Goodmans Hotel

by Alan Keslian

  By comparison the two Lindler & Haliburton men seemed even more old-fashioned, often discussing cricket scores and visits to relatives at weekends. On my first Friday with the project, after the morning meeting to discuss the week’s progress, they invited me to go for a lunchtime drink. This was the first time they had shown any interest in me, and not wanting to be unfriendly I accepted. We walked briskly past several pubs we could have entered, eventually heading down a narrow side street to a seedy little place, gloomy inside with a raised platform in one corner.

  Paunchy middle aged men, their faces oddly alert and expectant, crowded the open area between the bar and the platform. Neither of my two colleagues had bothered to tell me they habitually went there at lunch time on Fridays for the free strip show. With pints of beer and packets of crisps in our hands we watched a woman in her thirties undress under meagre spotlights to raunchy music. ‘Does it do anything for you?’ the senior of my colleagues asked, probably expecting me to thank him for bringing me to this extravaganza.

  ‘Not my kind of thing.’

  He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. The younger one seemed too absorbed in the performance to notice me. Should I have declared my sexual orientation to them? Certainly not there, among those sweaty straight men enjoying their weekly titillation. My hasty goodbye and exit from the pub before a second performer began her routine told them as much as they needed to know.

  Seeing me return alone early, the female on the team partner asked, ‘Not too keen on theatricals then?’

  ‘Do you know where they took me?’

  ‘I overheard them talking about it. I know what they go to see. What made you come back?’

  ‘I’m gay.’

  ‘Oh, pity,’ she said, giving me a wistful look. ‘Why did you go with them?’

  ‘They gave me the impression it was a Friday lunchtime drink, you know, male bonding.’

  ‘“Male bonding,” is that why you thought they left me out?’

  ‘Sorry. Still trying to conform to their way of seeing things. I should have said team bonding.’

  ‘Not to worry. I’ve disqualified myself from that sort of thing.’ In the early days of the team she had infuriated the Lindler & Haliburton men by contacting the Institute of Accountants to ask discreetly about its attitude to the recent trend of takeovers and mergers among accountancy partnerships. This was a sensible act, but they resented her having had the initiative to consult the prestigious Institute when neither of them had thought of doing so. One of the old codgers was a member of the Institute’s General Committee, and any dealings with the organisation were considered a great privilege.

  In revenge for her having, as they saw it, robbed them of a prize, they had allocated as many tedious tasks to her as they could, including the job of listing all the small contracts the two firms had in place with office equipment and other suppliers. We became allies, sharing information and documents, discussing ideas and backing each other up during team meetings.

  She and I had another means, outside the team, of making sure our views were heard. I reported back to Peter privately, and she likewise reported to one of her firm’s most senior partners. We collaborated in suggesting that some significant problems were being underrated, arguing for instance that decision-making would be more cumbersome in a bigger organisation. Some ideas that had been ruled out by the Lindler & Haliburton men on the team we also put to Peter and his counterpart from the other firm who raised them at project meetings. This may have made hostility and suspicion within the team worse, but it helped the project develop in a more thorough and realistic way.

  About halfway through our work Lizetta Williams from Personnel came to join us for one day a week to assess staffing implications. We had met briefly a couple of times in the past; she was in her mid-thirties, pleasant and lively, and after her first team meeting came over to me wanting to chat. Later we went to a sandwich bar for lunch where she ordered soup and a roll, saying that she was dieting. I chose a large sandwich of French bread with mixed seafood and salad which, enviously, she said was disgusting.

  ‘How do you find the team?’ I asked when we sat down at a tiny metal table.

  ‘All right-ish. How long have you been there?’

  ‘Nearly three months now.’

  ‘Poor thing. The two men are a supercilious pair.’

  ‘Friday lunch times they go to watch a free pub strip show. They took me with them once.’

  ‘Tell-tale. You only went once? Excitement too much for you?’

  ‘No, I’m gay. You’re with us to work on the staff savings, I assume. Don’t suppose you’ll be recommending any cuts in the number of accountants, though. The other staff will be the ones who get the chop.’

  ‘I’m “other staff” too. Don’t worry, I don’t think we’ll be sacking anyone. The losses will be covered by suspending recruitment. People will leave at the usual rate for the usual reasons; a few early retirements may be needed to help see us through. Of course some managers may see this as an opportunity to settle old scores. Anyway you’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re Peter’s man, aren’t you?’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m his man, exactly.’

  ‘I know him and his wife socially. She and I used to work together, ages ago. I am right aren’t I? You’re the one who did a disappearing act during their trip to France?’

  Surprise at her question made me swallow suddenly. ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Friends do talk to each other about their holidays. You probably did the right thing, making yourself scarce. You know Caroline was worried about you getting your hooks into Peter?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She guessed you were gay and thought you were trying to get Peter into your clutches.’

  ‘Oh my god!’

  ‘Not your type?’

  ‘Is he anyone’s type?’

  ‘Caroline liked him enough to marry him.’

