Goodmans Hotel - 4. Chapter 4

Joining Peter’s secret team meant taking risks that could not be quantified. The aim was to bring about a merger with another slightly smaller accountancy firm, and the desirability of this objective was questionable. A few similar marriages between City accounting partnerships had taken place during the past year, but if a union proved to be a mistake the problems were hardly likely to be made public.

The team’s preliminary report recommended a detailed assessment of all the implications of the proposed merger. Peter gave me a copy, warning that if anyone else became aware of the project a severe penalty would follow, not only for me for leaking the report, but for him because he would have shown dangerously poor judgement in trusting me with it.

Every page was headed ‘Protected Confidential Information’. The first chapter compared the bigger City accountancy firms by volume of business and market sector, the next two described the organisation and business of the two firms, and the conclusion speculated on the potential benefits of bringing together a long established City firm with one that was younger and more attuned to growing new technology businesses. Graphs and diagrams showed the more balanced spread of work which would result, how the new firm would rank in size among its rivals, and suggested that it would have greatly improved potential to attract new clients.

The next stage was to examine the organisational changes which would result from the merger, develop detailed plans, and analyse costs. If the project came to nothing after six months, all of the team’s work would end up being archived until it had gathered enough dust to be thrown out. Irrespective of the quality and extent of my efforts, my career would suffer because of my association with a failure.

Peter did not try to deny the risk, but promised to make sure whatever the outcome I would be able return to my old job. My immediate boss was in awe of the partners and quickly agreed to hire a stand-in from an agency so as to keep my place open for me. However a lot can happen in six months; any reorganisation during my absence might leave me with a rag-bag of tasks that nobody else wanted, and stand-ins can sometimes entwine themselves into the workplace in ways that make them very difficult to dislodge.

Weighing against all the potential disadvantages was the prospect, if the merger succeeded, of becoming one of a small number of people with advanced knowledge of all that would be entailed. As everyone struggled to grasp how the changes would affect them, my knowledge and advice would be in high demand. A generous bonus could be expected, and perhaps a pay rise and even another promotion. After going over the arguments for and against in my mind time and again, and discussing the implications of joining the team with Andrew and others, I gambled that the potential benefits of success outweighed the possible consequences of failure.

Until I joined, the team consisted of three accountants. From our firm there was a partner of Peter’s age and a junior who had recently qualified. Representing the smaller firm was a female partner; the news that a woman had been entrusted with such an important role had yet to be broken to the old codgers. Peter was very selective about what he told them, releasing morsels of information bit by bit in bland terms, avoiding anything that might seem new or unusual, so that the merger came to be perceived as a familiar old theme developing at a gradual pace, not as something radical or revolutionary.

To keep us apart from other members of staff we were put in a room on a floor of the building mostly occupied by another company. Our title, ‘Business Strategy Unit’, gave no clue as to our real purpose. Even to meet old colleagues from the IT Unit for lunch was risky; my evasiveness about my new job increased their curiosity. Of the team members only the female partner was friendly towards me, the Lindler & Haliburton men evidently believing themselves to be on too high a plane to have much to do with a technical IT specialist.

At my first team meeting they made it clear they wanted me to keep to IT issues. In a way this suited me, allowing me to organize my own time and to visit the smaller firm’s IT Unit. To maintain secrecy, Peter arranged for me to be introduced there as a consultant brought in to review system security, giving me a plausible reason to ask about all aspects of their systems and procedures.

The atmosphere at the smaller company was much less formal than at Lindler & Haliburton. Everyone used first names, and during breaks people talked about windsurfing and mountain biking rather than playing golf and attending Rotary Club dinners. When the head of the IT Unit tentatively asked if I was married, telling him that I was gay seemed easy and natural. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘you’ll have to let me introduce you to a couple of the accountants here, they deal with quite a few gay run businesses. It’s a growing sector.’

By comparison the two Lindler & Haliburton men seemed even more old-fashioned, often discussing cricket scores and visits to relatives at weekends. On my first Friday with the project, after the morning meeting to discuss the week’s progress, they invited me to go for a lunchtime drink. This was the first time they had shown any interest in me, and not wanting to be unfriendly I accepted. We walked briskly past several pubs we could have entered, eventually heading down a narrow side street to a seedy little place, gloomy inside with a raised platform in one corner.

Paunchy middle aged men, their faces oddly alert and expectant, crowded the open area between the bar and the platform. Neither of my two colleagues had bothered to tell me they habitually went there at lunch time on Fridays for the free strip show. With pints of beer and packets of crisps in our hands we watched a woman in her thirties undress under meagre spotlights to raunchy music. ‘Does it do anything for you?’ the senior of my colleagues asked, probably expecting me to thank him for bringing me to this extravaganza.

