The Complete Yes Minister

I really did find it most awfully funny. Old Humphrey began to explain that when in Rome . . . and so forth. Hacker wasn’t having any truck with that.

‘This is not Rome, Humphrey,’ he said severely. ‘You look ridiculous.’ This was undeniably true, but Humphrey found it rather wounding to be told. Hacker didn’t let it go at that, either. ‘If you were in Fiji, would you wear a grass skirt?’

Humphrey replied pompously that the Foreign Office took the view that, as the Arab nations are very sensitive people, we should show them whose side we’re on.

Hacker remarked: ‘It may come as a surprise to the Foreign Office, but you are supposed to be on our side.’

I decided that their conversation should continue in private, so I interrupted them and told Sir Humphrey that the Soviet Embassy was on the line – a Mr Smirnoff. And then I told Hacker, who was looking distinctly thirsty, that there was a message for him from the British Embassy Compound. The school. A delegation of Teachers.

He brightened up immediately, and, hurrying off, made some dreadful pun about going to greet the Teachers at once, before the Bell’s goes.

Prince Mohammed sidled up to me, and observed softly that we were all receiving a great many urgent messages. There was no twinkle in his eye, no hint that he had spotted that all the British orange juice was turning steadily browner – and yet, I wondered if he realised what was going on. To this day, of course, I still don’t know.

Unwilling to prolong the conversation, I edged away. And I found myself face to face with a smiling Arab who had been close to me earlier in the evening when I was talking to Annie Hacker about the rosewater jar. This next conversation, with its fateful consequences, is the first reason why this whole evening is etched forever on my memory.

Although dressed in traditional Arab style, the smiling Arab spoke perfect English and clearly knew the West only too well.

‘Excuse me, Effendi,’ he began, ‘but I could not help overhearing your conversation about valuing the gift. Perhaps I can help.’

I was surprised. And grateful. And I asked if he had any idea how much it was worth.

He smiled. ‘Of course. An original seventeenth-century rosewater jar is very valuable.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said, thinking of Annie Hacker’s disappointment.

‘You are not pleased?’ Naturally, he was a little surprised.

I hastened to explain. ‘Yes – and no. I mean if it is too valuable, the Minister is not allowed to keep it. So I was hoping it wasn’t.’

He understood immediately, and smiled even more. ‘Ah yes. Well, as I was saying, an original seventeenth-century rosewater jar is very valuable but this copy, though excellently done, is not of the same order.’

‘Oh good. How much?’

He was a very shrewd fellow. He eyed me for a moment, and then said, ‘I should be interested to hear your guess.’

‘A little under fifty pounds?’ I asked hopefully.

‘Brilliant,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘Quite a connoisseur!’

I asked him if he could sign a valuation certificate. He agreed, but added that our English customs are very strange. ‘You are so strict about a little gift. And yet your electronics company pays our Finance Minister a million dollars for his co-operation in securing this contract. Is that not strange?’

Of course, I was utterly horrified. I said that I hoped he didn’t mean what I thought he meant.

He smiled from ear to ear. ‘Of course. I work for the Finance Ministry. I got my share of the money.’

‘For what?’

‘For keeping my mouth shut!’

It seemed to me that someone would be asking for that money back from him any time now. But excusing myself as quickly as I decently could, I made my way hurriedly through the crowd, looking for Sir Humphrey. Not easy as he was still dressed up like one of the natives.

I found Sir Humphrey talking to the Minister, of all people. Rather clumsily, I asked if I could have a word with Sir Humphrey in private. Hacker told me that I could speak freely. Momentarily nonplussed, because of the enormity of the information that I was about to reveal to Sir Humphrey, I came up with a foolproof way of removing Hacker from the room for a couple of minutes.

‘Minister,’ I said, ‘you’re wanted in the Communications Room. The VAT man.’ He looked blank. ‘About your ’69 returns.’ He must have had a great deal too much already for he just stared at me as if I was mad, until I was forced to say, ‘Vat 69’.

‘Ah. Ah. Yes,’ he said, turned gleefully, bumped into a hovering prince, and spilt what was left of his previous drink.

‘Bernard,’ Sir Humphrey took me by the arm and led me quickly to one side. ‘I’m beginning to think that the Minister’s had almost as many urgent messages as he can take.’

I was glad he’d led me to a quiet corner. I immediately blurted out that I had just found out the most terrible thing: that the contract was obtained by bribery.