The 2084 Precept

by Anthony David Thompson

  ***

  I drove for a few streets without worrying about the direction, and then I stopped. There was virtually no traffic, the city was quiet, the neon lights were making yellow shadows out of the night's ground mist, hundreds of thousands of people were asleep around me. A dog was barking somewhere far away and the noise of a lone motorbike dwindled slowly into the distance. I lit a cigarette and then a second one and, yes, a third one and I sat there for about half an hour, thinking about today, about Céline, and about where life's ocean waves could take you sometimes if they felt like it, suddenly and without warning. And I was thinking about her curled up in her bed right now. And I felt good. That was the very best way to describe my feelings then. I felt good.

  And then I put the car into gear, found a sign to the autoroute and headed north on the E17.

  I drove on into the light of the new day. I tanked the car someplace, used the toilets—thank God the French had long ago got rid of most of those thigh-testing holes in the floor my father used to complain about—got through two more of those ludicrous and inefficient toll collection stations invented by the French and other southern European countries, and reached the docks at Calais soon after 7 o'clock.

  I had to wait an hour for the next ferry. P&O again.

  You know which country you are travelling to when you check in. They give you a paper 'hanger' to hook onto your rear-view mirror to denote which lane you are supposed to wait in. It also contains extraordinary safety instructions:

  Any passenger who will require assistance in the event of an emergency is asked to advise the reception desk of this fact on boarding the ship! This of course means everybody—except for those who might prefer, for example, to drown. Nobody obeys this, and if they did, there would be chaos. Also, one notes that those who might require assistance, but not in the event of an emergency, are excluded from this generous offer.

  Ah hah! Not clear? Towards the end of this document comes the following: Anyone with need of assistance in an emergency should notify the reception desk if this need is not already advised! Great; this repeated message is presumably for people who, without these wording modifications, were unable to understand the first message. But, sad to say, it is—again—only if there is an emergency.

  And how about this: Do not overfill your petrol tank. Well, first of all, you already either have or you haven't. Secondly, it doesn't tell you what to do if you have. And thirdly, how do Brits manage to overfill their petrol tanks in the first place?

  And this: Do not start engine until instructed. Everybody ignores this. Thank God. There would be chaos if they didn't.

  And this: Do not move until instructed. The above comments apply here also.

  And my favorite: We are happy to supply ingredient lists for any food on board. However, we are unable to guarantee that any food will contain only those ingredients listed. So why the lists if you can't trust them? Go figure.

  And finally, a warning notice, the purpose of which somebody, somewhere, somehow understands: This hanger remains the property of P&O ferries and must be surrendered to a member of staff upon request. Can you imagine having to keep all these pieces of paper at home until you die because they belong to somebody else? But don't worry, they have failed to correctly cite a legal entity name and so you can throw them away, as everybody does anyway, without fear of being arrested for stealing somebody else's property. Again, go figure.

  I went to the big bar for a coffee. At this time in the morning the ship was only half full but there were plenty of those kinds of Brits again. And this time there were plenty of obese ones, a sprinkling of monster-show hairstyles, and a few union jack T-shirts. I also saw a T-shirt which I don't think you could possibly find in any country you would care to call civilized. Anyone manufacturing or selling them would be fined and, if they persisted, put into jail. But in the U.K. it is socialism and the socialist educational levels which rule. Although—let me be fair—this text did not contain a single obscene word. It read 'Thousands of my potential children died on your daughter's face last night." You will find these T-shirts and worse ones openly on sale in U.K. stores. They sell well and they make good reading, do not doubt it, for 10 year-old Brit children, their Brit grandmothers and all foreigners. The T-shirt text in this case presumably did not apply to the 12 year old girl who a few weeks ago became Britain's—excuse me, Great Britain's—youngest mother, nor to the 13 year old father. And probably not to the 27 year old grandmother either. No, I exaggerate nothing.

  You can't get away from these people. Some of them were obviously from the buses I'd seen boarding the ship. The cheap holiday agencies frequently use buses to transport their clients and their buses travel back often enough overnight, it saves hotel costs.

  I caught bits and pieces of the guttural utterings. 'My fookin daw-er, ah fookin tells 'er, listen, ah sez to 'er…' the man at the next table was saying, the past tense, among other things, clearly beyond his capabilities. 'I were' and 'we was', and the 'wivs' and the 'wots', and the 'gnawwotahmeens' (do not pronounce the 't' by the way) and of course the 'fookins' and the 'bluddy coonts' and all the rest of it, everything was floating through the air like confetti at a wild hogs' wedding reception, oink, oink.

