‘When I need a funny man,’ he said sharply, ‘I’ll hire Morecambe and Wise. Do you personally have the answer to the problem?’
Xander leaned back for a minute to admire his artwork.
‘Well, not right here in my pocket,’ he said, and hiccoughed gently.
‘Well shut up then,’ snapped Gareth.
He got out a packet of cigarettes. Several lighters were raised, but he used his own, inhaling deeply, then said briskly:
‘To get you out of the wood, Ricky and I suggest the following measures. To start with Seaford International is going to write off their £15 million loan as a loss, and give you a further £10 million over the next four years for a new model programme, and for modernizing the factories. Secondly, the existing products need more stringent tests. Practically everything you’ve produced recently has been blighted by poor reliability. Thirdly, I intend to re-jig the production operation. It’s got to be speeded up. Waiting lists are so long, buyers have been forced to go elsewhere. I’d like to have the new engines rolling off the assembly by January at the latest. And you’re not producing enough either, so instead of laying off men at Glasgow and Bradford, we’re going to initiate a second shift system. There are enough men up there who need work. Then it’s up to you to sell them. That’s your baby, Tommy.’
Tommy Lloyd turned puce at the casual use of his Christian name.
‘We’ve got to completely re-think the export market too,’ Gareth went on. ‘The appetite in the Middle East and in Africa for your sort of stuff, particularly power stations, should produce thumping big orders.’
‘You talk as though we’ve been sitting round since the war doing F. . all,’ said Tommy Lloyd stiffly. ‘Anyone can put up proposals.’
‘Exactly,’ said Gareth. ‘So let’s get the ball rolling early tomorrow. Over the next fortnight Kenny and I plan to have talks with all of you individually. I won’t be here all the time, but Kenny’s going to put in a four-day week for the moment. Kenny,’ he added, turning and looking at his manager’s battered lugubrious face, ‘I can assure you, is much tougher than he looks.’
A tremor of sycophantic laughter went through the room.
Gareth stood for a minute, looking cool, almost indifferent, but his left hand was squeezing the back of a chair so hard I could see the whiteness of his knuckles.
‘I’m looking forward to working with you,’ he said softly, ‘but I’d like to add that I find it impossible to breathe or conduct business in a taut, patched-up regime; so you’re either for me, or against me.’
And except for Xander, who was gazing blankly into space, and Tommy Lloyd, who was still looking livid, everyone seemed to be eating out of his hand. For a minute he glared at them grimly, then suddenly he smiled for the first time, the harsh, heavy features suddenly illuminated. The contrast was extraordinary; you could feel the tension going out of the room, as though you’d loosened your fingers on the neck of a balloon.
‘I’m sorry I’ve been so blunt, but these things had to be said. You’re in a hell of a mess, but frankly, I wouldn’t have taken you on if I didn’t think you could get yourselves out of it.’
When he sat down there was even a murmur of approval.
Ricky rose to his feet, oozing satisfaction like an over-ripe plum.
‘Thank you, Gareth. I’m sure you can count on 100 per cent support. Now gentlemen, I believe that will be all today.’
There was a shuffling of feet. Everyone started to file out looking shell-shocked.
‘I’ll leave you then,’ said Ricky. ‘Again, many congratulations. We’ll talk later today.’
I was dying to tell Gareth how great he’d been. But Annabel Smith was already doing it, speaking in an undertone, smiling warmly into his eyes, the predatory, self-possessed bitch.
Oh please at least let him say goodbye to me, I prayed, as I started towards the door.
Gareth turned. ‘I want a word with you, Alexander, and you, Octavia,’ he said shortly.
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Xander, ‘I was afraid you might. Are we going to get a thousand lines, or is birching the only answer?’
Chapter Fifteen
As the last person shut the door behind them, Xander very slowly counted Mrs Smith, me and Gareth with a shaking finger. Then he looked down at the long polished table.
‘If we could find a net,’ he said confidingly, ‘we could have a ping-pong four.’
I giggled. Gareth and Mrs Smith didn’t. Xander pinched another of my cigarettes and went over to the window. We could hear the clunk of his signet ring as his fingers drummed nervously on the radiator. Gareth looked worn-out. I realized now what a strain the meeting had been.
‘I wonder what’s happening in the Test match,’ said Xander to Mrs Smith. ‘You don’t like cricket? Perhaps you had to play it at school like I did? Terrible for breaking one’s finger nails.’
‘That’s enough,’ snapped Gareth. ‘I want to talk about your expenses.’
Xander and I sat quite still, not looking at each other. The temperature dropped to well below zero. My stomach gave a rumble like not so distant thunder. I’d only drunk cups of coffee since yesterday.
Gareth took a bit of paper from Mrs Smith. ‘We’ll start with you, Alexander. Your UK expenses for the last month alone were well over two grand,’ he said.
Xander removed his chewing gum reflectively, and parked it underneath the table.
‘Arabs are dreadfully expensive to amuse,’ he said.
‘What Arabs?’ asked Gareth. ‘Not a single order has come from the Middle East to justify expenses like this.’
‘Well it’s in the pipeline,’ said Xander. ‘These things take time, you know.’
‘I don’t,’ said Gareth brusquely. ‘In most of these cases, initial meetings were never followed up, some of them never took place at all. Mrs Smith has been doing a bit of detective work. You claim to have taken a certain Sheik Mujab to the Clermont three times, and to Tramps twice over the past two months, but he says he’s never heard of you.’
‘He’s lying,’ blustered Xander. ‘They all do.’
‘And Jean-Baptiste Giraud of Renault’s’, Gareth ran his eyes down the page, ‘appears to have had nearly £400 spent on him during the last four weeks, being wined and dined by you and Octavia.’
‘Octavia’s a great asset with customers,’ said Xander.
‘I can well believe that,’ said Gareth, in a voice of such contempt I felt myself go scarlet with humiliation. ‘Unfortunately for you, Jean-Baptiste happens to be an old Oxford mate of mine. It took one telephone call to ascertain he only met you once over lunch at the Neal Street where he paid, and he’s never met Octavia at all.’
‘He must have forgotten,’ said Xander.
‘Don’t be fatuous,’ said Gareth. ‘I don’t hold much brief for your sister, but she’s not the sort of girl an old ram like Jean-Baptiste would be likely to forget.’
I bit my lip. Annabel Smith was loving every minute of it.
‘And so it goes on,’ said Gareth. ‘God knows how much you’ve cheated the shareholders out of — old ladies who’ve gambled their last savings, married couples with children who’ve hardly got a penny to rub together, and all the time you two’ve been treating the company like a bran tub, helping yourself as you choose.’
Xander started to play an imaginary violin. Gareth lost his temper.
‘Can’t you be fucking serious about anything? Haven’t you any idea what an invidious position you’ve put Ricky in? He can’t give you the boot because you’re his son-in-law, but at the moment you’re about as much good to him as a used tea bag.’