Goodmans Hotel - 3. Chapter 3

The next morning I woke up alone in Tom’s bed. A faint smell of fresh paint was discernible, so faint that it had not been noticeable among the flood of powerful sensations of the previous night. When I drew back the curtains bright daylight illuminated an assortment of second-hand furniture. In the kitchen a note written on an old envelope told me he had gone off to work. He asked me to help myself to breakfast, to use anything of his I needed in the bathroom, and to call him on his mobile ’phone.

The door bell rang when I was half way through a bowl of breakfast cereal. Andrew stood outside, smiling cheerfully. ‘Hello, bet you’re surprised to see me,’ he said, evidently himself not at all surprised at seeing me.

‘Tom isn’t here.’

‘I know, he’s off doing some job or other. Fitting a kitchen or bathroom for one of the local spinsters.’

‘You don’t know which? He works for you, doesn’t he?’

‘Oh, that’s an arrangement we came to, saves him having to keep a set of accounts. He’ll do jobs for me when the need arises. He prefers building maintenance: plumbing, electrics, decorating, that kind of thing. I don’t have enough call for a handyman to keep him going full time, but he’ll help me out at Ferns and Foliage whenever I’m stuck, otherwise he finds his own work. He probably thinks gardening isn’t manly enough for him. That’s one of the reasons giving him an employment contract is difficult. You must have had a poor impression of me as businessman last night, but my arrangement with Tom is a rather unusual one. He finds work for himself, his earnings are paid in with the Ferns and Foliage takings, tax and National Insurance are deducted, and he gets back what’s left. Anyway, you’re the one I’ve come to see.’

‘Me? I’m not shaved or anything... You’ve caught me eating... You knew I’d be here?’

‘Tom uses one of my vans. He said he’d left you asleep when he came to collect it. You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here. There’s a house nearby I was interested in buying, but it proved too expensive... a promising investment for someone with the capital. I was going to have another look at it this morning, hoping for last minute inspiration before giving up on the idea. You probably have other things to do, but if you happen to have an hour or so to spare...’

The prudent thing would have been to refuse, leave Tom a note with my telephone number, and allow a day or two for my mind to settle after the elation of the previous night. We could talk again by ’phone when my customary routines at home and at Lindler & Haliburton had brought me back to the real world, and arrange to meet again or decide calmly and sensibly that one night’s love had been enough. However the euphoria had not worn off, and the prospect of learning a little more about Tom was tempting. I vacillated. ‘I ought to be on my way. You invest in property as well as running Ferns and Foliage?’

‘I keep my eye on the local property market, and this particular Victorian house has possibilities. Of course you’ve other things planned, probably the last thing you want is to go looking at houses. I shouldn’t have bothered you. Let me get someone from the shop to give you a lift to the underground station, or all the way back to Chiswick if you like.’

Since I had nothing arranged, why not pass a couple of hours with him? He accepted the offer of a cup of Tom’s coffee while I washed and got ready to leave, and followed me around the flat talking about how he had started with one small shop, slowly built up Ferns and Foliage to its present size, and in ones and twos had bought flats in the area to let out until he had more than a dozen. Having interrogated me so thoroughly the previous night perhaps he thought it was his turn to tell me his life story, but my mind kept wandering back to Tom and I did not take in a lot of what he said.

One of Andrew’s staff drove us to the estate agent’s office to collect the keys, then on to the house, although the whole journey was less than half a mile and we could easily have walked. It was one of a pair of large semi-detached Victorian villas overlooking a junction of five roads. The one on the right had a beautifully kept garden and gleaming fresh paintwork, while the one for sale was dilapidated. The exterior paintwork had largely flaked away, a maze of cracks had spread over the bare rendering beneath, and the garden was overgrown and strewn with litter. In a patch of nettles was the wreckage of an old car.

We walked past the iron posts where the front gate once hung. ‘It saddens me to see one of these places let go like this. These grand old houses in this Victorian London suburb are part of local history. Any little patch of a garden in such a built-up area ought to be regarded as precious, and look at the state of it.’