  You even get people on British television these days who can't speak properly. I don't even understand the weather reports on BBC World sometimes, dialect words all jumbled together and exiting in mumbled form through tightly compressed lips, as if permanently living in great fear of swallowing any marauding flies. And there were some under-educated Scots on board, they could have been talking Kurdish for all I knew, but I'm not going to get into that one. Just read one of those Irvine Welsh books if you don't know what I mean. In fact, I recommend them anyway, they're brilliant.

  But no problem. We all have the right to be the way we want to be, or what we have been molded into, and as I have mentioned before, I respect their right to exist as they wish, just as much as I respect my own. But you do have to be careful, because this is not necessarily the case the other way round. So I went and found a corner at the other end of the ship and snoozed away until the docking noises woke me up.

  It was well past ten o'clock, nine o'clock here of course, as I drove out of the docks and into Dover town center. I wanted to buy the weekend IHT and stretch my legs a bit. The signs sellotaped onto the interiors of some of the shop windows are also indicative of the country in which we now find ourselves. One supermarket I walked past had three signs, all of which prompted my neurons to raise a query or two:

  WE WOULD REQUEST CUSTOMERS

  NOT TO EAT OR DRINK

  WHILST IN THE STORE. THANK YOU.

  And how does that allow the small bar next to the bakery section to sell any of its proffered tea, coffee and pastries?

  POLITE NOTICE:

  DURING THE WARMER WEATHER, PLEASE ENSURE

  THAT YOU WEAR A SHIRT OR T-SHIRT WHEN

  ENTERING THE PREMISES. THANK YOU.

  And is it O.K. to wander in half-naked whenever the weather is not ‘warmer’ (and not warmer than what)? Or, indeed, at any time after you have finished ‘entering’? And are ladies included here (blouses, for example, are not allowed, you must ensure you wear a shirt or a T-shirt)?

  WE WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF CUSTOMERS

  WEARING A HOODED TOP

  PLEASE LOWER THE HOOD WHILST IN THE STORE. THANK YOU.

  And oh, the grammar…oh dear, the grammar. And in the ‘warmer’ weather, are the hooded top wearers (most of whom are presumably sweating badly) still required to comply with the Shirt or T-Shirt rule?

  Certain countries need such signs. No doubt about it.

  I drove out through the town center and up onto the cliff road. The differences always hit you in the face, the clothes, the drab terraced houses, the unkempt patches of 'front gardens’, the litter all over the place, and the weather. And it had just started to rain.

  There are hundreds of road sign varieties in the U.K. involving different colors
, different designs, different wordage, different lettering styles, different-sized text and different-sized signs for reasons I have never felt the urge to enquire about. I passed one of these artistic creations about halfway to Folkestone on the cliff road. It read:

  ROADWORKS

  NIGHT CLOSURES

  1 to 31 June

  EXPECT DELAYS

  Of course, I thought to myself, with bad luck it might take a little longer, perhaps until the 32nd? And good to know that road closures cause delays. I will bear that in mind.

  The next sign was a much smaller one:

  FOOTPATH CROSSINGS

  FOR 1/2 MILE

  Extraordinary. We are on a 4-lane dual carriageway (which means two lanes each way with a central divider). So we apparently have hikers and their dogs and, why not, their children who are allowed to cross this road! And this small sign (if you don’t miss it) tells you about it. And the millions of foreigners who drive off the ferries and into England on this road all have an excellent grasp of the English vocabulary together with millisecond translation skills and can understand what this small sign means (if, that is, they don’t miss it). Ask any native and he will tell you: this sign is extremely important; it is there to help prevent you killing any fellow human beings.

  There were more signs worthy of comment; I must write the book one day. I continued plunging onward into the depths of this fascinating country. The rain made no difference to the driving, not at 110 kilometers per hour, and with or without footpath crossings. No traffic problems, it was Sunday and it was raining. I stopped for a coffee and a cigarette and read a piece of the IHT, and I reached the hotel in London a few minutes before 1 p.m. Yes, it was Sunday and the pasty red-haired guy was behind the desk again. But if he was impolite, I was too tired to notice. I took myself up to my room, my luggage arrived two minutes later, and I fell asleep two minutes after that.

  I woke up at 10 p.m., ordered a sandwich and a half bottle of Côtes du Rhône from room service, read some more of the IHT, and fell asleep again.

  DAY 11

  I woke up early. No rain but cloudy. I had breakfast in the hotel, waved my hand at Little Miss Ugly on my way out, made her day, lit a cigarette and set off across the park.

