Bums on Seats

by Tom Davies

  “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 wa
tch.”

  “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.

  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, sitti
ng 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.