must know something.”
“Perhaps. I think it is more correct to say that he THINKS he knows something. We are ready for him this time. Just give me five minutes to get Reginald tidied up and ready for the press, then bring the reporter up here,” she commanded.
Frances ran back into the room, picked up the phone, and called a number.
“Freda. Organise all the company staff and bring them to the bridal suite, NOW. The local press are on the way up, and it is show time.”
She turned back to Reg, tugged his book from his hands, stuck his bookmark in for him, and laid the book on the table. She kissed him to apologise for this action, and gazed at him speculatively.
As she straightened his tie, and gave his hair a quick run through with her fingers, she spoke.
“Local reporter is here, Reg. I’ll introduce you as CEO, then you ask me as one of the Directors, to speak on behalf of the company, as you are still unwell.”
“Right; got it. Do I look all right?”
“Fine. Remember you are still not well, so that absolves you of anything untoward. Stand up till I inspect you.”
Reg stood. Frances tugged his jacket straight – why was he wearing his jacket indoors? she wondered; then ran her eyes over him. She pulled out his comb from the top pocket, and fussed a little with his hair to straiten it.
“That will have to do. Remember what I said, Reg.”
“Yes, dear.”
“And no saying ‘yes, dear’ while he is here!”
Reg stayed silent this time. There was a knock at the door, then it opened and the wives wandered in; fortunately none had a baby with them.
“Good, girls. You are company people for now. Leave most of the talking to Reg, then me; just look efficient. Any small talk has to be about business. We will see what happens after.”
The girls arrayed themselves to the back and sides of Reg and Frances, and remained standing.
In moments there came a tap at the door, and the hotel manager’s voice.
“Scarborough News reporter to speak to you, Mr Robertson, if you are up to it.”
Frances called, “Send him in, please.”
The door opened, and the manager ushered in the reporter, who looked no older than twenty in Frances’ eyes. He was not expecting the array of people in front of him.
Frances took charge.”Welcome, young man. Who are you?”
“Stephen Drysdale, ma’am; local reporter for the Scarborough News.”
“Welcome, Mr Drysdale. Mr Robertson is still unwell, but will say a few words.” She brought him in and presented him to Reg.
“Mr Stephen Drysdale of the Scarborough News, Reginald.”
Reginald nodded, and Frances continued, “Mr Drysdale, this is Reginald Robertson, Chief Executive Officer of Recovery Enterprise Group.”
The man shook Reg’s outstretched hand.
“Pardon me, I thought this was a family outing to Scarborough. That was what I was told.”
Reginald chuckled, in spite of his low-level headache.
“As is often the case with unexpected story opportunities, you have been misinformed. Our little expedition was originally planned to deliver a couple of our staff to their parents, then we saw it as an opportunity for a staff recreation and training module in a good locale.
Scarborough has both local industries and tourist attractions, and a good-sized population, so was suitable for this venture.
I lead this motley crowd, but I have been suffering from concussion as a result of the train crash; I still have a headache now, so I shall hand you back to Frances. She is one of our Company Directors, so is an ideal person to deal with the press. Frances?”
“Thank you, Reginald. Stephen, we prefer to use first names among ourselves wherever possible, as it helps expedite business operations.
Now, Stephen, Recovery Enterprise Group is a recently set up company whose aim is the repossession of losses being suffered by a company, charity, local authority, or any other body of note. We have built up a strong clientele of successful reclamations for every type of organisation, from a University body all the way to private companies.
The reason we are able to be successful is that all our senior staff are university students who bring knowledge, ability and open minds to any problem; such start-ups are not uncommon. The personnel includes myself and Reginald. As such, we cannot admit to any direct connection to our place of study, as the company is completely independent of that body. The university are pleased at our success, but are not willing to have any discernible link with our company’s operations.
You will observe that many of our senior staff are women. This is deliberate policy, for women have an amazing ability to persuade staff in an organisation to talk to them about their work. The high level of education these women possess allows them to see beyond the banal front put up by most organisations, and permits them to note where further investigation is required.