  Today was not one of those ordinary days. Today was Day Two from where my calendar now begins. I checked my mobile. No calls. No text messages. If all went well, she had arrived home yesterday. If not, she would be there by around noon today. She would be talking with her fiancé this afternoon, this evening at the latest. Not a fun conversation, but they never are. And by tomorrow she would have arranged her trip to London and would be in contact.

  I was feeling good again as I walked underneath Piccadilly and I apologized profusely when, immersed in Céline thoughts, I collided with a morose-looking guy reading his newspaper at the tube entrance. Then it was right into Half Moon Street, left into Curzon Street, right into South Audley Street and along into the United Fasteners building. I took the elevator to the third floor and went into the lobby area. Checked my watch, ten to nine.

  "Good morning, Peter." Susi was sitting there looking as she always looked. Swish.

  "Good morning, Susanne." I hadn't forgotten. "And how was the weekend?"

  "A bit boring actually," she replied. "But presumably not for you?" That crooked smile, it really gets to you, Céline or no Céline.

  "No, Susanne…no, mine wasn't boring, thank you. On the contrary, it was pretty fantastic."

  "Yes, it looks like it, the way you're smiling. Lots of nice walks with Mr. Brown?"

  "Lots of fantastic walks with Mr. Brown, Susanne. It would have been better having fantastic walks with a Miss Brown, though."

  Her name was Susanne Brown and she killed me again with another of her crooked smiles. "Perhaps," she said, "who knows?"

  Oh yes, the invitation was there, no mistaking it. But I am not interested, and nothing is going to happen even when I'm finished here. Sorry, Susanne, there is a girl called Céline. Still, you never know what life's waves have in store for you, do you? So for the moment I wasn't going to burn any boats nor, indeed, any bridges…Susi would simply be added to my blinking red lights list.

  "Who knows?" I replied, looking straight into her big, bright eyes, eyes you could easily drown in if you wanted to and maybe even if you didn't. I applied the ambiguous smile, the nice one, the one which denotes possible and perhaps even probable interest in the female on the receiving end of it, while at the same time letting her know that you were far too civilized to attempt to force events. "Things sometimes happen when you least expect them," I added.

  "Or even when you do expect them, Peter," she said and she was looking straight at me as well. "Particularly if the time is right for both parties…like now for example, Peter. Roger and Geoff are waiting for you in Roger's office." Her wide crooked smile was also an ambiguous one, in fact it's always ambiguous, she definitely belongs to the world's population of man-eating plants.

  I went through to Roger's office, knocked and walked in.

  "Good morning, Roger, Geoff."

  "Hi Peter, good to see you again," said Roger.

  "Good morning, Peter, your usual pew," said Geoff.

  It was just the two of them. The office was large, pleasantly and expensively furnished in mahogany, or what looked and felt like mahogany, and with big windows looking down onto South Audley Street. My usual pew was a leather chair in the middle of a small meeting table and Roger sat at the end to my left and Geoff sat facing me across the table.

  "Coffee and drinks over there as usual Peter, please just help yourself."

  "Thanks, will do."

  "Apologies about last week, Peter," said Roger. "We're thinking of making a bid for a stud-welding equipment manufacturer, automotive stuff that works off robot arms, and they wanted to meet with me personally to talk about our offer price. You know how these things are, they're only interested in their own personal take. The price per share is of interest to them because they're loaded up with stock options and they want agreements concerning their payoff in the event they are terminated in the short-term, guaranteed severance packages, pension guarantees and so on. If not, they will reject our offer and we will have to decide whether or not to make our bid a hostile one. Expensive and unpleasant as you know, Peter. So…nothing new…happens all the time, we live in a crooked world, do we not?"

  He beamed at me, a 'we're all men of the world' beam.

  "We certainly do, Roger," I said, beaming back. "We just have to go with the tide. No other way, as King Canute discovered."

  "Hah! King Canute! Yes, foolish fellow."

  Roger was a short guy with thinning grey hair, a stomach, a florid face, the capillaries in his nose and cheeks betraying a life of too much good food and too much good drink to go with it. Expensive shirts and expensive suits to camouflage it all. What could not be camouflaged was the way he walked, short steps, concentrating on keeping his balance…arteries clogged up with a lifetime's collection of refuse, you can tell. Thank you very much, shareholders, for allowing me all of this, and thank you very much, members of the board, for approving it. But whatever, he was a nice enough guy, an O.K. old school type, and he was certainly intelligent, at least in some ways.

  "So…where are we at? Are you more or less finishing up now, Peter? I hope so, you're bloody expensive, what?" Joke, another beam.

