The Man in Possession

by Hilda Pressley

  She realised she had spoken without thinking, and that it would have been more diplomatic to have waited until he chose to tell her about himself. Nevertheless, she stood her ground.

  ‘I’ve been finding out things, too. My particular grapevine tells me you’re an—ex-director of Melloid Oil. Or have I been misinformed?’

  A hard look came into his eyes, then he closed them momentarily as if recollections were also painful.

  ‘No, you haven’t been misinformed.’ He picked up a pencil and began to doodle.

  She waited for him to continue, but he appeared deep in thought. Then suddenly, as if emerging from a bad dream, he ripped off the sheet of paper from the pad and screwing it into a ball threw it into the waste-paper basket impatiently.

  ‘Now where were we? Oh, yes, this office. You admit that something needs doing to it?’

  ‘As a matter of fact, it was going to be my next job,’ she told him.

  He stared at her. ‘Your next job? What on earth do you mean by that? What were you going to do, for heaven’s sake?’

  She shrugged. ‘Well, re-paint the walls for a start. Now that I’ve finished taking stock of the cabin equipment, I’ll have some spare time in the afternoons. The mail doesn’t take long at this time of the year, and—’

  ‘You mean you’d actually buy a tin of paint and start working on the walls yourself? I never heard anything so ridiculous in all my life! The whole place wants knocking down and building afresh.’

  ‘But—’ She stopped suddenly.

  Again, that direct look from the man’s blue-grey eyes. ‘Well? But what? Out with it.’

  ‘I’m not sure that I should, Mr. Leighton.’

  ‘Oh, really!’ he said on a note of exasperation. ‘I’ve had enough of polite secretaries who only give an opinion when asked for. I thought you’d be more honest. That’s why I—’

  ‘You forget, Mr. Leighton, I am not your private secretary. I haven’t even said whether I’m prepared to go on working for you or not yet.’

  Haven’t you? I thought you had. Well, for goodness’ sake let’s get it settled. Do you want to discuss salary? Whatever you’re getting I feel sure it isn’t enough.’

  ‘It’s not a question of money,’ she told him.

  No? What then?’

  She could hardly say she was not sure whether she wanted to work for him on personal grounds, though she was certainly going contrary to what she had said to Max over the telephone. Indeed, she was beginning to have quite a sneaking respect for the new owner of Wingcraft. His manner was direct and straightforward. She felt he was a man whose word one could always trust.

  ‘If you don’t mind, Mr. Leighton,’ she answered, ‘I think I’d prefer to talk further, then go away and think the matter over for a little while.’

  ‘Very well,’ he said, looking a little surprised. ‘Let’s start again. We can discuss the question of salary later—that is, if you decide to stay on. And I hope you do. You were about to comment on the office.’

  She inclined her head. ‘If you insist. I was about to say that, in general, the building itself is quite adequate—and in keeping—for a boatyard office. The inside needs smartening up, that’s all. If I were going to do it thoroughly, I’d also have a new counter. In fact, new furniture altogether and—’ she gave an amused smile—’ a new electric fire or something.’

  ‘I should hope so. But wouldn’t you have a carpet—on this side of the counter, at least?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. One is continually tramping in and out, and in wet weather—’ she broke off, then went on, ‘though some rush matting on this side might be a compromise, and I think now that you’ve come, it might be a good idea to have an inner office. We can find another place for the radio and television sets. I suppose that was what the other room was intended for originally. An office, I mean. But Mr. Hargreaves spent most of his time in the repair and boatbuilding sheds.’

  ‘Point taken,’ he said, and it was hard to tell whether he was smiling or not. ‘But your idea’s a good one. And I couldn’t agree more about this office furniture. I’ll attend to it myself. By the way, there seems to be one piece of essential equipment missing—which rather surprises me.’

  ‘Yes?’ she queried, wondering what on earth it could be. ‘A computer, perhaps?’ She couldn’t resist the dig.