We start with a contract with the organisation. That stipulates our fees, and makes clear what benefits the organisation should achieve from the contract. We normally find that the client gains somewhere in the region of ten times our fee or more by the end of the contract. That is why we have so many satisfied clients. It also means that small companies cannot afford our fees, for their savings will be relatively minor.
That is the background information.
We had hoped to give our staff a short break here before starting our training work, but the train crash which affected our company’s private carriage left us all shaken and damaged to some extent, and not in a holiday mood. You will see that Prudence has one of the more obvious injuries, to her forehead. Reginald had concussion, which though less obvious was more serious from our point of view as a company.
Reginald managed to sit in on our recent company planning meeting that approved the plans for our activities in Scarborough.
That is a summary of the current situation, but I am open to any questions you may have, Stephen.”
The reporter had been listening intently, with his mouth open for most of the time. This was nothing like what he had expected, or been told to expect.
He managed to come out with a question of sorts.
“The York Hospital implied that you were a family group on an organised outing to Scarborough. Is that not true?”
Frances gazed sympathetically at the reporter.
“Stephen, in an A & E department, the staff are in a rush, expecting victims of a crash to be individuals and family groups. Trying to explain the ins and outs of our company in such circumstances would be non-productive, so the hospital staff were allowed to draw their own conclusions at the time. Did the hospital make any suggestion that we were not cooperative with them?”
“Oh, no. The doctor who spoke was very complimentary about you. He thought you were very well organised as a group.”
“There you are! We were well organised because we were acting as a company team. We just did not declare that fact, as it was irrelevant to the task in hand.”
“But you were all named Robertson!”
“Indeed. That is an example of our company cohesiveness. Our senior staff mostly changed their names by deed poll to Robertson, to make the company’s link to Reginald Robertson more intense. Even the company’s name reflects that commitment. The abbreviation of Recovery Enterprise Group spells R.E.G – Reg, as in Reginald!”
“Eh?” Stephen had homed in on the unusual. “They changed their names by deed poll?”
“Correct. It is all formally recorded with the authorities. That shows you the commitment our senior staff have made to the company.”
“Wow!” Stephen did not know what to ask next, but asked, “Do they have shares in the company?”
“They do, but I am not about to reveal specific figures. Suffice it to say that their commitment reflects their share value.”
“That is an unusual company, Frances.”
“It is. Everything about it is unusual, I am sure you will agree, including our ability to help our clients recover assets they were losing. We can pick and choose our clients as a rule. This training module is to teach our staff the initial aspects of selecting clients before they think of coming to us. Many will not be valuable enough for our standard contract, but this is training.
At the start of the company, we had to approach clients, but now we are in the position of having to put off prospective clients in order to come on this expedition to Scarborough. We even allowed staff children to be with us, for our pro-women stance extends to women with small children. Husbands were not invited, though, so we have no married men here.”
“Isn’t Reginald married to ... someone, I thought?”
Reginald stepped in. “Stephen, I can assure you I am not married to anyone. I have enough trouble coping with so many female colleagues, without actually being married to any of them! Can you imagine what that would be like: a wife wanting more consideration than other staff?”
Stephen was becoming overwhelmed by data that was nothing like what he thought he was expected to report.
Frances told him, “Now, Stephen, if that is all your questions, the company has work to do in the next few hours. If you see any of our people inside stores, please be assured they are not shopping; they are investigating the viability of these stores, as potential clients for us. I am sure you know how wobbly some chain stores have been recently: some may have local problems that we can solve, thus saving Scarborough from losing more stores.”
“Gosh. Thank you, Frances ... Mrs...”
“Mrs Frances Robertson, as recorded by deed poll, Mr Drysdale. My decision, as I said.”
“Thank you, Mrs Robertson, for your assistance with this story.”
“I hope you will let your readers know that we are here to help, if their business is in trouble. Farewell, Stephen.”
