tell Beryl not to go to any trouble,’ Rolt said without hope.
‘I’ll tell her.’ Ford spread his hands. ‘But it won’t be any use. You know what women are.’
Rolt looked at him suddenly like a man taking part in an entirely different conversation. ‘Oh yes,’ he said in a voice from that other dialogue, ‘I know what women are.’
A quarter to one. In the records office on the ground floor at CeeJay, Arthur Ford looked at his watch. He ought to be thinking of clearing up, popping up to the first floor to collect Robin, get off home in time for lunch. His son – in fact Robin was his only child – had left the local grammar school a year ago. He was doing three-month training stints in various departments at CeeJay, was considered a bright lad, possible executive material.
Ford glanced out of the window and saw Celia Brettell’s silver-grey car pulling up on the forecourt. She stepped out on to the concrete. She wasn’t carrying a briefcase, only a handbag, so this wasn’t going to be a business visit but one of her personal swoops to take Andrew Rolt off to lunch.
Ford watched her approach the side entrance. Good-looking in her hard-edged way, considerably more hard-edged now than when she’d first walked into CeeJay on the look-out for good secondhand plant, ten or twelve years ago. Chestnut-brown hair, grey eyes, smooth pale skin; well groomed, carefully presented. But the whole package lacking any suggestion of mystery or romance. She had done everything she could possibly do with her appearance but there was nothing she could do about her aura, which radiated an unmistakable air of natural dominance, strong purpose, shrewdness and a highly practical approach to life and very probably also to love.
Ford neither liked nor disliked her. She was one small factor in his career situation and so he was obliged to take a certain amount of notice of her. But he couldn’t help admiring her. She was successful in a pretty tough area of commercial life; she had the essential bulldog quality.
He had known her since the first time she’d walked up the steps of CeeJay, well before the day Alison Lloyd had set foot in the place as a junior secretary. Alison had married her boss in the classic tradition – and they’d all been so sure once upon a time that he’d marry Celia. When the marriage broke up after only a couple of years it wasn’t very long before Celia’s business visits – which had continued as usual – began to coincide once more with the approach of Andrew’s lunch hour.
It occurred to Ford suddenly and with total certainty that Celia was at long last going to succeed in marrying Rolt. He stepped back from the window and went out through the door of the records office, arriving in the lobby in time to present a casual appearance of having just come down the side staircase as Celia Brettell entered the building.
‘Oh – hello there!’ he said with a friendly smile. ‘Haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you for a week or two.’
Oh yes, Celia said to herself, and precisely what is old Creepy Crawly up to this time? Aloud she said, ‘That last lot of trenchers hadn’t been properly maintained. You’ll have to keep a sharper eye on the lads.’
His smile grew if anything a trifle more friendly. ‘I’ll certainly take note of it,’ he said affably.
‘Is Andrew about?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Yes. He’s in his office. Oh, by the way,’ he added, ‘I’ve just remembered, he’s looking in on us on Wednesday evening. On Beryl and myself, that is. I don’t know if you’d care to join us. You’d be very welcome.’ He knew that would get her; she simply wouldn’t be able to say no to a chance of spending a few hours in Rolt’s company, however diluted. ‘Nothing very fancy, you understand, just a pleasant homely evening.’
Whatever it’ll be, it won’t be that, Celia thought grimly. However had Andrew allowed himself to accept such a frightful invitation? ‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, burnishing her expression into a smile. ‘I’d love to come.’ With so many lies thickening the air she couldn’t resist throwing in another. ‘I’ve always wanted to meet your wife.’
‘Something else I’ve remembered,’ Ford said with a knowing air. ‘What’s this gossip I hear about a merger between Sugdens and Murdoch Factors?’ Sugdens was the comparatively small but highly efficient firm for which Celia worked; Murdoch Factors was much larger, with a wider range of interests. If there was anything in the whisper – and it had reached Ford’s permanently-cocked ears only recently and as the merest breath of rumour – then it seemed to him a good deal more likely that the deal would be a take-over rather than a merger.
Celia’s smile vanished. ‘That!’ she said brusquely. ‘I don’t know who started that particular hare but there’s nothing in it. I can assure you of that.’
‘It sounded a bit of a wild tale to me,’ Ford said lightly. Maybe you don’t want to know about it, he said to himself, could be you’d lose your job, whether it’s a merger or a take-over. Could be also, he added in his mind with a sudden sense of illumination, that it’s the reason why you’re closing in on Rolt. Time was going inexorably by, she wasn’t getting any younger. And of course she’d always been irremediably stuck on Rolt.
‘Kindly contradict the rumour if you should hear it again,’ Celia said with force. She walked away towards the stairs, she went rapidly up. He stood looking after her with amused approval. That one never knows when she’s beaten, he thought – and so of course she never will be beaten.
What was I about to do when I looked out of the window and saw Celia Brettell? he asked himself a moment later, staring up at the ceiling. Oh yes, he answered himself almost at once, I was going to collect Robin. He was just about to go upstairs when he heard a light patter of footsteps along the first-floor corridor and Mandy Webb came into view. He raised a hand, called out to her.
‘Miss Webb – you might trot along and winkle Robin out for me. Tell him to get a move on or we’ll be late for lunch.’ He turned away without waiting for any acknowledgement on Mandy’s part, and went off to get his coat.
It wouldn’t do Mr Ford any harm to polish up his manners, Mandy said resentfully to herself as she went reluctantly off to carry out his command.
She found Robin standing by the window in an empty office. He held a sheaf of papers in his hand, he was gazing down at the car park. He was a slimly built lad of medium height; he had short brown hair with all suggestion of curl sternly suppressed.
‘Your dad wants you,’ Mandy said without preamble. He turned and gave her a blank look. His face was long and pale, he had large grey-blue eyes.
She felt a sudden impatient touch of sympathy for him, imagining what it must be like to be blessed with a dad like his. ‘Lunchtime,’ she said in a more kindly fashion. ‘Your dad’s all set and raring to go. You’d better get off downstairs.’
Robin made a small jerky movement of his head. ‘Oh yes, thank you, I’ll go right away. Very kind of you to come and tell me.’
‘Don’t mention it,’ she said automatically. She paused on the threshold and looked back at him. She and Tessa might ask him along to one of their parties some time. He looked as if he could do with a bit of livening up. But she said nothing about it yet. She’d have to mention it to Tessa first.
It occurred to her as she went along the corridor to the cloakroom that it might also do her a bit of good with Mr Ford if she did a kindness to his one and only chick; it might sweeten old Ford’s disposition towards her, make him speak up for her