  "More or less, Roger. One of the items still pending is whether you agree with the zero dividends, zero bonuses, salary and wage cuts and so on at Clark's. And if so, whether you want me to work with Fred on how to go about it. The second item is that I would like to cooperate on the purchase cost reduction program, at least initially, get it running in the right way."

  "Well, we've discussed the cuts. Frankly, some were for and some were against. I am not sure what effects or even consequences it might have, but overall I think we should trust in your expertise and therefore I say go ahead. Just don't cause any big screw-ups please." Another smil
e.

  Geoff said, "And on the purchase cost reduction program, I seem to recall that you said you were envisaging several hundreds of thousands in annual savings. It seems a lot to me. I don't know how you intend achieving it, but go ahead, we'll be very interested in looking at the results."

  Of course, he didn't know how I would be achieving it. But I've already done my research on Clark’s purchase pricing and the cost increases over the last few years, also on alternative suppliers and, more importantly, the fact that the purchasing department has never functioned as such. Never. It would better be described as an ordering department, because that is all they do. The phrase 'price negotiation' just wasn't in their dictionary. Achieving the savings was absolutely no problem. It was merely a question of how to go about it and I knew that too. It wasn't the first time I'd done it and it wouldn't be the last.

  "So how long do you think?" asked Roger.

  "Only about a week's hard work for me, Roger. After all, I'm only going to be involved in the planning and initiation of these projects. However, it won't all be happening on a day to day basis, so let's say two weeks in total. That means it will cost you another two weeks' hotel expenses and so on, plus my return travel. But, as I will not be appearing on the days when it would be a waste of my time, you would only have to pay another five or six days of consultancy fees. If you're happy with that?"

  "Sounds good to me," said Roger, "and you look happy, Geoff, smiling away there, getting rid of Peter's costs at last."

  "I certainly am," said Geoff, "but the fact is, Peter here provides a good return on his costs, now who would have thought that?" A smile, a joke. "Fred and Charlie," he continued, "have already indicated that Peter works very fast and we have already seen some major improvements in the monthly results, sustainable ones, I presume?" Chuckle, chuckle. "Perhaps, Peter, you could summarize the situation for us?"

  "Certainly, no problem. You have been regularly updated on the changes we have implemented and/or initiated and so I will just stick to the overall picture. As you know, last year Clark's Adhesives made a loss of £3.2 million. Also as you know, the losses have continued since I have been here, but they have been substantially reduced. One of the main reasons for this was what we did right at the beginning on the sales side. Now we are close to breakeven, and we will generate sufficient profits in the second half of the year to compensate for the losses to date. In other words, by year-end, this year will have been a breakeven year. No losses. A very big change."

  No way was I going to tell them that this was only possible because the company was so badly managed in the first place. And that it was therefore easy for me. A kid could have done it. Nor was I going to tell them that they themselves should have done something about it, what else are group executives paid all that money for? Let them think I'm a genius, that's fine by me, they'll recommend me to others, it's how I get my customers.

  "A big change indeed," said Roger. "And if it happens, you will have been cheap at the price, no arguing. But how definite is it? I mean, I note that you say 'will' rather than 'could' or 'possibly'. Is it that definite?"

  "Yes, Roger. You can trust me on that."

  Sure he can, the changes have already produced more than he thinks, I am in cahoots with Fred and Charlie, we've been under-reporting for the last couple of months. It's easy to do, increase some liability accruals here, increase some inventory and accounts receivable provisions there, and so on. Release them back bit by bit into profit as requirements dictate. No legal issues, we are only talking about internal monthly accounts. The full year's results are already more or less guaranteed, no doubt about that.

  "Well, very, very good to hear, Peter, that is great, it certainly is," said Roger, beaming away like a ship's beacon. "And what about next year?"

  "As far as I can estimate at the current point in time, next year will show a profit of over £2 million, positive cash flow close to £3 million. That's because, on the one hand, the profitability in the second half of this year is sustainable and will continue on into next year, almost certainly in fact improving further as we go along and, on the other hand, we won't of course have to compensate for any first half losses as is the case for this year."

  In fact, they'll make over £3 million profit next year and their cash flow will be about one million more than that. Sales will be 30% more, a bit higher or a bit lower but around that figure, expenses will be £1.5 million lower, raw materials costs a few hundred thousand lower and production efficiency will climb like never before. Easy. They can't go wrong. But it's not something they need to know at the moment, always understate your objectives, that's my motto.

  And then came the question I was hoping for, life is sometimes a beach.

  "You mentioned last time we met," said Geoff, "informally of course, that up to 50% more could possibly be feasible. I didn't ask at the time, but what exactly did you mean, Peter, by 'possibly'?"

