Graham glanced at Beryl and then continued, "I'm afraid there has been a further serious complaint against your behaviour in the office, Cyril, and I have asked your wife to be present because of the nature of the complaint."
"That sort of behaviour is just not good enough, especially in a man of his age," said Beryl, with a loud sniff and an accusing toss of her head.
Joyce looked studied Beryl closely before answering, hating her skinny body, her tight-lipped mouth, and straggly mousy hair pulled into a tight bun. "What does his age have to do with it?" said Joyce, glaring at her, "Are you suggesting the behaviour you refer to will be more acceptable in a younger man?"
"No, not at all…" said Beryl, stammering as she tried to regain control.
"Ladies, please, let me continue," said Graham, looking pointedly at Beryl.
"Well, the first thing I need to know is what the complaint is all about," said Joyce, "Because if this is just another waste of time over what somebody ‘imagined' they saw, like Miss Bainbridge's complaint last year, I suggest…"
"Mrs. Worthington; please," said Graham, anxious to get the meeting finished with as little fuss as possible.
Joyce sat back in her chair, and waited for him to continue.
"Thank you. A complaint has been made that your husband ran his hand up the skirt of one of the young female assistants in his department and fondled her bottom," said Graham without stopping for breath. He mopped his brow with a handkerchief and waited for a comment, but none was forthcoming.
Nonplussed, he looked around at the three persons at his desk, but when nobody volunteered to speak, he said, "Well, that's the serious complaint."
Joyce stood up and said, "You must be joking, Graham. You drag me halfway across town to listen to that rubbish—what a waste of time. Who made the complaint?"
Graham looked straight at Beryl, who went red and managed to say, "I made the complaint on the same day it happened, because it is terrible behaviour."
"Yes, well you would say that, Beryl," and turning to Graham, Joyce said, "What did the young person involved have to say about this matter?"
"Well, I haven't actually spoken to her directly, with her being a woman, you understand. Beryl questioned her about it."
"That is just not good enough. Please have the young woman attend this meeting, will you. If she wishes to accuse my husband, I want to hear her say so to my face."
Graham turned to Beryl and said, "Miss Bainbridge, if you would be so kind as to go and ask…"
"No Graham, that is not acceptable. I'm not having them colluding before she attends. Ask your secretary to bring her to your office, please."
"Yes, of course," he said, picking up his intercom phone.
"Are you suggesting that I…" Beryl started to say, standing up to face Joyce.
"Not at all, Beryl, I am just being fair to my husband. You have made the accusation, but we've not heard anything from the person you say is the victim of my husband's behaviour."
"Ladies, sit down please, and let's sort this matter in an amicable way."
"There is nothing amicable about a third party suggesting Cyril is guilty of lewd behaviour," said Joyce, sitting down and folding her arms while glaring at Beryl in an aggressive manner.
The door opened and the secretary announced, "Miss Mary Hughes, sir." And a tall, graceful young teenager in a tight fitting blouse and navy skirt entered the office, and stood before the desk.
"You wished to see me, sir?"
"Yes, Mary. It's a serious matter, and I wish you to be frank with your replies to my questions. They are of a personal nature, involving the people in this room, but I can assure you that nothing said here today will ever be repeated outside of this room." He gave all present his most serious look before continuing."
"Mary; has your manager, Mr. Cyril Worthington here, ever behaved towards you in an improper manner?" he asked in a soft, but encouraging voice.
"Oh no, sir, he's a fair manager," she said, turning to smile at Cyril, who nodded back.
"But I saw him put his hand up your leg beneath your skirt," said Beryl, raising her voice and going red in her scrawny neck.
"Good Lord! Mr. Worthington would never behave like that, miss."
"But you said…"
"That's enough Miss Bainbridge," said Graham, glaring at her. Then turning to Mary Hughes again, he said, "You are sure that Cyril never accosted you in a familiar manner."
"He's always been the proper gentleman, and it is a pleasure working for him."
"Thank you Mary, it seems there has been a misunderstanding. Please return to your desk, and remember, this meeting is in confidence."
"Of course, sir," she said, giving a little bob of her head before leaving the room.
Graham stood up, pulling his jacket together over his tight-fitting waistcoat and said, "The matter is now closed, once and for all. I will have no more mention of it from anybody. I'm sorry you've all been troubled to attend."
He held his hand out to Joyce, and shaking it he said, "Thank you for attending, and being so understanding. Good afternoon."
Joyce and Cyril left Graham's office together, and she was pleased to see Graham gesture to Miss Bainbridge to take her seat again. She hoped the witch was in deep trouble, but she also knew there was no smoke without fire. Cyril did have a tendency to fondle young women, and it was getting worse. Next time, his assistant may not be as loyal as young Mary had been this afternoon, and that would be the end of his career, and his pension.
She looked at Cyril and said, "I guess I'll see you when you come home this evening."
"Yes, goodbye for now, and thanks for everything."
