White Gold

- Evening, Vincent. - Ronnie.

Beautiful spot.

I guess, if you like big metal boxes.

Oh, I do.

All these different coloured boxes carrying goods across the world.

You know, I look at those containers and do you know what I see?

Good places to store bodies.

Very funny, although they really are.

No, I see bunts, young Vincent.

They're like lucky dips bags, you never know what's inside

until you break into one and then nick it.

Well, I'm sure you didn't drag me all the way out here to romanticise

some rusty fucking crates, Ronnie.

How's business?

Figures are down again this month, but I've got it under control.

My rival's had an opening month bump, nothing more.

- Won't happen again. - I hope not, Vincent.

Otherwise I might be forced to give you a tour of the inside

of one of these rusty fucking crates.

OK, now the pep talk's out the way, I need a favour.

- What is it? - It's my boy, Ronnie Junior.

Let's just say he's been having a few issues

in the employment market.

I need you to take him on at Cachet.

It's not exactly convenient timing.

Oh, it is for me.

Lyndsey's been banging my earhole about getting him a job,

and obviously I can't have him working alongside me

in the family business.

- You want to protect him? - No, no, no.

It's, um, how can I put this? It's more, he's...

He's just fucking strange.

What can you do, eh?

Unconditional love can be a terrible burden.

Great.

- Do I get a choice? - Of course.

You can say yes, or you can spend the next eight weeks

in that yellow container up there being shipped to South America.

Junior, come and meet Vincent.

He's your new mentor.

Pleased to meet you, Junior.

It's RJ to everyone else.

Have you done any sales before, RJ?

There is nothing you can teach me that I do not already know.

- Oh, good. - Right,

I see you two are going to get on like a house on fire.

Already starting to feel like a right gooseberry.

So, see you lovebirds later.

More charred meat, girls.

I'd go for the sausages, if I were you.

Unfortunately this isn't a dream sequence.

No, there's no waking up from the living nightmare

that is little prick's annual staff barbecue.

Silencio, silencio, por favor. Gracia, muchas gracias.

Exciting times here at Millman Young.

Hopefully this little shindig goes some way to saying thank you,

not just to my colleagues, but to the wonderful wives

and partners who help support and nourish my team.

So, thank you, ladies.

Thank you, ladies.

Now, I'm just going to talk shop for one moment longer.

I am delighted to announce

that we are going to promote Sam Swan

to a position in the sales advertising team.

Congratulations, Sam.

- You deserve it, sweetheart. - Hear, hear.

Congratulations, my darling.

Now, can everyone get back to eating barbecue and bitching about me

behind my back.

Vincent, it's great to have you here.

Actually, what Andrew said when he first planned this barbecue

was, "I have to invite Vincent.

"I don't want to, but I have to."

Listen, I know we've had our differences but I'm really

- glad you came. - Wouldn't miss it for the world.

- Patronising little prick. - Vincent, stop.

Right.

Are we are ready for the fifth annual Millman Young

World Cup of ping-pong?

Oh, this day just gets fucking better and better.

Right, gang, time to get serious.

This year we're playing mixed doubles, not spouses together

because I will not be held responsible for any divorce proceedings.

So the pairings are as follows.

Sally and Chris, Melinda and Bob, Bess and Jim, Sam and myself,

Vincent and Pat, June and Martin, Ann and Alan, Angela and Norman.

- Who's Pat? - I am.

You are going to have to do most of the work, I'm afraid.

Well, the upside of doing a stint in borstal,

Patrick, is it's like a crash course in table tennis. Come on.

My borstal bat skills just about made up for my partner

being so close to death's door that he could play knock-down ginger on it.

Eventually I dragged the dead weight of Pat all the way to the final,

which pitted me against my wife and the world's most

competitive garden gnome.

The score was 20-17, which gave them three match points.

If the table's too high,

I don't mind you using a stepladder to serve.

I won't be needing that, thank you.

Go on, Sam.

OK, OK.

- Sorry. - 20-18.

20-19.

When you get a chance, you've got to take it, Sam.

Vincent's fucking serving now.

- Sorry. - You had the chance, Sam.

I'm sorry.

Stop apologising and take responsibility for it.

OK, I will, I promise, I'll do better next time, yeah?

If there is a next time.

Yes, that's it.

Give me some skin.

For fuck's sake, sorry, Pat, mate.

You useless bastard.

I'm sorry if I got a little bit spiky just then.

No, you didn't. Honestly, it's fine, forget about it.

I have to admit, you were pretty sensational today.

Every once in awhile, Samantha, you've got to take one

- for the team. - Mmm.

What I was thinking, it's only fair that if you get to take

one for the team, then so should I.

Now, come on, Vincent Swan, I need you to be the bigger man

one last time today.

What's wrong, baby?

I'm sorry, Pat, I've just got a lot on my mind.

- Walshie. - Sort of.

If that sneaky bitch he's got selling for him keeps

stealing our business, I'm not going to hit my target this month.

Well, at least money is not as much of a worry,

now we've got the two salaries and I'm getting a raise.

And so, it seems, is Mr Winky.

He certainly is.

Don't worry.

I'll have this situation under control soon.

I managed to set a little trap and Walshie's golden girl is walking

straight into it.

What kind of a trap?

The sweetest kind.

A honey trap.

And guess which sap was the honey?

As part of his quest to become more ruthless in sales,

Lavender jumped at the opportunity.

It also didn't hurt that the bee in this particular honey trap

was hotter than Satan's arsehole after a vindaloo.

Hiya. It's Jo, isn't it?

You ran the peak performance seminar I went to.

Sorry, I'm Martin Lavender, Cachet Windows.

Ah, Mr Be-More-Assertive. How are you doing, Martin?

I just want to say

you really completely transformed my whole approach to sales.

In fact, I honestly wouldn't be selling at all any more

if it wasn't for you.

Shot myself in the foot, then.

I know you're working, I just wanted to say thanks.

- Where are you heading? - Hot lead, number eight.

The Talbots.

Sneaky two-timing bastards.

Oh, double bookers.

How do you want to handle this?

- All yours. - Really?

- Absolutely. - Oh, thank you.

Well, then, I feel like I failed as a sales coach.

Also I was hoping my tiny act of generosity might get my foot

in the door for a bigger opportunity.

OK, now you've got me interested, Martin.

What's the bigger prize?

Dinner tonight?

Yeah, all right.

I'm married to a sexist dinosaur.

What?

The fact you don't see how incredibly wrong this is

is even more disturbing than dreaming it up in the first place.

What I do know is that if you don't hurry up and get back on board,

Mr Dipply O'Dickus here will soon become extinct.

It's not funny, Vincent.

The poor girl.

Not to mention Martin.

Yeah, I'm sure that furious, hot sex with a beautiful woman is tough.

And there it is.

The cherry on top of this passion-killing cake.

She's beautiful, is she?

That's not what I meant.

Goodnight, Vincent.

And just as my mojo was rising again, Sam had me on a sex ban.

Something that I was wishing Ronnie's wife had done to him

24 years ago.

Boysies, this is Ronnie Junior.

I'll stop you there. It's RJ. Continue.

He'll be working with us from today.

RJ, Fitzpatrick and Lavender will train you up,

- take you out, show you the ropes. - As I said, I won't need training.

Have fun.

Lavender here went to university.

Thought he knew it all when he first turned up.

Turns out, the only thing he learned to transfer to sales

was how to identify various sexually-transmitted diseases.

It's a steep learning curve, mate.

Well, I imagine it's mainly strategy and psychology,

in which case it's highly likely I'll know it all already.

Oh, lovely, did you do psychology?