The front garden may have looked like a small rubbish tip, but years ago the house itself clearly must have been impressive. At the end of the path steps rose between a pair of classical columns into the porch. On either side of the door were slender windows with coloured glass panels, and the words ‘Goodmans Villa’ were painted in black letters on the grimy fanlight. The hall floor was of old fashioned black and white tiles set in a diamond pattern, and the staircase had substantial banisters of cast iron. The door frames to the principal ground floor rooms were carved with an unusually delicate, sinuous, floral pattern. Partitions installed when the house was converted into flats spoiled what must originally have been the imposing overall effect of the entrance.

Andrew led me into a pitch dark room on the ground floor and flicked the light switch without result. ‘Damn! There is electricity, the two attic rooms are still occupied.’ He found his way to the window and struggled with the shutter fastenings until one of them creaked open, the sound echoing around the room. Bright daylight revealed faded flock wallpaper and a deep bay window. He stepped into the middle and looked around approvingly. ‘Imagine sitting down to have your dinner in a room like this!’ He shook his head at damage caused to the ornate plaster mouldings of the ceiling where a couple of central heating pipes had been hammered through, and could not resist looking inside a big fitted cupboard in one corner, which was of course empty.

‘You really would have liked to buy this place, wouldn’t you?’

‘I am looking for something, another little business expansion. Actually the size and layout of the rooms here is awkward for splitting the house up into flats, as you can see from the way the existing partitions have created inconvenient cramped little corners. One of the ideas I had was to strip them out and refurbish the building as a hotel. Gay hotels in London seem to do well generally speaking. There’s no reason why one in this area shouldn’t succeed.’

‘Do you have experience of hotels?’

‘Only from staying in them. But we’re not talking about a large scale place like the Savoy or the Dorchester, perhaps I should have said guest house or bed and breakfast rather than hotel. There are plenty of places to eat locally, you wouldn’t need to provide a restaurant. Anyway, I wasn’t thinking of managing it myself, I’d have to have someone to run it for me. That was one of the reasons for involving myself in the Hotel and Catering Exhibition, you remember I was going to send you some tickets? If someone with a bit of money to put in wanted to share the investment with me the project could still go ahead. As things stand a developer has been buying up houses in the area, restoring the facades and pulling down what lies behind to build modern flats. That’s probably what will happen here.’

If he was hoping to interest me in putting up money for the project he was about to be disappointed. ‘You might find a backer. I don’t think anyone from my firm would be likely to help finance a gay hotel, though more than likely someone will have had experience of auditing hotel accounts; I could ask around, they wouldn’t have to know it was for a gay hotel.’

‘Oh, the accounts would be fairly straightforward. Anyway, for me being open with people is one of the essentials of doing business. If someone doesn’t like gays, I’d prefer to look elsewhere for advice or custom.’

‘Is everyone who works for you gay?’

‘Yes. There’s nothing like being with your own kind, is there? How is it in your high pressure City job? Everyone gay-friendly and open minded?’

‘The subject is never mentioned. Not by me, not by anyone. They see a thirty-ish single man, no girlfriend... They’re a sharp bunch, they’ll have drawn their own conclusions.’

‘You must know some of them reasonably well... not to confide in anyone at all... But everyone compartmentalises their lives to an extent: work, home, love life, social activities... And a good thing that we do, problems in one compartment need not prevent us enjoying ourselves in the others.’

However mildly put, this was clearly a rebuke for not having come out at work. Despite all his questions in the Beckford Arms he knew little of my circumstances and the criticism irritated me. ‘Why should I feel obliged to tell people I work with about my sex life? My being gay doesn’t affect them. They should judge me on the work I do.’

‘Can’t argue with you there, but gay men working in a “straight” environment are like sun-loving plants struggling to survive in the deep shade of trees, we can never develop properly and reach our true potential. Wouldn’t you be happier with a firm where you could be more... straightforward with your colleagues?’

‘Without a reliable crystal ball that sort of question is unanswerable. How can anyone know for certain they will be happier in a different job? Will you get on with your new boss? Will the work be interesting? Will you have good career prospects? They’re the things that count, and you can only really find the answers after you’ve moved. Lindler & Haliburton is a very traditional stuffy kind of firm. My moving on won’t make them any more gay friendly, but if I’m a success there, in time, who knows?’

