A Shock to the System

‘Look, Graham,’ George began again unnecessarily loudly, to shake himself out of his mood, ‘you know I’ve always had the highest respect for your abilities. .’

‘Thank you.’

‘And I’ve always hoped, when the time came for me to go. .’ His bottom lip, slightly misshaven, quivered. ‘Not that I thought I would be going so soon. .’

‘Nor did any of us,’ Graham supplied loyally. Oh, get on with it, George, get on with it.’

‘I always hoped that you’d take over from me. I think we see eye to eye on the important issues in this company. Both want to keep out the bloody Space Invaders, eh?’

‘Yes.’ Graham laughed loyally at the recurrent joke.

‘And I like to think that, with you sitting in this seat, my policies would be continued — at least in outline.’

That’s all you know, thought Graham. But he nodded and said, ‘Of course, George.’

‘So I’ve always wanted you to take over this job.’

Graham nodded again. He was having difficulty in controlling a little smile at the corners of his lips.

‘Unfortunately the rest of the selection board didn’t agree with me.’

So total was the surprise of these words that Graham could not for a moment take them in.

‘I think it’s just faddishness,’ George continued petulantly. ‘They’re all so twitchy after that damned Management Consultants’ report, they just want change for change’s sake. Won’t go for the obvious candidate for the very reason that he is obvious.’

‘I’m sorry?’ Graham managed to say. ‘Are you telling me I haven’t got the job?’

‘Yes, of course I am,’ George replied testily.

Graham’s first thought was that George must have got it wrong. He was so confused these days, possibly so drunk, that he’d got the wrong end of the stick.

‘Are you sure, George? I mean, I thought — ’

‘So did I, Graham. And, had it been in my gift, you’d have. .’ The stubbly lower lip trembled again. ‘Maybe it’s my support that’s dished you. Now I’m completely discredited in the company, maybe it’s. . Maybe they don’t want my policies continued. .’

But I wouldn’t continue them, Graham wanted desperately to say. Wanted to be back before the selection board and say it to them. Good God, had he been backing the wrong horse all these years? Had all those tedious sessions of agreeing with George been wasted?

‘Don’t think they do want my policies continued,’ the old man went on truculently. ‘Said they wanted a “new broom”.’

‘And who. .’ asked Graham thickly, ‘who is the new broom?’

‘Robert Benham.’

‘Robert Benham! As Head of Personnel!’

‘Yes.’

‘But he’s only thirty-four!’

‘That, to the rest of the board, seemed to be a point in his favour.’

‘And he’s only been with Crasoco three years.’

‘That, too. It’s the Management Consultants’ jibe about our being insular. Benham’s worked for American companies, he’s been all over the place.’ George Brewer shrugged hopelessly. ‘Graham, there’s nothing I can do. I’ve been overruled — yet again — and Robert Benham is to be the next Head of Department.’

Graham Marshall took a deep breath. ‘Does he know yet?’

‘No. I must tell him now. I thought the least I could do for you was to let you know first.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I trust your discretion, of course.’

‘Of course.’

George looked at him with old, watery eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Graham. I’m afraid we’re both in the same boat.’

‘And both sold up the same river.’

‘Yes.’

Betrayed, totally betrayed. Graham Marshall could feel the fury building inside him. For nearly twenty years he’d played the company game. And now, just when a major prize was within his reach, the rules had been arbitrarily changed.

That evening, when he joined George Brewer and Robert Benham for a celebratory drink in the company bar, Graham found the bitter truth of Oscar Wilde’s dictum, that “anyone can sympathise with the sufferings of a friend, but it requires a very fine nature to sympathise with a friend’s success”.

His nature was not particularly fine, nor was it practised in that kind of sympathy. Nor, come to that, was Robert Benham a friend. Through the afternoon following Graham’s announcement, Graham kept coming back to the realisation that this was the first public competition he had failed, and the habits of success were hard to break.

Robert Benham was very cool about his elevation. He could afford to be. Graham, from his own experience, knew how easy it was to avoid brashness and show sympathy in a moment of triumph. The winner always has time to be magnanimous; it is the also-rans following him in who are left breathless and unprepared to comment on their failure.

So Robert Benham, short, dark, and — to Graham’s mind — sloppily dressed in a leather-patched tweed jacket, had no difficulty in appearing diffident and modest. He was more relaxed than Graham had ever seen him; the constant aggression he showed at all other times was now curbed. Having achieved his ambition, he didn’t need it for a while. Again, from his own experience, Graham could recognise this unassailable calm.

And he could almost recognise his own words when Robert Benham murmured to him, in his flat Midland voice, ‘Never had a bigger surprise in my life, Graham. I was convinced you were going to get the job. Hope management know what they’re playing at.’

What was more, he could recognise how insincere the words were. Of course Robert Benham hadn’t been surprised. The appointment had merely confirmed his own opinion of himself.

Just as it would have confirmed Graham’s self-image. . had he got it.

Had he got it. He was still having difficulty in assimilating the idea of failure. He had lived so long with the conviction of taking over from George that it would take some time to dismantle the superstructure of consequences that had been built on to that fantasy.

But at the same time he knew how total the failure was. Forty-one was young for someone to become Head of Department; it was much older for someone to fail to become Head of Department. The stigma would stay. For the first time, Graham realised how his concentration on the one particular job had disqualified him from others. The shrewd thing would have been to have spent the last ten years moving around, going to other departments, even other companies.

As Robert Benham had.

What had Robert Benham got that he hadn’t? Nothing, Graham decided, just the same qualities in greater concentration.

And youth. And no wife and children and massive mortgage to slow him down.

Background?

Not as good as Graham’s. State education, primary and comprehensive. Out of school at sixteen and into a job. Then, in his early twenties an external degree, and subsequently business school. No public-school gloss.

The rules had certainly change. Once again, Graham felt contempt for his father’s memory. ‘Public school and university, they’re the keys to the system — got to have those if you’re going to get anywhere, Graham.’

Untrue. A deception. All the miserable years of penny-pinching in Mitcham had been unnecessary. Like his car maintenance, like his savings policy, Eric Marshall’s plan of education had been simply incompetent.

‘Fact is, I’ll be making some changes when I take over,’ Robert Benham confided, after George had nipped out to the Gents for the second time in an hour’s drinking. Really, the old man seemed to be falling apart.

‘For a start, Graham, I’m going to see that everyone works a lot harder. Hell of a lot of slackness has crept into the Department while George has been in charge.’