  "I meant possibly," I said with a grin. "I believe, in fact, that the possible could become a probable…if I were to continue to involve myself on an ad hoc basis, mainly from a distance, email, telephone, with just the odd visit as needs determine."

  "And what kind of conditions would you have in mind for that, Peter?"

  "Well, how about this…zero cost, not even expenses, if we don't make the £3 million."

  "Well, we obviously wouldn't argue with that," said Roger. "And if we do hit the £3 million?"

  "I am of the opinion that 10% of the difference would be fair. In other words, 10% of the extra million or whatever the amount turns out to be. I hope you understand that although my involvement would be limited, it would still result in my having a heavy workload on top of other projects I will be involved in. As a result it would cause disruptions to my private life; in fact it would considerably damage my personal life for a prolonged period, maybe for the whole year and a half."

  "Hmm…but that's quite a lot of money for what, in effect, will be very part-time involvement on your part."

  There was a pause. I let them chew it over for a while. Little did they know that I might be getting 10% of a much larger amount. And then I said, "I agree. Perhaps we should just forget it. Fred and Charlie might achieve it without needing any backup from me."

  Hah, they would, but Roger and Geoff didn't know that, any more than they knew that it was neither possible nor probable but a virtual certainty, excluding the possibilities of a world war or whatever.

  "I guess I look at it this way," said Roger, "it sounds like a fair deal. Unusual, certainly, but fair. You will be earning money for achieving what at the moment is only a possibility. And if you don't, we owe you nothing, not even if the profit reaches £2.9 million. What do you think of this Geoff?"

  Geoff didn't hesitate. "I don't need to think much, Roger. We can't lose. And I don't mind the 10%. It would mean a hundred thou’ or so for eighteen months' involvement. However, this would obviously need to be based on the audited accounts and any payment due would need to wait until then, as I'm sure you agree Peter?"

  "Obviously Geoff. No problem there." A hundred thou’ or so, ha ha.

  "O.K.," said Roger, "we'll have the lawyer draw up the contract. Can we fix up for you to drop by on Friday of next week, Peter? Say goodbye and all that, sign the new contract?"

  "Certainly," I said. "10 o'clock suit you?"

  "Yes, it does. I must admit, you know, that you are an interesting type of consultant, Peter. We have no regrets about having hired you. Quite the contrary. No wonder you get recommended by your clients."

  And then it was smiles all round, hands shaken, and off I went. Susi was not at her desk. No matter, I'll bring her some flowers and maybe a small gift next Friday. She's a great female and a nice person on top of that. And because blinking red lights are always good to have, you never know.

  I bought an IHT, had an early lunch in Shepherds Market, brunch really, and took my time over it. Still cloudy, still no rain, and so I decided to walk back to the hotel v
ia Park Lane and the park. I came out of the restaurant, lit a cigarette and saw the morose-looking guy I bumped into this morning coming in my direction. I smiled at him, said, 'Sorry about this morning," but he clearly didn't recognize me, gave me a puzzled nod and walked on past.

  Back at the hotel, I ordered a coffee in the lounge area, finished the IHT and went up to my room. What a great day! What a great planet! Another stack of money coming my way, albeit the year after next. And for virtually zero work, just a bit of supervision, a bit of pushing, make sure everything stays on track. And Céline! She'll be here in London soon, this kind of hotel will amaze her, we're going to have a great time.

  Which reminded me, I should send her that poem. I didn't really want to, it was definitely a weird poem, but I had little choice. I had promised. And in any case, it might make her really happy, she might be able to make use of it in that weird modern poetry class of hers. Not only that, but it had to do with her other subject, art. So O.K., here goes. I headed the message: Hi Céline, no apologies, you insisted!

  THE MAD ARTIST

  There lies my shattered body

  Smashed hard across the road,

  As if someone with heavy boots

  Had trampled on a toad.

  An ugly mess, I must confess,

  And causing such a jam;

  They don't know why I did it

  And they don't know who I am.

  And so they curse me, nameless one,

  It's just their rotten luck;

  They're going to have to dig and scrape,

  I'm well and truly stuck.

  To all the morbid passers-by,

  This truly is a gift;

  My blood and brains, they look so strange,

  An eye has come adrift.

  It's floating on a funny stream

  Of blue and grey and black;

  Into the nearby drain it goes,

  Plop! Never to come back.

  No doubt, my friends, you wonder why

  This ever should have been,

  And why I sit up here and gloat

  Upon myself, this scene.

  The answer is quite simply this:

  An artist once was he;

  And yet he just could not create

  The perfect symmetry.

  But now I've done it, there it is,

  For all of you to see,

  A quite unrivalled masterpiece

  And all of it is me.

