by McNeir, Leo
“Do you really mean that?” said Marnie.
“Of course we do,” said Beth with her version of a tender smile. It was a near miss.
“I’m thinking of giving up my job here and starting up on my own outside London.”
“Are you crazy?” said Beth. “You’d give up everything you’ve got for some hare-brained scheme to go off to the back woods?”
“Thanks for the support and help!” exclaimed Marnie. Beth grinned at her and Paul laughed. Marnie looked at them. “You buggers!” She got up to make coffee and put a plate of petits fours on the table. Beth and Paul cleared away the remains of the tapas.
“Actually, I don’t think the split with Simon is such a problem, at least not any more. It’s been three years and a lot has happened in between.”
“Like Steve?” said Beth.
“Not really. He was okay, but he was keener on me than I was on him. No, I think it was my trip on Sally Ann that helped the most. Gave me something to look after. Opened up new horizons, literally.”
“But you can’t build a life around a boat,” said Beth. “Not when you’re a talented interior designer. I can’t see you earning a living designing colour schemes for canal boats.”
“That isn’t what I have in mind.”
“What do you have in mind exactly?” Marnie hesitated in the middle of opening the packet of coffee and stood silent and thoughtful as if trying to decide whether she should speak. The phone rang. She handed the coffee to Beth and went to take the call in the living room. It was Anne.
“What’s the matter?” said Marnie. “You sound subdued.”
“I can’t stay on at school.”
“Who says?”
“I says.”
“Why not?” Anne sighed at the end of the line and Marnie wondered if she was crying. But the voice, when it returned, was firm and clear.
“It’s difficult. I should have realised. It was all just a dream, really.”
“Has something happened?” said Marnie.
“No, except I overheard mum and dad saying how tough things were, trying to make ends meet. Marnie, they can’t afford to keep me at school for another two years, then at college for three or four more years. It’s not reasonable. I’m going to have to get a job.”
“At sixteen? There’s not a lot going for sixteen-year-olds.”
“There wouldn’t be a chance of anything at your company. I realise that. I just like being with you. You seem so secure.”
“I do? How? Because I have a flat and a car, a mortgage and a cat?”
“No, Marnie. Because you’re confident. You know what you’re doing and where you’re going.”
“What if I said I wanted to move out of London and start my own business?” She knew at once she had made a mistake. What she had intended was to make Anne aware that nothing was immutable and that the world was in a constant state of flux and uncertainty. Anne knew that well enough already. Marnie cursed herself for her stupidity and knew what she said would do nothing but upset Anne even more.
“That’s great!” said Anne.
“What?”
“It’s great! I said you knew what you wanted to do. That’s marvellous. I could come and work for you. I wouldn’t want much and I could learn from you like an apprentice, like in the old days.”
“Well, er Anne, I mean, it’s not quite as easy as that.”
“I don’t expect things to be easy. I’ve learnt that much already.”
“No, of course. It’s just that I have very little capital at the moment. I couldn’t afford staff, at least not at first, except maybe a few hours of secretarial help each week.” She bit her tongue. This conversation was getting out of control. Marnie realised that what she was saying had no basis in reality.
“Well that’s fine,” said Anne. “I could do that. I’m really good at typing. I always get the best marks for word-processing and office skills.”
“Anne, don’t get carried away. Listen. I haven’t firmed up on my plans yet. There’s a lot more to be considered and it may never happen.”
“Right. I get the picture. But when you have a better idea, I hope you’ll tell me about it.”
“Sure.”
“Promise?”
“Of course.”
Beth and Paul were chatting in the kitchen but stopped as soon as Marnie returned.
“Everything all right, Marnie? You look as if you’ve had bad news.”
Lying in bed that night, Marnie went over the conversations with Anne and Beth and Paul, wondering where she was going. She had said far more than she intended and had talked about ideas that she had not fully considered. Time passed. Ideas ran through her head. A restless night.
Thirty miles away, Anne closed her book, switched off the bedside lamp and snuggled down under the bedclothes. The day had had an unexpectedly happy ending after a bad start. She slept soundly.
Marnie got up after a while and went to the kitchen for a glass of sparkling water. Standing by the window in the darkened room, with only the light from the half-open door of the refrigerator, she tried to see into the future. The image of Anne’s smiling face floated by. She was sitting in an office surrounded by computers, a monitor, a printer, a photocopier. Marnie sighed. She did not even possess a typewriter.
5
Sarah Anne could not sleep for the anguish she had felt since her father and the other men had left the village to go to war. Silently, so as not to disturb her sisters, she rose from her bed and dressed. She wanted air and light to clear her head.
The path beside the watercress beds was narrow, and she had to watch where she trod to avoid the mud that seeped through the tussocks and spread in patches across its surface. It was good to be out on this fair morning, with only the singing of the birds for company. Her walk would take her to the edge of the woods where clusters of daffodils were growing in profusion.
