"Oh," said Mary, putting the pieces together.
"Now, it was probably a very good movie and maybe our Mr Caine did, indeed, have a heart for the youth of this fair land," said Sam. "And no one's done anything illegal or immoral - we're all just trying to help ourselves and help those we respect and like."
"But that's not the same," said Mary, defiantly. "You're trying to break the law."
"No I'm not, Mary," said Sam patiently. "A chap I know in immigration will sift through things and find where the law supports our case and Andrzej's brother will be free to enter England openly and legally."
"But he should apply like everybody else," said Mary, determined to be right.
"Well, maybe he should," said Sam. "But I know Andrzej and I know he wouldn't pester me if the situation wasn't both real and urgent."
"But what if everyone tried to slide round the law for their friends?"
"They always have and they always will, Mary," said Sam, leaning back with his second whisky in hand. "Cardinal Wolsey was only able to afford his massive digs at Hampton Court because he got things done for Henry VIII, 500 years ago. Then he lost it because he couldn't get the Roman Catholic church to agree to Henry marrying Anne Boleyn. We've been doing each other favours, big and small, ever since time began and we'll continue to do them."
"But it seems so unfair to some people," said Mary.
"And where is it etched in stone that life should be fair? It jolly well isn't," said Sam. "Once we recognise that life is unfair, we can look it in the eye, as it really is, and make a better world from the unfairness."
"I don't know what to say," said Mary.
"You can take heart, Mary, that you're in good hands," said Sam, leaning forward. "I may do things that seem devious but I do them to help people. There's plenty of chumps doing good works for all the wrong reasons. Look at the activities of our Empire Aid Bank - lovely government servants giving our money to dictators and swindlers, calling it foreign aid and all feeling mighty pleased with themselves."
Sam Disappears
Monday 12th July, 2010, 9.30 a.m.
And so it was that Mary tripped up a step and stumbled into a room of finery and grace, nods and winks, favours and effortless action. The room she'd emerged from - the lower room of her life, her parents and everyone she knew - was one of toil and obedience to laws imposed from above; of watching the rich and famous as though through a window, unreachable and slightly unreal. Now she'd found herself on the other side of the window, in this upper room, where laws didn't restrict but provided opportunities. Here there were no application forms, uncertainty or queues - just discrete chats, snap decisions and instant action.
Mary was appalled, initially, and argued with the implacable Sam, who took on the role of a patient and wise teacher with a reluctant but quick student. Unapologetic and defenceless, he simply explained the ways if life in this upper room and allowed her objections and protestations of injustice to float past him, knowing she would eventually come to acceptance, which she did, haltingly, defiantly.
From what she saw, he wasn't involved in drugs or arms dealing or anything else unwholesome. He was simply helping those who had been dealt savage blows by life. What he got in return for his interventions she could not discern - perhaps he got his lawn mown for nothing or something - but it certainly didn't seem to be for fame or riches. Many of the people he helped had neither money nor influence (though some obviously had much of both) and she wondered if he got perverse satisfaction in finding interesting ways through the ass of the law, as he called it. She didn't have the courage to ask what he got for his efforts or how he'd come to acquire his influence and chumhood. One day she'd find out. As she observed carefully, she learned nothing of this but the mantle of indignation and injustice slowly fell from her shoulders and she grew to respect this man in her life.
She also came to realise that the people in this upper room, who seemed to glide through life with such grace and ease, also left it for the lower room, at times, to their dismay. They, like other people, had arguments with spouses, fears with health, problems with children and all the stresses of those who inhabited the lower room permanently. These people, however, were able to pop back up to their natural abode, the quieter and more plush room, for their money and influence would get them the best lawyers for their divorces, doctors for their illnesses and holidays and toys for their diversions.
