by Stan Mason
‘I realise that,’ spluttered Rigby, wondering why these comments were being made to him. ‘There are many worthy applicants for the appointment... ’he went on eager to be helpful, but he was not allowed to continue.
‘I’m certain there are,’ interrupted MacDonald rudely with some degree of irritation. ‘As a result of the importance of Functional Control, the Board insisted that a successor should always be waiting in the wings. It’s a unique position.’ He began to laugh as though he had made a joke but drew no response from the other man.
‘I’m delighted to hear it,’ commented Rigby heaving a sigh of relief believing it would get Sam Elliott off his shoulders.
MacDonald’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the junior executive like an eagle watching his prey. ‘Why do you say that?’
Rigby shrugged his shoulders. ’It’ll end speculation. Waiting and wondering causes confusion and people can get on with their work.’
‘As I said,’ continued the senior executive firmly, ‘I won’t beat about the bush. The screening process by the Board was very austere. We started off with fifteen candidates, narrowing them down to three people. The Board decided, in its wisdom, to choose you to tackle the job. What do you say to that?’
There was a short period of silence as Rigby digested the news. His mind reeled and went blank before he recovered from the shock. There must be some kind of mistake. I’m only reporting that Clement Davies is dead. I didn’t come here to replace him. I mean why did they select me? I haven’t the qualifications required. Nor have I even shown any aptitude for work of that nature.’
The senior executive smiled at the man. ‘I’ll let you into a little secret,’ he said lowering his voice almost to a whisper. ‘The Executive proposes, the Board disposes. They have faith in your ability. Be happy about it!’
‘But there’s Dalgety, Forman and Gardiner... and Sam Elliott as well. What about him?’
‘All good men, of course... but they must be regarded as also-rans.’
The junior executive shook his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Mr. MacDonald. I appreciate the Board’s confidence but I’ve had no experience as a trouble-shooter. It’s out of my league!’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ came the response, ‘but now you’ll have the chance to show off your hidden talents.’
‘I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength, sir,’ countered Rigby, uncomfortable at the way the discussion was being handled. ‘I value my leisure time very highly. Functional Control is too time-consuming. It tends to destroy personal life.’
The Assistant Chief Executive smiled at him easily. ‘I understand your reluctance, Rigby. You’re shocked at the death of your colleague and startled by the revelation that the Board chose you to be his successor. The turn of these events in such close order is stunning. Take a little time to settle them in your mind. Sleep on it and we can talk tomorrow.’
As a subordinate, Rigby realised there would be no mileage gained in pressing home his discontent. He disagreed strongly with the decision made by the Board because it was alien to his wishes and ambition within the bank. He was also angry at no being approached for his consent, blaming MacDonald for not having told him in advance. Now he was faced with a fait accompli. He had become a mere pawn in the game moving by an invisible hand. If he accepted the appointment, life would become impossible as a result of the workload and the urgency of the problems. If he turned it down, the Board would almost certainly relegate him to the bottom of the promotion list, heralding a farewell to all future prospects. He was on a hiding to nothing!
‘I’ll sleep on it,’ he managed to say as the buzzer on the senior executive’s desk commanded an answer.
‘Mr. Brennan has arrived for his appointment,’ ran the sweet voice of his private secretary through the machine.
MacDonald’s eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. ‘Send him in in sixty seconds!’ he ordered sternly before returning his attention to the junior executive. ‘There you have it, Rigby,’ he told him finally. ‘You’ll receive a letter in the morning and I’d like your confirmation as soon as possible. One word of warning. Don’t pass up this opportunity because of fanciful thoughts of greener pastures in the bank. One step at a time!’
Rigby nodded, still shocked by the impact of the news and he left the room without saying another word. The Old Man never wasted a words. Every syllable had a meaning and Rigby knew that he had little choice but to accept the appointment.
As he walked back to his office across the rich blue carpet, he felt miserable as he considered the facts. Poor Clement Davies was laying on the floor of an office, draped with a curtain. Hardly a word had been uttered about him or his demise. The only consideration was that of the bank and its smooth running... let alone a few words of respect. When all was said and done, the staff were merely numbers in the grand design of its business plan. The bank had lived and thrived before any of them had been born and it would survive and prosper long after they had all gone. So what was it all about? ’It’s not just about making money or profit,’ he told himself, ’it’s about people! People who live, love and enjoy their work as they earn their crust of bread to pay the bills... not forced labour to fill dead men’s shoes!’
His frame of mine turned to convince himself that he might be able to resist the Board and refuse to accept the appointment. The Executive proposes, the Board disposes! What arrogant dogma! To Hell with it... he was no puppet! Angrily, he stormed down the fourth floor corridor and entered the lift. When he emerged, he came to a halt quite sharply. They ambulance men had arrived and they were in the process of placing Davies’s body on to a stretcher. Rigby stared solemnly at the great shape hidden under a white sheet.
’Goodbye, Clement, old friend!’ he muttered almost under his breath, as a final tribute. ’I wish you were still alive for more reasons than one!’ He watched in lamentation as the stretcher was carried smartly through the doorway leading to the street. It was Sam Elliott stalking down the corridor who shook his from his reverie.