At first, she did not see him coming, nor did he notice her, his head bowed in thought. Before her, on the track leading out of the woods, partly camouflaged by his brown coat against the trees, was the unmistakable sight of the vicar, walking back towards the village. Towards the village? They could not help but meet on the narrow path. Even so, when he caught sight of Sarah Anne, the man seemed to pause in his stride, just for a second, as if he might wish to avoid her, but he walked on. Sarah Anne stopped to let him by.
“Good morning, vicar.”
“Good morning to you, my child.”
“A lovely day, sir.”
“Indeed, and you abroad so early. The sun is barely risen.”
“I wanted to gather flowers for the church. My mother is decorating it for the Easter service tomorrow. She said she wanted to fill it with daffodils to …”
“To help us forget the ugliness of the world?”
“To make it joyous.”
“Quite so, quite so.” They stood in silence, neither seeming ready yet to move.
“You are also walking early, vicar.” He looked down. “Are you contemplating your sermon?”
“I am always on God’s business, my child.” At that, he raised his hand and placed it lightly on the side of her arm. Without thinking, Sarah touched it with her own. The vicar smiled and passed by.
After he had walked on, Sarah still seemed to feel the faint pressure of his hand. She turned and watched him striding along the path. So early to be out walking, even on God’s business.
*
A soft tap on the window brought Marnie back to the real world. It was Philip standing beside her car in the office car park, stooping to look in. She had not been aware of his approach, or even noticed that he had driven in.
“Are you with us, Marnie? Got a touch of the Mondays? How was your break?” They chatted amiably as they walked together across the short distance of tarmac and into the building. It was a much renovated 1930s office block, very modern when it was first built. The company had taken it over in a sorry state and renovated it to make a comfortable and functional
working environment with the luxury of its own car park. The building was a good advertisement for the company and a series of before-and-after photographs lined one wall of the meeting room used for discussions with clients. Entering by the back door, they went in different directions.
As usual, Marnie was the first to arrive in the spacious, open-plan office she shared with her interior design group. She glanced automatically out of the window that overlooked the canal. After hesitating for a moment, she turned sharply and walked across to the door.
She found Philip sitting in his first floor office, reading a letter. He was a good colleague, a good architect and a good friend. It had been largely due to his encouragement the year before that Marnie had taken her sabbatical and gone off for the whole summer on Sally Ann.
“Come in, Marnie. Have a seat. Now why do I think you’ve got something on your mind?”
“You’re as bad as Beth, my sister. I sometimes swear she’s psychic, or at least telepathic.”
“So I’m right?”
“You’re right. I’m not quite sure how to put this, mainly because I’m not sure about all the details myself.”
“I recognise the symptoms, Marnie. Remember, I used to work for another company years ago before I started up this one with Alex. Have I hit the target?”
“I like it here, Philip. In fact, I can’t think of another company I’d rather work for. It’s just that perhaps I need a new challenge.”
“Has someone made you an offer?”
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. I just have this feeling that maybe I’m ready to do my own thing.”
“Well, you’re only in your early thirties, so it’s too soon for a mid-life crisis. I’m ten years older than you and I’m still saving up for mine.”
“As soon as we see the sports car magazines on your desk, we’ll know it’s happening,” said Marnie.
“Or in your case, it’ll be canal boat magazines,” said Philip. “I think perhaps your sabbatical did help you to sort yourself out, after all. So what do you have in mind?”
“I’m not sure. The idea’s only just developing.”
“In your conscious mind, maybe. But it’s been fairly obvious to me ever since you came back last autumn.” His voice was gentle, but the words took Marnie by surprise. “I think it was inevitable that this would happen, or certainly there must have been a fifty-fifty chance it would. Although it’s not in our best interests, for you it’s probably the right thing to do. But it may be a difficult time to set up on your own.”
“We’ve built up a good interior design team. More than one of them would be capable of taking over the group. I’m not indispensable.”
“But you were the one who sorted out the problems that developed while you were away last year.”
“There were only one or two and the team learnt a lot from that experience.”
“Yes, of course. But I’d be sorry to have you as competition, Marnie.”
“I wouldn’t be near enough to be competition.” The more they spoke, the more Marnie realised how little thought she had given to the ideas that were forming. Why was she going down this path? Before Philip could speak, the intercom buzzed to announce that the auditors had arrived. It was the first meeting of the day.
On the way downstairs, Marnie became more aware of the organisation in which she had worked for several years. She had always thought of it as a small firm, but now she realised how substantial it was. Philip and Alex had started the practice together when they were about her age and it had grown into a respected company with its own office building, a switchboard, secretaries, VAT returns and all the paraphernalia of the business world. Is this what she had in mind? Momentarily she felt a heavy stone in the pit of her stomach.
By now, half a dozen of her team, most of them young women, had arrived. There was a chorus of greetings. For the next half hour she had brief individual discussions with a few members of the group. This had always been her habit and she moved round the office like a teacher in a classroom, to talk about work in progress. She had never been so aware of the support that members of a team can give each other, never fully appreciated the security of a group. And yet, somewhere in the recesses of her mind, she knew that this atmosphere had not merely developed by chance. Something had created it. That something was leadership and it had come from her.