Sam split his time between the central office and her branch office with frustrating irregularity. He was right - she was effectively in charge of the two hundred people on seven floors and, initially, leaned on Stephen Lawrence, Finance Director, and Ahmed Khan, Chief Assessor, an Asian with an Oxford accent and Oxford suits. Both were men of numbers and were refreshingly free of emotion. They gave her the facts and stayed above the office politics brewing below her.
Without Sam to rely on for guidance she was forced to dive in, learn things she'd never learned about insurance before and to make decisions with minimal information. It frightened and thrilled her. With Stephen's and Ahmed's help, she drew up a plan for educating herself. Chunking down the branch office functions into logical pieces, she systematically spent time with every section (every person, in fact), learning exactly what they did, why they did it and how each piece fitted into the whole. This, of course, enamoured her to the people she commanded and they came to her, more and more, for advice. This she welcomed for, as she got to know them, she was able to formulate succession and promotion plans - some were clearly unsuited to the work they were doing and some had ambitions and talents beyond their current roles. She stared shuffling and sifting and, as productivity grew, less people were needed and branch profits rose.
Sam was impressed and thanked Mary with many lunches and dinners, not always at the Executors Club but always at equally plush establishments. Out of the office she got to know him a little better.
In the office, they dealt with work. Out of the office they still talked work but she did start to penetrate the wall round his private life. She discovered he'd had a wife but didn't have one now and that he had a daughter and granddaughter he doted over. He visited them every Thursday evening. He enjoyed folk music and that was a surprise - she expected his tastes to be in classical music. He didn't explain but Mary surmised that part of the attraction was the raw, amateurish feel of it - a welcome change from his otherwise polished and perfect life.
He never invited her to his folk music escapes and she yearned, patiently, for such an invitation. At times he'd reach out and touch her shoulder, pat her hand and then, as if remembering himself, pull back. She felt (hoped?) he was feeling what she was, which was a great companionship, comfort and caring. She wasn't falling in love with this chameleon of a man (no, not really) but she hoped he was falling in love with her.
Though he came and went from the office at irregular times, he did commit, at Mary's insistence, to two regular meetings a week so they could, at least, guarantee a flow of information between them. Monday at 4.00 p.m. and Friday at 9.00 a.m. were agreed for these hourly meetings. These reliable spots in her frenetic schedule were cherished and the Monday afternoon meeting sometimes evolved into dinner and the Friday morning meeting into lunch out together. Sometimes Sam might bring her a little gift for something she'd done well - chocolates, a pen, a brooch or something else small enough to conceal in her bag, from the suspicious eyes of her staff. She was hesitant about buying him anything - perhaps it was fear of rejection - but she did, eventually and with great trepidation, buy him whisky liqueur chocolates, a tie pin and cuff links at various times. He was obviously touched by these and, rather than his enthusiastic and ebullient self, he would go quiet and seem to be on the verge of tears before he collected himself and thanked her quietly for her generosity.
Friday, 9th March 2012, 9.13 a.m.
And so it was that Sam failed to turn up for their regular Friday morning meeting, something he had not missed for two years now. She immediately knew something was wr
ong and talked to her secretary and to his. She sent them off to ask anyone and everyone if they knew where he might be, while she rang some of his colleagues at the head office. No one knew anything there. Some were surprised at his absence and two of them were dismissive of her fears, telling her not to worry. Their reaction caused her to worry more. These two also told her, most strongly, not to contact the police, while Stephen and Ahmed advised her strongly to alert the police.
Knowing the police could be either helpful or obstructive, depending on who was pulling the strings, she faltered indecisively.
In the same way that tragedy survivors take on the blame for the tragedy, rather than accepting that life is out of their control, Mary took on the blame for Sam's disappearance. Had there been an obvious reason for his going or an indication of where he went, the guilt would have been less. However, like the survivor syndrome scenario, the more out of control things seem, the greater the guilt she chose to carry. She wondered if she would be happy inhabiting the building with Sam out of it - she wasn't sure.
