UNDERTONES

Brentford Engineering Co. Ltd manufactured specialist machinery for
suppliers to the automotive industry. To encourage forward thinking
amongst its employees, Brentford ran a suggestion scheme, offering
generous cash rewards for innovative ideas.

In the past Peter had been quite successful with his submissions. The
previous evening he had had to abandon an on-going project for want of
a fine drawing pen. He could have managed without it, but he had
learned though experience that properly presented submissions were more
likely to succeed.

Straight after work, he made his way to the city centre and the New
Street branch of Hanson's, the stationers. He was standing near the
entrance; pondering which counter he should try first, when he heard
his name being called. He turned to be greeted by Janet Walsh, Lyn's
small friend from the party. "Hello. What brings you here?"

He returned her smile. "I'm looking for a drawing pen. But I'm not
quite sure of where to go."

"Try down there on the left." She waved down an aisle.

"How did you know that?"

"I work here. If you'd have come earlier I might have got you a staff
discount. But it's my early finish today, so I'm off home now."

"Oh, yeah, now you mention it, I remember Lyn saying you were all going
to the pictures tonight."

"That was the plan," she shrugged, "but I had to cry off. I've got too
much to do at home."

"Tell you what, if you give me time to get sorted out, I'll give you a
walk to your bus stop."

Janet didn't have to wait long for Peter, but by the time they had
walked to Colmore Row her bus was pulling out of the stop.

"Damn it!" she cursed, coming to a sudden halt and stamping her foot on
the pavement, "that's all I need."

"Will you have to wait ages for the next one?" he asked guiltily.

"Oh, I don't know!" she snapped at him and gave a heavy haunch of her
shoulders. A moment or two passed before she spoke again - this time in
a kinder tone. "I'm sorry, Pete. It just seems that everything's
against me lately."

"Sounds to me that a cuppa might help. What do you say?" He nodded at
the Kardomah coffee house. "Have you got time?"

"I'll make time." She smiled a more relaxed smile.

Peter carried the coffees over to the window seat where Janet had taken
up position. She pushed a packet of Consulate across the table, as he
slid into the seat facing her.

"Would you like one?"
He declined the offer with a shake of his head.
"No thanks. I'll stick to these," he said, producing a packet of Park
Drive.
She leaned over the table to accept a light from him.

"I'm sorry to hear you and Lyn didn't hit it off," she commiserated,
blowing smoke into the air. "You seemed to be getting on so well at the
party."

"That's OK." He winced a little with embarrassment. "A case of ships
that pass in the night, or something like that, I suppose."

There was a lapse in dialogue, while she sipped at her coffee and he
tried to remember whom she resembled. It was somebody in the public eye
- but he couldn't figure out whom. Although it wasn't her, it was
somebody like Jean Shrimpton.

"So, what do you think about the wedding?" Janet rekindled their
conversation.
"That's it!" He slapped his hand on the table. She nearly dropped her
cup. "That's what?"

"That's who you remind me of - Patti Boyd!"

"Well, that's very flattering," she laughed, "but what's it got to do
with Carol and Norman getting married?"

"She married George Harrison recently. I remember seeing the photos in
the papers. I think you look very similar to her."

"Woo, well, maybe I should find myself a Beatle," she chuckled, pushing
her hair up the back of her neck and pouting like a model.

"You should do that more often," he grinned, "You look much prettier
when you smile." He watched her cheeks redden a shade - that suited her
too. And, now he looked at her more closely, he reconsidered the
comparison with Mrs Harrison.

Janet was more of a natural blonde. She was smaller than the model and,
although she was slim, her build was more athletic. The well-defined
muscles in her arms and legs suggested she took regular exercise,
through one sport or another. Because she was in her working clothes,
it would have been unfair to judge her dress sense on the baggy white
blouse and lengthy black skirt she was wearing. But, he recalled, even
at the party, although her choice of outfit had been fashionable, there
had been nothing exceptional about it.

It was her facial features that had prompted his comparison between the
two women. He had never seen a colour picture of Patti Boyd. He just
assumed her eyes were the same blue as Janet's. But it was the shape of
the face, with the proportions of the nose and mouth that bore the
greatest similarities.

"I was asking you about the wedding," Janet reminded him, "Will you be
going?"

"I suppose so," he shrugged, "but I haven't been asked yet."

"Oh, I'm sure you will be. You've known Norman for years, haven't
you?"

"Since school. We were all pretty close then -Norm, Walt, Al and me. Of
course, since Norman got serious with Carol, we don't see that much of
him. But we still knock about together from time to time. Seems
strange," he betrayed a twinge of nostalgia, "it doesn't seem five
minutes since we were running round the streets - a real foursome of
ragged arsed kids. Now, he's about to become a respectable married man.
God," he smiled thoughtfully, "when I think of some of the tricks we
used to get up to."

"Like what?" she pressed him.

Janet's initial interest in hearing about his formative years lead them
to trade backgrounds and amusing anecdotes from the past. They chatted
through another cup of coffee and another missed bus. It was only when
Peter threw a casual glance at his watch that he noticed how much time
had passed.

"Bloody hell, Jan, I'm sorry," he apologised, "I didn't realise I'd
kept you so long. Bit of a waste of time you knocking off early, wasn't
it?"

"Not at all," she assured him with a broad smile, "It's me that should
be thanking you. I've enjoyed our little chat a lot more than I'm going
to enjoy doing the pile of washing that's waiting for me when I get
home. It's been nice talking." She reached across the table and patted
the back of his hand. "You've really cheered me up - thanks,
Pete."

"Don't be daft, " he laughed, "It's been no hardship for me. Tell you
what," he said, opening the wrapping on his new pen, "I'll give you my
phone number and if you feel like doing this again, give me a bell.
Have you got something to write on?"

She slid him the Consulate packet. He opened the flip-top and jotted
down the number inside.

The bus pulled in just as they reached the stop. To the hiss of the
pneumatic doors opening, Janet stretched up and brushed her lips
against the side of his face.

"Thanks again," she smiled. He blushed and before he could reply the
doors were hissing closed behind her. As the bus pulled away he got one
last look at her through a grimy window, doing her impression of a
model by pushing up her hair and pursing her lips at him. He was left
contemplating whether any of his future relationships with the opposite
sex would ever evolve into anything more than a succession of friendly
kisses on the cheek.