‘The afternoon is the loneliest time,’ said Lois softly.
She looked into his eyes for a long moment before dropping her gaze.
Chuff was not particularly conceited about his person, to which indeed apart from seeing that it was well groomed and well clad, he gave little attention. He thought he was a decent figure of a man and left it at that. But it was impossible not to perceive the invitation in Lois’s words and tone. She’s taken a fancy to me, he thought, and he felt flattered. I’m a better man than Yarrow, anyway. Accordingly when the drinks Yarrow fetched were finished, he offered to drive them home.
‘We’re only just round the corner,’ protested Yarrow, ‘in the new block of flats there.’
‘It’s pouring with rain and Mrs Yarrow will get all wet,’ said Chuff as Lois drew a very inadequate fur stole round her shoulders.
‘It’s very kind of you, Mr Morcar,’ simpered Lois.
Chuff went out and brought his car to the hotel door, took the Yarrows aboard and delivered them dry to their towering block. ‘Flats are convenient,’ he reflected. ‘You might be visiting anyone.’
Lois made no secret of the fact that the handsome car impressed her. Chuff, who loved his car, was naturally pleased.
‘Won’t you come in for a last drink?’ she urged, as Chuff held the door for her and she descended, showing, of course, a really eye-catching length of silken leg.
‘No, thanks,’ said Chuff, and added in a low tone: ‘Not now.’
They exchanged glances, and the rendezvous being thus settled, Chuff excused himself by saying aloud that the hour was late and he had had a heavy day.
He slept well, and awoke refreshed and full of fighting spirit. Sitting up in bed, though it was still early, he rang Jonathan.
‘How is Susie?’
‘She is at home now,’ replied Jonathan carefully.
The reserve in his tone took Chuff aback.
‘But surely—isn’t she all right by now?’ he said.
‘She is improving steadily,’ said Jonathan, as before.
Chuff gave it up and proceeded to his real business.
‘Is there a good printer in this district?’ he said. ‘Somebody who prints letterheads and things? A really artistic printer? Do you know a really artistic printer in the West Riding?’
‘But of course,’ said Jonathan, naming one. Their work’s known all over England.’
‘Thanks,’ said Chuff. ‘Give my love to Susie.’
He rang off. Getting to Syke Mill in good time, he coped rapidly with the routine jobs which awaited him, then settled to the composition of his recommendation to the shareholders to reject the Hamsun’s offer. It was indeed his recommendation, for he had had to bully the other members of the Henry Morcar Board to agree. He had to read to them a rather woolly draft, which they had to some extent amended; but now that he had the Hamsuns’ letter in front of him as a guide, he made a much better job of it. He was talking to Jonathan’s printer by lunchtime.
‘This is of the utmost importance and I must have a dozen copies by tomorrow evening.’
‘That is an unreasonable demand and its fulfilment could be costly.’
‘I don’t care about the cost. I have to take them to London the following day by the early train.’
‘Very well. Could you call for them? By the way, I think there is a slip here,’ said the distinguished-looking master printer, pointing an exquisitely sharpened pencil at a word in the last line.
‘How did that get in?’ exclaimed Chuff, allowing the printer to make the necessary grammatical alteration, as he himself could not have done so. ‘Look. This is the important piece. I want this forecast of next year’s profits to stand out, to catch the eye.’
‘Bolder type?’ suggested the printer.
‘Their letter has that. The people opposing us, you know. I don’t want to copy,’ said Chuff virtuously.
‘We could inset.’
‘Do that,’ said Chuff recklessly, hoping he was right.
‘Inset and bolder type, I think.’
‘I leave it to you with perfect confidence,’ said Chuff, hoping this flattery sounded sincere.
He took a late lunch in the printer’s city, drove back to Annotsfield, parked his car in the station square amid hundreds of others, and walked round the corner to the Yarrows’ block of flats. The time was just right; it was the middle of the afternoon, when every employed person was safely enclosed in his place of work.
Lois opened the door to him.
‘Mr Morcar!’ she said in a tone of surprise, quite artificial and intended to be recognised as such. There was no doubt she was pleased. Her pale eyes gleamed and she smiled.