With a troubled heart and heavy shoulders she was summoned to the head office, that afternoon, and offered Sam's position, in the interim, by the CEO, Terry Jones. She had no idea of the salary Sam had been on but, judging by his lifestyle, she was sure she was offered a whole lot less. Maybe he'd had other sources of income or maybe he was the sort of person who always looked wealthy, despite their real circumstances. Either way she felt insulted by the offer and she also felt a deep disloyalty in stepping into a missing man's shoes, the shoes of a man she admired.
The first part of her grieving emerged as anger as she stormed from Terry's office, leaving behind two bewildered-looking insurance executives. Thankfully she'd had the weekend to stew on it and cool down a little. By the Monday, her anger had subsided just enough to let a peek of logic in. Not trusting her acid tongue on the phone, she crafted a conciliatory email to Terry Jones, saying she was prepared to stay on until they had found a permanent replacement for Sam. This would, she thought, give her enough time to find another position. Last time it had been easy and she imagined the same this time.
She did, of course, feel like walking out and trusting the universe would provide her with something but that small, practical girl inside counselled against it, successfully, each time.
The Call Back
Friday, 9th March 2012, 3.20 p.m.
Martin and the children had popped in - most unusual but lovely to see them. Martin seemed to be needing more contact with them at the moment.
The telephone cut across their conversation with its electronic insistence and the three adults looked at each other in mute surprise, as if insulted that the outside world should interrupt them ... surprised, even, to be reminded that another world existed outside their several dramas. Timothy bounded, like a gazelle, out the door and into the dining room, to answer the phone.
"Hello, Timothy here," he said as he had been taught. He was soon back in the lounge, sipping on his drink.
"Timothy, who was that on the phone?" asked Martin.
"It was a wrong number, Dad," said Timothy, importantly, "they wanted Arthur Bayly and so I said he didn't live here."
"Ah, Timothy," said Arthur, "I'm Arthur Bayly."
"But you're Grandad," said Timothy, confused.
"Timothy!" said Martin, irritated, "you don't answer other peoples' phones. Haven't I told you that before! It's not your property so leave well alone."
Timothy began to sob and Joan picked him up and held him on her knee. "Would you like another piece of cake, dear? And Katie?" Timothy hopped down and he and his sister leaped upon the sponge cake with enthusiasm.
"Hey, you two!" said Martin, his voice steadily rising, "put that down, now, you know better than to scoff it down like yobbos!"
The children stopped, stunned, with cake and cream on their faces and hands, looking guilty and confused.
"Put it down, now!" yelled Martin, going quite red. "Now go and wash yourselves up. You know better than that, don't you!"
"Come on, dears," said Joan cheerfully, "let's get your faces sparkling clean, shall we?" The children followed meekly, furtively looking back at their father.
As they walked out the phone sounded again and Timothy leaped forward, unable to resist his instinctive fight or flight reaction to the phone.
"Timothy! Stop!" yelled Martin, leaping up. "I told you to leave the phone!"
"It's alright Martin," said Arthur, getting up and striding across the room and out to the phone. He patted Timothy on the head as he passed. "You'll make someone a grand secretary one day, won't you?" he said, smiling down at the boy.
Timothy went red and smiled, embarrassment mixed with gratitude, as Arthur picked up the phone.
"Good afternoon, Arthur speaking."
"Ah, Arthur, I thought I might have a wrong number," came the unmistakable voice of Mary Collins. AIL Insurance seemed such a long way off, now, almost off the new map his life was drawing.
"No, it was my grandson, Timothy ..."
"Yes, well, good to talk to you, Arthur," said Mary. "I heard you'd had a bereavement. Are you okay?"
"Oh, yes, well, we've had a few things happen and ..."
"Yes, yes, okay, I'm sure it's been a particularly trying time, then," said Mary, bulldozing through the conversation as usual. "Now, Arthur, there has been ... ah, a new development with that Atkinson case you were working on and we'd like, ah, we wondered when you'd be ready to get back to it."
