Bums on Seats (2 page)

He turned the key in the latch, unburdened himself of coat and shoes, walked to the little kitchen and uncorked a bottle. How nice to be home! Janet had paid for a civilized conversion to the upstairs of her house. Two of the bedrooms were combined into a large sitting/dining room. One remained a bedroom. The other became a kitchen. The bathroom continued as his bathroom. She allowed him to decorate and furnish to his own taste.

Simon sat at his computer workstation in the corner, sipped the wine, looked around the sitting room and was pleased; he'd painted the walls in Tuscany Red emulsion. The doors and paintwork were glossy white. The long wall was relieved with a set of six dashing grand prix prints - all bright painted machines and wheels and sense of high drama. On another wall hung a long scroll of Jacqueline du Pre and cello in her heyday. It uplifted him, but kept him in touch with mans' mortality, or so he told himself. There was a decent bit of broadloom on the floor and two good armchairs he'd got at sales time. One corner of the room was a dining area. In another, his TV, video and stereo. Bright curtains and a couple of standard lamps finished off the effect.

Simon switched on the computer, called up the Excel program and clicked around the keyboard until his personal finance spreadsheets appeared on screen. After stoppages for tax, insurance and pension he was left with about £1,500 a month. Bloody thieving politicians, he thought. Promise you everything until they get in, then nothing bloody changes! They always think they can spend your money more wisely than you. After paying Janet £350 a month, buying his food, renewing his clothes, running his car, entertaining his girlfriend of the moment and having decent holidays, there wasn't sufficient left to greatly increase his fund for investments. That was an absolute bugger, because that was where his main hope lay in getting up into some altogether more desirable lifestyle.

He clicked more keys and settled on the “Invest” icon. The hard disc whirred and a screen message advised him it was loading. Another click and graphs showed his current investments. Tesco was now 14% up on his buying price of two weeks ago. Time to sell if they held when the market opened tomorrow. That would net out at £450 profit and no tax because they were PEPed. He decided to put the resulting £6,000 into Thomson Travel Group, which was at a favourable buy price. His other investment was in Yorkshire Water. They were 8% in front and therefore a hold. He made notes in his Filofax, shut down and transferred to his recliner.

The long lever slid the footrest out and angled the backrest. He settled and sighed. His mid-term life plan was a penthouse, a decent Merc coupé and a lifestyle to match. It ought to be within reach of someone clever and energetic. But how? He pressed buttons on the stereo remote and sipped more wine. The Prelude to Act 3 of
La traviata
transported him from dreams of avarice to an altogether gentler reverie.

CHAPTER 2

1990

Sally walked through the park to work. The autumn morning had that bright yellow softness which illuminates the spirit. The cool air, as yet unsullied by the day's frenzy, lightened the heart. The first leaves had changed from tired green to deep gold. England's spring is renowned, but its autumn surely runs a close second. Sally, at one with the world, made her way through the gates, sprinted across the narrow street and pushed the glass doors. David, sitting in her visitors' chair, radiated a similar sense of wellbeing.

“Morning Sally. Another beautiful day,” enthused David, her boss. “Great to be alive! Have you matched up our diaries? What am I supposed to be doing?”

“Good morning, David. Wonderful, isn't it? Yes, it's all done. You're meeting Alex Jones here at ten-thirty and then lunching with Maria Ainsworth from the FT. She'll collect you at twelve-thirty. Where would you like to be taken?”

“Simpsons in the Strand. I can't resist their roast beef. There's nothing like it!”

“I assume you'll be late back?” She knew him well.

“Most probably, Sally.”

During the first two years of their work relationship he'd tried, often, to get Sally from lunch table to bedroom. She'd accepted his compliments, avoided his blandishments, diverted his overtures and, yet, still managed not to fall out. He eventually came to terms with his lack of success. The result was the best PA one could wish for. She was efficient, trustworthy and intelligent. Her good looks and personable manner were bonuses deployed on his behalf. She was popular and effective with key career contacts. If he'd got her to bed, much of this might have been lost. He shrugged mentally. Every downside had an upside! Today he'd succeed with Maria Ainsworth. He had before. She was an easy lay.

