The 2084 Precept

by Anthony D. Thompson

  I woke up at 10 p.m., ordered a sandwich and a half bottle of Côtes du Rhône from room service, read some more of the IHT, and fell asleep again.

  DAY 11

  I woke up early. No rain but cloudy. I had breakfast in the hotel, waved my hand at Little Miss Ugly on my way out, made her day, lit a cigarette and set off across the park.

  Today was not one of those ordinary days. Today was Day Two from where my calendar now begins. I checked my mobile. No calls. No text messages. If all went well, she had arrived home yesterday. If not, she would be there by around noon today. She would be talking with her fiancé this afternoon, this evening at the latest. Not a fun conversation, but they never are. And by tomorrow she would have arranged her trip to London and would be in contact.

  I was feeling good again as I walked underneath Piccadilly and I apologized profusely when, immersed in Céline thoughts, I collided with a morose-looking guy reading his newspaper at the tube entrance. Then it was right into Half Moon Street, left into Curzon Street, right into South Audley Street and along into the United Fasteners building. I took the elevator to the third floor and went into the lobby area. Checked my watch, ten to nine.

  "Good morning, Peter." Susi was sitting there looking as she always looked. Swish.

  "Good morning, Susanne." I hadn't forgotten. "And how was the weekend?"

  "A bit boring actually," she replied. "But presumably not for you?" That crooked smile, it really gets to you, Céline or no Céline.

  "No, Susanne…no, mine wasn't boring, thank you. On the contrary, it was pretty fantastic."

  "Yes, it looks like it, the way you're smiling. Lots of nice walks with Mr. Brown?"

  "Lots of fantastic walks with Mr. Brown, Susanne. It would have been better having fantastic walks with a Miss Brown, though."

  Her name was Susanne Brown and she killed me again with another of her crooked smiles. "Perhaps," she said, "who knows?"

  Oh yes, the invitation was there, no mistaking it. But I am not interested, and nothing is going to happen even when I'm finished here. Sorry, Susanne, there is a girl called Céline. Still, you never know what life's waves have in store for you, do you? So for the moment I wasn't going to burn any boats nor, indeed, any bridges…Susi would simply be added to my blinking red lights list.

  "Who knows?" I replied, looking straight into her big, bright eyes, eyes you could easily drown in if you wanted to and maybe even if you didn't. I applied the ambiguous smile, the nice one, the one which denotes possible and perhaps even probable interest in the female on the receiving end of it, while at the same time letting her know that you were far too civilized to attempt to force events. "Things sometimes happen when you least expect them," I added.

  "Or even when you do expect them, Peter," she said and she was looking straight at me as well. "Particularly if the time is right for both parties…like now for example, Peter. Roger and Geoff are waiting for you in Roger's office." Her wide crooked smile was also an ambiguous one, in fact it's always ambiguous, she definitely belongs to the world's population of man-eating plants.

  I went through to Roger's office, knocked and walked in.

  "Good morning, Roger, Geoff."

  "Hi Peter, good to see you again," said Roger.

  "Good morning, Peter, your usual pew," said Geoff.

  It was just the two of them. The office was large, pleasantly and expensively furnished in mahogany, or what looked and felt like mahogany, and with big windows looking down onto South Audley Street. My usual pew was a leather chair in the middle of a small meeting table and Roger sat at the end to my left and Geoff sat facing me across the table.

  "Coffee and drinks over there as usual Peter, please just help yourself."

  "Thanks, will do."

  "Apologies about last week, Peter," said Roger. "We're thinking of making a bid for a stud-welding equipment manufacturer, automotive stuff that works off robot arms, and they wanted to meet with me personally to talk about our offer price. You know how these things are, they're only interested in their own personal take. The price per share is of interest to them because they're loaded up with stock options and they want agreements concerning their payoff in the event they are terminated in the short-term, guaranteed severance packages, pension guarantees and so on. If not, they will reject our offer and we will have to decide whether or not to make our bid a hostile one. Expensive and unpleasant as you know, Peter. So…nothing new…happens all the time, we live in a crooked world, do we not?"

  He beamed at me, a 'we're all men of the world' beam.

  "We certainly do, Roger," I said, beaming back. "We just have to go with the tide. No other way, as King Canute discovered."

  "Hah! King Canute! Yes, foolish fellow."

  Roger was a short guy with thinning grey hair, a stomach, a florid face, the capillaries in his nose and cheeks betraying a life of too much good food and too much good drink to go with it. Expensive shirts and expensive suits to camouflage it all. What could not be camouflaged was the way he walked, short steps, concentrating on keeping his balance…arteries clogged up with a lifetime's collection of refuse, you can tell. Thank you very much, shareholders, for allowing me all of this, and thank you very much, members of the board, for approving it. But whatever, he was a nice enough guy, an O.K. old school type, and he was certainly intelligent, at least in some ways.

  "So…where are we at? Are you more or less finishing up now, Peter? I hope so, you're bloody expensive, what?" Joke, another beam.

  "More or less, Roger. One of the items still pending is whether you agree with the zero dividends, zero bonuses, salary and wage cuts and so on at Clark's. And if so, whether you want me to work with Fred on how to go about it. The second item is that I would like to cooperate on the purchase cost reduction program, at least initially, get it running in the right way."