  She could see by the look he gave her that her sarcasm had not been lost on him. He made no comment, however, and she began to think she would enjoy working with this man, after all.

  ‘A kettle,’ he told her. ‘And all the wherewithal to make tea or coffee.’

  ‘It somehow never seemed necessary, and at present there’s only one power point. I’m afraid I often had a cup of tea with the workmen—I hope that doesn’t offend your sense of propriety. And of course, my own place is quite near.’

  Another look from him. She seemed to be continually surprising him. ‘Oh yes, Frank Willis mentioned that you were living in one of the houseboats. I noticed your light on last night and asked him if it was let or something. I don’t know that I like the idea.’

  ‘For what reason?’ she queried, hoping he was not going to object.

  ‘Well, surely it’s not very comfortable, especially in weather like this?’

  She smiled and assured him that it was, and was on the point of explaining that her parents lived in Kent, otherwise she would not need the houseboat, but she stopped herself. That piece of information would almost inevitably bring the query: Why did you come to Norfolk? and she did not want to talk about David. In an effort to check any questions of that nature she asked one of her own.

  ‘I take it you’ll be living in the house, Mr. Leighton?’

  He nodded. ‘I’m already in. I hate hotels. But that needs refurnishing and redecorating too. The decor is something awful.’

  She felt a swift resentment on behalf of David and his father. Their furniture was not new. Some of it was old-fashioned and some of it was a little conventional, but it was good. Naturally most of the rooms needed redecorating, and man-like they had tended not to notice when things like carpets and curtains were looking shabby. But she put an end to these thoughts.

  ‘May I ask if your wife is here with you yet?’ she asked, with a view to offering to make him some coffee.

  ‘That grapevine of yours isn’t very good,’ he answered. ‘I’m a bachelor. Now is there anything else you’d like to know about me or that we have to settle immediately? If not—’

  She stood up. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—’

  He rose too. ‘For goodness’ sake, don’t feel obliged to keep apologizing. I can assure you, I shan’t. There was one other thing. Quite important. If you do decide to stay on, and I’d like you to, you’d carry on pretty much as you did before, of course. As my assistant rather than my secretary. That suit you?’

  ‘Why yes—In that case, I’ll go through the mail. But I’ll leave any important ones for you to see and sign, and if there are any queries—’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said briskly, going to the door.

  ‘Mr. Leighton—’ she called out, ‘I usually make coffee in the houseboat about eleven. Will you—join me?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, all right.’

  He shut the door behind him and she gazed at it half smiling, half puzzled. He was by no means an easy man, and she had a feeling there would often be a clash of wills between them, if she worked for him. But she was sure life would never be dull or boring.

  She started on the mail and screwed up an envelope to drop it into the waste-paper basket. But her glance caught the sheet of crumpled paper on which he had been doodling. Suddenly curious, she took it out and smoothed it open. It was not so much a doodle as a very good drawing of a head.

  The head of a very beautiful woman.

  Julia stared at the drawing. This was someone he knew, she felt sure of it. Perhaps it wasn’t a quarrel with his father which had led him to leave the firm. Perhaps it wa
s a broken love affair. Men must suffer in that way just as women did. It was nonsense to suppose they didn’t. And sometimes the only way to forget was to remove oneself from the scene which made it impossible or difficult. It was just the opposite with herself. She did not want memories of David to fade. They were far too precious to her.

  She crumpled the doodle-drawing up again slowly and dropped it back into the waste-paper basket. She finished opening the mail and made some pencilled notes on each of them, then put on her sheepskin jacket and trudged through the snow to her houseboat.

  Ten minutes later as the coffee was percolating she saw the shadow of Mr. Leighton pass one of the windows.

  ‘Smells wonderful,’ he said, as she opened the door to him.

  ‘Do you like it black or white?’

  ‘Black, please,’ he said, peeling off his tall rubber boots.