‘You’re right, all of those things are important. Let’s move on.’

From the ground floor we groped our way down to the musty basement, where the smell suggested a severe damp problem. We had already seen the main rooms of the house, and not wanting to linger there I said there was more to smell than there was to see and returned to the stairs.

He followed me up, but in the hall hurried past me and continued up towards the first floor, preventing me from saying that I had had enough of the place and wanted to go. By the time we reached the landing he was badly out of breath and very red in the face. He fumbled with the keys until he found the one to the door of the first floor flat, where he opened a casement window out onto a balcony at the side of the house. We sat on the balustrade looking out at the street, enjoying the fresh air and allowing him time to recover.

‘There would be plenty of work for Tom here.’

‘Too much, I’m afraid. He’s capable, but he works on his own. Never had much chance to develop management skills, and he lacks confidence. He’s not doing badly for himself now, with a bit of luck perhaps he’ll do even better.’

‘Luck, and your help?’

‘To an extent. He’s been a big help to me, always giving my work priority. Sometimes I worry that he may be... too easily led.’

‘Are you saying that I’m leading him on?’

‘That’s not what I meant. Some well educated gay men develop a taste for...’

‘Rough trade?’

‘Ghastly phrase. For a bit of a dalliance with someone down to earth.’

‘And these well educated men, do they know from the very start that they’re leading someone on? And how this “bit of a dalliance” will end? All that is immediately obvious to them is it, being well educated?’

‘Aah... you’ve caught me again! No, as you already said, without a crystal ball... Look, however illogical the question may be, let me ask you this, please don’t be offended. Should things between you two develop, and a time comes when you have to drop him, do it as considerately as you can.’

‘All we’ve done is to spend one night together. Anyway, Tom and I are about the same age. Why should it be me who is taking advantage of him? Was that why you went to all the trouble of bringing me here, so you could say that to me?’

‘No, of course not. Tom was... so full of happiness when he came into the shop this morning. I was tempted by the idea of nipping up the stairs to the flat to see you, to say good morning, it was an impulse. Asking you to come and look at this house gave me an excuse. There was no more in my mind than that. Perhaps I am a little over protective towards him. You feel I’m interfering, wasting your time.’

‘No, no... the house is well worth seeing, it has atmosphere, character. You’re right, someone ought to rescue it. Thanks for bringing me, but we’ve seen it now.’

‘Good. I appreciate your company.’ For a minute or so we surveyed the street, with its Victorian terraces and London plane trees, then made our way indoors and back to the stairs, locking up behind us. ‘Look, if you’re free, why don’t you and Tom come to have dinner with me on Sunday?’

‘We don’t know what his plans are.’

‘Oh he’ll come... Are you free?... Good.’ He pulled a ’phone from his pocket, spoke to Tom, and without giving me time to reflect made the arrangements. Having more or less accused me of taking advantage of Tom, how odd that he should suddenly decide to bring us together the next day. We went downstairs, and refusing a lift to the underground station I left him in the porch waiting for one of his vans to collect him.

Since Andrew had prevented me from allowing normality to return over a few days before speaking to Tom again, abandoning all caution I rang him shortly after arriving home and asked him to meet me in Chiswick that evening. From that weekend the part of my life not on hire to Lindler & Haliburton underwent a complete change. Tom and Andrew took joint first place in my social life, and earlier friends, haunts and habits became marginal. As before the two ‘compartments’ of my world, that of Lindler & Haliburton and my life outside work, remained largely separate. I found them reasonably manageable like that.

At work on Monday my new happiness survived the morning’s onslaught of telephone enquiries and e-mail messages, and in the afternoon Peter’s antagonism at long last ended. His secretary rang to say that he wanted to see me immediately in his office. He had successfully enticed a major high street retailer away from a rival accountancy firm, and asked me to assess urgently what work would be needed on our computer network to enable us to take on their accounts. The volume of overseas transactions made special software for handling currency conversions and foreign tax regimes essential.