  But even so, it cannot last,

  I know it has to go,

  So perfect for so brief a time,

  This painting here below.

  The street will fill with cars and men

  And women once again;

  And what will there be left of me?

  A disappearing stain…………

  And I finished with: Such a romantic and literary piece! Mais je t'adore et je pense à toi, ton Peter. Typed in the address and sent it before I changed my mind.

  Called Fred's assistant, terrible old cow, and told her I would be in Slough tomorrow morning, could she please try to arrange for Fred and Charlie to be available for a short meeting at, say, 9 o'clock? She could, she said. Try that is.

  I made a second call. To Sr. Pujol in Barcelona. I told him I could probably start in three weeks' time. If that was how it worked out, it would allow me a week free in between assignments. A week in Rouen. A great week in Rouen. Or in Hawaii. Or wherever.

  DAY 12

  I had the Slough factory meeting this morning and back to London for the Jeremy meeting at 2 o'clock. In fact, I would also be in Slough tomorrow and the day after as well, but I decided to drive it each day—Céline coming, best to stay in the London hotel.

  I drove out of the hotel garage into a dark day and pouring rain. I drove down the M4 slowly, I don't play around with rain. I took the Slough turnoff. A small blue Nissan followed me off the motorway. It also followed me all the way through to the industrial estate, but it drove on past as I pulled into Clark's. Come to think of it, I had seen it behind me on the motorway as well, driving as slowly as I was. Another London guy with business in Slough today.

  It was raining too hard for a cigarette outside, so I went into the building, said good morning to the guy at the desk. He looked unhappy, maybe he was a smoker as well, maybe the rain was the reason why the desk was attended this morning. Maybe he spends non-rainy days wandering around all over the place smoking cigarettes. Or maybe he doesn’t. But if I see that desk unattended again during working hours, I'm going to make it my business to find out why.

  I went to the old cow's office, yes the meeting was fixed for 9 o'clock. She looked like she wanted to ask me what my problem was, I was a few minutes early. But she didn't. If anyone deserves a salary cut, it's her…let's see what is agreed in this morning's meeting.

  I went into the conference room, coffee already there, poured myself a cup and in came Fred and Charlie.

  "Good morning, Peter," said Fred.

  "Good to see you back again," said Charlie. "Will it be for long?"

  "Good morning, folks," I said. "Just for another two weeks. But you won't have to put up with me every day. I'll be in and out."

  They poured themselves coffee, sat down.

  "How was your meeting with Roger yesterday?" Fred asked.

  "Fine. Very good. Friendly as always."

  "And what have you got for us this morning? By the way, Ron and his guys are really into those set-up reductions. I've never seen him so enthusiastic. He sees big productivity gains."

  "I'm pleased to hear it," I said, "but let's not forget to make sure we receive the machine by machine progress reports regularly and on time. Keep the pressure on. And this morning, we have three items to discuss. The first one is a hairy one, salary and wage cuts. Then we have purchasing. And then we just need to confirm our monthly reporting techniques vis-à-vis Group."

  "O.K., let's start with the hairy one," said Fred.

  "The hairy one is the big cost-cutting. We've done most of the small stuff. But for the heavy, painful stuff, we shall—like the Japanese, and unlike the Americans—start at the top. That means the shareholders, in this case United Fasteners. They will receive no dividends this year, agreed with Roger and Geoff. It doesn't affect our results of course, but it sure as hell does our cash flow a lot of good."

  Fred and Charlie both nodded. They weren't worried about United Fasteners, they were worried about what was coming next.

  "Next in line is top management. First of all, there will be no bonuses for last year's performance. Secondly, there will be no bonuses for this year's performance either. As you know, approved bonuses for the prior year are generally paid in July. This means that it will be more than two years before the next possible bonus payments can occur, if approved of course. In addition, you will get no stock options on United Fasteners shares."

  "Not a surprise, Peter," Fred said, "although we were hoping for something if we made this year's targets. Admittedly it will have been with your assistance, but we have also done a lot and we will have got rid of over three million in losses, a tremendous improvement."

  "I agree with you, Fred, but for the full year there will be no profit, or none worth speaking of."

  "I can't disagree with that, Peter."

  "And now the big one. Salary cuts for everybody. It starts with top management and the cut we are looking for here is 15%."

  "What?" said Charlie in a loud voice. "That is a vicious slice in my view. Can they do it without our agreement?"

