Bums on Seats (24 page)

CHAPTER 25

“How's the steak, Chloe?”

“Perfect, Simon. I love Tournedos Rossini. It's the combination of tastes and textures: meat, paté and croutons. Mmmm, wonderful! How's your escalope?”

“Great! My heart bleeds for the wretched calves. But my palate is enormously grateful for their demise!”

“Simon! Heartless man! Anyway, let's talk about the students. That's why we're here after all,” she added hastily.

He didn't much like the sound of that. He'd hoped she was really here to share his company. Sometimes she seemed warm. Other times she retreated. He reached out and topped up the glasses.

“Well, to recap, two hundred and eleven started the course last year. One dropped out during the first term. At the end of the year, two hundred and one passed their exams and the remaining nine were referred to resit one subject. After the summer break two hundred and five came back for year two. Of the five who dropped out, three were resit cases. The remaining four resits all passed second time. So here we are, still with two hundred and five Zombek second-year students. I think that's bloody marvellous, don't you? Let's drink to ourselves! Cheers!” Simon leaned forward and chinked glasses.”

“Don't get carried away. You've not heard my forecast for the outcome of their end-of-term exams just taken!”

“Go on, then. Go ahead punk, make my day!” he said, doing his best Clint Eastwood, Dirty Harry, impression.

Chloe gratified him with a generous laugh. “I think we're shaping up towards a repeat of last year's results. Perhaps about fifty of the original intake are still in trouble. Don't misunderstand me. The whole course membership has moved forward in knowledge. It's just that around fifty are only marginally up to it. Then, of course, we've got this year's intake. There were two hundred and one at the start, but two have dropped out. I think they're better than the first year batch but probably around thirty of them are having to work really hard to keep up. I'm absolutely knackered trying to keep my patience trying to teach some of them. I hope this exhausting project pays off in the end. I need some positive funding to keep me sane.”

“Is it time to involve the External Examiners again, do you think?”

“It's an option. Let's separately think about it for a week and then meet in your office and brainstorm it, Simon. We have to make sure we don't jeopardise where we've got to, don't we?”

They continued a very satisfying meal. But somehow thoughts of the joint uphill struggle ahead, instead of inducing a notion of togetherness, seemed to make Chloe pull back within herself. Later, at her door, she gave him the most perfunctory of kisses, and that was that. Other times, she'd been quite affectionate.

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

“Good morning everyone. OK, settle down. Today you're going to work in syndicates on a finance case study. I've already sorted you into groups. Here are your papers. Spend five minutes reading them through. Then I'll tell you what to do.” Simon left them and fetched himself a drink from the Automat machine. “Right. What you've got there are the sales and income figures for each month for a whole annual cycle, for a small engineering company. You've also got a profit and loss account and a balance sheet. The national economy is looking up after a glum period, and the company plan sees sales expanding by maybe as much as twenty per cent this year. But, as you can see from the balance sheet, debtors are worryingly high. On the other hand, as you can see from the profit and loss account, fundamental profitability is good. I want you to do two things. First, suggest how debtors might be reduced by, say, twenty per cent. Then, assume that your proposals are successful and go on to produce a month by month sales and income forecast. Also, do a month by month cashflow forecast on the same basis. OK; any questions?”

Only Betty Galanga spoke up. “Simon, can we put the debts out to a ‘debt-factor' if we wish?”

“Your syndicate can take any action it wants, so long as you weigh up both the advantages and the disadvantages of any strategy. We'll stop and see how it's going in an hour's time.”

Later in the day, sitting in his office, Simon felt dispirited. The students had made heavy going of what should have been a straightforward session. He wondered about the wisdom of the entire project. Disillusionment was beginning to set in. He picked up the telephone and dialled.

“Hello Janet, how are you?”

“I've just come in from an invigorating walk. My cheeks are glowing. Everything's just fine, Simon. How are you?”

“Oh, slightly glum. My Zombek class have been particularly dense. I felt the need of a friendly voice.” He paused.

