The Room on the Second Floor

by T A Williams

  Chapter 26

  As the days went by, life on the second floor settled into a routine. Admittedly this was a routine involving more naked female flesh, and very attractive young female flesh at that, than Duggie could possibly ever have dreamt of. He began to find this proximity with raw sex more and more uncomfortable. This discomfort overflowed ever more into his private life. Tina, concerned at first, became very worried. She couldn’t miss his distaste for the business. His subsequent lack of interest in sex in general, and her in particular, was becoming a real problem. She tried her best to get him back to his original outrageous self. But nothing seemed to work.

  Things came to a head one evening. Deciding to go on the offensive, she appeared from their bedroom, clothed only in stockings and high heels. She deliberately stepped between him and Match of the Day, determined to appeal to his baser instincts. They were, after all, what had attracted her to him in the first place.

  ‘Hi, babe. Like what you see?’ She ran her fingers seductively over her breasts as an extra incentive. His response was dispiriting.

  ‘Those high heels are terrible for the wooden floor, Tina. You’d better take them off, before they scratch it to hell.’

  There was a roar from the television. He found he could still see the screen, if he ducked and squinted through her legs. She rushed back into the bedroom and threw herself on the bed. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  As she was dressing for work the next morning, and he was still lying in bed, she felt she had to have it out with him. She took a deep breath.

  ‘If it is distressing you so much, then give it up.’ The solution was so apparently straightforward. ‘You’ve proved to yourself that you could make a go of it. Now, just close the Salon down, and stick to the country club. After all, your golf course opens in just a few weeks’ time. I was never keen on the Salon idea from the start. And you know you’re terrified Roger or Linda will find out. And, sooner or later, they’re bound to. Just pull the plug on it, Duggie, and we can all be happy.’ She looked at him hopefully. His response was far from satisfactory.

  ‘Can’t do it.’ He was mumbling to himself. ‘The girls would all be out on the street getting beaten up and catching all manner of diseases. I owe it to them to keep the place going.’

  He looked so pathetic that she reached out and hugged him. But there was no getting away from it. Inside, she was getting more and more fed up. As she was reaching for the door handle, she suddenly had a better idea.

  ‘If you can’t close it, then at least hand it over to somebody else to run. You spend so much time on the second floor, you won’t be able to do your job properly when the rest of the club opens in January. Get a manager for the Salon and all your cares go away.’

  For the first time in weeks, he perked up. To her delight, he began to look almost cheerful.

  ‘Of course, a manager. Why didn’t I think of that? The money’s there. We can easily afford to get somebody. Mo is good with the girls, but I think we need somebody a bit more organised than she is. There’s a surprising amount of bureaucracy to deal with. You wouldn’t believe what Health and Safety are asking for… Now, who could I get? Where should I advertise?’ He leant back against the pillow and started to think. There was a satisfied smile on his face for the first time in weeks.

  Tina checked the alarm clock. She still had time. She decided the right thing to do was to slip out of her underwear, and join him in bed again. Very shortly afterwards, she was delighted to feel that his change of mood was extending throughout his whole body. And from his to hers. She slid up on top of him and looked down into his face.

  ‘I’m sure you will find the right person for the job, darling.’

  He ran his hands appreciatively down her naked back, until they rested on the smooth skin of her bottom. He gave a satisfied grunt.

  ‘You’re not just an awesome body, you know, Tina. You’ve got a brain on you. That is a brilliant idea. We’ll get somebody who can take the whole business in hand. Somebody who can ensure we get more bang for our bucks. That’s what we’ll do.’

  She reached beneath her, and took his business in hand.

  ‘Let the new manager worry about the bucks. You concentrate on what you do best.’

  Chapter 27

  Roger was ushered into the office of the vice-chancellor by a deferential personal assistant. The great man rose to meet him with a smile.

  ‘Roger, how good to see you again.’