’What did the Old Man say?’ he asked with a sense of urgency in his voice. ’Did he give you any indication?’
’Yes,’ replied Rigby without enthusiasm. ’He offered Functional Control to me.’
Elliott’s jaw dropped in surprise. ’You’re kidding! He offered it to you? That’s not fair! I mean you don’t even want it!’
‘The Old Man said it had been decided by the Board some time ago. If Clement moved on, for whatever reason, I was t be his successor.’
‘Did you mention my name?’
‘Of course I mentioned your name!’
‘What did he say to that?’
‘Not a word... nothing!’
‘Come on, John! Tell me the truth. What went on in there?’
‘It’s as I told you. The Board selected me for the appointment some time ago. Why they chose me I’ve no idea!’
‘They can’t do that! They can’t ride roughshod over the career patterns of other executives!/ snarled Elliott in disappointment. ‘Dammit, I was promised it!’
‘I haven’t accepted it,’ the other man informed him, trying to rally his morale. Deep down inside, he was very unsettled by the sudden turn of events and Elliott was hardly helping him.
Elliott began to view him with suspicion. ‘If the Board selected you, there’s no way you can turn down that appointment. Not in a million years!’
‘It’s the least of my problems this morning, Sam. I have work to do.’
‘You’ll take the job all right,’ predicted Elliott angrily. ‘There’s no doubt about that! The only thing that disappoints me is that you couldn’t have mentioned my name.’
‘I certainly did!’ reacted Rigby adamantly. ‘You have my word on it! Don’t you dare infer that I’m lying!
His colleague cooled his attitude at the realisation of the
other man’s irritation. ‘All right, I’ll take your word for it.’ He turned away and left the office to disappear down the corridor. Rigby sat down in his executive chair deeply in thought, reflecting that the other man was right to be upset. It was extremely disappoint to learn that one’s ambition has fallen flat like an overdone souffle, especially as the appointment had been offered to someone who didn’t want it. That was the problem with very large organisations. They were too impersonal... too dispassionate. His only reason for failing to show remorse was the fact that Elliott was highly disreputable. He always employed the dirtiest political tactics to his own advantage at all times, and most other executives considered him to be a parasite. They had all been wheedled, pressured, and used by him for the purpose of his progression in the bank, and only by guile and subtle means had he managed to get his foot on the upper range of the ladder. Now his success no long depended on the political persecutions of others but on his own merit. However he was not averse to prostituting his corporate principles if he believed that promotion would be the end result. For some inexplicable reason, which Rigby was unable to fathom out, Elliott strongly desired the appointment as Head of Functional Control. There had to be an ulterior motive for this aim although the deviousness eluded the acumen of both junior and senior executives. Elliott alone was privy to the plan.
Rigby rented a small apartment about eight miles from the City of London. He had lived in the area for most of his life and tended to regard the location as the centre of the world. He had lived there with his wife for some years, shocked when the marriage came to a sudden end. No infidelity had taken place, no loss of trust, simply the realisation that they no longer loved each other, exacerbated by the fact that they could not have children. After twelve years had passed by, their relationship began to sour and they decided to divorce each other. However instead of their problems coming to a close, they resurrected themselves in full force. Firstly, after a short period of time, his wife discovered that life without him was intolerable and she asked to return to reconcile the marriage.. Secondly, to cloud the issue, he had met Sandra, a much younger woman, with whom he wanted to continue his life. Naturally, his wife resented his happiness with someone else and so she refused to sign the divorce papers. Rigby was left with no alternative but to live with Sandra as his mistress. Yet despite the fact of his wife’s resentment, everything eventually settled down and he enjoyed his new lease of life with another woman.
It was late that night when he returned home, wearing a scowl on his face.
‘Hello, darling,’ greeted Sandra breezily from the kitchen. ‘Have a good day?’
He pushed his umbrella in the rack and placed his executive briefcase beside it, venting his frustration feebly. ‘Terrible! Terrible!’ he growled. ‘It was like a lunatic asylum! I feel as though I’ve been pulled through a hedge backwards. He entered the kitchen and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘Can you fix me a drink? I feel bushed!’
He proceeded to the bedroom where he changed into some casual clothes before returning to the lounge. He seemed much more refreshed when he held a glass of martini in his hand. He drank deeply and then emitted a long sigh, indicating that he was starting to relax. ‘Like a lunatic asylum!’ he repeated slowly as Sandra sat down beside him on the settee. ‘I went to work today... the same as thousands of others... and what do I find. A colleague of mine laying dead in the corridor. I was then told that the Board had already marked their card for his successor in Functional Control.’
‘Was it you?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Was it you?’
‘You got it in one, sweetheart,’ he responded glumly.
‘Is it a promotion?’
‘It’s a step up the ladder.’
‘Marvellous!’ she commented.
‘Not really. It’s crazy! They’ve asked me to accept but there’s a posse of suitors waiting in the wings. Not least of all Sam Elliott.’
‘Don’t you want the job?’
‘Not at all. I don’t want it. The work would take up to twenty-four hours a day. I don’t want it to spoil what we have here.’