  "Well, we've discussed the cuts. Frankly, some were for and some were against. I am not sure what effects or even consequences it might have, but overall I think we should trust in your expertise and therefore I say go ahead. Just don't cause any big screw-ups please." Another smile.

  Geoff said, "And on the purchase cost reduction program, I seem to recall that you said you were envisaging several hundreds of thousands in annual savings. It seems a lot to me. I don't know how you intend achieving it, but go ahead, we'll be very interested in looking at the results."

  Of course, he didn't know how I would be achieving it. But I've already done my research on Clark’s purchase pricing and the cost increases over the last few years, also on alternative suppliers and, more importantly, the fact that the purchasing department has never functioned as such. Never. It would better be described as an ordering department, because that is all they do. The phrase 'price negotiation' just wasn't in their dictionary. Achieving the savings was absolutely no problem. It was merely a question of how to go about it and I knew that too. It wasn't the first time I'd done it and it wouldn't be the last.

  "So how long do you think?" asked Roger.

  "Only about a week's hard work for me, Roger. After all, I'm only going to be involved in the planning and initiation of these projects. However, it won't all be happening on a day to day basis, so let's say two weeks in total. That means it will cost you another two weeks' hotel expenses and so on, plus my return travel. But, as I will not be appearing on the days when it would be a waste of my time, you would only have to pay another five or six days of consultancy fees. If you're happy with that?"

  "Sounds good to me," said Roger, "and you look happy, Geoff, smiling away there, getting rid of Peter's costs at last."

  "I certainly am," said Geoff, "but the fact is, Peter here provides a good return on his costs, now who would have thought that?" A smile, a joke. "Fred and Charlie," he continued, "have already indicated that Peter works very fast and we have already seen some major improvements in the monthly results, sustainable ones, I presume?" Chuckle, chuckle. "Perhaps, Peter, you could summarize the situation for us?"


  "Certainly, no problem. You have been regularly updated on the changes we have implemented and/or initiated and so I will just stick to the overall picture. As you know, last year Clark's Adhesives made a loss of £3.2 million. Also as you know, the losses have continued since I have been here, but they have been substantially reduced. One of the main reasons for this was what we did right at the beginning on the sales side. Now we are close to breakeven, and we will generate sufficient profits in the second half of the year to compensate for the losses to date. In other words, by year-end, this year will have been a breakeven year. No losses. A very big change."

  No way was I going to tell them that this was only possible because the company was so badly managed in the first place. And that it was therefore easy for me. A kid could have done it. Nor was I going to tell them that they themselves should have done something about it, what else are group executives paid all that money for? Let them think I'm a genius, that's fine by me, they'll recommend me to others, it's how I get my customers.

  "A big change indeed," said Roger. "And if it happens, you will have been cheap at the price, no arguing. But how definite is it? I mean, I note that you say 'will' rather than 'could' or 'possibly'. Is it that definite?"

  "Yes, Roger. You can trust me on that."

  Sure he can, the changes have already produced more than he thinks, I am in cahoots with Fred and Charlie, we've been under-reporting for the last couple of months. It's easy to do, increase some liability accruals here, increase some inventory and accounts receivable provisions there, and so on. Release them back bit by bit into profit as requirements dictate. No legal issues, we are only talking about internal monthly accounts. The full year's results are already more or less guaranteed, no doubt about that.

  "Well, very, very good to hear, Peter, that is great, it certainly is," said Roger, beaming away like a ship's beacon. "And what about next year?"

  "As far as I can estimate at the current point in time, next year will show a profit of over £2 million, positive cash flow close to £3 million. That's because, on the one hand, the profitability in the second half of this year is sustainable and will continue on into next year, almost certainly in fact improving further as we go along and, on the other hand, we won't of course have to compensate for any first half losses as is the case for this year."

  In fact, they'll make over £3 million profit next year and their cash flow will be about one million more than that. Sales will be 30% more, a bit higher or a bit lower but around that figure, expenses will be £1.5 million lower, raw materials costs a few hundred thousand lower and production efficiency will climb like never before. Easy. They can't go wrong. But it's not something they need to know at the moment, always understate your objectives, that's my motto.

  And then came the question I was hoping for, life is sometimes a beach.

  "You mentioned last time we met," said Geoff, "informally of course, that up to 50% more could possibly be feasible. I didn't ask at the time, but what exactly did you mean, Peter, by 'possibly'?"

  "I meant possibly," I said with a grin. "I believe, in fact, that the possible could become a probable…if I were to continue to involve myself on an ad hoc basis, mainly from a distance, email, telephone, with just the odd visit as needs determine."

  "And what kind of conditions would you have in mind for that, Peter?"

  "Well, how about this…zero cost, not even expenses, if we don't make the £3 million."

  "Well, we obviously wouldn't argue with that," said Roger. "And if we do hit the £3 million?"