It was mid-morning when Philip rang. “Marnie, it’s me. Have you got time for a word?” The whole building smelled faintly of coffee as Marnie made her way back up to Philip’s office. It was like a statement of company policy. Marnie approved. This was no backstreet outfit that kept jars of cheap, supermarket-brand instant powder in cupboards full of sugar packets, half-empty milk bottles and gaudy mugs. Each work-group had its own filter machine. The white cups and saucers were stylish and practical. Marnie and Philip converged on his office, cup in hand, like celebrants at a ritual. Philip indicated the easy chairs and low table on one side of the office and Marnie sat while he picked up a letter from his desk.
“There’s something I want to show you.” He passed her the letter on the familiar headed note-paper of Willards Brewery, the large Midlands-based group for whom they had carried out some major projects. She read quickly. It was the job they had been waiting for. They wanted their chain of restaurants refurbished, together with a complete renovation of their head office in Leicester. It was a major interior design project and Marnie’s reaction as she read the letter was partly exalted and partly downcast. This was the kind of contract that, working alone, she could not hope to win. She looked up at Philip, whose expression was enigmatic.
“Turn over and read the second page,” he said quietly. “Read it out loud.”
She read: “We have had very good customer reaction to the refurbishment of our canalside inns and we are confident that the good relationship that has developed with your company over the past year will produce the desired results.” The rest concerned the timetable for drawing up a contract and preparing the brief. “He’s right,” said Marnie. “We’ve all worked well together. And he knows that a lot of the ground work has been done.”
“That isn’t what he’s saying, though, is it?” said Philip. They both understood what the sentence meant. Marnie felt confused. Here was an interesting project, the kind of job she was keen to win, but if she left the company it would be a hard struggle for years to build up a reputation capable of bringing in such contracts. Philip went on: “What he is actually saying is that they have liked the work you have done and they want you to carry on with the project. It’s a vote of confidence in you, Marnie.”
“Backed up by a first class team,” said Marnie. Even as she spoke, she felt as if she was talking about something in her past, as if she was already outside looking in. Suddenly the world seemed very insecure.
“Yes. But essentially they want you and, let’s not forget it, they want access to the drawings that you were left by the old guy in his will. They were a key part of your design.”
“Did I tell you the National Canal Museum has asked me to do the official opening of the new gallery next month?”
“So you’ll be on television again, I expect,” said Philip, grinning.
“Best frock and big hat,” said Marnie. They sat smiling at each other, two old friends who had worked together for several years and never had a cross word in all that time. “When did you get that letter?”
“It was here when I came in. I was reading it when you came up to see me.”
“So you knew about it when we had our first conversation.”
“Yes.”
“It rather complicates things, doesn’t it?” said Marnie.
“No, not really. It depends. It would be a wonderful opportunity for someone wanting to start their own practice to have a contract like Willards under their belt.”
“But I couldn’t possibly take work away from the company!” protested Marnie. “ I wouldn’t dream of it. And anyway, it would go against the terms of my contract.”
“How far advanced are your plans, Marnie?”
She breathed out audibly and shrugged. “They’re hardly even plans. I shouldn’t really have mentioned it until I had a clearer idea of what I had in mind.”
“But it was bothering you. Something brought it to a head, perhaps?” Marnie thought of the conversation with Beth and Paul, of Anne, of the restlessness that had come back.
“Philip, if I did go and start up on my own, I would let you have access to the drawings that I inherited. If that’s what Willards want, it’s fine by me. I wouldn’t let you down.”
Philip smiled. “When we spoke earlier this morning, you said you wouldn’t be near enough to be in competition, or something like that. That made me think you had your ideas fairly well worked out. But maybe I misunderstood.”
Marnie outlined her ideas and Philip listened without comment or reaction until the end.
“You’re not sure if this farm is still for sale and you don’t know the asking price.”
“That’s right.”
“But it’s a ruin.”
“Yes.”
“Uninhabitable.”
“Yes.”
“Possibly unsafe and likely to collapse.”
“You’d make a poor estate agent, Philip.”
“It’s what I would call a courageous decision, I think.”
“Isn’t that the management way of saying the idea is completely mad?”
“Bold, perhaps.”
“On the face of it, it all sounds pretty stupid, doesn’t it?” said Marnie.
“Well, you didn’t see this place when we first took it over. Alex and I put everything we had into it. But it was in a good position at a good price.”
“Are you telling me the farm idea isn’t completely mad, or that it’s in a bad position, may not be a good price and is not worth thinking about?”
“I’m telling you that a start now isn’t going to be easy, but with the Willards project to get you launched, you might just make it, depending on the price they want for the farm complex. We might even be able to offer you the odd spot of consultancy. You’ve got some more thinking to do.”