“Sally, I may not be back at all this afternoon. I've arranged to go to my son's school to discuss his progress. It could be some time. If anyone calls, put them off until tomorrow. If there is a real crisis, call me on my mobile. OK?”

“Understood, David.”

“How are we doing for next month's Agents' Conference, Sally?”

“I've booked the hotel, organised the travel and the programme is being designed. You want it to be informative, interesting and participative, so there'll be quite a bit of brainstorming. Have you prepared your keynote speech?”

“I'll draft it this weekend. Did I tell you I've asked the Pro Vice-Chancellor of Stainsmere University to talk about his marketing exploits in the USA? Before moving into education he was Marketing Director for Amlan International. He's a brilliant presenter. He'll keep any audience awake!”

“Where did you find him?”

“We did our Doctorates together and kept in touch ever since. He's keen to make Stainsmere a model higher education location. He's certainly got ability and his industrial experience is a bonus. You'll find him interesting. Anything else, Sally?”

*************

The Regal Hotel is one of those splendid Victorian creations still to be found in our Spa towns. It's like a miniature St. Pancras Station plonked down in 15 acres of gardens. All red brick and substantial respectability set in England's green and pleasant land.

Sally gave herself a last check-over in the mirror, picked up the sparkly evening purse and set off along the wide corridor to the lift. She'd arranged a private reception for 35 worldwide agents. A low hubbub emerged from the Ardney Room, confirming that most were already present. She slowed down, took a breath, set a smile and wafted into the room. Well, sometimes a girl's just got to make an entrance! Sally was always observed making an entrance and many eyes in the room rolled up and down. How many undressed her in their head is anyone's guess.

There were lots of suits and just a few dresses. David stood against the bar with a stranger. “Sally, this is my friend Stu.” They shook hands in the very English, formal way.

“Hello Stuart, nice to meet you. I'm looking forward to your presentation.”

“Hello, Sally, I hope I can please you.” He was taken aback, but strove to hide it. David had spoken of her in terms of ability and efficiency. But there'd been no hint of the other delightful attributes. He tried to pay attention to David, while savouring this vision in the black shift dress and chunky costume jewellery. She was tall, slim and blonde. A hint of something exotic wafted across the space between them. She had a beautiful smile. A negative thought intruded. No doubt she had a man at home waiting. He resolved to find out from David.

“Would you like another drink, Stuart?”

“Yes, Sally, that would be good. I'll move on to dry white now. Thanks.”

Sally, too, had been pleasantly surprised. She'd realised he would be at least ten years older than her. But she'd envisaged, without the slightest evidence, that he might look an archetypal academic … medium height, thinning hair, slightly stooped, with spectacles. The reality was tall, well-built, full head of hair and very fit looking. Probably a squash player or the like, always exercising to keep fit, she thought.

She put a glass of sauvignon blanc in his hand, smiled and moved off to network among the other guests. From time to time she looked across. He often seemed to be looking in her direction. She wondered if there was anyone special in his life. David might well know. But how to find out without seeming to want to - that would be an interesting challenge!

The next day, Stuart gave a first-rate presentation. It was lucid, thought provoking and knowledgeable, and delivered with the lightest of touches. Sally joined the enthusiastic applause. David was pleased he didn't have to follow with a contribution.

*************

Two weeks later Sally was on the 'phone. “Stuart, I've got the feedback report from the conference. Would you like to meet and discuss it?”

“That would be very good, Sally. I'm pretty well tied up until Friday. Look, why don't we make it dinner on Friday. I know a great restaurant not far from your office. What do you think about that?”

“I like it, Stuart, sounds a great way to deal with it. I won't be free till seven. Where shall we meet?”

“I'll come and sit in your reception area from six-thirty onwards and wait. OK?”

“Great Stuart, I'll look forward to seeing you again. In the meantime I'll email you a copy of the report. OK, 'bye!”

The meal was a superb procession of delights – fresh lobster, terrine of duckling, ragout of Dublin Bay prawns with monkfish in Pernod, medallions of beef fillet with woodland mushrooms and rich Madeira sauce. He thought it a very civilised way to digest the feedback report! They agreed that he would talk to the entire marketing department on a similar theme.

Over coffee and brandy their conversation turned to more personal topics. “So, Sally, how does your husband feel about your professional life? Does it conflict with your personal existence?”