She watched as his ungainly body stumbled across the hall as he fumbled his way into his office, wondering how on earth he'd got this far in the Civil Service, even though he was brilliant at his job. She also wondered if he had any idea of her own involvement in the matter just concluded.
CHAPTER 3
The previous afternoon she took a phone call from Graham, who outlined the complaint against her husband and asked her to attend the meeting. When Cyril came home for dinner, she took up the matter with him.
"When do you plan on telling me why you fondled a young girl in your office?"
Cyril put down the evening newspaper, dropping his reading glasses on top, while he gathered his wits. "Oh, that's just a storm in a teacup."
"It's a big enough storm for Graham to ask me to attend his office tomorrow."
"Ah, the Witch of the North has been at it again."
"Look Cyril, I dislike that Beryl Bainbridge as much as you and I realise that she is after your job and would do anything to get it. But what I fail to understand is why you continue to give her the ammunition to continue her attacks."
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to, but it just seems to happen without me realising it."
"That is not good enough. You have many years before retirement, and without your pension, we're going to be in serious trouble. Never mind all the publicity it will bring, if it ever gets into the newspapers. And bloody Beryl Bainbridge would use all her influence as a town councillor to see that it gets published, if she could."
"There's nothing to publish."
"What exactly did you do to the girl?"
He looked around the room as if for help, and shrugging his shoulders he said, "I'm accused of putting my hand on her leg, or something."
"Well, aren't you sure?"
He just shrugged and looked anxiously at his newspaper, as if wondering whether it was politic to continue reading. "I can't even remember it, or if indeed it ever happened."
"Oh, it happened alright. Councillor Bainbridge won't risk her reputation on a lie or a fabrication," said Joyce, shaking her head and looking at her husband in dismay. She loved him as a companion, but they'd not shared a bed for many years, since the still-birth of their son about ten years ago, she guessed. She knew he was not chasing young girls for sex, because to the best of her knowledge he was
now all but impotent. Fondling young women had just become a fetish of some kind since his loss of conjugal rights through mutual agreement, and it seemed to be a kind of release for him.
Joyce knew it was time for her to act, and she said, "Give me the young woman's name and address."
She guessed Cyril must have known this question was coming some time that evening, because he pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his waistcoat pocket and passed it to his wife without a word or even a glance.
She shook her head, once again amazed at the genius of his anticipation compared to the idiocy of his aberrations with women. No wonder he was almost unbeatable at chess, he was always many moves ahead of his competitor.
As she slipped on her coat and left the house to walk the mile or so to the young woman's home, she half smiled at the way he'd anticipated her question, and knew she'd try to get him out of the trouble—again. It was the third time in as many years, and she knew that one day her luck would run out.
The walk had cleared her head and enabled her to plan the conversation, but she was totally unprepared for what happened when she knocked at the door of the young girl's home. The door opened and a tall, leggy girl with long brown hair opened it and said, "Hello, you must be Mrs Worthington, your husband said you may call. Come in, please."
She ushered Joyce into the sitting room saying, "Mum and Dad are at the Beetle Drive in the Village Hall, so we won't be disturbed."
Staggered at this further proof of Cyril's anticipation of her actions, she said, "I'll get right to the point then, if you don't mind, Mary?"
The girl nodded and seemed quite composed.
"Did my husband molest you in the office?"
"Not at all," said Mary in a firm voice.
This was not the reply Joyce was expecting so she said, "Mary, did my husband run his hand up your leg?"
"Mrs. Worthington, let me explain. You first ask if your husband molested me and then if he ran his hand up my leg. Now from almost any other man, that would be a serious case of molestation and I would have complained most bitterly. But not from your husband."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Let me put it this way; at the office we girls in his department think of your husband as a big old cuddly bear. Not that there's any impropriety, of course, but we just know he means no harm. In fact, most of the time he doesn't even seem to know that he's doing it."
"I see," said Joyce, who didn't see at all, and was quite confused.
"We know he could never try it on, like some of the letches in the office. He doesn't grope me, or any of the girls; he's not that way inclined at all."
"I'm not sure that's very complimentary…"
"I don't mean to be rude about it, but we understand that perhaps your husband doesn't have any lead in his pencil, unlike some of the dirty old men that rub up against us whenever they can."
Joyce understood what was being said, but it was not what she came to hear, so she decided to ignore the current conversation and ask the pertinent question.
"If you are asked by Graham Baines, the Department Head to confirm the complaint, what will you say?"
Without any hesitation Mary said, "I will tell him it did not occur, because I was not abused or molested, but simply given a friendly pat by somebody I trust."
"Thank you so much, Mary," said Joyce, getting to her feet, "And you will not mention anything about our chat tonight, will you?"
"Of course not, I understand why you've come, and I would do the same to protect my husband. But Mrs. Worthington, I must tell you that there are one or two people in the department who do not understand your husband and also do not like him. I think you should know this, because one day…"
"I understand, Mary, and I'll speak to Cyril about it."
"She asked me about it, you know."
"Who did?"
"That Miss Bainbridge—the one your husband calls the wicked Witch of the North."
"What did you say to her, Mary?"