The sound of his grandfather’s name gave Chuff a momentary qualm, but he suppressed it. After all, Henry Morcar himself was not sexually blameless.
Lois was dressed today in black tights, with a violently patterned tunic in green and black, skin-tight and very short. It looked expensive, and Chuff wondered whether she had private resourses to supplement her husband’s salary. But no; she would not have married such a timid little twerp in that case. Thick green wooden beads hung round her neck.
‘Do come in.’
She led him into a largish well-lighted room, sparsely furnished with attractive but (to Chuff) strangely shaped chairs. Around the walls were hung several abstract paintings. Chuff knew nothing about art but at once judged them to be bad, because he wished to despise Lois. One or two, very bright, which caught his fancy, he immediately assumed to be her husband’s.
‘Do sit down,’ she said, and as he hesitated, pushed him into a corner of the settee—a large wide piece of furniture, well cushioned, designed precisely for Chuff’s purpose. Her push, though meant to be playful, was strong, muscular; she was no timid gentle girl. Chuff’s scruples, if he had ever had any, vanished.
‘A cup of tea?’ suggested Lois, smiling maliciously—she knew too well what he had come for.
‘Nonsense,’ said Chuff.
She switched on a record. The heavy monotonous beat of pop music, shouted rather than sung, in a raucous tuneless untrained voice, inflamed Chuff’s senses. They did not need it; his impatience grew as Lois began to dance, twisting her body in elaborate convulsions which displayed its every line to advantage. She was older than she probably wished to be thought, decided Chuff, but not bad all the same; her breasts were small but firm, her long legs, a little too plump in the upper parts, were otherwise agreeably slender. Her green beads swung from side to side; with an impatient gesture she threw them off. They landed on the settee; Chuff with equal carelessness pitched them to a nearby chair. Lois laughed approvingly, and her pale eyes gleamed.
She held out her hand to him, inviting him to join her in the dance. Chuff shook his head, but seizing her wrist as she passed, pulled her down to the settee beside him and took her strongly in his arms. She gave a pleased little laugh and, nestling in a competent manner against his shoulder, laid a hand between his thighs.
‘Oh, my!’ she exclaimed, rolling her eyes.
Chuff took her roughly. She was ready and eager. The green shift offered no difficulties; the absence of beads was a relief; the tights were tiresome, but she helped him with them. She was better in bed than Ruth, he realised; altogether, it was a satisfying experience, though, he freely admitted, a dirty one.
6
Merger
It was obvious that Chuff’s beautifully printed letter of rejection made a favourable impression on the Hamsuns. Or rather, an unfavourable impression, thought Chuff, for of course, the better it was, the more it might influence its recipients to decline the sale of their shares. The Hamsuns clearly thought it persuasive.
‘You know we would much rather have you with us, recommending acceptance to your shareholders, Mr Morcar,’ said the elder Hamsun.
‘How can I possibly recommend acceptance when I don’t know what you plan to do with the firm when you’ve got it? If you plan to make your headquarters elsewhere and close Syke Mill, yo
u can whistle for it.’
‘We don’t propose to close Syke Mill, good heavens!’ began Cyril.
‘Of course, the new road may come,’ put in Chuff, honest in spite of himself.
‘Our information is that the plans are likely to be changed, and only a small corner will be lopped off,’ said Alfriston smoothly.
‘How do you learn these things?’ exclaimed Chuff, astounded.
‘We have our sources.’
‘The Syke Mill premises are still good, and the equipment thoroughly up to date. Daisy Mill we could close; another of our subsidiaries—we have five—does the same work under better conditions.’
‘And what about the Daisy men?’ demanded Chuff, imagining what Jonathan would say to this.
‘We should take them in at Syke, for which we envisage expansion.’
‘But that’s just what you couldn’t,’ cried Chuff. ‘It’s miles from where they live.’
‘Only two miles, I think.’
‘But it’s in another valley. You can’t go over the top, you’ve got to go round the bases of these hills. You don’t know the West Riding.’
They looked at him thoughtfully.
‘A company bus, perhaps?’ murmured Cyril.
‘And Old Mill?’ said Chuff.
‘The fabric is hopelessly antiquated.’
‘But the site by the river is of course very valuable,’ put in Alfriston.
