Sleeping Arrangements (25 page)

'Look, Hugh, forget it,' he said abruptly. 'This is . . . well, it's all wrong. I don't want you pulling strings for me. If the branch is really going to close and I can't keep my job on my own merits—then so be it. I'd rather that than this . . . nepotism.'

'It's not a question of nepotism,' said Hugh. 'Believe me, Philip, if that's all it was, I wouldn't be doing this. Believe me.'

Philip was quiet for a few moments, then looked up and attempted a smile.

'So,' he said lightly. 'How does it feel, having another man's life in your hands?'

Hugh gazed back at Philip, his throat suddenly tight, his head filled with images of Chloe lying naked, milky skin, languorous, on a white, rumpled bed. This man's wife, this man's life .

. . Jesus. Suddenly Hugh's hand was sweaty around the receiver. He wanted, more than ever, to make at least something right for this guy. He had to make this work out.

'Hello?' Tony's smooth voice jolted him, and he turned thankfully to the telephone receiver.

'Hello, Tony? Hugh here.'

'Hugh! What can I do for you?'

'I wanted to have a quick chat about . . . about a personnel issue,' said Hugh, and cleared his throat. 'I've been reading through the report from Mackenzie's—'

'As have we all,' said Tony. 'Now I know you've been speaking to Alistair about implementation. We all agree that speed is the key, and I can assure you, we're going to move as quickly as possible. All going well, the restructuring should be complete by . . . let me just have a look . . .' Tony paused, and Hugh jumped in.

'Actually, Tony,' he said, 'that wasn't what I wanted to talk about,' he said. 'I wanted to speak to you about a specific branch of National Southern.'

'Oh yes?' Tony's voice held slight surprise. 'Which branch would that be?'

'East Roywich,' said Hugh. 'I gather it's down for closure?'

'Let me get the full report,' said Tony. 'Christine . . .' He disappeared off the line and Hugh raised his eyebrows at Philip, who attempted a smile in return.

'Let me see . . .' came Tony's voice. 'Oh yes. East Roywich. What about it?'

'Well,' said Hugh and hesitated, astonished to discover that he felt very slightly nervous.

He reached for a pencil and began to draw small, precise cubes on Gerard's immaculate green blotter. 'I happen to know the manager of that branch. He's very talented and committed; the sort of guy we should be holding onto. I was wondering if you were planning to re-deploy him.'

'I see,' said Tony after a couple of seconds. 'Well, let's have a look . . .' His voice changed.

'Ahh . . . now, you're right. There is a bright chap at East Roywich—and we've just set him up to run the merged branch at South Drayton. Chris Harris. He came in for an interview last week, as it happens. I met him myself. Very impressive, keen to go forward with us, highly computer literate . . .'

'That . . . that wasn't who I was talking about,' said Hugh, digging the pencil into the blotter. 'What about Philip Murray? The branch manager.'

'Oh.' Tony sounded put out to be interrupted. Hugh heard the sound of a page being turned and, in the background, another phone ringing. 'Oh yes. Philip Murray. Well, obviously I haven't met him myself—but from the notes, the general feeling was that he's a little old, a little set in his ways for the PBL culture. And his level of pay is, of course, higher . . . Econom-ically, it just doesn't make sense to hold onto him.'

'Maybe it doesn't make sense on paper,' said Hugh. 'But you've got to put a value on his experience, surely. On his knowledge. We're going to need people on board who know the way National Southern operates—'

'We have plenty of people on board who know how National Southern operates,' said Tony crisply. 'Too many, if you ask me. Hugh, I do appreciate your concern, but in this case, really . . .'

'Come on, Tony,' said Hugh, feeling a dart of panic. He couldn't fail at this. He just couldn't. 'There's got to be something for him, somewhere. You can't just leave him high and dry!'

'Nobody's being left high and dry,' said Tony. 'He'll get a very generous severance package. Extremely generous. Or else, if he wants to, he can do what a lot of the National Southern staff are doing, and join the PBL Telecoms training programme.'

'Which is what, exactly?'

'Sales and marketing of telecommunications equipment,' said Tony. 'Three weeks' training, a very nice little package . . .'

Hugh felt a flash of pure anger.

