Bums on Seats (23 page)

Congratulations
.

Very well done
.

Stuart Mison

 

“Bloody fantastic!” he hooted.

Later in the afternoon he browsed in the bookshop, went on to Pizza Hut and rounded off with a visit to the cinema. To Simon, this was a little tour of pure self-indulgence. Pity there was no one to share it with. However, if one could have absolutely everything, there'd be nothing left to strive for.

On the way home, purely on impulse, he pulled into a garage and bought a bunch of flowers and the best box of chocolates on offer. He'd thought of someone he could share his good news with, at least…

“Hello Simon! What a lovely surprise.”

“Hello Janet. I saw some flowers and chocolates and thought of you! However, perhaps you should beware a Greek bearing gifts!”

“I'm onto that one, Simon. It's Virgil. And I think it should be, ‘I fear the Greeks, even when they offer gifts.' They're lovely, thank you. Are you coming in for a drink?”

“Love to, Janet.”

“Go into the sitting room. The bottle and glasses are there … I've just opened a Nuit St. George, OK?

“Mmm, that's fine. I like Nutty Saint George! Wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, anyway!”

“Oh dear, Simon, sit back, drink up and stop it.” But she couldn't resist the pleasure of the challenge and continued, “That saying has its counterpart in many languages. How are you, anyway? What's new with you?”

“I've great news, Janet. All but nine of the Zombek students passed their end of year exams. And those nine are just referred for resit in one subject.”

“My dear Simon, I'm so pleased for you. You must have done things well.”

He wondered if her choice of words was deliberate. She'd been about a long time. He replied, “Old Mison must think so, Janet; he's upped my salary by ten grand. I got a letter today.”

So that was it. He wanted to share his good news. She'd wondered about his visit. Still, at my age, she thought, one really mustn't look a gift horse in the mouth. She answered, “That's wonderful, Simon, really wonderful. You top up the glasses, I'll open the chocolates.” She resolved to maintain his sense of wellbeing.

“What have I interrupted, Janet?”

“Nothing really, Simon. I was just about to pour a drink, which you've saved me doing myself, and then listen to a new CD.”

“Oh, what's on it?”

“It's called ‘Side by Side' and the players are Itzhak Perlman and Oscar Peterson.”

Janet had surprised him again. It was, of course, his mistake. Oscar Peterson had been playing small group jazz, and bringing joy to devotees, for years and years. Janet, now 60-ish, probably developed the taste in her twenties.

“I think he's tremendous. Can we listen to it?”

“Of course. You can help me confirm a view I'm forming. I read somewhere that he'd had a stroke. So I was delighted to find him still recording. However, when I listened to this I thought his style had changed drastically. It was still marvellous, but different. Then it occurred to me. He's only playing with the right hand. The backing group play in a way that augments that. Perlman weaves in and out and around Peterson in a sort of Stephane Grapelli way. Let's listen and you tell me what you think.” She pushed the chocolates back across the coffee table to Simon.

They sat back and listened awhile. Simon closed his eyes. Janet watched him, apparently casually, but carefully. After a while he said, “I think you're right. That track of Dark Eyes confirmed it for me. Great sound though. Can I top us up?”

She'd looked at the bottle a minute before. If they drained it he would have had three glasses. She thought that was about right. “Yes, please, let's share it.” In a while she'd offer coffee. “These chocolates are more-ish, Simon. Come on, help me out. Have another.”

“I really was very pleased with Mison's letter, Janet. He's a remote figure to me, most of the time. The award seems to imply his interest in my work.”

“Simon! You're being much too modest. He'll be extremely interested in your work.The Zombek project is hugely important.” Under her breath she added, ‘as I'm afraid you'd soon find out if it ever went wrong.' But aloud she continued, “Play another CD while I go and fix coffee.”

“I'm finding out your secrets, Janet. You can get interesting new insights of people from their tastes in music. Don't you think?”

“Oh dear, Simon. That's George Shearing. I first discovered him in the days of 78rpm records. I don't like to think how many years ago. What do you think?”

He sipped the coffee and listened carefully. “Smooth, pleasant, probably innovative in its time, a bit dated now.”

Janet reflected that the assessment might well have been of herself. For a minute the self-effacement almost deflected her purpose. But not for long. She was made of sterner stuff than that. As was George Shearing. He'd been blind almost from birth, yet had still risen to the peak of his art.

She said, “Help me finish off the Cointreau, Simon. There's just two glasses left in the bottle. I think the orange beautifully offsets coffee.