‘My Oldroyd ancestors worked there in 1812,’ said Chuff.
‘Our business is a prospering textile trade, not sentiment,’ said Cyril.
‘And ours is sound finance,’ said Alfriston firmly.
‘Surely it’s better for the Old Mill to contribute to the country’s prosperity, rather than moulder into a museum,’ urged the senior Hamsun.
‘There are only two ways for you to succeed in the modern textile world, Mr Morcar,’ said Alfriston. ‘One: you can stay independent and small, and run short lengths off your looms, of some very high-class special cloth, for which you charge very high prices. Or: you can merge, and become part of an enormous group running long lengths for popular consumption all over the world.’
‘That is absolutely correct,’ approved the elder Hamsun. ‘You have described the contemporary situation exactly, Mr Alfriston.’
‘Charles, join us,’ said Cyril.
Charles, indeed! thought Chuff sardonically. ‘I might if I could have my own terms,’ he threw out.
‘And what are they?’
‘A five years’ contract as managing director of Syke Mill, with option of renewal; redundancy payments for all the Daisy men——’
‘Redundancy payments are a legal requirement everywhere,’ murmured Cyril.
‘—retention of the name Henry Morcar Limited—you can put Subsidiary of the Hamsun Group below that, if you like; retention of high quality in the product; a considerable block of shares in the group in part exchange for some of my Morcar Holdings. And a seat on the Group Board, of course. I think that’s about all,’ said Chuff, laughing harshly.
The two Hamsuns looked at each other.
‘Well, I think I could get our Board to agree to that,’ said the elder Hamsun at length.
‘Better get it agreed and down in writing before we issue the letter of approach to shareholders,’ said Alfriston, seizing the dumbfounded Chuff’s arm and hustling him to his feet. ‘We’ll each jot down the terms and compare, shall we?’
‘But surely,’ said Chuff when they were alone together in Alfriston’s private office, ‘they don’t mean to agree to all that, do they?’
‘Why not? They have come to appreciate your merits in the course of the negotiations, Mr Morcar. If I may say so, you have yourself perhaps acquired useful experience, have you not. The prospect before the group is a splendid one. Of course, the Morcar letter to shareholders must be rewritten.’
When Chuff left the firm of Alfriston and Howard, he turned aside from the lift and walked down the marble stairway. Out of sight of the landing, he sat down on the cold steps and buried his head in his hands. He did not know whether he had behaved like a coward or a hero. On the whole he thought: both.
IV
The New Generation
1
Two Sons
In the next few months Chuff worked harder than he had ever done before.
All the Henry Morcar shareholders joyously accepted the Hamsun 45s. offer—as well they might—and congratulated Chuff on the firm stand which had secured this fine price for them. All that is, except Nathan, who wept and went back to bed with another alleged attack of rheumatism.
‘He feels he’s nothing left to live for, you see, Mr Chuff,’ said Nathan’s wife when Chuff called to see the old works manager. (Her over-permed grey hair and long skirt marked her as belonging to a passing generation.) ‘With losing our Jack in the War, and then Mr Morcar and now Syke Mill you see, he’s lost heart like.’
At this Chuff rushed up the stairs to the neat little bedroom where Nathan lay quietly against his pillow, sad and resigned.
‘Now look here, Nathan,’ he burst forth, ‘if you think you’re going to die and leave me holding the baby, you can think again. You can’t die for ten years yet.’
Nathan, astounded by this address, said feebly, ‘Why?’
‘Because I need you. I’ve got to do the job so well that I remain managing director of Henry Morcar Limited when my contract finishes in five years, and I can’t do it without you.’
‘It’s very good of you to say so,’ murmured Nathan.
‘Nonsense. It’s pure selfishness.’
Nathan, though hobbling on a stick, returned to work on the following Monday morning.
Of course Chuff had an outrageous scene with the Daisy Mill men. When he announced the merger to them they shouted at him in a great deep-throated roar, and even shook their fists.
‘What’s to become of us?’
‘Redundancy pay——’
‘To hell with redundancy pay.’