  "I am of the opinion that 10% of the difference would be fair. In other words, 10% of the extra million or whatever the amount turns out to be. I hope you understand that although my involvement would be limited, it would still result in my having a heavy workload on top of other projects I will be involved in. As a result it would cause disruptions to my private life; in fact it would considerably damage my personal life for a prolonged period, maybe for the whole year and a half."

  "Hmm…but that's quite a lot of money for what, in effect, will be very part-time involvement on your part."

  There was a pause. I let them chew it over for a while. Little did they know that I might be getting 10% of a much larger amount. And then I said, "I agree. Perhaps we should just forget it. Fred and Charlie might achieve it without needing any backup from me."

  Hah, they would, but Roger and Geoff didn't know that, any more than they knew that it was neither possible nor probable but a virtual certainty, excluding the possibilities of a world war or whatever.

  "I guess I look at it this way," said Roger, "it sounds like a fair deal. Unusual, certainly, but fair. You will be earning money for achieving what at the moment is only a possibility. And if you don't, we owe you nothing, not even if the profit reaches £2.9 million. What do you think of this Geoff?"

  Geoff didn't hesitate. "I don't need to think much, Roger. We can't lose. And I don't mind the 10%. It would mean a hundred thou’ or so for eighteen months' involvement. However, this would obviously need to be based on the audited accounts and any payment due would need to wait until then, as I'm sure you agree Peter?"

  "Obviously Geoff. No problem there." A hundred thou’ or so, ha ha.

  "O.K.," said Roger, "we'll have the lawyer draw up the contract. Can we fix up for you to drop by on Friday of next week, Peter? Say goodbye and all that, sign the new contract?"

  "Certainly," I said. "10 o'clock suit you?"

  "Yes, it does. I must admit, you know, that you are an interesting type of consultant, Peter. We have no regrets about having hired you. Quite the contrary. No wonder you get recommended by your clients."

  And then it was smiles all round, hands shaken, and off I went. Susi was not at her desk. No matter, I'll bring her some flowers and maybe a small gift next Friday. She's a great female and a nice person on top of that. And because blinking red lights are always good to have, you never know.

  I bought an IHT, had an early lunch in Shepherds Market, brunch really, and took my time over it. Still cloudy, still no rain, and so I decided to walk back to the hotel via Park Lane and the park. I came out of the restaurant, lit a cigarette and saw the morose-looking guy I bumped into this morning coming in my direction. I smiled at him, said, 'Sorry about this morning," but he clearly didn't recognize me, gave me a puzzled nod and walked on past.

  Back at the hotel, I ordered a coffee in the lounge area, finished the IHT and went up to my room. What a great day! What a great planet! Another stack of money coming my way, albeit the year after next. And for virtually zero work, just a bit of supervision, a bit of pushing, make sure everything stays on track. And Céline! She'll be here in London soon, this kind of hotel will amaze her, we're going to have a great time.

  Which reminded me, I should send her that poem. I didn't really want to, it was definitely a weird poem, but I had little choice. I had promised. And in any case, it might make her really happy, she might be able to make use of it in that weird modern poetry class of hers. Not only that, but it had to do with her other subject, art. So O.K., here goes. I headed the message: Hi Céline, no apologies, you insisted!

  THE MAD ARTIST

  There lies my shattered body

  Smashed hard across the road,

  As if someone with heavy boots

  Had trampled on a toad.

  An ugly mess, I must confess,

  And causing such a jam;

  They don't know why I did it

  And they don't know who I am.

  And so they curse me, nameless one,

  It's just their rotten luck;

  They're going to have to dig and scrape,

  I'm well and truly stuck.

  To all the morbid passers-by,

  This truly is a gift;

  My blood and brains, they look so strange,

  An eye has come adrift.

  It's floating on a funny stream

  Of blue and grey and black;

  Into the nearby drain it
goes,

  Plop! Never to come back.

  No doubt, my friends, you wonder why

  This ever should have been,

  And why I sit up here and gloat

  Upon myself, this scene.

  The answer is quite simply this:

  An artist once was he;

  And yet he just could not create

  The perfect symmetry.

  But now I've done it, there it is,

  For all of you to see,

  A quite unrivalled masterpiece

  And all of it is me.

  But even so, it cannot last,

  I know it has to go,

  So perfect for so brief a time,

  This painting here below.

  The street will fill with cars and men

  And women once again;

  And what will there be left of me?

  A disappearing stain…………

  And I finished with: Such a romantic and literary piece! Mais je t'adore et je pense à toi, ton Peter. Typed in the address and sent it before I changed my mind.

  Called Fred's assistant, terrible old cow, and told her I would be in Slough tomorrow morning, could she please try to arrange for Fred and Charlie to be available for a short meeting at, say, 9 o'clock? She could, she said. Try that is.

  I made a second call. To Sr. Pujol in Barcelona. I told him I could probably start in three weeks' time. If that was how it worked out, it would allow me a week free in between assignments. A week in Rouen. A great week in Rouen. Or in Hawaii. Or wherever.

  DAY 12

  I had the Slough factory meeting this morning and back to London for the Jeremy meeting at 2 o'clock. In fact, I would also be in Slough tomorrow and the day after as well, but I decided to drive it each day—Céline coming, best to stay in the London hotel.