Of the five people in the information technology unit who might have been called on to share the burden, one was on holiday, another on a training course and a third off sick. For the rest of the week half of my time was spent in Peter’s office working through sheaves of documents with long tables of figures sent over by the new client. Fortunately Peter’s experience with a US oil company before joining Lindler & Haliburton made him very knowledgeable about overseas trading. We drew up a list of issues for discussion with the new client’s representatives, worked through lunch hours and stayed on late, determined to be well prepared at a crucial meeting with senior men who had the final say over the new arrangements.

Our conversation was entirely about business until on Friday evening he asked me to go with him for a drink to a local pub. This invitation was not to be refused, a sure sign of my return to favour. To my relief he did not mention what had happened during the trip to France, but talked mostly about Caroline, saying how the company she worked for was having problems recruiting and retaining information technology staff and being forced to rely more and more on self-employed consultants from agencies. Lindler & Haliburton had so far largely avoided trouble by increasing pay in line with rates elsewhere, but he wanted to know if I thought the trend was going to prove irresistible. I did not give him any hint that freelance work might be a future possibility for me and gave a vague response.

On Monday the tickets from Andrew to the exhibition at Olympia arrived. I rang to thank him and promised to mention them to Peter, but warned that he was particularly busy because of the new client. Persistent as always Andrew said that if Peter could find time to go he would ensure there was enough to interest him to make the visit worthwhile.

Andrew’s dedication to his businesses increasingly aroused my admiration. He seemed to work every day, often late into the evening, taking off only Sunday afternoons. As he had claimed, everyone he employed was gay. Whenever ‘straights’ were mentioned in conversation he would slip in a derogatory remark about them, saying that you never really knew where you were with heterosexuals, or that the most primitive animals had a very strong urge to breed. These jibes may have been a sort of tit for tat for all the horrible things that ‘straights’ say about gays, but if it had been possible for him to live with no contact with ‘straights’ whatsoever he would probably have done so.

Arriving at work on the following Thursday morning after spending the night with Tom, I was on my way into the lift when Peter strode jauntily towards me. ‘You look like you’ve been up late.’

‘Met some friends last night,’ I said defensively.

‘Thanks for all your work with the new client. I’m seeing them next week... be nice if we could have something to show, offer them some sort of demonstration or presentation. Any chance?’

‘We could develop some screens to show how our system will look when they connect up, ask them to try a few options to see what screen layouts for sending data will suit them. Be another month or two before we can show them real data being processed by the system.’

‘Some demonstration screens would be fine. Any idea how long?’

‘Give me a few days... There was something else, probably not worth mentioning, you’ve got more important things on your mind. Some complimentary tickets have turned up for the Hotel and Catering Exhibition at Olympia. Expect you probably get dozens of that sort of thing.’

‘Not as many as you get to computer exhibitions, they seem to be on every other week. Hotel and Catering at Olympia, you said?’

‘Yes.’

‘Wouldn’t take long to get there, could do with a bit of relief from the office grind. Give my secretary a ring. If I’ve a couple of hours free, why not? How did you come by the tickets?’

The lift arrived at our floor and we stepped out. ‘Ferns and Foliage, the company that looks after our plants sent them.’

To my complete surprise he said, ‘Ah, you got on all right with the gay gardeners then?’ He looked at me with a friendly quizzical smile. I was terrified. My mouth felt dry, as though it was lined with fur, and my heart was thumping.

‘Sorry?’

‘If you don’t know you’re the only one who doesn’t. They don’t exactly make a secret of it.’

That he could be putting on a pretence of tolerance so as to trap me seemed implausible. Realising that there would never be a better opportunity to tell him the truth I took a large breath and said, ‘Yes, I had noticed. I’m gay myself actually.’

Quietly and unemotionally, as though I had told him whether I preferred tea or coffee, he said, ‘Caroline said she thought you might be. You know she’s in personnel, doesn’t miss much. Can be too quick sometimes... you know. Speaking for myself, perfectly happy to accept we all have our different ways... but some of the senior men in a long established City firm like this... you have to be careful what you say to them whatever the topic. Speak to my secretary about that exhibition.’

