An Ocean Apart

by Robin Pilcher

  He played a number of quick chords, strumming hard and fast on the instrument, then, finishing with a flourish, he held his hands out at each side as if willing applause and gave Benji a quick bow.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” Benji asked, his eyes wide. He slid off the bed and, discarding his Game Boy onto the bedside table, came across the room towards him.

  “Well, I had this rather eccentric uncle who used to come to stay with us when I was a boy. He always brought his ukulele and made up silly songs for me. He taught me how to tune it first.” David twanged the strings, singing out a word for each pitch. “My—Dog—Has—Fleas.”

  Benji laughed and, snatching the ukulele from David’s grasp, plucked clumsily at the strings, singing out the tuning-ditty at the same time.

  “There you are,” David said. “You’ve just had your first lesson.”

  Benji’s eyes shone with delight at his new-found skill.

  “And then, once you’ve mastered that, you can start on the guitar.”

  Benji’s eyes grew wider by the minute. “Wow, really! Can you play the guitar?”

  “Well, I haven’t for some time, but yeah, I reckon I could again. It’s rather like riding a bicycle.” David paused for a moment, realizing that this was a perfect entrée for his apology. “Speaking of which, Benji, erm, the incident that happened yesterday when I was mending your bicycle … well, I’m sorry that I shouted at you over the swimming-pool thing. I didn’t realize that you were an expert at holding your breath.”

  Benji smiled and shrugged. “Aw, that was nothing. Say, did you ever play in a group or anything?”

  David laughed and shook his head at the boy’s fickleness. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did—at university.”

  “Wow! And did you write songs and stuff like that?”

  “Sure. Not very good ones, but if the group played them loud enough, they didn’t sound too bad.”

  “Wow! That’s incredible! I thought you were just a gardener!”

  David chuckled. “Well, I have just a few hidden talents.”

  Benji looked down again at the ukulele. “How old were you when you started playing this?”

  “Oh, about eight.”

  “Eight! But I’m eleven,” he said excitedly.

  “Well, then, it’s time you started to learn how to play, isn’t it?”

  “You mean you’d teach me?”

  “If you want.”

  “Yay! And would you teach me how to write songs and things? I mean, I can write poetry. Would that be a help?”

  “Well, you’ve got it made then. If you can do that, you can write songs.”

  Benji forgot to say “Yay!” this time, instead only letting out a high-pitched sigh that seemed to signify utter contentment. He looked up at David, a pleading look on his face. “Could you maybe start to teach me now?”

  David shook his head and looked out the window. “No, not now. I think the evening’s too good to sit inside teaching you how to play the ukulele.”

  Benji’s face lengthened with disappointment.

  “So I thought that we might go and play some tennis.”

  Benji looked up at him, his mouth open. “What?”

  “I want to play some tennis. Is something wrong with that?”

  “You can play tennis too?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “All right!” Benji paused for a moment, his look of excitement suddenly dropping from his face, and he began fiddling with the pegs on the ukulele.

  “What’s the matter?” David asked. “Don’t you want to have a game?”

  “Yeah!” Benji replied. “It’s only that…”

  “Only what?”

  “Only that I can’t run very fast, ’cos I’m kinda … you know.… fat.” He started turning the pegs of the ukulele round and round.

  David slanted his head to one side and made a show of studying his physique. “I don’t think you’re fat. I would say you’re more, well, powerfully built.”

  Benji looked up at him, an expression of sheer hopefulness on his face. “Do you really mean that?”

  “Of course I mean that. I tell you what, in four years’ time, I wouldn’t like to meet you down a dark alley.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you’d probably beat me up.”

  Benji’s mouth broke into a wide grin. “No, I wouldn’t! I’d beat up an enemy, but not a friend!” He laid the ukulele down carefully on his bed, then turned and raced towards the door. “Come on, let’s go play some tennis.”

  “Benji,” David said, staying where he was, his eyes fixed on the ukulele. Benji turned to see David beckoning him back with his finger.

