She had overvalued his ability – and undervalued her own. But her ideas had altered. She’d learned a thing or two since she’d left him.
In the corridor outside she heard footsteps. Her client, no doubt. All thought of Andrew’s call vanished from her mind.
So far the interview was going well. The four men facing Andrew across the table were sitting upright, still wearing expressions of concentrated interest. He felt alert and stimulated. He knew he had done himself justice up to this point but he daren’t relax yet. The tricky bit was still to come, might raise its head at any moment.
‘And your family,’ the Chairman said genially, glancing down at the application form. ‘I see that you’re married. No children.’ He looked up. ‘I take it your wife is in full agreement with your application. I’m sure I needn’t tell you how important that is.’ He smiled. ‘We like the wives to come willingly.’
Andrew gave an answering smile, indicating with a nod his general agreement with the Chairman’s remarks.
‘She hasn’t a career of her own, or anything of that sort?’ the Chairman said. ‘Nothing to prevent her playing her full part here as your wife?’
Andrew hesitated, moved his head fractionally sideways, stared at the surface of the table.
‘She has a job,’ he said. ‘But it’s scarcely a career. I don’t think it’s all that important to her. I’m sure she’d be prepared to give it up if I was appointed.’
The Chairman gave him a long considering look. ‘We like to meet the wife,’ he said pleasantly, ‘before we reach any firm decision.’ He spread his hands. ‘I take it your wife would be able to come along very soon?’
‘Yes, certainly.’
‘Good. Then perhaps we could fix a time now?’
Andrew shifted in his chair. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that,’ he said with a half-smiling, deprecating air. ‘It would have to be fitted in with her job commitments. I’d have to speak to her first.’
‘We’ve another couple of candidates to see,’ the Chairman said. ‘You can use the phone here.’ He jerked his head in the direction of the outer office. ‘Speak to your wife about it, arrange a day to suit her. Then we can have another word with you, settle it all before you go.’
Andrew said nothing, his face expressed no more than a general wish to be co-operative. ‘We want to finalize this appointment as soon as possible,’ the Chairman said. ‘We’d like to eliminate unnecessary delays.’ There was another slight pause.
‘Actually,’ Andrew said on a high, light note, ‘my wife and I—’ To his horror he found he couldn’t complete the sentence, his mind was a total blank.
‘Yes?’ the Chairman said. ‘Some difficulty there?’
Andrew’s mind cleared. He nodded in relief. ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘We’re living apart. Just temporarily, of course.’
There was a slight stir round the table. ‘I would prefer to speak to her in person,’ Andrew said. ‘It would be far better than the phone. I could call to see her this evening.’
‘How long have you lived apart?’ The Chairman’s tone was polite and neutral, like a doctor enquiring about symptoms.
‘Two and a half years.’
‘A longish time,’ the Chairman said. Long enough to get a divorce, his manner suggested. Or to patch things up if they were ever going to be patched up.
Andrew glanced round the table, knowing even before he did so that it was no good, they’d written him off. Men of decision were what they liked, men of regular life. His glance demolished the last vestige of hope. They were all sitting back in their chairs, relaxed, switched off, no longer bothering even to look at him, simply waiting till the next man took his place.
‘Right then,’ the Chairman said suddenly. He looked across at Andrew, gave him a brief impersonal smile. ‘You’ll be hearing from us within the next day or two.’ No longer any mention of urgent phone calls to Mrs Rolt from the next room. ‘Thank you for coming along.’
That is it, Andrew said to himself with fierce emphasis as he came out into the car park. Finally and irreversibly it. I have finished with Alison. My mind is irrevocably made up. I will not try to hang on to her a moment longer. I’ll get a divorce and marry Celia. She’d back me up in any job, any activity. She’d resign from Sugdens if he asked her to, she’d devote herself with pleasure to being his full-time wife.
He got into his car and eased it out towards the gates. He tried to conjure up a joyful vision of domestic warmth and intimacy such as he had never experienced even in his childhood. He did his best to whip up a feeling of ardour as he contemplated the idea of Celia waiting to greet him at the end of a busy day. She’s had plenty of experience of the hard world of business, he told himself, she’d understand the pressures.
But the prospect remained obstinately bleak, vaguely depressing. It seemed to him that marriage to Celia would signal the end of his youth, would rush him headlong into middle age.
He drove slowly up the road, past the pub, now locked and shuttered. It would be hours yet before they opened again. And he wanted a drink very much indeed. No reason now to resist the idea. And he did after all have something to celebrate – his very decisively settled future.
He would drive on into the town, find an off-licence, have his own little private party in some secluded spot.
On the edge of the town he came to a vast supermarket with a sign that mentioned among the varied delights within a section devoted to wines and spirits. He parked the car and went inside. He bought a nice little selection of conveniently-sized bottles. On his way out again he paused and looked round the long aisles, at the female assistants, the young housewives, the adolescent girls, trying to visualize himself striking up an acquaintance with such fashionably dressed and coiffured creatures, progressing through the ritual stages of intimacy to marriage and children.
It would take months, years possibly. And he didn’t have the time to wait. It would take persistence and effort, charm and gaiety, energy and ardour.
And I don’t have a single damned ounce to spare of any of those highly desirable qualities, he told himself, almost with exuberance, clutching to his chest the bottles in their discreet paper sack.
It’s definitely going to have to be Celia, he told himself yet again as he crossed the car park. The idea seemed more tolerable now. He drove back towards the open country, found a pleasant spot in a lane beneath overhanging trees and opened the first of his bottles. After ten minutes the idea of marrying Celia appeared a good deal more tolerable, after twenty he became greatly pleased with it.
The whole thing would be settled by the time he was summoned to his next interview. He saw himself facing another quartet of shrewd-eyed men. He would be alert and confident. ‘My wife and I reached a civilized agreement’, he was saying in that pleasing vision. ‘A divorce by consent. No recriminations, by far the best way. It’s going through any day now. I shall be marrying again very soon, a sensible, competent woman—’
He frowned, took another swig at his bottle and rephrased that. ‘A most charming woman, highly suitable in every way. And a successful businesswoman into the bargain. A great asset. Yes, certainly she would