Welcome though his apparent tolerance was, he had not made personal relationships with anyone else at Lindler & Haliburton easier. The unplanned ‘coming out’ to him was enough of a risk to my hard-won career progress for the time being, and other pressures demanded priority. A long series of queries, notes and memos to do with the new client needed my attention. For a month after Peter had won the business the pace of work remained hectic. A document drawn up to specify exactly how the link between our system and theirs was to operate contained thirty pages of detail about data formats, technical protocols, timetables for completing activities, safeguards against unauthorised access and other security measures. Some of these were readily agreed between the two companies, but others were revised again and again until an acceptable compromise between our differing working practices was found.

Meanwhile the demands of other day-to-day work continued as before. Some tasks could be delegated to my staff, but with limited authority to pay for extra hours not very many. My immediate boss, the head of the information technology unit, refused additional overtime for my team, probably resentful because Peter had not consulted him before asking me to take on the extra work. To complain to Peter and ask him to overrule the decision against overtime would risk worsening the antagonism, and to cope with the workload I put in far more than my contractual hours. Peter commented several times in the weeks that followed that I looked tired, but neither he nor Andrew ever moaned about having too much to do, and nor would I.

Leaving work unfinished to go to the exhibition seemed irresponsible, but as we boarded the taxi taking us to Olympia Peter reassured me by saying, ‘Been quite looking forward to this. About time we let up after all the hours we’ve put in lately.’

On arrival I suggested we go straight to the furniture supplier’s stand, where we found Andrew in conversation with a woman sitting behind what looked like a hotel reception desk. I introduced Peter, and, as though we really were at a hotel reception, Andrew asked her, ‘Is there a room available for us?’

Handing him a small plastic card, the ‘key’ to the room, she said, ‘I hope you’ll enjoy your stay.’ He inserted it into the lock of a panelled door at the back of the stand and led us into what looked like a large twin-bedded hotel room.

Peter was impressed. ‘Marvellous! Looks really convincing. You could believe you had stepped out of the exhibition straight into a hotel!’ In one ‘wall’ was an imitation window with a picture of a country landscape cleverly lit from behind to look realistic. Opposite this, behind mirrored doors, were the fitted wardrobe and the en suite facilities. The furnishings included a television, and picking up a remote control unit Andrew turned it on and muted the sound. He pressed another button to bring up a diagram of the room. As he moved an arrow around the screen little menus appeared, and selecting options from these he made the curtains at the imitation window close automatically, dimmed the lights, and boosted the air conditioning. Next he replaced the room diagram with a closed circuit TV picture of the woman at the desk in front of the stand, and holding the remote control nearer his mouth spoke a few words to her.

He flipped open the back of the unit to reveal a miniature q-w-e-r-t-y keyboard. ‘This little thing doubles as the room’s telephone, and can be used to access the internet. Here,’ he said, handing it to Peter, ‘would you like to give it a try? I have to pop out for a minute.’

We played with the gadget and sent an e-mail message to Peter’s secretary. About ten minutes later Andrew returned with another man he introduced as the furniture supplier’s director of finance. He touched my arm and led me out of the room, leaving Peter and the new man together. ‘Let me show you our free gifts, assuming we have some left.’

The receptionist opened a drawer and gave Andrew a white cardboard box about three inches square. He took out a clock with a novel feature: every half minute the background colour of the face changed from light grey to dark grey, then back to light again. ‘All done with Polaroid, I’m told.’

‘It’s unusual. Are you offering me one?’

‘Yes, I was going to offer one to you and one to your boss. They’re only trinkets. Perhaps he’d be offended.’

‘ No, why should he be? The worst he can say is “no thanks”.’

When Peter came out to join us he seemed delighted with the gift. We went on to roam the aisles of the exhibition looking at the stands, mingling with the hundreds of other visitors, accepting the business cards, advertising leaflets, trade brochures, sweets, trinkets and carrier bags that were being handed out as we went along. In return Peter occasionally gave one of his business cards saying: ‘Lindler & Haliburton, accountants. I’m Peter Haliburton, by the way. Very pleased to have met you.’