  "If you will allow me, Charlie, I don't at the moment know whether it can be done without your agreement, I haven't even seen your contracts. But if you will allow me to say so, it is not a question of 'they', it is a question of 'we'. One would be hoping for it to be your own voluntary decision. First of all to show your readiness for sacrifice until the company becomes profitable again. Secondly, because we are looking for cuts for all employees, and you guys will need to show yourselves first and foremost as an exampl
e. And thirdly, we need to convince the works council and the employees to accept their cuts, and the cuts at your level will have to be heavier than theirs. In fact we want to do this whole thing on a socially acceptable basis."

  "Go on, Peter," said Fred.

  "Below top management level, we want cuts of 10%, 5% for the next level down, and zero for the lowest wage earners. However, we will be expecting the latter to agree to work an extra seven hours per month in lieu."

  "Seven hours per month? They'll never agree to that, Peter. Ask Ron."

  "Oh I think they will, Fred," I said. "It's only twenty minutes per day. It won't kill anybody. In any case, we now need to discuss how we're going to get them to agree to the whole thing."

  "Well now," said Charlie, "I am all ears on that one."

  "O.K., let me fill in a few details. Firstly, you and your colleagues will have to work out the salary and wage levels at which the 10%, 5% and the 7 additional hours should be applied. Secondly, we should build in an exception clause for proven hardship cases—to be approved in each individual case by yourselves of course. Thirdly, we need to document all of this and meet with the works council. Fast. It would be good if we could have this done by tomorrow morning and meet with them tomorrow afternoon. You should inform them verbally that you will be taking 15% cuts and zero bonuses in any case. And also tell them that you intend to address the whole workforce sometime this week and could they please arrange it, preferably by stopping work early on the Friday afternoon. That way, they will have the whole weekend to cool down and think about it."

  "But…" said Charlie.

  I interrupted him. "I know, Charlie, I'm getting there. You see, we have to take huge steps to achieve the massive improvements in results we are looking for, and these salary and wage cuts alone will save around one million per year. So…how do we get them to agree? You, Fred, will be making the speech to the workforce and my recommendations for that speech would be to base it on the following major points. I would start by telling them what last years' losses were and point out that we are continuing to make losses this year—not untrue on a cumulative basis to date. Then show them the cuts we want to make, about which they will already have been informed by the works council. Make sure they see that you guys are taking bigger cuts than they are, including zero bonuses, and that the lower earners have to sacrifice less. And then I would state that the situation has become so serious that we have 480 jobs available at the lower rates and no jobs at all at the current rates. Because our shareholders will possibly close us down. We have to shock them but we mustn't lie. Closure is not on the agenda, and it is therefore important to use the word 'possibly'. Which is not a lie, because anything is possible on this planet, as Toyota keeps telling us."

  "And you think this will work?" asked Fred.

  "Yes. If we shock them enough. Many of them won't be able to find new jobs in the current environment and they know it. Also, you may want to mention that we pay over the national union rates anyway and we believe that this sacrifice is not only a socially structured one but that it is also within acceptable limits. A good psychological way to finish would be to say that, quite simply, we are looking for their cooperation to help save the company. And to avoid us having to begin reducing headcount, starting now. And we would be looking for their reply next week."

  "Still difficult, in my view," said Charlie.

  "You may be right, Charlie, but I don't think so. When you tell them that as soon as we are profitable again, and that might be next year already, we will at least reverse the cuts, I think that should swing it."

  "And we don't need to mention that the profits will be based on audited accounts, so the reversal would effectively be the year after."

  "Correct, Charlie, at least for now. Of course, you might want to do it a bit sooner, Fred, but that's your call. After all, the permanent benefit is that we will already have saved some salary and wage costs in the meantime…plus any related increases that might have been."

  "Right," said Fred. "Even so, it's a hell of a sacrifice, including for us."

  "I agree, Fred, although less than you think after income tax. But I think you will find that if you make next year's targets, your bonuses and stock options are going to be very large ones. And it is a momentum which should continue for several years. We are going to achieve those targets, no sweat. Not a bad deal at all, in my view."

  "No risk for next year maybe, but I don't know about the year afterwards."

  "Well, I will be cooperating with you at least until the end of next year. Mainly from a distance, so I won't be bothering you too much. And free of charge if we don't make the targets. As agreed with Roger. And as I never like to work for no money, we will make the targets, believe me. What's more, we will do it easily. I will be having more recommendations on the sales and marketing side, for one thing."

  "Nice to hear, Peter, nice to hear," said Fred. "Right…well…we will need to discuss this with our colleagues and if there is agreement, we can meet tomorrow with the works council either in the morning or in the afternoon. I'll let you know what happens, Peter. And now excuse me please, I'm a bit short on time this morning…the next subject is purchasing?"

