‘And minimal profits,’ I said.
Trevor gave a pitying laugh and shook his head. ‘The thing is, Max, we don’t think that way at Guest. That’s short-term thinking. That’s thinking inside the box. We’re outside the box. In fact, we’re so far outside the box, that the box is actually in another room, and we’ve forgotten where that room is, and even if we could remember, we’ve given the keys back ages ago, and for all we know the locks might have been changed since then anyway. None of that matters, do you see?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Yes, I’m beginning to see.’
‘We’re not saying that profitability isn’t an issue,’ Lindsay put in. ‘Profitability is very much an issue. We have to stay ahead of the competition.’
‘Lindsay’s right. The fact is, we don’t have the field to ourselves.’
‘Really?’
‘You see, when you’re like Alan, and you have truly original ideas,’ said Trevor, ‘it’s inevitable that other people are going to have them as well. There are plenty of wooden toothbrushes on the market. Plenty of toothbrushes with detachable heads, too. But this, we think, is the killer. Nobody else has one of these.’
From his pocket he drew a third toothbrush. It was the most unusual one yet. Yes, it was wooden, but the head – which seemed to be detachable – featured an extraordinarily long, thin, synthetic brush which swivelled when you twisted it. It was a thing of beauty and wonder.
‘I can see you’re impressed,’ said Trevor, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘I shall leave you to contemplate that for a few minutes. Same again, for both of you?’
While Trevor was away at the bar, Lindsay and I seemed to reach an unspoken agreement that we would not talk about toothbrushes. Unfortunately, since we knew so little about each other, it was hard to think of anything else to talk about. A situation like this would normally have embarrassed me, but today I was feeling far too cheery to be discomfited by it. My thoughts, you see, were full of Poppy, who had made contact with me again that afternoon. My mobile phone had already been replaced – without having to change the number – and this meant that Poppy had been able to call me today with an invitation to dinner: dinner on Friday evening, at her mother’s house, no less, where I would have the chance to meet (among other people, I assumed) the famous Uncle Clive. All day the world had been seeming a better, friendlier, more hopeful place as a result – which was why I now found myself smiling at Lindsay with what looked (I hope) like genuine warmth. She was in her late thirties, I guessed, with platinum blonde hair cut into a Louise Brooks-style bob. By now she had taken off her businesslike grey pinstriped jacket to reveal a white sleeveless top which showed off her pale, slender arms. I wondered if Trevor had told her much about me: anything about our long-standing friendship; the many years we had been neighbours in Watford; what a fine, upstanding, reliable, sociable chap I was. That sort of thing.
‘Trevor tells me that you’ve been suffering from clinical depression,’ she said, draining the remains of her gin and tonic.
‘Oh, did he mention that? Well, yes – it’s true. I’ve been off work for a few months.’
‘That’s what I heard. I must say I was surprised. You don’t look to me like someone who’s very depressed.’
This was good news, at any rate. ‘I think I’m over the worst now. In fact I have to go into work on Friday, to see the Occupational Health Officer. They want to know if I’m going back, or if they can, you know … let me go.’
Lindsay took the slice of lemon out of her glass and bit into it. ‘And … ?’
‘And?’
‘Are you going back?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I said, truthfully. Then: ‘I don’t really want to. I feel like starting afresh, doing something totally different. Not really the right time to do that, though, is it? Not with the job market the way it is.’
‘You never know,’ said Lindsay, ‘something might fall into your lap.’
‘I don’t believe in miracles.’
‘Neither do I. But people get lucky breaks sometimes.’ She bit off the flesh from the other half of her lemon slice, and put the rind back in her glass. ‘Did Trevor not tell you I was coming along tonight?’
‘No. I suppose I should have guessed something was up when he said we were meeting here. Normally we go to the pub.’
I was glad that we hadn’t gone to the pub, I must say. This place was much nicer. We were in the lounge bar of the Park Inn Hotel, where the seats were soft and deep, the décor was calming, there were no crowds, and smooth, jazzy music oozed out of the speaker system at a volume almost outside the range of human hearing. It was characterless and impersonal here, but in a good way, if you see what I mean.
‘What makes you think that something’s up?’ said Lindsay.
‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong,’ I said, ‘but I just get the feeling that all this is leading up to something, and I don’t quite know what.’
‘What it’s leading to,’ said Lindsay, leaning forward slightly, and lowering her voice to a near-whisper, ‘is almost certainly up to you.’
Her gaze met mine for a brief, charged moment. I was still trying to think of a suitable reply when her mobile rang. She glanced at the screen.
‘My husband,’ she said. ‘Excuse me for a minute, will you?’
She stood up to take the call and wandered over to the other side of the room. I heard her say, ‘Hello, honey, how’s tricks?’, and then Trevor came over with the drinks.
‘One pint of Carlsberg for your good self,’ he said. ‘They serve it good and cold here, I must say. Cheers.’ We both took long draughts, and then he asked me about my Australian trip, and we talked about that for a while. ‘It’s done you good, I reckon,’ Trevor told me. ‘You’re looking much better than I thought you would.’
I was grateful to him for saying this, but before I’d had the chance to thank him he had changed the subject.
‘What do you think of Lindsay, then?’ he asked.
‘She seems very nice.’
‘She’s more than that. She’s fantastic. The best in the business.’
I nodded, but after a moment or two felt compelled to ask: ‘The best what in the business, exactly?’
‘Didn’t I tell you? Lindsay’s our PR Officer. She reports to me, as Head of Marketing and Strategy, and runs all our campaigns. And her latest –’ Trevor actually put down his glass of lager now, and looked to the left and right, as if there might be industrial spies from a rival company seated at the adjacent tables ‘– her latest is an absolute beauty. A copper-bottomed, one hundred per cent corker. It’s going to send us … up there.’ He raised his hand towards the ceiling, apparently meaning to signify an ascent into the stratosphere.
‘Sorry about that, chaps,’ Lindsay now said, returning to our table. ‘Spot of bother with the other half. Pissed off that I’m not there to cook his dinner for him, even though I already told him I was coming here tonight. Haven’t managed to drag him beyond the caveman stage yet, unfortunately.’
‘I was just telling Max,’ Trevor said, ‘that you have come up with an absolute peach of a campaign for the IP 009.’
‘The IP 009?’ I queried.