She showed him out as the other women started chatting to each other about aspects of their work. He could clearly hear it was work-related discussion so was convinced. He was not sure what his boss was going to say, though.
He left, and everyone relaxed.
Back at the paper, Stephen recounted his adventure with the Recovery Enterprise Group, to the astonishment of his boss.
“This is the real thing, you say? A company outing? I have heard of companies taking staff on paintball gunfights, but this is different; way different.”
“Well, they are all women executives, sir. Paintball may not be their bag. They claim to have changed their names to Robertson by deed poll to show their commitment to the company AND even the company name spells Reg, for Reginald Robertson. It all appears genuine, sir. I can tell when I am being lied to and they were telling the truth about these things about their company.”
“This does not jibe with what appeared in the Yorkshire Post. It made suggestions of a sexual nature. Mind you, they were circumspect about these Robertsons. What was the wording?” He fished out the paper, and read out, “Among other victims were a Robertson party, with one man and several young women named Mrs Robertson. The doctor was unclear about their exact relationship, but thought they were linked.”
The Editor declared, “That was a ‘get out of jail free’ card being played: commit to nothing specific, just innuendo, and blame other people for the suggestion.”
He went on, “Well, I can always check with Companies House to see if such a company exists, and you can check with the deed poll people. Don’t expect them to give you chapter and verse: they won’t; but just ask them if a number of women changed their name to Mrs something Robertson during the last couple of years. That is vague enough for them to tell you yes or no.
If it all pans out as true, then bang goes the salacious story I thought we had.”
Both enquiries produced positive results within a day, so the story that was eventually written told of a company outing to Scarborough that had been disrupted by the train crash, but now the company were back at work, using Scarborough as a training town for their staff.
The company name was not mentioned. If they wanted their name mentioned, they would have to place a paid advert in the paper, for the paper existed on advertising. If they rang to complain about their anonymity, the editor would be happy to direct them to the advertising manager.
Back at the hotel, Reginald had continued to improve, while the stores crawl by the wives continued. Jessica had received the visit by the midwife, and that lady had confirmed that labour was on proceeding slowly, but with no clear timescale. She made a measurement of the intervals between contractions, and determined that they were of a nature such that a day or two might be the timescale before the birth. Jessica was not pleased at that, and said so.
The midwife retorted, “The bairn determines the timing, Mrs Robertson, not me!” Listening to this in the room, Reg commented, “Your wording and accent have a flavour of Scotland, ma’am. Are you from there?”
“No. I was born in Scarborough, but me mother was a fisher girl from Montrose, coming down to Scarborough by train, following the herring fishing boats for the gutting, what there was of it. Even then, the herring shoals were disappearing. I can speak proper English, Yorkshire, or Angus dialects as suits me. Anger brings out the Angus in me,” she admitted.
“Interesting that people moved about the country so much. Will you be back tomorrow?”
“If she is still slow, then no point. If she has speeded up, ring me and I’ll be along to see if she is ready to be admitted to maternity. Here’s my card with my number, Mr Robertson.
“Mrs Normandale, eh? Is that a local surname?”
“It is sir. It was originally De Normanville, from a Norman who was given estates in Yorkshire, but it got corrupted over the centuries: ville became vell, then dell, and then dale. The ‘dale’ in it has nothing to do with Yorkshire dales, as you see.”
Reg volunteered, “Fascinating how names change. Americans are well known for simplifying surnames from their French or Gaelic origins into phonetic names that anyone from the UK would have great trouble recognising at all.”
“Anyway, I am off now, Mrs Robertson. Look after your wife; she is a grand lady.” Jessica intended to smile at the compliment, but a contraction started in her abdomen, causing her to turn it into a grimace.
Mrs Normandale made a point of calling on the manager to let him know she had been and gone, and might be back tomorrow. He thanked her, but was distracted by his search for a new and honest financial director. He was in some doubt as to the reliability of his bank in the matter, as the accountant had by now assured him his computer was working normally, but perhaps the bank was unaware of the financial director’s criminality. He did not want to take the risk.