  Was that the reason Caroline had been so unpleasant to me that first morning at breakfast in the Hotel des Amis? I moved the slice of chocolate cake I had bought so that it was between us in the middle of the little table, watching Lizetta’s eyes drawn away from my face towards it. ‘Would you like some?’

  ‘I mustn’t.’

  ‘Oh go on,’ I said, cutting it in half. ‘Is he attractive – to women, I mean?’

  ‘Yes, to some women he is. He’s strong-minded, intelligent, decisive. He may not be the easiest person to get on with, but life will never be dull while he’s around. Think of the old codgers, or those two tailor’s dummies you’re working with, who would you prefer? And like Peter, Caroline is ambitious; she would never settle for years of child rearing or the Women’s Institute.’

  ‘We should have got to know each other before. We’ve said hello once or twice.’

  ‘Yes, we could have gossiped about all sorts of things. For instance, that woman on your team, is she really a partner?’

  ‘Yes. She might liven up the old codgers’ Thursday swimming sessions if she tagged along. A female partner in a swimsuit, it would be like their world coming to an end.’

  ‘You know about the partners’ swimming sessions do you?’

  ‘I am allowed to go. They need someone to e-mail reminders to them so they won’t forget.’

  ‘You are privileged. A gay man getting into the same pool as the old codgers. That sounds like their world coming to an end.’

  ‘Peter is the only one at senior level who knows about me, as far as I know.’

  ‘You might be surprised. You don’t hide it all that well.’

  ‘What d’you mean?’

  ‘You look at men you pass in the street. You were doing it while we walked here. Fortunately I’m not one for tittle-tattle.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Well, not all of the time.’

  Since my return to favour Peter and I had not discussed my ‘disappearing act’ in France, and if what Lizetta had said was true we were never likely to. Her comments raised too many awkward qu
estions: for instance if Caroline had considered me a rival for Peter, was there something in his behaviour towards me or in his past that caused her suspicions? Whatever might have been in her mind or his was best forgotten. When I mentioned to him that Lizetta had joined the ‘team’ he confirmed she was a family friend: ‘She’s a good chum to Caroline. Both working in personnel they always have plenty to talk about. By the way your plan for combining the two computer networks has gone down well. How would you feel about giving a little presentation to a joint meeting of partners from both firms?’

  This was my chance to project an image of myself as more than a backroom technical specialist. Ten days later, to an audience of nearly forty, aided by a projector and screen showing charts and diagrams, I described my plan for merging the two IT systems. My voice wavered slightly over the first few words but then steadied; the projector did not fail, and no accidents or collisions befell me in the semi-darkness of the boardroom. During the subsequent discussion one or two partners said, doubtfully, that they were surprised at the comparatively low cost of my plan given the price of software and high salaries earned by IT specialists, but Peter had anticipated the criticism and had my figures checked and agreed with an independent consultancy. Reassured, the partners’ questions and comments became friendly and approving.

  Another favourable sign came during one of the Thursday trips to the baths when the most senior of the swimming old codgers, a man who had hardly said a word to me until then, walked beside me as we returned to the office telling me about how his grandchildren used personal computers and mobile ’phones to send each other e-mail. As we neared the office he said, ‘Of course my secretary looks after all that kind of thing for me. Peter’s been talking me through some of the figures you’ve produced. Won’t claim to have understood all the intricacies, but you seem to have grasped the critical issues. Good work.’

  The team’s final report was a hefty document with eight chapters, appendices crammed with facts and figures, and a management summary written by Peter which in five pages covered all the important issues and concluded that a merger would result in savings in costs and be attractive to new clients. Copies were sent to all the partners, and having completed its task the team disbanded. The promise to hold my old job for me had been kept, and the stand-in departed on the Friday before my return to the IT Unit.

  Two months later news that the merger was to take place flashed around the building by e-mail. Little groups of excited staff gathered on every floor, speculating about their futures and what was meant by the words at the end of the message: Creation of a new combined organisation will require some staff re-allocations; these will be staged over a period of time.

  My boss called me in to talk about the effect on the IT Unit. After half an hour with him I called together the four people who worked for me and took them into a quiet corner with comfortable chairs to discuss the news and confess my part in it. They looked at me with curiosity and suspicion, listening carefully to my explanations, trying to assess what impact the merger would have on them personally. I assured them that after the reorganisation they should be no worse off, but nevertheless two were clearly worried.

  Elsewhere the news was not so good. Office Services was expected to be reduced in size by a third. Other than the partners, everyone was uneasy about their future. Uncertainty caused many staff to ask themselves whether they might do better elsewhere, and during breaks people could be seen studying the job adverts in ‘Computer Weekly’ or ‘Accountancy Age’, surreptitiously turning to a different page if anyone with influence walked by.

  Lizetta and I continued to meet at least once a week for lunch. She believed that several partners were trying to use the reorganisation as an opportunity to get rid of staff they thought of as troublesome or not capable. She was fighting for a couple of people she thought were being unfairly treated. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said to me accusingly, ‘you’ll do very nicely out of all this chaos.’