  “Yes?” he said quietly, looking at the instrument and trying to work out what he had done wrong with it.

  “I watched you put that ukulele out of tune.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he said humbly, going over to the bed and picking it up.

  “No, it’s all right. Only I want you to get it in tune for me by tomorrow, okay?”

  Benji’s face once more broke into a wide grin. “Okay!!” He put the ukulele down and ran back to the door. “Now can we go play some tennis?”

  “Just one more thing.”

  Benji turned back again, this time letting out a groan of impatience. David smiled at him.

  “Look, as you no doubt heard, Germaine is not going to be taking you to school any more, and—well—Jasmine and I were wondering if you would mind if I started to take you.”

  “What? In the Volkswagen?” Benji gasped.

  “Well, if you don’t mind.”

  “Wow! That’s so cool! Can we have the top down?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure we can. Why do you want the roof down?”

  “’Cos it’s so cool, and…”

  “And what?”

  “Well, it’s just that I was playing with Dodie yesterday and I bent down to get the ball, and she licked my face, and her breath is real lousy. That’s why I stopped playing with her.”

  David laughed. “Okay, it’s a deal.” He walked over to Benji and held up his hand and they sealed the arrangement with a slap of palms. “Right, now let’s go and play some tennis.”

  Benji threw open the door and ran off down the landing, and David reached the top of the stairs in time to witness him making it to the hall in four leaps, yelling out Jasmine’s name as he did so. Jasmine came running through from the kitchen.

  “Jasmine! David’s going to teach me tennis, and then he’s going to teach me how to play the uke——the uke——” He looked back up the stairs towards David.

  “The ukulele.”

  “Yup, that’s it. He’s going to show me how to play the … ukulelele. He’s taught me how to tune it already!”

  As he ran off towards the kitchen, David descended the stairs to find Jasmine standing with an incredulous expression on her face. “For heaven’s sakes, what did you do?”

  “Oh, we just had a bit of private men’s talk, and, well, he seems to be pretty cool about me taking him to school, so I think you’re probably quite safe to make that telephone call now.”

  He blew on his finger-nails and waggled his hand to signify his own self-excellence, then, giving her a wink, he headed off after Benji.

  Chapter TWENTY

  Sam Culpepper chucked the briefing document onto the boardroom table and sat back in his high-backed leather chair. He glanced down the table at the pensive looks on the faces of his two main account directors, who, in turn, stared at him in silence.

  “Okay, so it’s not that big, but I really want us to win this contract.” He bent forward and picked up the cigar that was smouldering in the ashtray, and took a deep inhale of smoke. “Why? Because there are rumours that both Bates and Young and Rubicam have also gotten hold of this.” He slapped his hand down on the document. “… And it would be one hell of a feather in our caps if we got it. I’d make damned sure that Media Week found out about it anyway!” He let out a loud laugh which immediately ga
ve way to a crackling cough.

  Russ Hogan was the first to comment. “To be quite honest, Sam, I don’t think we stand a chance. We’ve never handled a liquor account before, let alone one based in the UK. I mean, the amount of research that we’re going to have to put into this is enormous. I really wonder if it’s worth it.”

  Sam slowly nodded. He could have bet a hundred bucks down flat that it would be Russ who’d come out with such a statement. Granted he was a good account director and excelled in smarming up his clients, but more often than not this was counteracted by his ability to sound off on a subject without giving much thought to what he was actually saying—and here was a perfect example.

  Sam pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the window, dragging on his cigar as he stared down at the clogged traffic far below on Fifth Avenue. He turned and looked at Russ.

  “I think you’re wrong, Russ. I think it is worth it.” He returned to the table, flicked ash off into an ashtray, and leaned on the back of his chair, swinging it from side to side. “It took us over twenty years to build up Culpepper Rowan to the size that it’s now, but I think we’ve hit a peak, and for the first time I’m concerned about the underlying strength—or should I say, lack of strength—of the company. Now, I may be wrong, but I think that we may have become just a little too complacent with the work that’s ongoing. Our accounts may be numerous, but the majority are small. We don’t have one big fish to fry.”