‘Not my kind of thing.’

He shrugged his shoulders and turned away. The younger one seemed too absorbed in the performance to notice me. Should I have declared my sexual orientation to them? Certainly not there, among those sweaty straight men enjoying their weekly titillation. My hasty goodbye and exit from the pub before a second performer began her routine told them as much as they needed to know.

Seeing me return alone early, the female on the team partner asked, ‘Not too keen on theatricals then?’

‘Do you know where they took me?’

‘I overheard them talking about it. I know what they go to see. What made you come back?’

‘I’m gay.’

‘Oh, pity,’ she said, giving me a wistful look. ‘Why did you go with them?’

‘They gave me the impression it was a Friday lunchtime drink, you know, male bonding.’

‘“Male bonding,” is that why you thought they left me out?’

‘Sorry. Still trying to conform to their way of seeing things. I should have said team bonding.’

‘Not to worry. I’ve disqualified myself from that sort of thing.’ In the early days of the team she had infuriated the Lindler & Haliburton men by contacting the Institute of Accountants to ask discreetly about its attitude to the recent trend of takeovers and mergers among accountancy partnerships. This was a sensible act, but they resented her having had the initiative to consult the prestigious Institute when neither of them had thought of doing so. One of the old codgers was a member of the Institute’s General Committee, and any dealings with the organisation were considered a great privilege.

In revenge for her having, as they saw it, robbed them of a prize, they had allocated as many tedious tasks to her as they could, including the job of listing all the small contracts the two firms had in place with office equipment and other suppliers. We became allies, sharing information and documents, discussing ideas and backing each other up during team meetings.

She and I had another means, outside the team, of making sure our views were heard. I reported back to Peter privately, and she likewise reported to one of her firm’s most senior partners. We collaborated in suggesting that some significant problems were being underrated, arguing for instance that decision-making would be more cumbersome in a bigger organisation. Some ideas that had been ruled out by the Lindler & Haliburton men on the team we also put to Peter and his counterpart from the other firm who raised them at project meetings. This may have made hostility and suspicion within the team worse, but it helped the project develop in a more thorough and realistic way.

About halfway through our work Lizetta Williams from Personnel came to join us for one day a week to assess staffing implications. We had met briefly a couple of times in the past; she was in her mid-thirties, pleasant and lively, and after her first team meeting came over to me wanting to chat. Later we went to a sandwich bar for lunch where she ordered soup and a roll, saying that she was dieting. I chose a large sandwich of French bread with mixed seafood and salad which, enviously, she said was disgusting.

‘How do you find the team?’ I asked when we sat down at a tiny metal table.

‘All right-ish. How long have you been there?’

‘Nearly three months now.’

‘Poor thing. The two men are a supercilious pair.’

‘Friday lunch times they go to watch a free pub strip show. They took me with them once.’

‘Tell-tale. You only went once? Excitement too much for you?’

‘No, I’m gay. You’re with us to work on the staff savings, I assume. Don’t suppose you’ll be recommending any cuts in the number of accountants, though. The other staff will be the ones who get the chop.’

‘I’m “other staff” too. Don’t worry, I don’t think we’ll be sacking anyone. The losses will be covered by suspending recruitment. People will leave at the usual rate for the usual reasons; a few early retirements may be needed to help see us through. Of course some managers may see this as an opportunity to settle old scores. Anyway you’ve got nothing to worry about, you’re Peter’s man, aren’t you?’

‘I’m not sure I’m his man, exactly.’

‘I know him and his wife socially. She and I used to work together, ages ago. I am right aren’t I? You’re the one who did a disappearing act during their trip to France?’

Surprise at her question made me swallow suddenly. ‘You know about that?’

‘Friends do talk to each other about their holidays. You probably did the right thing, making yourself scarce. You know Caroline was worried about you getting your hooks into Peter?’

‘What?’

‘She guessed you were gay and thought you were trying to get Peter into your clutches.’

‘Oh my god!’

‘Not your type?’

‘Is he anyone’s type?’

‘Caroline liked him enough to marry him.’

Was that the reason Caroline had been so unpleasant to me that first morning at breakfast in the Hotel des Amis? I moved the slice of chocolate cake I had bought so that it was between us in the middle of the little table, watching Lizetta’s eyes drawn away from my face towards it. ‘Would you like some?’

‘I mustn’t.’

‘Oh go on,’ I said, cutting it in half. ‘Is he attractive – to women, I mean?’

