air.’
Graham could hardly believe how miraculously everything had worked to his advantage. One detail remained, though, one detail that could either destroy him or free him for life.
‘But what on earth sparked it off? Surely there must have been a flame or something to. .?’
Terry Sworder hung his head. ‘This is where I feel really shitty, Graham. You know, like guilty. Just when we were in the dinghy on the way out, I gave him one.’
‘One what?’ ‘One of these.’ Terry gestured with the little cigar in his hand. ‘He said, no, not so early in the morning, and I said go on and he. . well. .’
The young man shook his head. Perhaps it was as well that he wasn’t looking and didn’t see the blaze of joy in his colleague’s eye.
Graham could hardly contain himself. He had won; everything was on his side; now he was truly invincible.
But he controlled his exhilaration. He too shook his head and murmured, ‘Terrible business.’
Then he looked firmly at the young computer expert.
‘Still, life has to go on. Work in particular has to go on. You know that Human Resources survey you were doing for Robert. .’
‘Yes. The model for — ’
‘When were you reckoning to finish?’
‘I don’t know. . Ten days. .? Mind you, now Bob’s not around, I don’t know whether — ’
‘I’d like it by the end of this week,’ said the Assistant Head of Personnel.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It was just under a fortnight till George Brewer was finally to leave, but Graham Marshall could do a lot in a fortnight. All the old sporting imagery reasserted itself. He felt he was in peak condition, had just put in another superlative performance and was equal to any new challenge that might be thrown at him.
His first move was to be nice to Terry Sworder. Rather than treating the young man like some boffin unfit for civilised society, as he had done in the past, Graham started to take an interest, and even had the humility to let Terry show off some of his beloved computers. Graham understood little, but he was properly appreciative and afterwards took his guide to the company bar, where he was introduced to more of the staff who had risen on computer skills. He proved to them to be affable and properly impatient of the company’s laggardly approach to the new technology.
At the same time Graham started to be less nice to George Brewer. He had never doubted his influence over the older man, but always previously had humoured George’s rambles through his early days in the company, problems with
He also began to disparage his retiring boss behind his back, in the canteen, or the company bar, or round the office. This he did with some subtlety. He knew a complete volte-face would be suspect and so only hinted his criticisms. He gave the impression of a man who had gone along with his superior’s ideas from a misplaced sense of loyalty, but whose mask, as that superior’s departure grew more imminent, was beginning to crack. Though it hurt him to disagree with George, he really didn’t feel he could hold back his real views much longer.
The most public difference between the two came at another of George Brewer’s farewell drinks parties. This one was set up to coincide with the visit of some of the company’s top brass from the Middle East. Among these were a couple of old mates of George’s and once again the conviviality of the occasion lifted him out of his habitual depression.
‘God, when I think back to how we started. .’ He was addressing a massively fat red-faced man in a blazer, and Graham stood by his side. ‘All very
With a guffaw, the fat man agreed that they didn’t.
‘Don’t see the need for it all myself,’ George continued.
‘Technology for its own sake, I call it. Glad I’m getting out before the bloody government makes understanding it compulsory!’
This merited another guffaw from both of them, though George’s was muted by the mention of his impending departure. He picked himself out of the trough by turning to Graham for support. ‘I’ve been lucky, though, having an assistant who thought the same as me.’
‘Not about everything, George,’ Graham interposed gently.
‘No, no, of course not. Had our disagreements, but in outline. . thought on the same lines. Neither of us had a lot of time for the Space Invaders, eh?’
‘Well, I know you didn’t, George, but I always rather thought you underestimated the contribution computer science could make to our business.’
George just stared, his mind not working fast enough to catch up with this new development.
‘Sorry, George, but since you raise the subject, I’m afraid I’ve always found your attitude rather head-in-the- sand. I think if we’d put more reliance on computers a few years earlier, you’d be leaving a much more efficient Department.’
There was a silence. It had been said quietly, but enough people had heard. Graham gave a little diffident smile. ‘Sorry,’ he lied, ‘but you did ask.’
George looked pained and confused. To cover his embarrassment he reached in his pockets for another of his little cigarettes. He put it in his mouth and blinked around for a light.
Graham’s hand was instinctively in his pocket, but he was relieved not to find his lighter there. Must have mislaid it. Good. His toadying to George Brewer was at an end.
The other crease on the surface of his life that needed ironing out was Stella. He felt nothing for her. She had done all that he had needed at the weekend in her role as safety net, and, though it now seemed unlikely that his alibi would ever be checked, he was glad that he had taken the precaution.
Now she had outgrown her usefulness — though, from the odd whispered aside in the office, it appeared that she was unaware of that. She evidently had seen the weekend as the beginning of a relationship. It was a notion from which she had to be disabused.
He could of course just tell her to get lost, but Graham didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Given her proximity to him in the department, that approach could lead to undesirable scenes along the corridors.
No, obviously he had to let her down gently. He managed another wine-bar drink after work, but regretfully cried off the next weekend on the grounds that he was sorting out the children’s final transfer to Islington.
He didn’t want to repeat the physical encounter of the previous weekend. Complete insensitivity to desire had returned after that savage moment of triumph. He was not sure whether any women would be involved in his new lifestyle, but he knew that if he did look for other companions, they would need to be more glamorous than Stella.
So he resorted to the established company procedure for shaking her off. On the Friday afternoon, five days after Robert’s death, Graham went to see the Secretarial Organiser, Miss Pridmore, known throughout the company, with typical office wit, as ‘Head of Secs’. She was a daunting lady of stout moral principles, who ruled her charges like a malign Mother Superior.
He took great pleasure in telling her at least an edited version of the truth. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Pridmore. I’m sure you’ve heard this sort of tale before, but mine has a rather nasty twist. No doubt most executives are worried that their wives will discover about their liaisons with secretaries. In my case I’m afraid it was because of my wife’s death that the liaison started. I’ve been in a very confused state since it happened and. .’
He was good. He knew he was good. As he shed more and more of his real emotions, the ability to manufacture convincing imitations increased.
Miss Pridmore was of course disapproving, but also sympathetic. She could understand the anguish he must be going through. And yes, of course, it would be advisable to have the girl in question transferred to another