‘Nothing will do that,’ she returned, taking the glass from him. ‘How about a kiss and a hug. You’re not to worry about anything.’
He took her in his arms and kissed her fully on the lips. ‘I don’t want anything to change between us.’
‘And it won’t. I won’t let it! The bank was there before you were born and it’ll still be there in years to come so you’re not to worry about anything.’
‘Sweetheart,’ he told her calmly. ‘In normal circumstances nothing would be nearer the truth but the job is a dog. It demands my attention at all times.’
‘We’ll manage somehow,’ she told him encouragingly.
‘I’m concerned about the danger signals in the future.’
‘What danger signals?’ she asked.
‘The appointment is nemesis itself. The man who ran it lost his wife through neglect and ended up having a heart attack mainly through pressure of work. I don’t want to end up that way.’
She unlocked her arms and released him. ‘You don’t know that his marriage broke up because of the job.’’
‘Well for one thing,’ he riposted, ‘he didn’t die in the corridor of old age.’
She stood up and moved towards the kitchen. ‘I’m positive the Board wouldn’t have chosen you if they felt you couldn’t handle it. Come on! Let’s eat!’
He followed her obediently trying to make sense of her contribution but her simple logic escaped him. ‘How on earth would they know if I was competent or not? The job encompasses all the trouble-shooting in the bank.’
‘Sit down and relax,’ she advised. ‘You’re far too tense!’
‘Why do you think the Head of Functional Control was found dead this morning?’
‘Not necessarily because of the interpretation you put on it.’ she returned. ‘For years you’ve worked at the bank solving everyone else’s problems. The moment they offer you the appointment to do practically the same thing, you complain about it. Are you sure you know what you really want?’
‘I want you to be a very big part of my life. I don’t want to lose you or let it destroy our relationship. That’s the part of it I don’t like!’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’ she chided. ‘Take the job and we’ll work out any problems on the way. It can’t possibly be as bad as you make out. You’re predicting disaster which won’t come about.’
Rigby placed his knife noisily on the edge of his plate which could be taken as a sign of temper. ‘The point that concerns me,’ he went on, taking a mouthful of food and devouring it so that she would have to wait for him to continue, ‘is what will happen if I can’t cope with the problems in normal working hours so that it overlaps my private life? How are you going to fare? I don’t want us to jeopardise our lives because of my job at the bank. You’re the most important thing in my life and you always will be.’
She reached across the table to take his hand. ‘That’s very sweet of you, darling,’ she cooed warmly. ‘I appreciate your sentiments but I think you’re only looking at the downside here. We’ll be all right. I know it.’
‘I don’t think you really understand the situation,’ he bleated, ploughing on with his argument. ‘These large institutions can swamp an individual with work and pressure. When it all boils down, I’m just a number in the bank like everyone else. Merely a number.’ He paused for a moment as he saw the glint in her eye. ‘I’m only fifteen years younger than Clement Davies, dammit. The thought of following him to Valhalla doesn’t particularly excite me. It’s just not worth it!’
‘Don’t fight it so hard, darling,’ she told him, trying to temper his despair. ‘I don’t think the conflict is between you and the bank but with your own conscience. Don’t worry about us. We’ll come out of it fine. What did this man Sam Elliott say to
all this?’
For the first time he broke into a smile and his shoulders heaved with laughter as he saw the amusing side of the picture. ‘Poor Same!’ he uttered. ‘With all his deviousness and underhand tactics and all his elaborate plans and scheming, he didn’t get a look in.’
Sandra smiled with him but a frown formed on her forehead. ‘Beware the ides of March with Sam Elliott!’ she warned. ’He sounds like a deadly enemy in every sense of the world. He sounds like a strategist who loses many battles but always wins the war.’
‘You’re so right. He’s very mad at me for getting the appointment. He reckoned it was promised to him but I don’t know how he came to that conclusion.’
‘Tell me the advantages and disadvantages of the job,’ she went on.
‘You tell me,’ he retorted leaning forward confidently. ‘As an independent authority, how do you see it?’
‘Advantages,’ she began pensively. ‘Promotion... an increase in salary... higher status in the bank... a progression path to senior management... as far as disadvantages are concerned,... ’
‘Disadvantages,’ he interrupted rudely, spoiling her train of thought, ‘include undue pressure of work, intrusion into personal life, stress, further pressure, a coronary... ’
‘Fear of incompetence,’ she cut in with a swift onslaught, inadequacy, oncoming impotence, the danger of losing me, self-pity, and loneliness.’
He paused and stared at her in astonishment. ‘I wasn’t thinking of things like that. What made you bring them up?’
It became clear that she had struck a sensitive nerve which reduced the force of flood of his argument to a miserable dribble. ‘Do you honestly think that we live together in a vacuum?’ she asked rhetorically. ‘Life’s not simply shelter, sex and food. It’s you and me... the way we feel... the way we are... our passion and our fears. Like most men, John Rigby, you live your life in a bubble. You don’t even know yourself.’
‘What’s all this to do with the job?’ he asked with a puzzled expression on his face.