“It did, Stuart, but I've recently divorced, so I should really say my ex. I'm a free agent now, so it's wonderful having an interesting job. I know I'm good at it. I run the whole office. David and I get on well and understand each other. How about you? Does your work disturb your personal life?”

“Work is my life. My wife died ten years ago.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

He wondered whether to continue. He didn't talk much about the past, but with this woman it was different. In fact, he wanted to open up. He hadn't felt like this for an awfully long time.

“We were in the States, Sally. I was Marketing Director of a large company. One night we were driving through Alabama and were waylaid. We were robbed, then shot and left at the roadside. I came to in hospital. Abigail was dead. It took me years to come to terms with it, but I have. Now I'm grateful for life. We had no children, so I'm on my own. I left America and changed professions. I put all my efforts into trying to make my part of this complicated education system work!”

“What a terrible trauma, Stuart. You must be remarkable, to have come through that and rebuilt so successfully. I admire you for it.”

“Oh, I don't know, Sally. Everyone gets their share sooner or later, as you well know.”

“Yes, I see what you mean. The period up to my divorce was something of a setback. As it happens, I'm afraid, that was the second time for me. I married young and we split up nearly twenty years ago. After I got over that, I rebuilt my life and became a model. It was a success for ten years. Then I met the man who became my second husband. After a bit, I packed in modelling and trained for the world of business. We were happy for some time, and then it started to go wrong. But here I am now, like you, happy to be alive and still plugging away! Life goes on, Stuart!”

Outside the restaurant Stuart suggested they walk off the meal rather than take a taxi. So they did. Later, at her door, he gave her a quick squeeze, kissed her briefly and made off into the night.

The following Friday they went to a concert at the Albert Hall. This time they taxied home. “Would you like to come in for coffee, Stuart?”

“Very much, Sally.”

The evening became amorous and concluded in the bedroom. It was OK, but not entirely satisfactory for Sally.

Over the following months, Sally and Stuart became an item. He found her intelligent, sensitive and good company. She'd obviously seen a great deal of life and learned from it. But there was no evidence of disillusion or bitterness. She found him extremely efficient, responsible and caring. His dry sense of humour was a great bonus. The only area of slight mismatch was in bed. Once he was aroused there could be no waiting. She, on the other hand, needed to savour each stage.

“It started after the shooting, Sally. When I did get around to sex again with someone, I found that if I delayed, I just couldn't cope at all. After I split up with her, there was no one for a while. Then, although there have been others occasionally, it's always been the same. I do try with you, but you've seen the result. I find you so attractive and the desire is there but my plumbing needs maintenance. If this was too much of a problem for you, I would understand.”

“I'm glad you can tell me, Stu. I've always been the opposite, even through the trials and tribulations. Mind you, sex isn't everything! And, on those occasions when it's important, perhaps practice can make perfect! I'd hate to lose you now, darling.”

*************

“Ah, now I've got you. Turning off at that last junction was the final clue. You're taking me back to the Regal Hotel, you romantic old devil!” She leaned across and kissed him.

“Not so much of the old. You're right of course, The Regal it is. They're doing a special weekend with a piano recital this evening. But mostly I hoped we'd celebrate six months of togetherness.”

At dinner that evening Stuart broke the news. He'd been offered the Vice-Chancellorship of the new University of Pucklebridge. He was of a mind to accept.

Later, in bed, “Sally darling, would you marry me?” She would be the perfect consort for a Vice-Chancellor, he thought. She had poise and social awareness and would be all the things that a successful man needed of his mate.

“Oh, Stuart…” she'd been expecting it, but was still thrown off balance. In her heart she didn't truly love him. Not in the way she'd loved her first husband. But what exactly was love? And how often might one find it? There was much attraction about the proposal – stability, status, affection … “Thank you, darling. I'd love to marry you!”

A month later they married and moved into the Vice-Chancellor's residence at Pucklebridge.

*************

Stuart felt secure in the knowledge that he would end his working days here in an agreeable and challenging circumstance. Sally looked with hope to a new beginning. She felt she was drawing a line across the past, little knowing that in fact she was, little by little, moving towards the completion of one of life's ironic circles.