"Similar to what I've told you, and suggested she was mistaken. She became quite angry and started shouting."
"Yes, she's a bit like that."
"Told me I was to call her Councillor Bainbridge, but I won't do that."
"I should think not. Her title is honorary, and I think it should only be used on council business, if she has any, that is," said Joyce, with a tight smirk.
"Oh she has specific council duties, alright."
"You surprise me, Mary, how do you know that?"
"My sister is a secretary at the town hall, and was taking down the minutes of a meeting when the Mayor assigned her in charge of the public lavatories!"
They both laughed aloud at that, and Joyce said, "Once again, thank you. Good night!"
"Good night," said Mary waving to her as she walked down the path to the road.
The walk home took longer, because her pace was slower while she pondered over the problem of her husband's fondness of young women. It was not uncommon of course, especially in men of his age, but usually it took the form of an affair, or even a divorce and remarriage. Cyril was not looking for an affair or even a sexual conquest; he just liked young women and enjoyed touching them. She'd noticed for years how at Church Fetes or Meetings, he'd gravitate towards the young women—married, or single—and put a hand on their shoulder, or take them by the arm.
At first, she'd thought it was the precursor of an adulterous affair, but a careful watch of his activities indicated nothing of that nature. Furthermore, the decline of his sexual advances before her last pregnancy, suggested a developing impotence.
"There must be a solution, and I'm determined to find it," she muttered to herself, as she pushed open her garden gate and strode forcefully towards the front door.
CHAPTER 4
Grant drove his battered Vauxhall Viva with care as he wound his way through the back streets of Leeds, avoiding the early morning traffic jams in the town centre. He glanced over at his wife and saw she was staring ahead with that set look, which indicated she was upset with him once again. They would be together for the next hour or so, until he reached Manchester, and he couldn't bear it if she remained in her present mood, so he tried to clear the air.
Putting his hand on her knee and giving it a gentle squeeze he said, "These early mornings can get you down. Are you feeling tired, love?"
April turned and glared at him as she said, "Yes, I am tired. I'm tired of the way you and my mother go on, it's embarrassing. I hate the way she kisses you goodbye on the front step; anybody would think she's your wife, not me!"
Grant had seen this boiling up for a few days, but there was little he could do about it right now without ending up in another argument. He decided to agree with her comment, and said, "I am of the same opinion, love, but no matter how many times I ask her not to kiss me goodbye, she just ignores me. You know what she's like."
"It's not the kiss goodbye that's the problem, especially if you offer her your cheek, it's that you not only let her kiss you on the mouth, but you actually return the kiss—and at great length, I might add." April sniffled into her handkerchief, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes before continuing with, "And you always seem to do it on the front doorstep, where everybody can see you."
"Can't you have a word with your mother? I think it might be best coming from you."
"You know I can't say anything, she'll only think I'm jealous or something. We've had all this out before, and it's up to you to sort it out."
"Well, with a bit of luck you'll find us a place in Stockport today, or somewhere close, and then we can move." He glanced at her, hoping the change of subject would ease the tension, because if it went on like this the rest of the way, it also spoil his day at work.
"I have found plenty of really nice houses we can rent, but you always say they're too high. That one we went to see on Monday was lovely."
"Yes, I agree, it was nice, and if the meeting with the directors at the garment factory in Oldham goes a
lright this afternoon, we'll probably take it."
"Oh Grant, that will be fantastic. Do you think there's a good chance of getting the order? I do hope so," she said, her eyes shining with delight, and the bad mood wiped away.
"Well, they don't have a company pension yet and the director I spoke to on the phone was all in favour of the meeting today. I'm pretty sure I'll get it," he said, glancing at her reaction. In truth, however, he was far from sure, because he was yet to sell a pension policy.
He'd been working as an insurance agent for Granite Insurance since leaving school, and was promoted to Area Manager in the Beeston Hill district of Leeds two years ago. He soon became the leading manager for the division, and when the company started a special pension division for businesses, he was given the opportunity of starting a new pensions division.
The rest of the journey into Manchester was calmer and full of small talk, with April very excited about moving to Stockport, which she loved, and away from her mother.
-o-
His long day of cold calling for prospects was without much success, so he finished early and then drove into Manchester to meet with his wife. Their favourite spot was the café on the fifth floor of John Lewis's department store. He had no difficulty in parking his car in a side road and walked the short distance to the store, enjoying the late summer sunshine.
When he entered the café, he saw it was quite busy and after a walk around be saw a vacant table over in the far corner. Before he could reach it however, an elderly couple laden with shopping bags sat there, so he stopped to look around. He felt somebody tugging his sleeve, and turned to see a well dressed, middle aged woman in a green suit and matching hat smiling at him.
"Hello Grant, don't you remember me? It's Joyce Worthington; I was a friend of your mother's," said the woman with a broad smile.
"Yes, of course I do. Hello Mrs. Worthington, how are you."
"I'm fine, and I've just ordered some tea. Why don't you join me?"
In The Name Of Love Page 2