  Roger took the proffered hand and shook it. He felt quite overawed. Although he had worked at the university for almost fifteen years, he had never seen the inside of this privileged domain on the eighth floor of the Wessex Building. Indeed, aside from the VC accepting the invitation to his retirement party a few months back, he had only ever shaken his hand once before.

  ‘Sit down, my boy, sit down.’ The VC was a former politician who had had the good sense to jump ship into academia before the last elections. He was a tall, grey-haired man who wore a permanent smile. The opposite of Stan the gardener, he always looked as if Father Christmas had just delivered him his best-ever present. In this case, it was quite clear that today’s present was Roger.

  Roger sat down tentatively on a handsome leather-upholstered chair, from where he had a spectacular view out of the plate-glass windows and across the campus. If he craned his neck, he could make out the small window, just left of centre of a red-brick façade far below, where he had spent much of his working life.

  ‘Sherry?’

  ‘No thank you, sir. I’m driving.’

  ‘No need for the sir, Roger. Call me Neville.’ He poured himself a generous schooner of sherry and returned to his desk. Instead of sitting behind it, he leant back against it, legs crossed, still smiling benignly at his guest. Roger couldn’t help noticing that the VC’s backside and a telephone were the only things on the desktop. How did he manage that? His own desk was a foot deep in documents and books.

  ‘I was wondering if you have heard of my idea for a bursary?’ He opened the conversation hesitantly. The VC’s smile grew broader.

  ‘Of course, of course. A most generous offer, Roger. We greatly appreciate it. You know how it is these days. The more research students we can attract to the university, the better our position in those damn league tables.’ The fact that it was his party who had been responsible for the creation of tables was something he now conveniently forgot. ‘So, what sort of research are you trying to stimulate?’

  ‘My own field of interest, sir… Neville. Medieval France, in particular the time of the First Crusade.’ He went on to outline the kind of thing he hoped the new research post could hope to uncover. The VC gave every impression of listening attentively, while sipping his sherry. By the time Roger finished, the glass was empty and the great man was discreetly looking at his watch.

  ‘Excellent, excellent. Well, that’s simply splendid. I thank you most warmly on behalf of the university. Now you know where we are, don’t be a stranger. Drop in any time.’

  It had taken Roger three attempts to make this appointment, so he had no illusions as to how often he and Sir Neville would be exchanging pleasantries. Then the VC said something that surprised him.

  ‘Or maybe I’ll drop in on you one of these days. You really have done wonders with the place. And I must admit, entre nous,’ he glanced around the room before continuing, ‘I seem to be spending far too much time on the second floor these days. Maybe I’ll find the willpower to drop in on you in your office instead.’

  Roger happened to know that the second floor of the Wessex Building housed the university’s collection of Lepidoptera and Coleoptera. What these should have to do with his office was a puzzle. Nevertheless, he did his best to reply affably.

  ‘Do feel free to drop in any time…Neville. We’ll welcome you with open arms.’

  ‘You do, that you certainly do.’ He then gave Roger the self-same wink that his accountant had produced only a few days earlier. Roger couldn’t
for the life of him work out what was going on. A sudden thought crossed his mind. Maybe the two men were Freemasons? He had heard of secret signs exchanged between members. Maybe that was it.

  ‘Well, thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out.’ He backed out of the office and made a run for the lift before the VC started rolling his trouser leg up, or whatever it was that Freemasons did.

  Chapter 28

  Duggie followed Tina’s suggestion to the letter. He managed to find the new manager in record time. He placed a carefully worded advert in the local paper. Within a week, the list of potential candidates had quickly whittled itself down to just one. She was not exactly what he had imagined but, as he told Tina later, she had the great advantage of being able to start immediately.

  Tina voiced concern that such an apparently well-qualified person was not already in employment.

  ‘So how can she start at once, Duggie? Surely if she’s any good, she’d already have a job?’

  ‘There was a disagreement with her former employer. From what she’s told me, he sounds like a total swine.’

