Excerpt from the audio book of The Servant, by Robin Maugham
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General) British (Received Pronunciation - RP, BBC)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
The Servant by Robin Mom, narrated by Richard Turner. London was blowsy with heat that summer evening. I decided to travel home from the office by bus. I found a front seat on the upper deck and set, staring down a TTE type ists and Clark's and shoppers pouring along the warm, dusty streets. I'm 30 years old, I thought, and I have £5 in my pocket. Then I felt the dispatch case resting on my knees. I rebuked my fancy. You have joined a publishing firm. I told myself, If you don't like having to stay in to make a report on a new book, you should have gone back to being a solicitor when you were de mobbed. But Sloane Square, I clambered down and strolled up the king's road toward my little house in Oakley Street. After all, I argued, there's no reason to be gloomy. At least I'm in their foreign department and get free trips abroad. I mean, good health. I'm tolerably strong. All my limbs are intact, and there's no war on touch wood. Perched on the slab in the passage was a note from Mrs Toms, the daily a gentleman rung up I read I could not quite catch his name. I think he said he was a Mr Anonymous. There is two oranges in the covered on the Giza is not right, Mrs Toms. I was settling down grimly to my work when the telephone bell rang. Hello? Croaked A man's voice, heavily disguised. Is that Captain Martin? Richard Martin, speaking of the publishing firm Domincan. Stretchy? Yes, I said, still trying to guess who it wass. Well, I have to address the most urgent matter to you. My little daughter, Phoebe, age 9.5 has just written a masterpiece. Now I wonder what you think she should do with it. I'll give you three guesses. I said, Are you suggesting that my little daughter than I recognise the voice? Tony, you old devil. How long have you been back? I arrived this morning. What do you doing disguised as a publisher? Come round and have a drink. Where are you? I've got a flat in Hebrew street to come. I looked guilty at the manuscript on my desk. Please come. All right. I said What's the number? As I walked along King's Road. I remember the last time I had seen Tony. It was five years ago. He was sitting on the top of his tank, talking to me with a mug of tea in one hand and his map case in the other when he saw a staff car bumping towards us across the desert. We recognise the brigade intelligence officer. Here comes trouble, said Tony. Morning, David. Good morning, Tony. I've got something to make you sit up. Read this. You're to leave right away. There's a truck leaving from Brigade in half an hour. Tony did not open the envelope. He stared down at David leave. Where to? For Alex, my boy. You've been posted to the Far East, I said, Tony, after a brief pause, You quite took me in. Read the order. Tony tore open the envelope. Neither of us spoke. I knew from David's face that it was true. Tony read the order. Then he read it all through again. For one moment I thought he was going to cry. It seemed a long time before he replied. What about my troupe? I can't leave them while the show is still on. If you were wounded, you'd have to. Why did they have to pick on me. You've been on a commander. Of course, that's the only reason I can think off. The brig told me to tell you he David's voice changed us. He saw Tony's face. He was awfully sorry. He ended lamely. Tony was silent. I could guess some of the thoughts that were passing through his mind. Tony had left Cambridge, where he was reading Law to join us in our regiment as a trooper in August 1939. Both his parents were dead and he was unmarried. The regiment had taken the place of a family in his life. At last he spoke. Thanks, David, on one thing you can tell that truck leaving for Alex, that I shan't be it brigade for an hour's time and they can bloody well wait so long. The end