  He looked round appreciatively as he entered the saloon with its studio couch, the cottage armchairs she had bought herself, the folding table and two dining chairs.

  ‘This is different from the other houseboats,’ he said. ‘It hasn’t a sun-deck or walk around verandah. I’ve just been having a look at some of them.’

  ‘It is different,’ she affirmed. ‘This was actually designed for comfort—for winter bookings, in fact.’

  ‘Winter bookings?’ he echoed. ‘Surely—’

  ‘You’d be surprised. We’ve had bookings in November—even Christmas. It sleeps four. There’s a two-berth cabin the other side of the galley, and of course the studio couch makes a double bed.’

  ‘May I see around?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  He slid past her to the sleeping cabin as she lifted the coffee from the cooker. She took cups and saucers into the saloon and set out cheese and biscuits.

  ‘Who designed it?’ he asked, coming into the saloon again and dropping on to the couch.

  ‘Mr.—Hargreaves’ son,’ she told him, pushing the table close to where he was sitting.

  He eyed her intently. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘Yes, I knew him. Sugar, Mr. Leighton?’

  He scooped up four spoonfuls of the Demerara sugar.

  ‘And have some cheese and a biscuit,’ she added.

  She sat on one of the dining chairs and pulled it up to the table. It was odd, this feeling of not wanting to talk about David, especially as he still seemed so close to her. But somehow, his father and herself had never talked about him either. They had no need to. Each had known instinctively that David was never far from either of their thoughts. And now she supposed she wanted to keep David to herself.

  ‘How long have you been living in here?’ asked the new owner of Wingcraft.

  ‘Oh, ever since—’ she began without thinking, then broke off and ended: ‘About seven or eight months.’

  He gave her another of his looks and she feared he might ask her what she had been about to say when she broke off, but all he said was:

  ‘You make very good coffee.’

  She smiled. ‘These things are very much a matter of individual taste. I’m glad I made it as you like it.’

  He regarded her for a moment or two in silence, then asked: ‘Have you made up your mind yet about staying on?’

  ‘Yes.’ Suddenly she knew that she had.

  ‘And?’ he queried, before she had time to carry on.

  ‘I’d like to stay—if you still want me.’

  He put down his cup. ‘Then that’s settled. Now. I notice our first bookings are end of March and beginning of April. That gives us roughly four weeks before we start getting busy.’

  ‘We shan’t be in full swing, of course, until May, although naturally July and August are the busiest months.’

  ‘So between now and May we’ll have time to get the office looking a little less like a gardener’s shed and the whole place tidied up a bit.’

  ‘Tidied up?’ she queried suspiciously.

  ‘The grass cut, a few tubs of flowers around and some sort of order in the sheds.’

  She suppressed a sigh. ‘If I may say so, tubs of flowers would only be in the way.’

  ‘We won’t put them where they’ll be in the way,’ he answered firmly. ‘As a woman I’d have thought you’d like to see the place looking decorative.’

  ‘It depends what you mean by ‘decorative ‘.’ She resisted the temptation to remind him that this was a boatyard, not the entrance to some palatial suite of offices in the middle of London or New York. ‘To my mind, a boatyard has a charm all its own, and nature supplies all the embellishments that are necessary.’

  There was a silence. ‘Nature can always be improved upon or given a helping hand. You should know that,’ he answered.

  Julia wanted to come back at him again, but felt any further reply on the subject would constitute an argument. He would soon find out, she thought, that tubs of flowers along the water’s edge—if that was what he had in mind—would be very much in the way when boats were being pushed off or coming in to moor.

  He thanked her for the coffee and rose, and she imagined she saw a faint smile of triumph on his face. He departed, and when she had washed the cups and saucers she went back to the office and answered the mail. When she returned there after lunch she saw that he had signed the ones she had left on her desk for him.

  She looked at the clear, neat signature. Roger Leighton. Roger. She decided it suited him without asking herself why.

  He came into the room where the radio and television sets were stored just as she was carrying one of them out.