  “You’re not trying to tell us that you think Tarvy’s Gin is a big account?” Russ interjected, rankled by Sam’s slanted accusation, and too thick-skinned to realize that it would be more diplomatic to allow his CEO to finish making his point. “I mean, you read out the UK sales figures just then, and I wouldn’t say they’re over-impressive. Okay, I grant you, these are probably indicative of the fact that it is a fairly new product in the UK, but there again, Sam, it’s going to be totally new over here, and we’ll be running up against the likes of Gordon’s and Beefeater.”

  Sam held out his hands in exasperation. “But don’t you see, Russ? Come on! What else did I read out?”

  Russ leaned on the arm of his chair and bit at a finger-nail, not sure what his managing director meant. Sam looked at both his account execs. “Don’t either of you see what I’m getting at?”

  There was a moment’s silence, broken eventually by the sound of Jennifer Newman’s pen hitting her pad as she lobbed it onto the table.

  “What you’re saying—I think, Sam—is that it’s not simply Tarvy’s Gin that is important, more the fact that it is the new house gin for Gladwin Vintners, who also have Glentochry Blend Whisky and Valischka Vodka as house brands. You were saying that both of these command fairly sizeable market share in the UK, even though they are not prestige products. The gin is a relatively new product for them, so they give us the chance to push this one on a low promotional budget, and then, if it takes off, they might consider doing the same with their whisky and vodka products over here, hopefully through the same company. That means whoever wins the Tarvy’s contract could eventually end up with the complete brand range of Gladwin Vintners.”

  Sam clicked his fingers and pointed at Jennifer. “Exactly. And that’s what all the other top agencies in Manhattan would be thinking, and that’s what they would be going for.” Sam smiled at his female executive. “Thanks, Jennifer.”

  Russ chewed noisily on his gum and glanced across at Jennifer, giving her a look of light-hearted disdain at being upstaged. He turned back to Sam.

  “Come on. There’s nothing to back up that theory. It’s pure supposition.”

  “Okay, so it is. But I really think we’re going to have to start taking a few risks and spend a bit more time and resources on R and D, otherwise we could quite easily be brought down by our own complacency. I mean, we need something to put fire in our bellies, and I reckon that this account is as good a way as any of achieving that—and, as I said beforehand, the publicity would be terrific!”

  Russ shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “Okay, so we do it. Who’s going to handle it?”

  Sam pointed his finger down the table. “I want you to do it, Jennifer.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Why not? What’s the timetable?”

  “A month, to be precise.” He watched tentatively her reaction to this, seeing her eyes widen as she began to understand the implications of his remark.

  “Are you saying this proposal has to be completed in a month, Sam?”

  “Yup, ’fraid so. This document has already been out for about three weeks, and I’ve only just got my hands on it.” He opened up to the first page and began reading. “Proposals have to be submitted by Saturday, the fourth of July, at the latest, and Gladwin’s will be announcing the successful agency on the seventh. So I’m afraid no Independence Day break for any of us this year.”

  Jennifer let out a long whistle as Sam looked up from the document at Russ.

  “Okay, so it may be a long shot, but let’s go all out to get this goddamned account!”

  Half an hour later, Jennifer left the boardroom, cradling the papers and her notepad, laden with action points, in the crook of her arm. She walked along the corridor and was about to enter her office when her secretary appeared from the room opposite. “Jennifer, that’s Jasmine for you on line two.”

  “Ah, right, thanks. Oh, Mandy, here,” she said, handing her secretary the notepad, “could you type this up ASAP?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks.”

  She walked into her office, and throwing the document onto the desk, she picked up the receiver and pressed the flashing button on the set. “Jasmine?”

  “Hi, Jennifer.”

  “Nothing’s wrong, is it?”

  “No, not really.”