"Yes, I suppose I should get back to it," said Arthur, feeling a sad lump in his tummy.
"Yes, well, when you're ready, Arthur," said Mary with unaccustomed reserve, "just to tidy it all up. With the reorganisation, there's lots of tidying up we need to do."
"Reorganisation?" asked Arthur, trying to imagine what new trauma had happened. "There wasn't any great hurry for that case, was there?"
"No, there isn't ... wasn't," said Mary. "But some new developments and, with your specialist knowledge, we thought it might be expedited with your valuable input." Arthur had never before heard so many compliments from Mary.
"So, has it become urgent, now?" asked Arthur, trying to get some facts.
"Look Arthur, we can explain it all when you get in here," said Mary, her voice rising a semitone. "When might that be?"
"Well, I'm not sure, Mary, I'll need time to think about it - to talk about it with Joan." said Arthur, wishing he had the courage to say what was actually on his mind - 'I don't ever want to come back, Mary, thanks. Goodbye.'
"Look, Arthur, we can make a special reimbursement, a special rate for this assignment, we can put you on contract ... whatever is best for you," said Mary, sweetening the incentive.
"Yes, yes, I appreciate that, thank you," said Arthur, trying to absorb and understand the new developments. "But things are quite ... ah, quite tender here and I do need to talk to my wife about this. When would you like me to start?"
"Well, this afternoon would be great," said Mary, anticipating some progress. "We thought that seventy five pound an hour would be a fair recompense."
"Gosh, that soon!" said Arthur, remembering that she'd said no problem at all a minute ago and that seventy five pound an hour was treble the wage he had previously been on. "Yes, well, I'll talk to my wife and ring you back."
"Well, please do, Arthur, yes, please do," said Mary, speaking as if she was unable to breathe. "Now do you have a pen and paper there, Arthur?"
"Ah, yes ..."
"Good, then call me back on my direct number. Save you going through the reception. Much quicker," said Mary, giving him the number.
"Right, yes, I'll do that," said Arthur, surprised that direct numbers existed in his old firm.
"You'll ring me right back, yeah?" asked Mary, begging.
"Yes, yes, I will Mary," said Arthur, still trying to absorb the rising sense of urgency coming at him.
"So what was that about?" asked Joan, coming up to him. "You look a little shaky."
"Do I?" he said, more to himself than to her, shaking his head.
"What did she say that has you shaken, Mr Bond?" asked Joan. Arthur was momentarily stunned, wondering how she knew of his fantasies.
"Not sure," said Arthur, shaking his head. "I just have the odd feeling that something odd's going on."
"You look like you need a hug," she said, throwing her arms around him.
"That's the only thing that's normal or understandable, isn't it?" he said with a sheepish smile.
"What is?"
"Well, hugs and you and our family," he said into her shoulder. "Nothing else makes any sense any more."
"Mmm."
"I don't know, life used to be regular, stable, predictable," Arthur said as tears filled his eyes. "I keep doing what I've always done and it suddenly isn't good enough any more ... and then it is and they want to pay me treble for it! I sit on a park bench, minding my own business and become a hero. Your mother dies and we're supposed to be bereft but it's brought us closer together. And then there's Martin's situation ... and there's all these Australians and New Zealanders popping up ..."
"Well, dear, you have to admit that every insane thing you've mentioned has brought us closer," she said, standing back a little and looking into his eyes. "Not just my mother's death but everything has reconnected us. Maybe that's what it's all about, do you think?"
"Actually, my love, I don't know what to think at all. Not at all."
As they returned to the lounge, Arthur explained to Martin what the call had been about.
"So, Dad, what's so important about this job that they want you back so quickly?" asked Martin.
"The Atkinson case?" said Arthur.
"Not the Lord Atkinson case, is it?" asked Martin, laughing.
"Well, he is a lord, actually ..." said Arthur, feeling a chill sliding through his bones.
The Last Stand Down Page 11