'Come on, Tony!' he cut in. 'That's a bloody insult and you know it. This isn't some cashier we're talking about. This guy's a graduate, he's got financial qualifications . . . his branch won awards back in the mid-nineties, for Christ's sake. He's worked for National Southern for sixteen years. Can't we do any better than give him a bunch of fucking phones to sell? Jesus!'

He broke off, panting slightly, and there was an astonished silence at the other end of the phone.

'Hugh,' said Tony eventually, 'where are you calling from?'

Hugh looked around the dim study, momentarily disoriented.

'I'm . . . I'm on holiday,' he said at last. 'Spain.'

'I see,' said Tony, and there was another silence. 'Well, I tell you what. I can tell you feel strongly about this. So when you get back, let's meet up and discuss a few of the issues, shall we?'

'No. I want to sort this out now. I want to have an answer.'

'I'll get Christine to call your assistant and put something in,' said Tony. 'It's Della, isn't it?'

'Yes, but . . .'

'Enjoy your holiday, Hugh. Have a good break, and we'll talk when you get back. I promise.'

The phone went dead, and Hugh stared at it, stiff with shock, with humiliation. For a few moments he couldn't bring himself to move. Then, very slowly, he raised his head to meet Philip's gaze.

'Philip . . .' He broke off, unable to frame the words. Unable to believe he'd been dismissed like that.

'Don't worry,' said Philip. 'Please, Hugh. Don't feel bad. You gave it a go. That's more than most people would have done. I truly am grateful.'

'I'll speak to him,' said Hugh. 'As soon as I get back. I'll go and see him, explain the situation—'

'Hugh . . . no.' Philip lifted his hand, and Hugh stared back, feeling slightly foolish. 'I think we both know there would be no point. My job's gone. Full stop. And you know what?'

There was silence as Philip stretched out his arms in front of him, then stood up. 'I'm fine,'

he said at last, looking down at Hugh. 'In fact, I feel happier than I have in months. The initial shock was bad—but now I feel relieved, more than anything else. At least now I know. I know.' He walked to the window and stared out of it. 'That was what was killing me. The not knowing. But now it's over, and there's nothing I can do about it, I feel more optimistic.' He picked up a carved wooden elephant from a side table, examined it for a few moments, then put it down again. 'We'll pull through, Chloe and I,' he said, turning round. 'We'll find a way.'

At the sound of her name, Hugh's head jerked up. He stared at Philip and felt a sudden chill, a sudden stiffness, as the wider implications of his failure thrust themselves into his mind. Philip's job was lost. Chloe would unquestionably support him, stay with him. It was all over.

'You were talking about someone else at National Southern, weren't you?' Philip was saying now. 'Somebody at my branch?'

'Chris . . . Chris Harris,' said Hugh, forcing his attention back to the moment. 'They offered him the management of one of the merged branches.'

'Chris?' said Philip, and gave a little laugh. 'He wouldn't agree to that!'

'Apparently he already has,' replied Hugh. 'They interviewed him last week.'

Philip stared at him, taken aback.

'Last week? But I was with him last week, he never said a word.' He shook his head incredulously. 'It's a game, isn't it? A bloody game. I think, to be honest, I'm well out of it.'

'I think you are,' Hugh heard himself replying. He watched as Philip walked to the door of the study. 'Are you going to tell Chloe?'

'Oh yes. I'll find her now.'

'Will she . . . will she be all right?' asked Hugh, unable to stop himself.

Philip turned and smiled, his face lit up with affection. He loves her, Hugh thought with a fierce jealousy. He really does love her.

'She'll be fine,' he said. 'Chloe's not . . . she's not like other women.'

'No,' said Hugh, as Philip closed the door behind him. 'No, she's not.'

Chloe was sitting on a patch of grass at the side of the villa, staring numbly down at the ground. She had not spoken to anybody since Sam's outburst. She didn't quite trust herself to make human contact. Not in the state of uncertainty she was in. She felt rather as someone on the verge of insanity must feel—never sure when they might give themselves away by some extreme reaction; by some lapse into inexplicable tears. Above all, she felt weak. Too weak to take command, to make any decisions.

She looked up to see Philip approaching and felt a tremor deep inside her. Philip sat down beside her and for a while there was silence.

'Well, I've found out,' said Philip at last, and a stab of fear went through Chloe, shocking her with its forcefulness. She looked up, feeling a sick dread. What had he found out? How had he—

'They're closing the branch. I've lost my job.'

