planning a pluperfect piss-up for tonight. I shall drink mathematically. Seven different drinks at seven different pubs. I shall start at the Coat and Badge, where I may have a further opportunity for being rude to Mr Porteous. I hope you’ll come with me.”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Gerald.
8
“You seem to have made the biggest possible hit with the boss,” said Toby.
Susan said, “Oh?”
“He’s having your paper assessed by his Merchant Bankers. If it stands up, it will mean installing a lot of new machinery here and doubling or trebling the whole output.”
“That’s splendid, isn’t it?”
“Splendid, yes.”
“Then why are you looking like a wet Monday at Clacton?”
“Was I?” said Toby. He tried out a light laugh. It was not a success.
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that I’m losing you.”
“I should have thought that was something for you to decide. You hired me. You can fire me.”
“In theory that’s right. But you know how things are here. I’m managing director. But if I step out of line, I’ll be out on my ear tomorrow.”
Susan said, “That’s nonsense. Blackett couldn’t get rid of you just because you refused to sack your secretary.”
“It isn’t a question of sacking. You’re moving up the ladder. Into the next division. You’re to work for Martin Brandreth, at Sayborn Art Printers.”
“You’ve got this all wrong,” said Susan. “You seem to imagine that we’re back in the Middle Ages, when peasants belonged to the lord of the manor and could be shifted around his estates as the fancy took him. Wake up, Rip van Winkle. This is the twentieth century. I work for exactly who I want to work for.”
“Of course,” said Toby. “You’re a free agent. It’s me who’s the peasant.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“You mean, if I didn’t agree to work for Mr Brandreth, Blackett would take it out of you?”
“Without thinking twice about it. I’d be sorry to go. This business was founded by my great-grandfather and built up by my grandfather and father. I’d hate to see it fall to pieces because of me. Of course, I’m just being selfish.”
“You’re not being selfish at all. You’re being rather nice.”
This was a mistake. Toby came round his desk quickly, grabbed Susan and said, “Will you marry me?”
Disengaging herself without difficulty, Susan said, “No, Toby, I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“We shouldn’t deal well together.”
“You mean you’re too good for me?”
“I don’t mean anything of the sort. It’s a question of genes and hormones and miscibility.”
“I thought it was simpler than that,” said Toby gloomily. “I thought two people just had to love each other.”
“That’s the icing on the cake. Now sit down and be sensible. We’ve got to think this thing out. Do you really mean that if I refused the job he’s offering me he’d take it out of you?”
“Certainly.”
“He must be mad.”
“Not mad. Just touchy. There was a chap called Phil Edmunds in one of his other third-line companies. He pulled Blackett’s leg in public about wearing a Guards’ tie, which he certainly wasn’t entitled to, because as far as I know he was in the ack-ack. He blasted Phil out of his job and took a lot of trouble to see he didn’t get another one.”
“What a filthy thing to do.”
“Mind you, that’s one side of him. If he likes you, and believes in you, he backs you all the way. And he can be very easy to get along with.”
Susan said, “Oh.” It seemed to be one of her favourite remarks. Sometimes it was cold, sometimes noncommittal. On this occasion there seemed to be a hint of interest in it.
“Why don’t you give it a run? Martin’s all right, in his own way. And Sayborn Art Printers is a much bigger show than this.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Susan.
She was still thinking at eleven o’clock that night. If she was not thinking about Toby and
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” said Gerald.
8
“You seem to have made the biggest possible hit with the boss,” said Toby.
Susan said, “Oh?”
“He’s having your paper assessed by his Merchant Bankers. If it stands up, it will mean installing a lot of new machinery here and doubling or trebling the whole output.”
“That’s splendid, isn’t it?”
“Splendid, yes.”
“Then why are you looking like a wet Monday at Clacton?”
“Was I?” said Toby. He tried out a light laugh. It was not a success.
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch is that I’m losing you.”
“I should have thought that was something for you to decide. You hired me. You can fire me.”
“In theory that’s right. But you know how things are here. I’m managing director. But if I step out of line, I’ll be out on my ear tomorrow.”
Susan said, “That’s nonsense. Blackett couldn’t get rid of you just because you refused to sack your secretary.”
“It isn’t a question of sacking. You’re moving up the ladder. Into the next division. You’re to work for Martin Brandreth, at Sayborn Art Printers.”
“You’ve got this all wrong,” said Susan. “You seem to imagine that we’re back in the Middle Ages, when peasants belonged to the lord of the manor and could be shifted around his estates as the fancy took him. Wake up, Rip van Winkle. This is the twentieth century. I work for exactly who I want to work for.”
“Of course,” said Toby. “You’re a free agent. It’s me who’s the peasant.”
“Are you serious?”
“Absolutely.”
“You mean, if I didn’t agree to work for Mr Brandreth, Blackett would take it out of you?”
“Without thinking twice about it. I’d be sorry to go. This business was founded by my great-grandfather and built up by my grandfather and father. I’d hate to see it fall to pieces because of me. Of course, I’m just being selfish.”
“You’re not being selfish at all. You’re being rather nice.”
This was a mistake. Toby came round his desk quickly, grabbed Susan and said, “Will you marry me?”
Disengaging herself without difficulty, Susan said, “No, Toby, I won’t.”
“Why not?”
“We shouldn’t deal well together.”
“You mean you’re too good for me?”
“I don’t mean anything of the sort. It’s a question of genes and hormones and miscibility.”
“I thought it was simpler than that,” said Toby gloomily. “I thought two people just had to love each other.”
“That’s the icing on the cake. Now sit down and be sensible. We’ve got to think this thing out. Do you really mean that if I refused the job he’s offering me he’d take it out of you?”
“Certainly.”
“He must be mad.”
“Not mad. Just touchy. There was a chap called Phil Edmunds in one of his other third-line companies. He pulled Blackett’s leg in public about wearing a Guards’ tie, which he certainly wasn’t entitled to, because as far as I know he was in the ack-ack. He blasted Phil out of his job and took a lot of trouble to see he didn’t get another one.”
“What a filthy thing to do.”
“Mind you, that’s one side of him. If he likes you, and believes in you, he backs you all the way. And he can be very easy to get along with.”
Susan said, “Oh.” It seemed to be one of her favourite remarks. Sometimes it was cold, sometimes noncommittal. On this occasion there seemed to be a hint of interest in it.
“Why don’t you give it a run? Martin’s all right, in his own way. And Sayborn Art Printers is a much bigger show than this.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Susan.
She was still thinking at eleven o’clock that night. If she was not thinking about Toby and
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