  ‘I’m back at my old desk, that’s all.’

  ‘Have you heard anything lately from the IT Unit you are about to merge with?’

  ‘No. There’s been no reason for me to contact them recently.’

  ‘Their top man has found another job. He’s moving on.’

  The head of the new combined unit was to be called ‘Director of Information Technology Services’, and was to have a deputy. My assumption was that my boss would become ‘Director’, and his counterpart in the other firm his deputy. Lizetta’s news meant the post of deputy might be within my grasp.

  From Peter I learned that both jobs were to be advertised in ‘Computer Weekly’, and my hopes faded. Dozens of applications could be expected from people in senior positions in other companies. When the advert appeared my immediate boss, the head of the IT Unit, called me in, held up the newspaper and said, ‘You’ve been keeping an eye out for this, I assume?’

  ‘Yes, but… ’

  ‘Which job do you intend to apply for?’

  ‘What would you say my chances were of getting Deputy Director?’

  ‘Why don’t you put in for both?’

  ‘I assume you’ll be Director, they’ve had to advertise because of personnel policy, but you’re bound to be appointed.’

  ‘They’ve offered me early retirement. I’ve spent enough of my life trying to satisfy all the old fusspots in this organisation. Sixteen years of dealing with them is plenty. Put in for Director. If you want it, you’re welcome to it. God knows you’re ambitious enough. You’ve been wily, the way you’ve cultivated your contacts among the partners. I have to admire the way you’ve done it. Myself, I never managed to overcome the instinct to tug my forelock to them; they’ve always thought of me as one of the servants. You can still put in for deputy. Make it a two-way bet.’

  Peter and Lizetta endorsed his advice to aim high. They also gave me the names of the four partners who were to make the appointment. One of them I knew from the Thursday swimming sessions; the others I discreetly found opportunities to talk to, saying warm, mildly optimistic words about the firm’s prospects after the merger.

  Three outside applicants and I were invited for interview. I was nervous, but my voice did not waver and my hands did not shake. My rivals were at a disadvantage because they were known only from their curricula vitae and references. However impressive these might be, and however well they performed at interview, how could the panel be as confident about these strangers as they were about me?

  Three days later I was working quietly at my desk when Lizetta rang to tell me the Director’s job was mine. The announcement would not be made official for several days, and was not to take effect until my boss retired in three months time. When I told him the news he shook my hand warmly and we went out for a drink. His recommendation must have been very positive for me to have been successful. When I tried to thank him he said he was looking forward to passing me all the pressures and problems, and that since I was so keen there would be no need to wait three months, he would begin handing them over tomorrow. The knowledge that he was shortly to leave seemed to have reinvigorated him and rekindled his sense of humour, and we agreed on a combined party to celebrate his retirement and my promotion.

  Lizetta contacted me again a few weeks later to ask if I had thought about requesting a new company car. I said that my preference, if any rewards were due, was for money. ‘Motor cars are what I’ve rung you about, not money. I’m trying discreetly to hint that if you act quickly you stand to benefit, that is if you don’t mind driving something that one of the old codgers has had his hands on.’

  ‘Exactly what sort of benefit are we talking about?’

  ‘I can’t tell you the details. Can’t you just put in a simple memo when someone asks you to?’

  One of the old codgers, a man of at least sixty-five with pale wrinkled features, had for the past year been driving a Mercedes convertible. He looked out of place in it, like an old nail in a jewelry case. He had decided to trade up,
at the firm’s expense, to a more appropriate Mercedes saloon, and the one year old convertible was offered to me. The car was in beautiful condition, the white leather curves of the interior flawlessly sculpted into an outer shell of gleaming blue bodywork. I would never have chosen something as showy myself, but since such a generous symbol of my new standing in the firm was being offered, why refuse?

  Misgivings that I might be thought to have accepted a cast off faded completely when those around me gasped in envy. One day Peter saw me getting out of it in the car park and said: ‘You look as though you’re doing better than some of the accountants. I’d watch my back if I were you.’

  On the first Friday evening that the trophy was in my possession, without saying anything to Andrew or Tom I drove down to the garden centre. Instead of going as usual straight to the Beckford Arms I went up to Tom’s flat, interrupting him eating. I waited while he finished his meal and showered, resisting the urge to join him, sitting instead by the window and smiling over the prospect of showing him the Mercedes.

  On our way downstairs to the street I said off-handedly: ‘I came over in the car this evening for a change. We may as well drive to the pub.’ He shrugged his indifference. We walked past half a dozen standard, ordinary vehicles parked at the roadside, the usual jumble of popular makes of car in assorted colours, until we reached my magnificent Mercedes. I sauntered around to the driver’s door, opened it, got in and flung open the passenger door, looking up at Tom’s bemused face with a casual smile.

  ‘How d’you get this?’

  ‘It’s my new company car.’

  He climbed in. ‘What are you – chief exec or something now?’