Chloe stared at Philip blankly. Then, as the words gradually impinged on her brain, as their meaning made sense, she felt something hot rise inside her, strong and uncontrollable.

Tears began to roll down her face and she gave a sob.

'Chloe!' said Philip in astonishment. 'Chloe . . .'

Chloe opened her mouth to reply, but couldn't utter a word. All she could do was sit there and let the emotion pass through her, finding its way out in tears and heaving shoulders.

She knew Philip wasn't used to her collapsing like this. This was the kind of moment at which she usually excelled. How many times had she sprung into action—assuming command, boosting morale, seeing the whole family through their various crises together? When Philip's father had died. When they'd had the kidney scare with Nat. She'd been the strong one; the support. But this time she couldn't support anyone. Her strength was gone, shot to pieces.

'Chloe . . .' Philip reached for her hand. 'Don't worry. It won't be so bad.'

'I know it won't,' said Chloe in a trembling voice, and wiped her eyes. 'I'm sorry. Of course it won't. We'll be fine. It'll all work itself out.' She took a deep breath and smiled at Philip, a bright, strong smile. But fresh tears were already pushing their way out of her eyes. Her smile disintegrated. 'I'm sorry,' she sobbed. 'I don't know what's wrong with me. I feel so . . . scared.'

Philip put his arms around her and pulled her weeping frame towards him. 'Don't be scared, Chloe. Don't be scared.' He stroked her back as though soothing a baby. 'It's not a disaster. I'll find something else. We'll pull through.'

Chloe lifted her tearstained face and stared at him as though seeking a lost clue.

'You think so?' she said at last. 'You really think so?'

'Of course we will,' said Philip confidently. 'We're a team. We'll always survive, you and I.'

Chloe stared at his kind, familiar, trusting face, and suddenly gave another huge sob.

Philip enfolded her in his arms again and for a while they were silent, Chloe's tears dampening the front of his shirt.

'This is ridiculous!' she said eventually, sitting up and rubbing at her reddened face. 'I never cry. Never!'

'Maybe that's why,' said Philip, gazing at her. 'Maybe we all need to cry, every once in a while.' He reached out and gently pushed back a strand of her hair. 'It hasn't been easy for you. None of it has. But now . . .' He took a deep breath. 'I can't tell you, Chloe. I feel such a sense of release. I feel . . . happy!'

'Happy?'

'This isn't a disaster, it's a chance. A chance to start again.' Philip took hold of her hands and gazed at her earnestly. 'A chance to think about what we want . . . and go for it. Maybe I will retrain in computers after all. Or maybe I'll write that novel . . . or do something else completely. Maybe we'll move abroad.'

'Abroad?' Chloe stared at him, half-smiling. 'Are you serious?'

'Why not? We can do anything we like. Go anywhere we want.' Philip's face lit up with enthusiasm. 'You know, in a strange way, I'm quite excited. How many people get the opportunity to change their lives completely? How many people are given a second chance?'

Chloe stared at his shining face speechlessly. If you only knew, she thought. If you only knew the second chance I was offered. Even as she articulated the thought, she felt a pang of passion for Hugh, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to stand it. But already the feeling was more muted, less raw, less immediate. Like the fading of a virus.

'Not many,' she said at last. 'Not many get a second chance.'

And now tears were falling softly down her face again, like summer rain. She looked helplessly at Philip, half-laughing at herself.

'I'm a hopeless case,' she said. 'Just ignore me.' Philip reached out and stroked her face.

'We could get married,' he said softly, and Chloe froze. Her face started to prickle; suddenly she could hardly breathe.

'Married?' she said, trying to sound casual. 'Why . . . why do you say that?'

'I know you always wanted to. I didn't feel it was important. But since everything else in our life is changing . . .' Philip gently touched her mouth. 'I've put you through some miserable times recently. Maybe I'd like to make it up to you.'

'You don't have to make it up to me,' said Chloe in a trembling voice. 'You don't have to make anything up to me. Let's just . . . keep things as they are. Just as they are.'

She buried her head in her hands and Philip gazed at her, a concerned look on his face.

'Chloe . . . Are you all right? There isn't anything else that's wrong, is there?'

'No,' said Chloe at once. 'No, I'm fine.' She raised her head and said, 'Sam was a bit rude to me earlier, that's all. It threw me.' Philip frowned.

'I'll have a word with him.'