At first the eye-catching displays of the more impressive stands and the bustle of the huge hall were stimulating, but not wanting to buy any of the spotlessly clean restaurant kitchen equipment, or to place a bulk order for wine, or to have a swimming pool installed, after an hour or so we had had enough. Having walked at least once down every aisle and looked at least cursorily at every stand he said, ‘All these free samples and advertising gimmicks, does anyone ever actually use any of them? Is there anything you particularly want to see again?’

‘No. Nothing in particular. Was it worth coming?’

‘Yes, very much so. Enjoyed it. Let’s go up to that café on the balcony for a drink.’ He bought me fruit juice and a Danish pastry, and we sat where we could look out over the exhibition floor. ‘You should have said something.’

Not knowing what he was referring to, I said, ‘What, about the clocks... ?’

‘I’m not talking about clocks. I mean about that furniture company looking to change its accountants.’

Andrew had given me no hint about this. ‘Your chat with the finance director was interesting then?’

‘Yes. Seems they’ve had a lot of changes in personnel at their current firm. Worst thing you can do to a client, makes them think there’s no continuity, nobody who is close to their business. Every time they ring up they feel they have to start from scratch. They’re not a major league company, but not a bad little contract, if we get it. Might be worth you keeping in touch with your friend Andrew. Could be useful for us to have some sort of presence here ourselves next year; there may be more clients to be won.’

Below us new arrivals were entering the exhibition hall, collecting their identification badges and floor plans, and setting off along the already crowded aisles. Great cast iron arches above us supported the glass roof, similar to the roofs of the big Victorian railway stations. Not wanting to tell him that a boyfriend was the real reason I would be keeping in touch with Andrew I smiled and nodded.

‘Seeing all the people to-ing and fro-ing down there reminds me of when I was in the States. The corporation I worked for had a staff restaurant overlooking a shopping mall.’

‘Were you over there for long?’

‘When I left university the last thing I wanted to do was to join my father in the firm. I changed jobs a couple of times, then joined a US oil company based in Houston. I put in eight or nine years, living most of the time in the States. If you think I throw my weight around at work you should have seen what went on over there. My boss once fired someone during a meeting in front of about fifteen people, all over an error in a set of figures. Lindler & Haliburton, whatever its faults, doesn’t do that kind of thing.’

‘I suppose the US has a more aggressive culture?’

‘In some ways perhaps, yes, but I didn’t mind that. They knew how to get things done, they had drive.’

‘Anyway you came back.’

‘In a lot of ways life over there suited me. The corporation fixed me up with a very good apartment. I travelled a lot, the States, Central America and the Middle East. Worked on some substantial deals. My ambition was to reach director level, but two colleagues with family connections moved up the ladder ahead of me.

I put pressure on my boss who made some excuse about maybe US citizens having a bit of an advantage. I spoke to Personnel, but they either knew nothing or were not going to give me any hint of what the pecking order was. The US sells itself as the land of freedom and opportunity. They don’t tell you that being a second cousin to the founding family or an in-law of one of the major shareholders is the key to getting on. Anyway my prospects became less good. The corporation was hit by economic recession, oil prices fell, and they had to cut back. By this time my father had retired, but he still had influence in the family firm, so, finally he got his way, I did what he had always wanted me to.’ He held up his cup and swigged the last of his coffee. ‘So here we are.’

Rather cheekily I said, ‘Your father retired? Partners do go eventually, then.’

‘Hmph. You’re right though, some of the old codgers hang on long after they’ve ceased to be any use to the firm. The place is in need of a damn good shake-up. Not my father though, he had more strength of character. Anyway, enough of my history. How about you? Happy in your work at the moment?’

‘No complaints.’

‘Not quite the same as being happy, is it? Something may be coming up, if you felt like a change. There’s a little team I’ve set up. Might be a role for someone with an information technology background. You’d have to leave your current unit and involve yourself in some general management and accountancy issues for – I don’t know – six months, maybe longer. Interested?’

‘Like to hear more, yes.’

‘Nothing’s settled, a preliminary report has gone to a few of the senior partners, most have yet to see it. You’ll keep all this strictly to yourself?’

‘Of course.’

‘Approval to go beyond the feasibility study will take another three or four weeks. Let’s talk about it again then.’