  "Yes, Fred, and I'll keep it short. As you know, we have already sent out letters to all major suppliers telling them we would like to meet with them individually to discuss our long-term relationship, 'partnership' is the term we used, I think. They will have realized that it's about prices of course."

  "Yes. Some of them have already contacted us," said Charlie.

  "Good. See if you can't fix some meetings for tomorrow and daily after that. The meetings themselves shouldn't take more than an hour each, but we should leave plenty of time between each one. I will be leading the meetings for the next couple of days and your purchasing guy should find the time to be with me. He's the one with the technical knowledge and he can see how I go about it and then he can do it on his own after that. We're aiming for an average of 8% by the way. A hard target, but as you already know, I consider easy targets to be a waste of time. I think we can swing it or at least get close to it. We'll tell them all we want 10% of course, and see how it goes."

  "I'll be amazed if you can achieve that, Peter. But go ahead and surprise us. Wouldn't be the first time," said Charlie pleasantly, and laughed. "What's more, if you achieve it, it would probably mean we've simply been overpaying some of them." Another laugh.

  Dead right buster, if you only knew it. Your so-called purchasing department hasn't negotiated anything for years, nothing at all. And why talk as if it has nothing to do with you?

  "O.K. Well, now I will need a schedule of all suppliers showing products supplied, annual volumes, discounts or rebates agreed on, any issues on quality, any issues on meeting delivery deadlines, and anything else of interest. Starting of course with the ones for tomorrow."

  "Right, I'll ask Ron to fix that," said Fred.

  Right Fred, the purchasing department reports to Ron. Little do you know that we're going to be changing that before year-end. We're going to stop the separations of authority from responsibility in this area as well.

  "Thanks, Fred. And to move on quickly, just a couple of words on today's last subject, results reporting. As you know, we have started to under-report to Group. They expect us to break even this year and are hoping that we will meet our estimates for a positive £2 million next year. And they will be delighted on both counts. Now…as you are aware, it is more or less certain we will beat both of these numbers but they don't need to know that yet. We therefore need to continue to maximize our accruals and provisions. By the way Charlie, I noticed that we still have a lot of room left in our inventory provisions, both for obsolescence and for shrinkage. At some stage, we will need to decide when to start releasing some of these amounts back into profits, depending on when and by how much we want to start exceeding Group's expectations, and in which year."

  "The problem with doing this," said Charlie, "is that it won't g
et past the auditors at year-end."

  "No problem there Charlie. This is monthly internal reporting. There are no fiscal responsibilities involved. And if we have to make some adjustments for the year-end tax accounts, so be it. But that can also be avoided in my view. We need to create some calculated methodologies to support the provision numbers we want to show, and document them. I can assist on that if you wish; they need to be based on a formula, but it must provide flexibility. And in a year or two, if we want to change the methodologies again, well…we can do that too."

  "Sorry," said Fred, "but I have to be off now, Peter. Charlie and I will discuss what you have just mentioned and see what we think. Once again, many thanks for your input and see you tomorrow. My apologies for having to rush off."

  We all stood up, shook hands, and that was that.

  I passed by Ron's office to say hi but he wasn't there. I avoided the old cow's wasp nest and ran to the car. I got soaked, it was still pouring.

  I drove off and about a hundred meters down the road I passed a parked blue Nissan. There was somebody in it, but I couldn't see whether it was a man or a woman. Strange. But it couldn't have anything to do with me, no reason. Just coincidence. Another blue Nissan, plenty of them.

  I arrived back at the hotel, checked my emails, no message from Céline yet. I showered, changed into chinos and a sweater and rang housekeeping for my suit to be collected and ironed. It was still grey outside but no more rain. I caught a cab to the Strand and walked up to Covent Garden for lunch, picked up an IHT on the way. There were 78 conflict deaths today, spread around fourteen countries, and they included some young girls blown up by the Taliban for going to school. The optimists are presumably saying don't worry, as they always do, it will all get better soon, the human race has already improved itself and it will, eventually, at some undeterminable and un-forecastable point in time in the future, improve itself some more. We will eventually stop killing each other. Ha.

  Optimists. Optimists are people who are not in full possession of all the facts. How else could you choose to ignore tens of centuries of unassailable proof to the contrary?

  I left the restaurant, lit up a cigarette and turned right to head towards Obrix Consultancy. And…there was that morose looking fellow again. He disappeared around the corner as soon as I started walking in his direction. Now, this was not a coincidence, it couldn't be. But why would anyone want to follow me? Maybe something to do with Jeremy Parker. Yes. But what for? And why follow me, instead of stopping me and asking or saying whatever needed to be asked or said?