“Mmmm, I agree, that tasted … what's the word … sybaritic. It's sort of luxurious, even sensual. I could become addicted,” he added.

After a couple more tracks the CD stopped. He felt ever so slightly intoxicated, relaxed and with a lovely sense of a satisfying day.

Janet, who'd thought carefully about what she would do if this potential occasion ever arose, had drunk somewhat less and was perfectly clear in the head. She thought the next five minutes might be crucial. So she just sat back, hoped she'd judged it right and waited.

“Well, Janet, I've had a great day and this has been a perfect conclusion. I owe you so much for your friendship and continuing support.”

“Oh, don't be stupid; I treasure it all, too. I enjoy having you here.”

Simon stood, ready to leave. Her words brought his mother to mind. He'd had a strong feeling for her. Janet in a way was a surrogate Mum. But she was more. She was friend and confidante, counsellor and … what? As they waked the few steps to the door he found himself tempted to hold her hand. At the door she stopped and faced him. He stepped close to kiss her cheek as a farewell gesture and caught the strong orange scent of the Cointreau on her breath. His head reeled slightly. Then he was just simply overcome by the combination of everything, alcohol, woman, friendship, luxury, desire and, unknowingly, Janet's intention.

He pushed her against the wall and kissed her full on the mouth. Janet arched herself, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her hips to him. They both felt his instinctive response. Her lips parted. Simon pushed forward an eager tongue. She made a small noise at the back of her throat. There was no going back!

They half disengaged and moved breathless out of the hall into her bedroom.

It was the most sensual night of his life. He was accustomed to the taut, sometimes muscular bodies of female contemporaries. Janet at 62 had a soft, yielding, pleasantly rounded feeling. And then again it felt somehow immoral. He supposed that stemmed from her mother image. Silk underwear – who'd have suspected it – was an extra dimension in titillation. And then there was Janet herself. She was patient, generous, active and passive, and finally demanding.

Simon was by nature a thoughtful man. He did everything he possibly could to please and, in return, was pleased. Half an hour later, duty done for the night he thought, and well satisfied, he rolled over and slept.

Janet waited a minute, slipped out of the bed and visited her bathroom.

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

Simon awoke, slightly disoriented but at peace with the world. In a while, he reached across the bed, kissed Janet's sloping smile, slipped into his clothes and out of the flat.

Later, at 9 o'clock, Janet swung her legs out of bed, stood up and promptly sat again. She ached all over. And she just couldn't wipe an insufferable grin off her face. Another five minutes and she gingerly stepped to the bathroom. This was definitely going to be a loll-about day. Much more of that sort of pleasure and she'd have to put her name down to receive meals on wheels! Still, she couldn't quite resist the urge to adopt a triumphalist gesture. As she sat on the loo seat, she punched her fist in the air and shouted, “Yeah!”

CHAPTER 24

“It's good to be home, Father.”

“Twenty years ago I used to watch you and your sisters playing in the garden.”

“I remember, Father. The sun always shone. The flowers were brilliant colours. You looked a giant from my height.”

“I'm still tall in my mind. It's just that the years have bent me a bit in the body.”

Matthew Nweewe topped up their glasses from the squash jug. His son gazed in fond recollection at the bushes and flowers, recalling the merry chases in and out and around the shrubbery with his sisters yelling in excitement.

“What's that shrub called, Father?”

“If you mean the one next to the Bird of Paradise flower, it's called a Strophanthus. It comes in a variety of shapes and sizes in tropical Africa. The giveaways are the strap-shaped twisted petals. My father planted this garden, Luke. He made me learn the name of everything in it. A pity you never knew him.” The Chief abruptly realised the conversation was heading in an undesirable direction and changed the topic.

“Tell me about our young people. How are they doing at university? I receive reports of course but I've waited for your personal view.”

With some reluctance Luke refocused. “I talk with them often. They mostly think it's a great adventure apart from the awful climate. I think they work hard. You would be proud of them.”

“And will the project be a success?” He sat quietly behind his politician's face, waiting for an assessment.

“I think the reality is that about a quarter of them are struggling. It's not that most do not have ability. It's just that there's still a gap between Zombek's A levels and England's A levels. So they've started a bit behind.”

“Will they catch up, Luke?”

“It won't be for want of trying. And Simon McGuire is dedicated to education. He's well supported by Chloe Hodgekiss. They're both the sort to go the extra mile!”

“Good. That's good!”

“Why is it so important to us at this time, Father?”