Instead, he had rung the Scarborough Business Association for suggestions, and two possible candidates were being promised to come tomorrow for interview. As the job could be done part-time, both candidates already had jobs in the town, so they would come with accolades from their current employer, he was told.
By the end of the day, the ladies had come together to look at their findings. Two chain stores looked to be in a rocky position within the chain, according to local business gossip, yet both were busy with customers.
The ladies proposed that each was most likely suffering a financial drain from within, but they could not say if it was a poor manager or an embezzler on the staff. Frances announced that she would pay each manager a visit and make a decision based on her discussion with them.
Reg came by to say that he was feeling much better now, and would be happy to have a visit to the Robson farm if someone would drive him. Freda immediately offered to do the store visits herself, and thus allow Frances to go with Reg.
“My legal studies and what I have learned from Dad and Mum give me some knowledge of both finance and law, so I can talk my way in with managers and probably bamboozle them too! I propose to tell them I am acting for a possible takeover company that wants ‘on the ground’ reports before making a bid for the group assets.”
Frances pursed her lips. “That might work, Freda. I don’t want to be the primary in everything we do. We need to share our talents around. See how you fare, Freda, and let us know what we should do.”
With that agreed, Frances told Reg, “Go tell Sidra and Elizabeth what we propose with a visit to the farm. Make sure they know to stay out of the way when we are in discussion with the Robsons.”
Reginald did as directed, and both girls eagerly promised to behave as directed.
He came back to Frances with a question.
“Darling, when we engaged the minibus, it was with the assumption that Jessica would drive, as she was the only one with the age qualification the hirers demanded. She is beginning labour, so is out of the picture. Can we use that driver again?”
“Of course! He fancies another visit in hopes of more baking, Jessica said. I’ll phone and see if he can go this afternoon. If not, tomorrow morning will have to do for our visit. I’ll ring Mr Robson now to make sure either is suitable for them.”
She got Mrs Robson first, and explained her dilemma.
“Jessica is out of the picture now, and there are age restrictions on driving that vehicle. I think it is to do with insurance. I am having to book that driver to take us, so before I do, would this afternoon or sometime tomorrow be best for you? I don’t want to interrupt any plans you had made.”
“Gosh, girl, any time is fine by me; we will fit in. My daughters will fit in too. I suspect that they will be delighted to see you and Reginald again, the way they talk about you and all the others. You are their heroes, I tell you!”
“My goodness. In that case I will ask the driver which suits him, and ring you back with a time to expect me, Reg and the two teens, Elizabeth and Sidra. That pair want to feed your animals if they can. Should they bring food for the chickens or something?”
“My goodness, certainly not. We have plenty of animal feed; it is more a case of restricting how much the hens get. We don’t want them overeating and getting too fat. We want the pullets to get busy laying eggs, but we are not so bothered with the older hens. The ones for the pot can get fat.”
“Many thanks for your kindness, Mrs Robson. We have received our luggage from the train, now, so we’ll bring Jemima and Hermione’s things out with us. I’ll get on to the driver now. Bye.”
She phoned the hire firm and asked for the same driver, if he was available. The receptionist exclaimed, “He is sitting here, waiting for a job. I’ll put him on the line right away.”
In moments Frances was speaking to the man.
“Jessica, the pregnant lady who you drove out to the farm at Seamer, spoke well of you and as I need a ride out to the farm again for four of us, I wondered if you could help. My name is Frances and we will have Jessica’s daughters with us again.
Jessica has started her labour, I am happy to say, so she has to stay at the hotel for now.”
“Please tell her I hope it all goes well for her: she is a lovely lady. I am available all afternoon, so I can come immediately, if required.”
“Excellent. If we can go out there at your earliest convenience, in the same minibus, that would be lovely.”