“Would you like to come to dinner this evening and see a friendly face, too?”

“Janet, you're a lifesaver. Yes, please!”

“Come at seven o'clock then, and take pot luck.”

“Thanks Janet, I'm sure whatever it is will be grand. I'd better get back to marking some essays, then. See you later. 'Bye!”

“Looking forward to it. See you then. 'Bye.”

It was almost 5 o'clock. He wasn't due downstairs for dinner until 7.00. Simon clicked around his computer keyboard until today's closing prices were displayed for the UK banking sector. He selected Royal Bank of Scotland. They'd closed at £9.42. Phew! Things were certainly looking better. At the end of June, just gone, he'd all but emptied his mysterious St. Helier bank account and bought £40,000 pounds worth of shares at £10.40 a share. By the 1st of Ocbober, they'd slid to £6.16. His investment had reduced in value to less than £24,000. Now they'd crept back to 90% of their purchase value. Would they keep going?

He wondered whether to discuss it with Janet, but decided against. He might have a general discussion about the current behaviour of the stock market instead. He switched to Internet Explorer, called up his St. Helier account and entered his password. When the drop-down menu appeared he selected ‘account details'. There was just then one deposit of £10,000 at the end of September which, when added to miscellaneous interest, made an account Balance of £10,421. Simon shut down the page, disconnected the call and switched off the computer. Investing already seemed more worrying than formerly. It was the step upwards in the amount at risk. He'd had to think much harder to make his stock selection. He'd actually changed his mind twice before investing in Royal Bank of Scotland. Mmm.

He transferred, coffee cup in hand, from computer chair to fireside recliner, emptied his mind of money matters, played a CD and thought instead about the immediate hours to come. Since he'd first entered his landlady's bed, nine months ago, they'd drifted into a comfortable, tacit, understanding. Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning were free of lectures for him. As for Janet, one day's routine was pretty much the same as another. So when Simon felt the need he made contact. This was particularly so when the Zombek students were proving hard going.

Simon liked Janet very much. She was a staunch friend and valuable ally in life. She provided counsel when needed. She assumed the role of equal partner in bed and was a considerate and intelligent lover. She neither expected nor demanded the extravagant protestations of exclusive love, which seemed essential to her younger counterparts. And one always knew she'd be in a good mood. He recognised his good fortune and was profoundly grateful.

In usual male fashion, Simon was able to separate friendship and sex from romance when he chose. He turned his mind to Chloe. His hoped for relationship was not going at all smoothly. They'd had a number of dates, usually out for a meal. She was always good company. They got on well. Sometimes she invited him home for coffee. They'd sit on her couch and be quite amorous. But he'd never got near being invited into her bedroom. She always held back and made it clear.

Why? It was disappointing and confusing. Perhaps it was this partial rejection that made him all the keener. She'd obviously been trained in the ‘treat ‘em mean keep ‘em keen' mould. He would have liked them to become ‘an item'. He sighed, sat up, switched off the hi-fi and headed for the shower. Time to prepare for dinner!

“Beautiful flowers, Simon! Thank you. If you carry on at this rate, perhaps you should invest in the shares of “Flying Flowers”, or some such.”

“Hey, that's a thought, Janet.” Simon pushed the door shut with his foot, cupped her face with his hands and kissed her warmly. She gave a little sigh, stepped back and preceded him to the kitchen.

“The stroganoff's at a crucial stage, Simon. Will you deal with the wine, please?”

He uncorked the bottle and placed it on the laid table. Janet stood at the cooker briskly stirring cream into the contents of the large skillet. He stepped in close behind her, wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. “I want you, Janet!” She leaned back against him and turned her face to his. He kissed her, undid the lower buttons on her blouse and slipped his hands inside her bra. She made a small groan as his fingertips found her nipples…

“Simon, stop!” she gasped, “save it for later – we've got all night. This cream will separate if I don't attend to it; then we'll have to have beans on toast,” she added with a light laugh, to divert his disappointment. A few more seconds of that level of pleasure, she thought, and she wouldn't give a bugger if the cream separated, or even divorced! She'd be dragging him off to bed. Discipline Janet, discipline, as she'd been told enough times as a child! Still, he'd obviously had a terrible day. She sympathised, but wasn't too unhappy about it. She'd make quite sure he had a pleasurable night!