  Tina wasn’t convinced, but she could see how desperate Duggie had become. He pointed out to her that this candidate also had one other very important USP. She had not batted an eyelid, when he had, very hesitantly and tentatively, revealed the true nature of the Salon’s trade.

  ‘I couldn’t ask for better. She can start on Monday and she is quite relaxed about managing a brothel. These two facts alone make her perfect for the part.’

  ‘Whatever you say, Duggie.’ Tina gave up. As long as the new manager kept Duggie feeling and behaving like his old self once more, she was a happy girl. ‘So what’s her name?’

  ‘Rachel Turner.’

  ‘Where’s she from?’

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure. There’s a London accent lurking back there somewhere, but I don’t seem to recall any details of her background.’

  ‘At least, what was her job before? The one where she had a swine of a boss?’

  ‘Erm, I’m not sure I got that information at the interview.’

  ‘Well, what did you talk about at the interview, then?’

  ‘Erm, to be quite honest, Tina, she did most of the talking. I didn’t really follow everything she said.’ He sounded puzzled.

  Finally, Duggie had to admit why he found Ms Turner so hard to understand. She spoke a form of transatlantic management-speak that defied translation. Indeed, he had been left speechless at the interview when she had launched into it.

  ‘Working here will involve a paradigm shift for me. But, by leveraging our resources in a seriously proactive way, we should be able to provide value-added for our clients.’

  He had been so pleased that she could start straight away, that he had let this wave of bullshit wash over him without questioning it. However, over the course of the rest of the interview, he had been battered by a veritable tsunami of it.

  ‘We will want to conform to current best practice. Some organisations are less at the leading edge than others. Some are not always in the ballpark of adding value to best practice. Very often the left hand doesn’t know what the right hand is doing, because the goalposts are moving.’

  He failed to see how moving goalposts could have an effect upon hands, but he made no comment.

  ‘We need to think outside the box, if we are going to fast track to a win-win situation.’ Was this another football metaphor possibly? Or maybe it was ‘box’ in the cricket sense? ‘This will involve strategic fit and synergy so, as movers and shakers, we must sing from the same hymn sheet.’

  Duggie emerged from the interview moved and shaken. He had no idea where the hymn sheet was, or indeed, if the Salon had one. One thing was for sure: it was unlikely to be ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. Nonetheless, he was deeply relieved to have found somebody who was prepared to take on the job. The verbal battering was a small price to pay.

  He led her up to meet Mo and the girls straightaway.

  Rocky was sitting in his usual place in the reception lounge, doing some knitting. He smiled cheerfully as they passed. Duggie avoided looking too closely at what he was knitting. A willy-warmer for a friend, maybe? The new manager couldn’t take her eyes off him. She’ll find out, Duggie thought to himself. A moment later, he spied Mo coming out of her office.

  ‘Mo, this is Rachel Turner, the new manager of the Salon. Rachel, this is Maureen, our personnel officer.’

  As first meetings went, it was not auspicious. Rachel Turner barely nodded at Mo, before turning sharply towards Duggie. Her tone was terse and business-like, to the point of insolence.

  ‘Right, Mr Scott. I will take over now. There is no need for you to stay. Maureen and I will discuss the synergies together.’ She turned back towards an apprehensive-looking Mo. Duggie realised he had been dismissed. With a weak smile in Mo’s direction, he left them to it. As he went down the stairs, he was hoping hard that Ms Turner would mellow in time.

  However, above all, as far as he was concerned, responsibility for the Salon had been lifted from his shoulders. The sensation of relief he felt at being able to distance himself from the second floor, was immense. It would all work out fine now, he was sure. So sure, in fact, that he neglected to take up any references with Rachel Turner’s former employer. With hindsight, that might have been a good idea.

  Chapter 29

  Roger wasn’t quite sure what to make of the new manager of the Salon when he met her for the first time. She was smart, albeit a bit overweight. She drove a nice-looking Mercedes, albeit a bit old. She spoke with a nice accent, albeit occasionally reverting to something closer to Cockney. She claimed to be very well qualified, albeit with HR qualifications, which meant little or nothing to him. At first, he wondered if all the talk of HR referred to Hormone Replacement. Although her age would probably have taken her into that bracket, he had been at a loss to see how qualifications in the subject could be valuable in a management position.

