be straight with you. Yes, I
do
actually have a very particular reason for asking, since you ask. Perhaps I am being a little premature, but there is a very strong possibility that I will soon be in a position to bring considerable influence to bear upon developments here.’
He had paused while Sawyer had merely raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
Derek, feeling forced to continue, had leaned forward. ‘Look, it’s probably better to be straightforward from the start. Better in the end. You see, it might interest you to know that I have in fact been shortlisted for the job of Director of Education and Cultural Services.’
Sawyer’s face had not changed in the short pause before he replied, ‘Oh, really? Well, as a matter of fact, so have I.’
Alone in the half dark of Cecily’s sitting room Derek sucked a mouthful of red wine through his teeth, moaning, and forced himself to relive his humiliation to its end. At that point Sawyer, still talking, had made a half turn and begun to lead him by the elbow back along the corridor towards the entrance.
‘Yes, most interesting. What fun. Ah, the machinations.’
Back in the vestibule he had turned to Derek and raised his voice in a pitying drawl. ‘You see, Mr...er...my dear chap, there’s always a makeweight candidate or two for these education jobs. You know, some bright deputy head from somewhere ghastly, the inner city or the Midlands or somewhere. Unappointable, of course.
Wheeled in to keep the councillors happy – education committee’s always chocka with self-made bores.
Wide field, national advertising, equal opportunities, can’t be seen to plump for the Oxbridge fella straight off. But in the end’ – Derek had noticed at this point that the woman in the kiosk had been joined by two others and that all three heads were staring gravely through the window – ‘in the end they’ll get someone who can speak the language, get on with the right people. Hearts and minds, d’you see? In a place like Bath? A
so
cial role. Calls for a certain...background. Got to be someone on the up. Fast track, do you follow? No job for a rough diamond. Or someone ten years off retirement. Wouldn’t get your hopes up, old man.’
Then, as he had moved towards the wide front door and pulled it open, Matthew Sawyer had brayed with a hideous sound that could have been a laugh or a seizure. To Derek’s disappointment, it had been a laugh.
‘And the museum
is
closed. Cruel old world – dear me, yes. Well, cheerio!’
Derek drank the last of the plonk and burned with inarticulate fury towards the man and all that he stood for, socially, politically, professionally and, most of all – oh, very much most of all – personally. Hatred was making his palms sting. It rose up his arms and across his shoulders, warmed his huge torso, made his buttocks prickle and coursed down his big legs. All through his body his blood was beating like a ticking bomb. To lose this job, this one job, his only chance, to lose it at all, but to lose it to that – to
that
– But before he could decide what, he almost drowned in a wave of heartburn.
Knowing that such rage was bad for him, he turned his mind to his erstwhile comforter, Cecily, and found no comfort. If anything, the recollection of what had then happened made him angrier still: Cecily following him out onto the pavement and pretending that she was more interested in that dieting rubbish than in their evening. She had insisted on staying, which would mean him coming all the way out again in a couple of hours to fetch her, and them eating so late that he would probably be too full for their usual, unless he could persuade her to get on top. He stopped short of admitting to himself that that was mainly what he was here for. She was spoiling their evening and was behaving as if
he
were. His anger subsided into an impotent fatigue. He was tired of the whole thing. It had been a knackering week, all round.
He yawned, but he could not
do
actually have a very particular reason for asking, since you ask. Perhaps I am being a little premature, but there is a very strong possibility that I will soon be in a position to bring considerable influence to bear upon developments here.’
He had paused while Sawyer had merely raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh?’
Derek, feeling forced to continue, had leaned forward. ‘Look, it’s probably better to be straightforward from the start. Better in the end. You see, it might interest you to know that I have in fact been shortlisted for the job of Director of Education and Cultural Services.’
Sawyer’s face had not changed in the short pause before he replied, ‘Oh, really? Well, as a matter of fact, so have I.’
Alone in the half dark of Cecily’s sitting room Derek sucked a mouthful of red wine through his teeth, moaning, and forced himself to relive his humiliation to its end. At that point Sawyer, still talking, had made a half turn and begun to lead him by the elbow back along the corridor towards the entrance.
‘Yes, most interesting. What fun. Ah, the machinations.’
Back in the vestibule he had turned to Derek and raised his voice in a pitying drawl. ‘You see, Mr...er...my dear chap, there’s always a makeweight candidate or two for these education jobs. You know, some bright deputy head from somewhere ghastly, the inner city or the Midlands or somewhere. Unappointable, of course.
Wheeled in to keep the councillors happy – education committee’s always chocka with self-made bores.
Wide field, national advertising, equal opportunities, can’t be seen to plump for the Oxbridge fella straight off. But in the end’ – Derek had noticed at this point that the woman in the kiosk had been joined by two others and that all three heads were staring gravely through the window – ‘in the end they’ll get someone who can speak the language, get on with the right people. Hearts and minds, d’you see? In a place like Bath? A
so
cial role. Calls for a certain...background. Got to be someone on the up. Fast track, do you follow? No job for a rough diamond. Or someone ten years off retirement. Wouldn’t get your hopes up, old man.’
Then, as he had moved towards the wide front door and pulled it open, Matthew Sawyer had brayed with a hideous sound that could have been a laugh or a seizure. To Derek’s disappointment, it had been a laugh.
‘And the museum
is
closed. Cruel old world – dear me, yes. Well, cheerio!’
Derek drank the last of the plonk and burned with inarticulate fury towards the man and all that he stood for, socially, politically, professionally and, most of all – oh, very much most of all – personally. Hatred was making his palms sting. It rose up his arms and across his shoulders, warmed his huge torso, made his buttocks prickle and coursed down his big legs. All through his body his blood was beating like a ticking bomb. To lose this job, this one job, his only chance, to lose it at all, but to lose it to that – to
that
– But before he could decide what, he almost drowned in a wave of heartburn.
Knowing that such rage was bad for him, he turned his mind to his erstwhile comforter, Cecily, and found no comfort. If anything, the recollection of what had then happened made him angrier still: Cecily following him out onto the pavement and pretending that she was more interested in that dieting rubbish than in their evening. She had insisted on staying, which would mean him coming all the way out again in a couple of hours to fetch her, and them eating so late that he would probably be too full for their usual, unless he could persuade her to get on top. He stopped short of admitting to himself that that was mainly what he was here for. She was spoiling their evening and was behaving as if
he
were. His anger subsided into an impotent fatigue. He was tired of the whole thing. It had been a knackering week, all round.
He yawned, but he could not
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