“You have the minibus hired for the fortnight, Frances, so it is available now. I will bring it right round, if that suits.”
“Please do so. We will be a few minutes getting everyone together, and I have to phone the farm to say we are on our way.”
One call to Mrs Robson confirmed their visit shortly, then it was time to collect the two girls, and get Reginald and them to use the toilet before they left, so there were no moans on the road there about needing the loo. Frances collected the Robson girls’ luggage and handbags from the room where everything had been dumped. Their stuff would be all that was still there.
Half an hour later, they were driving up to the farmhouse. Sidra and Elizabeth were first out, and Mrs Robson was at the door with a bag of feed for each of them, and Mr Robson to show them to the chickens and give them instruction while Mrs Robson took over the other guests.
Mrs Robson looked over at the driver who stared at her in expectation. She laughed and summoned him with her hand.
“Come in to the kitchen, young man. Tea is ready, and a batch of new made pancakes. Don’t eat them all!”
That was all the encouragement he needed.
She resumed showing in her other visitors. Reginald hung back to pick up the sisters’ luggage from the minibus, then joined Frances.
When Reg and Frances entered, Hermione and Jemima were seated, both breastfeeding their babies. Mrs Robson tried to apologise for this exposure.
“I am sorry that the babies are needing fed just now, Mr Robertson.”
Reg waved this away. “I am used to seeing women breastfeeding, Mrs Robson. It is perfectly natural. We even see this during company meetings.”
Hermione and Jemima preened and happily continued breast feeding, the unused breast partially exposed above the baby. Reginald made his way to them and deposited their luggage, and asked whose was whose and which handbag was which. He was quickly informed, and the ladies had him set their handbags beside them for checking later, once the breastfeeding was complete.
Mrs Robson relaxed and proceeded to offer her visitors tea and pancakes. Reginald grinned and announced, “Our driver praised your scones and pancakes, Mrs Robson, so we are looking forward to sampling them, if he doesn’t clear the plate. Do you put them in to one of the county fairs?”
“I did show them in the produce section of Egton Horse and Agricultural Show last year, but I only got a third there, so I felt discouraged. Most of the other shows are far away, so it is awkward to leave the farm for a whole day or more. The beasts and chickens need fed and watered.”
“Had you thought of making them in bulk and selling them in Scarborough?”
“What? Me go into competition with Cooplands?”
“Cooplands? Who are they?” Reg asked, while Frances snorted her derision, telling him, “A major local bakery that has expanded all over Yorkshire and beyond, Reg. We spied them out yesterday and they are too successful for us to consider them as a possible client.”
Reg was embarrassed. “Um, sorry, Mrs Robson. I didn’t know.”
She laughed at his discomfiture, while setting out the teacups and the pancakes.
“You are not a local, so I am not surprised you didn’t know. They have shops all over the place now, after taking over other bakeries. They are successful, as your wife said.”
“Apologies to all of you. I am not at my best after that blow to the head. I think I’ll leave the talking to Frances. Are you okay with that, my love?”
“You know I am, Reg. I ran the business meeting yesterday, didn’t I?”
“And did it well, darling. I shall just shut up.”
Frances addressed her host, who was busily pouring tea and checking who took milk and/or sugar.
“Mrs Robson, we were a little concerned for Hermione and Jemima.”
“You were? In what way, Frances?”
“Their future, should they leave our company. Being single women with babies, their chances of good-paying employment are reduced, and their social standing without a man in evidence are also affected. It is their long-term future that we were wondering about.”
“That was thoughtful of you, Frances, but if they are stuck, they can come home to us.”
“Your kindness is legendary, Charlotte, but in the long term you and your husband won’t last for ever, and the girls are not going to take over running the farm, are they? It will go to another relative or be sold.”
Mrs Robson’s face fell, but she saw the truth in this.
“So what other alternative is there?” she wanted to know.
“You know that I and the other girls are not legally married to Reg, don’t you?”