They had an agreeable evening with a lot of wine and a delicious meal. Simon started to relax; Janet organised the music. For half an hour before moving to the bedroom they sat companionably holding hands, on her sofa, listening to Beethoven's
Eroica
.

When the clock struck eleven, Simon said, “Bed?”

Janet, who'd not lived all these years without learning a thing or two, said, “Let's just hear this through for a quarter of an hour. I like this bit best.” Simon patiently complied. Nevertheless, she sat up straighter, moved in very close next to him and draped her arm across the back of the settee. She moved her fingers across the nape of his neck and rested her other hand lightly on his thigh. The response was instantaneous. But he just lay back with his eyes closed. She rested her head against him and kissed his neck. A pulse throbbed away and his face reddened. In a while he started a series of restless little fidgets. The music swelled towards its grand conclusion. When it was done, he had to restrain himself from running to the bathroom and then on to bed to wait for her.

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

“Janet. Wake up! Breakfast.”

“What … what … whatever time is it?”

“Nine o'clock. You looked so peaceful; I just slipped away and read your morning paper for an hour. I've made us boiled eggs, toast and coffee. Move over!”

“But I never sleep until nine. I always get up at seven!”

“Well, perhaps this is the exception that proves the rule!”

“That's a nonsensical saying, Simon. If there's a rule, how can an exception be said to prove it. Surely an exception disproves a rule?”

“Rubbish, Janet! Without a rule there could be no exception; the very fact of an exception proves there must be a rule. Move over!”

She laughed at the pleasurable little intellectual joust. “Oh all right. You're a dear kind man anyway, despite being an illogical twit! Just give me a minute in the bathroom and I'll be back.”

She would normally have died before letting anyone see her before she'd had a chance to repair the ravages of such a night. But, a couple of minutes later, face perked up by icy cold water, hair vigorously brushed into order, she re-joined him for the sybaritic ritual of a shared breakfast in bed.

“Those are three of my winter pansies you've picked. Don't go thinking I wouldn't recognise them!”

“I know, Janet. But I wanted to give you a present. Last night was wonderful. You were wonderful.”

“Oh, thank you.” She put down her toast and gave him a marmalade-flavoured kiss. “You weren't so bad yourself!”

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

“Good to see you Luke. I'm glad you could make it.”

“Great to be here, Simon. I brought a six-pack. Talking's thirsty work! I like your Grand Prix prints.”

“Thanks. Great. When I moved in here, Janet, my landlady downstairs, agreed that I could decorate as I wished. Those prints were in the window of a local gallery. I think they exactly catch the drama of Formula One racing. And they're certainly colourful, like the drivers! Come and sit. Tell me about your plans now you've finished your doctorate.”

“I'm going to The States for a few weeks. I've a friend on the west coast. Then I'm coming back to work in London for a while. I'm seconded by our Ministry of Education to your Department for Education and Employment.”

“What do you think about that, then?”

“I'm pleased to serve my country. It's invested enough in me. I'll make sure the experience counts, anyway. And I'll work hard at developing the right sort of contacts for later!”

Simon looked again at his friend and saw a successful future. He thought this would have been so even without his father and relatives being who they were.

“I wanted to update you on our project, Luke. Particularly since you're leaving Pucklebridge. Hence the invitation.”

“Good idea! So, how's it going?”

“Well, on the plus side, last year's intake is holding up well. Two hundred and five of them are still with us. This year, coincidentally, we've still got two hundred and five new students. So, over four hundred of your best are getting the most we can do for them.”

“And on the minus side, Simon?”