  “What does that mean?” Looping the telephone cord over her desk lamp, she walked around behind her desk and sat down. “Is there or is there not something wrong?”

  “Well, there’s nothin’ wrong with Benji, which I guess is what you’re meanin’. It’s just that Germaine was real late in pickin’ him up—I mean, all of thirty-five minutes late—and, well, Benji did the right thing and walked home.”

  “Oh, for Chrissakes, Jasmine!”

  “Now don’t start gettin’ on your high horse, Jennifer! He did right. He couldn’t go on waitin’. He didn’t know if she was goin’ to turn up or not!”

  “Okay, so what happened?”

  “Germaine came here just as Benji arrived home and started to tear strips off the poor boy, and er, I kinda got angry with her, I’m afraid, Jennifer, and she headed off, saying she was goin’ to get in touch with you. She obviously hasn’t yet.”

  Jennifer scanned her desk for a message. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve been in a meeting for the past hour, so I wouldn’t know. She probably won’t at any rate. She knows she’s in the wrong.”

  “Yeah, well, she sure as hell was out of line.” Jasmine paused. “The trouble is, Jennifer, she’s not goin’ to do the run any more.”

  “Oh, God,” Jennifer sighed, brushing her hand over head. “What on earth are we going to do now? I am not, repeat, not going to allow him to walk to school, Jasmine.”

  “Yup, that’s what I thought you’d probably say. Okay, in that case I think that I may have come up with an alternative.”

  “What’s that?”

  “David has offered to take him.”

  “David? Who’s David?”

  “The gardener, Jennifer.”

  “Jasmine!” Jennifer leaned forward heavily on the desk. “You cannot be serious! We don’t know him from Adam! I mean, he could be a—a child molester or something! I mean—”

  “He is not a child molester, Jennifer. To be quite honest, I don’t think I’ve ever met someone less like a child molester. He’s a decent guy.”

  “Oh? And how can you tell that after he’s only been there for two days?”

  There was a pause at the other end of the line.

 
“Well,” Jasmine said at last, “because Germaine called Benji stupid and then started in on a racial, and David came across the lawn and cut in and told her to go!”

  “Ah—I see.” Jennifer swore quietly at herself for being so one-track-minded. “I’m sorry, Jasmine. I didn’t realize. What a bitch! How dare she?”

  “It don’t matter. Anyway, I can really vouch for David, Jennifer. I mean, he’s here with Benji right now, out on the court teaching him how to play tennis.”

  “You’re joking!”

  “Nope, I am not! And he’s going to teach him how to play the guitar.”

  “We don’t have a guitar, Jasmine.”

  “Well, that other thing then. The uke … something.”

  “The ukulele?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. There’s one in Benji’s bedroom.”

  Jennifer sat back in her chair. “That’s incredible! And is Benji quite happy with all this going on?”

  “Jennifer, I haven’t seen that boy look so plumb happy for the longest time!”

  The door of her office opened and Jennifer turned in her chair to see Sam and Russ enter. “Hang on just a minute.” She put her hand over the receiver, but Sam waved his hands at her to indicate that she should carry on with the conversation. Jennifer smiled and took her hand away from the receiver.

  “Jasmine? Right, okay, if you think it’s all right. I mean, it sounds all right, so yes, let David take Benji to school.”

  “That’s great! I tell you truthful, Jennifer, I think that David could be the making of your boy.”

  “Well, let’s not go overboard.”

  Jasmine laughed. “Okay, but you wait and see. I’ll go tell them now.”

  “All right, and give Benji a big kiss from me.” She put down the telephone and looked across at Sam and Russ who, by this time, had pulled up chairs opposite her desk.

  “Everything all right at home?” Sam asked, a concerned look on his face.

  “I guess so,” Jennifer replied, nodding. “We’ve got a new gardener who seems to be something of a Superman. He’s teaching Benji how to play tennis right now.”

  “That’s great! Hey, speaking of which, we must get a game sometime! I haven’t played this season yet.”