  As usual, his beloved Linda quietly explained the difference between hormone replacement and human resources. The lady was confident and presentable, with a handshake to crack bones. He did not talk to her much. Holding a conversation with her proved to be far from easy.

  When first introduced, she quickly established her linguistic eccentricities.

  ‘Rachel Turner. I’m here to leverage the old paradigm and grow the Salon, going forward.’

  Slightly bemused, he nursed his crushed hand and attempted a response.

  ‘So does that mean you have encountered problems?’

  ‘There are no problems. Yes, we have issues and challenges, but, by thinking outside the box, we will deliver a win-win result.’

  ‘Oh…good.’ He tried again. ‘And so you see a rosy future for the Salon?’ He wasn’t at all sure she had said that, but it was worth a shot.

  ‘Ah, Professor Dalby, only if we have core competencies, can we action the key deliverables for the relevant stakeholders.’

  He later confessed to Linda that he found Old French more understandable than her version of English. So he wished her well, albeit with a vague sensation of disquiet. He was later to refer to it as a sensation of impending doom. But, then, hindsight is a wonderful thing.

  After their return from Japan, and the boisterous reunion with Jasper, Roger had thrown himself back into the study of his favourite subject with renewed energy. Even the unresolved threat of somebody trying to kill him was not able to stifle his burgeoning optimism and happiness. Henri quickly spotted and identified his new joie de vivre. For a Frenchman, the reason for it was clear. Paddy, too, had not failed to notice, and was quick to diagnose.

  ‘Sure and the beneficial effects of regular coitus upon his nucleus accumbens, and his whole limbic system, have resulted in this renewed vigour. It’s all due to an outpouring of endorphins, so it is.’

  ‘And,’ added Stan, ‘it’s put a twinkle in his eye.’

  ‘And in her ladyship’s.’ Henri was nothing if not observant.
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br />   The police had been in regular contact with Duggie while Roger was away. They had not, however, reported any significant leads. Before leaving for the Far East, Roger had spent the best part of a morning at the police station. He was introduced to Chief Inspector Cocker ? Neil to his mother and father, but Joe to everybody else. He had led Roger gently, but thoroughly, through the whole affair. Roger told him all he knew about Uncle Eustace, the inheritance, McKinnon Marine, old Mr Jennings and his son, Kevin. The inspector asked him to rack his brains, to see if he could think of anybody else with a grudge against him, past or present.

  Coming up with the name of somebody who might hate him sufficiently to want him dead, had proved impossible. The fact that he remained unaware of the true nature of the Salon on the second floor, further restricted his imagination. The chief inspector had even delicately mentioned former lovers or their partners. But still nothing and nobody had sprung to mind.

  ‘You are a good-looking fellow, professor. Might there be some poor girl out there whose advances you have spurned?’ Roger looked as blank at the compliment as at the idea of some girl bearing a grudge. As they shook hands at the end of the interview, Cocker assured Roger that his men would do their best. However, it was clear that they had precious little to go on. Maybe it had been a freak event, some kind of aberration, and nothing more would ever happen.

  However, in spite of the continuing uncertainty, Roger returned to the Middle Ages with a silly smile on his face. If such were possible, the smile on the face of the lady in the next door office was even bigger. All Linda’s friends commented on her new air of happiness. Even her mother registered the change. Tina summed it up to Duggie the first evening after they got back.

  ‘Sort of a permanent glow. Next thing we hear, she’ll be expecting. Just you wait and see.’

  She was not alone in this observation. Henri had already been heard to wonder if she might be ‘up ze duff’. While Paddy, for his part, had been seen with his nose in a copy of a Handbook of Gynaecology and Obstetrics, presumably so as to be up to speed with his contributions, when the time came.