But Chuff had considerable physical courage and did not doubt it; he shouted back at them and on the whole enjoyed the row. In truth he sympathised with their grievance, but was not going to sell his side by admitting it. Hamsun’s kept urging him to give all at Daisy provisional notice, but he postponed this, enquiring where Syke Mill was to get its cloths finished if Daisy fell out of existence before their subsidiary was ready to take the load; and this waiting for something to turn up was rewarded, for suddenly a great flood of orders fell upon Syke, and through Syke upon Daisy. Everybody was madly busy and rushed about whistling cheerfully.
This agreeable development was largely due to one of Paul Yarrow’s designs, which even Mr Simmonds enthusiastically announced to be almost as good as one of old Mr Morcar’s. Yarrow smiled at this unhappy comparison when congratulated; he looked so miserable nowadays that Chuff sometimes wondered whether his afternoon visits to Lois had been discovered. But on the whole, he thought not; he had imposed the severest discretion.
‘No letters, no ‘phone calls,’ he had said.
Lois pouted. ‘And how are you going to make me conform to your rules?’
‘If you don’t, it’s all over,’ said Chuff cheerfully.
‘You’re so kind and considerate,’ sneered Lois, flushing. ‘I suppose it’s no use asking you to pay a bill or two for me.’
‘None. But I don’t mind contributing,’ said Chuff, drawing out his wallet and beginning to extract a few five-pound notes.
Like many people with red hair, Lois had a quick temper. It flamed now.
‘Mr C. H. F. Morcar, I like you less every time I see you!’ she shouted.
‘I feel just the same way about you,’ retorted Chuff cheerfully.
‘I wonder you trouble to come here at all,’ cried Lois, furious.
‘There’s a reason for that,’ said Chuff.
He laughed, and after a moment Lois laughed too. They made love—not that either of them ever thought of it as love—as usual; Lois acce
pted four of the five-pound notes, and Chuff continued to visit her in the afternoons.
With his present business preoccupations, he had really hardly time for sexual dalliance—‘a merger and a mistress on the same programme,’ he told himself sardonically, ‘is a bit much’—but he enjoyed putting half an hour with Lois into a day already crammed with engagements.
For there were legal and financial arrangements to make, which seemed to go on for ever; countless letters to dictate—Miss Sprott proved really very good, but had to have a junior to help. Chuff had to visit all the other five subsidiary companies, and their boards of directors all had to visit him; Chuff paid increasing tribute to his grandfather as he discovered how little he could learn from them, how much they could learn from Syke Mill. There were Group Boards to attend, at first very nerve-racking but Chuff grew used to them. Cyril Hamsun telephoned him at ten o’clock every morning. At first he felt this as an evidence of subordination which chafed him, but presently he grew to appreciate it as an evidence of Cyril’s favour. They had become friendly, using first names to each other, and though they never quite gossiped about the other Hamsun directors’ failings, came enjoyably near it. Chuff learned to play golf, to order meals in expensive restaurants, to cultivate that tone of disbelief about everything, which became a prosperous young executive.
He urged Ruth to spend more money on her clothes.
‘I shan’t,’ said Ruth flatly.
He noticed, however, that as the months passed by she did not keep to this decision; without mentioning the matter to him she began to frequent better shops than before and her taste became quieter.
One bright spring morning as Chuff was walking down the main street in Annotsfield—he had just bought a very expensive lorry and, having ordered it to be inscribed Henry Morcar Limited, was feeling pleased with himself—when he saw Ruth on the opposite side of the street: She was bare-headed, in a good dark suit of Morcar cloth; at her side, neat in grey wool, toddled Hal. They stopped beside a spotted rocking horse, which stood invitingly, no doubt for some charitable purpose, outside a toy-shop. Hal was not a very expressive child, but the agitation of his gestures now revealed very clearly, even across the street, a passionate desire to mount the horse. Ruth yielded and lifted the child into position on its back. The horse, however, being mounted on springs, now rocked, as became its name, and Hal evidently found this dizzy motion terrifying, for he let out a loud yell and clutched its mane. The yell was so loud that the whole street paused to look whence it came; here and there people even came out of shops in alarm. Chuff laughed, and dodging the traffic, crossed the street. Ruth looked flushed and embarrassed; Hal, still weeping, seemed divided in his wishes, for he hit at the horse with one hand and with the other, hit at his mother who was trying to take him away.
Ring in the New Page 8