“My girls did tell me that, in confidence. It didn’t seem to bother them in the slightest, Frances dear, so don’t worry about admitting it to me.”
“Reg, may I confess to an outsider about our marital arrangement?”
Reg adopted a seriously concerned face, but reluctantly stated, “In these circumstances, perhaps...”
“Thank you, Reg.” Frances took this as a ‘yes’ before speaking again to the sisters’ mother.
“Mrs Robson, while Reg is not legally married to any of us, we regard Reg as our husband, and legally changed our names to Robertson, and not just the surname, but with the prefix ‘Mrs’ added. I am legally known as Mrs Frances Robertson, and have a deed poll document to prove it. That is how I am known at the university these days. No-one there batted an eyelid at me having a baby as a consequence.”
Mrs Robson’s mouth dropped open with surprise, and Frances continued, “This means that I have registered my baby as James Robertson, with a father of Reginald Robertson and mother Mrs Frances Robertson (maiden surname LeBrun). Thus this format, while accurate regarding the change of name from LeBrun to Robertson, appears to indicate that we are married. However it does not actually say anything other than my name changing to Mrs Robertson. To all intents and purposes, the certificate seems to say that Jimmy was born in wedlock and is thus legitimate.”
“Wickedly clever,” admitted Mrs Robson, “So what is this leading up to? I don’t see the point.”
“I am getting to it. This is all background, so you will see what my suggestion is; what I have been prompted by the other girls to say.”
“Go on.” Mrs Robson was now intrigued.
“Myself and several other girls, all university students and all with a similar drawback – not having pretty faces – were unlikely to snare a husband in the marital stakes, in normal competitive circumstances. Having discovered what a lovely man Reg was becoming, we asked him if he would consider marrying us second-class citizens.
Now, you can imaging his reaction! While he thought highly of us, he knew that the law of England did not permit more than one spouse, and demurred. We were not put off, and came up with a proposal that we put to him: going through our own personal form of marriage ceremony, so that although we would have no paper saying we were married, we would KNOW we were married, having promised to commit to each other for ever.
Changing our names legally to Mrs Frances, or Freda, or Erika Robertson, would mean that we would be seen by the world at large as married women with everything except the paper document.”
“But you would not be legally married!” Mrs Robson blurted out.
Frances was patient with her.
“Tell me, Mrs Robson; how many times have you or your husband been asked, in all your years of marriage, to produce your marriage certificate to prove you are married?”
She admitted, “Only when applying for some other document I suppose; driving licence, claim for farm subsidies; that sort of thing.”
“Nobody has asked to see it otherwise, apart from formalities like that?”
“No, none.”
“Exactly. With so many couples not even bothering to formally marry nowadays, most people would feel embarrassed to ask for that proof. Thus, our own form of marriage works for us, and with the legal change of name, our children have birth certificates apparently saying they were born legitimate. It is a legal fiction, but quite acceptable. The father of one of the other girls is a lawyer and he says it is legally competent.
What has occurred to us – me and the other girls – is that possibly Hermione and Jemima could adopt the same procedure.”
Mrs Robson was seeing her way through this argument. “You mean they could do the same sort of thing, and call themselves married women?”
Frances was careful at this point.
“Close, but no cigar! They would need a cooperative and understanding man to be able to support this fiction in the long term. One of the other girls suggested adding Hermione and Jemima to our own marriage arrangement – which we call a Commitment - and getting them to change their names by deed poll to Mrs Hermione or Jemima Robertson. That would give them the status of a wife in society and their children would be legitimate from then on; but it is just a suggestion that I am passing on.
We don’t really want them to leave the company, but in future if they decided to do so, they would be in a far better position to advance farther in life, if they had adopted this process.
Now, before I go any farther on with this idea, I ought to ask your daughters whether they would be amenable to such an arrangement. After all, it is their future we are talking about, and they should have a veto over it if they don’t like the idea!”
Trish
- 03.01.2021
- 33
- 0