“In the year 2000, all our mineral and timber exploitation leases are due for renegotiation with foreign companies. We shall grant renewal, of course. To do otherwise would be foolish, even dangerous! But the time has come to weaken their grip on our economy. And that means we must strengthen ours. We must be single-minded, even ruthless.

“I have come to a view that we must push our young people very hard, to eventually replace outsiders. The very best we can manage is to put two hundred youngsters every year into the English university system. In a few years they will make a difference. If, in the short term, some of them fall by the wayside, so to speak, that's a price to be paid. Politicians have to make unpleasant decisions, my Son.”

“I think it must sometimes be lonely.” A thought struck Luke. “Am I a part of your plan?”

After a brief hesitation his father answered, enigmatically. “I count myself fortunate to serve Zombek. I was always sure you would, too. You did well to find us Simon McGuire. I already knew Chloe Hodgekiss from her previous work here. I like her. She's professional, efficient and flexible. We need their expertise now but there may come a time when they, in their turn, need us. We must remember that.”

“What about the foreign companies?”

“There's much money at stake. The most complex situation involves Anglo-Zombek. It's necessary to be extra cautious and thorough with them, Luke.”

“Who's their Chairman?”

“Their Chairman is just a figurehead. He's well connected and personable. In reality he's just a peacock. It's their principal shareholder who has the power and is the one to watch.”

“Who's that? In my educational travels I seem to know so little of our affairs.”

“It's been better that way. Anglo-Zombek's principal shareholder is Sir Maurice Steyne!”

Luke's jaw literally dropped. “Pucklebridge's Chairman of the Governors?”

“The same! Anglo-Zombek is committed by contract to help with higher education for our young. If they defaulted we could decline to continue with them in renewed exploitation rights. So, despite the fact that education makes Zombek stronger and his position weaker we must go along with it. He'll just look for another way, after renewal, to stay in control. But Luke, beware, he's a very dangerous man. In 1977 my Vice-president was assassinated. I suspect that Steyne was behind that. He might even have carried it out!”

“But he seems so … ordinary. What does he want, more money?”

“I should think he's already the wealthiest man you'll ever meet, Luke. No, I suspect he has early hopes of joining the House of Lords. He will even have turned the education of our young people to advantage in that case. You can imagine it: ‘Sir Maurice Steyne in pioneering venture to educate the Third World'.”

“We, too, must play a long game. We must use his needs to help us drive our young people through Pucklebridge. His company is largely paying for it anyway.”

“His company? I thought our Ministry of Education…”

The old man laughed. “Good heavens, no. They can well afford it. In many African countries, they'd have to bribe the entire Government for their exploitation rights. We take nothing. We just make him underwrite the ultimate ousting of his company. There's more than one way to skin a cat, as they say!”

Luke joined his father's laughter. “That's all right, then!”

“Yes, that's all right. But woe betide anyone who comes between him and a seat in The Lords. Remember that Luke. But enough of all that. Tell me about your PhD.”

“I've finished my dissertation. It's been bound, published and delivered to my examiners. I'm to have my viva voce two weeks from now. I've brought you a copy in my case. I know you won't have time to read it. But I thought you'd like it.”

“You're a thoughtful son, Luke. I'm proud of you. I shall at least dip into it.” He paused before continuing, “As I said in the spring, I would like you to do one last service in England for Zombek. I need someone to be there until the summer of 2000. By all means take a gap holiday for a few months now. Unwind after all that study! You deserve it.”

“Of course I'll do what you need, Father. What can you tell me about it?”

“Until the renewal of the exploitation rights I need someone I can trust absolutely to be close to the British Government. Or, to be more exact, close to a particular Civil Servant who can also serve our cause. His name is Sir William Fairhurst. He is what the English call a mandarin, a high-ranking official with extensive powers. These days he is a Permanent Secretary at the Department for Education and Employment. It was not always so. He also has extensive contacts at the Foreign Office.”

“And what shall I do there?”

“Your uncle Joshua, as Minister of State for Education, will organise a secondment arrangement for you to Sir William's department, ostensibly to strengthen educational links between our two countries. This will be a welcome move as far as they are concerned. It has a whiff of money and power about it. Sir William is all for it! If you agree, of course,” the older man added.

Luke, not for the first time, looked at his father and wondered at his chessboard mind. Just how many moves ahead did he prepare? His father, reading his mind, said, “I've stayed alive, and in power, by anticipating the future, Luke. I hope you don't find me cold and calculating. In this life you have to play to your strengths. I love you and l love my country. That's my excuse any way!” he added with a huge laugh.