  ‘Where are you going with that?’ he asked.

  ‘There’s a space in the linen store. I thought they could go in there.’

  ‘And you were going to carry all this lot yourself? Give that to me. You can bring the transistors—though they look a poor lot—and I’d have thought most people had their own.’

  She hid a smile as he took the television set from her. It wasn’t really heavy. All the sets had only twelve-inch screens. Obviously, he was used to pampering women. Or bossing them. She heard him call out to Andy, and the youth came and began carrying the sets from one place to another. Soon the room was empty.

  ‘I’ll have those down, too,’ the new boss said, indicating the duckboard shelves. ‘They’re hideous.’

  ‘For an office, perhaps, but ideal for storage of goods like linen or paper—anything, in fact, which is capable of taking in moisture from the atmosphere.’

  ‘The atmosphere in places where those sort of things are stored shouldn’t have moisture in it,’ he answered dogmatically. ‘Store-rooms should be warm and dry.’

  Julia suppressed a sigh. It was all very well to say what should or should not be. Most boatyards started out modestly, their sheds and store-rooms added to as the business grew. The boat-hire business in Norfolk had grown beyond anything envisaged when two men first took out a rowing boat years ago at Wroxham and explored the river Bure and the many inlets and Broads.

  Roger Leighton had strolled over to the window and was looking out on to the boatyard.

  ‘I still think this whole set-up should be reorganized. This business of going outside from one place to another—it’s ridiculous. The office and store-rooms should all be under one roof—and even the sheds and repair shops connected by a covered-way.’

  The business executive talking again, thought Julia. What was the use of arguing with him?

  ‘People who work in and around boatyards get used to popping in and out of doors,’ she told him. ‘Things are becoming different now, I suppose, with big takeovers, even in the boat-hire business. But most firms were embarked on by the owning of one or more craft and built up—not started with huge capitals. Of what use would it be to start rebuilding and reorganizing?’

  He turned slowly and looked at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

  ‘You have a good deal to learn about the successful running of a business, Miss Barclay. You must always appear to be expanding. A look of prosperity
attracts prosperity. Never appear to be content to just jog along. You know all the clichés, I’m sure. “Throw a sprat to catch a mackerel,” “money attracts money” and so on. If you’re afraid of spending money you’ll never make any.’

  Julia thought it all sounded revolting. ‘Does it never occur to you, Mr. Leighton, that there might be some people—if not most of them—in the boat-hire business simply because they love boats—not merely to make money?’

  ‘Nonsense. Everybody likes to make money.’

  ‘But some more than others.’

  ‘Granted. However, for various reasons, we’ll just go ahead on the idea of improving the existing office of Wingcraft at the moment. I’ve found a painter and decorator who can come and start work of the place tomorrow. Once he’s done this room you can move in here while he does the outer office. If you would prefer it, of course, you can use the houseboat until it’s all done. Or better still, there’s a room in the house. Yes, that would be better,’ he said with sudden decision. ‘We’ll transfer the whole lot there for a week or so.’

  And without waiting to hear whether she agreed or disagreed he went outside and called to Andy again. Julia would rather have taken her typewriter to the houseboat and carried on there, but she supposed on reflection it would make things rather difficult. He would not feel free to come and go to the houseboat. Quite honestly, she thought this was all something of a nuisance. She admitted that the office needed smartening up, but she would have done it without so much upheaval. On the whole, she was not at all sure that she was going to enjoy working with Roger Leighton after all.

  ‘You’d better come and tell Andy where you want things putting,’ he said, coming back into the empty room.

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  After all, he was the boss, she told herself as she followed him out, and she had agreed to work for him.

  Julia had not been in the house for several weeks, and then only in the hall. Pending the sale of the place she had kept on Mrs. Harris who came daily to clean. All the same she was suddenly struck with the dreariness and drabness of both walls and furnishings. She might have been seeing it through Roger Leighton’s own eyes.