‘Yes, to some women he is. He’s strong-minded, intelligent, decisive. He may not be the easiest person to get on with, but life will never be dull while he’s around. Think of the old codgers, or those two tailor’s dummies you’re working with, who would you prefer? And like Peter, Caroline is ambitious; she would never settle for years of child rearing or the Women’s Institute.’

‘We should have got to know each other before. We’ve said hello once or twice.’

‘Yes, we could have gossiped about all sorts of things. For instance, that woman on your team, is she really a partner?’

‘Yes. She might liven up the old codgers’ Thursday swimming sessions if she tagged along. A female partner in a swimsuit, it would be like their world coming to an end.’

‘You know about the partners’ swimming sessions do you?’

‘I am allowed to go. They need someone to e-mail reminders to them so they won’t forget.’

‘You are privileged. A gay man getting into the same pool as the old codgers. That sounds like their world coming to an end.’

‘Peter is the only one at senior level who knows about me, as far as I know.’

‘You might be surprised. You don’t hide it all that well.’

‘What d’you mean?’

‘You look at men you pass in the street. You were doing it while we walked here. Fortunately I’m not one for tittle-tattle.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Well, not all of the time.’

Since my return to favour Peter and I had not discussed my ‘disappearing act’ in France, and if what Lizetta had said was true we were never likely to. Her comments raised too many awkward questions: for instance if Caroline had considered me a rival for Peter, was there something in his behaviour towards me or in his past that caused her suspicions? Whatever might have been in her mind or his was best forgotten. When I mentioned to him that Lizetta had joined the ‘team’ he confirmed she was a family friend: ‘She’s a good chum to Caroline. Both working in personnel they always have plenty to talk about. By the way your plan for combining the two computer networks has gone down well. How would you feel about giving a little presentation to a joint meeting of partners from both firms?’

This was my chance to project an image of myself as more than a backroom technical specialist. Ten days later, to an audience of nearly forty, aided by a projector and screen showing charts and diagrams, I described my plan for merging the two IT systems. My voice wavered slightly over the first few words but then steadied; the projector did not fail, and no accidents or collisions befell me in the semi-darkness of the boardroom. During the subsequent discussion one or two partners said, doubtfully, that they were surprised at the comparatively low cost of my plan given the price of software and high salaries earned by IT specialists, but Peter had anticipated the criticism and had my figures checked and agreed with an independent consultancy. Reassured, the partners’ questions and comments became friendly and approving.

Another favourable sign came during one of the Thursday trips to the baths when the most senior of the swimming old codgers, a man who had hardly said a word to me until then, walked beside me as we returned to the office telling me about how his grandchildren used personal computers and mobile ’phones to send each other e-mail. As we neared the office he said, ‘Of course my secretary looks after all that kind of thing for me. Peter’s been talking me through some of the figures you’ve produced. Won’t claim to have understood all the intricacies, but you seem to have grasped the critical issues. Good work.’

The team’s final report was a hefty document with eight chapters, appendices crammed with facts and figures, and a management summary written by Peter which in five pages covered all the important issues and concluded that a merger would result in savings in costs and be attractive to new clients. Copies were sent to all the partners, and having completed its task the team disbanded. The promise to hold my old job for me had been kept, and the stand-in departed on the Friday before my return to the IT Unit.

Two months later news that the merger was to take place flashed around the building by e-mail. Little groups of excited staff gathered on every floor, speculating about their futures and what was meant by the words at the end of the message: Creation of a new combined organisation will require some staff re-allocations; these will be staged over a period of time.

My boss called me in to talk about the effect on the IT Unit. After half an hour with him I called together the four people who worked for me and took them into a quiet corner with comfortable chairs to discuss the news and confess my part in it. They looked at me with curiosity and suspicion, listening carefully to my explanations, trying to assess what impact the merger would have on them personally. I assured them that after the reorganisation they should be no worse off, but nevertheless two were clearly worried.

Elsewhere the news was not so good. Office Services was expected to be reduced in size by a third. Other than the partners, everyone was uneasy about their future. Uncertainty caused many staff to ask themselves whether they might do better elsewhere, and during breaks people could be seen studying the job adverts in ‘Computer Weekly’ or ‘Accountancy Age’, surreptitiously turning to a different page if anyone with influence walked by.

Lizetta and I continued to meet at least once a week for lunch. She believed that several partners were trying to use the reorganisation as an opportunity to get rid of staff they thought of as troublesome or not capable. She was fighting for a couple of people she thought were being unfairly treated. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she said to me accusingly, ‘you’ll do very nicely out of all this chaos.’

‘I’m back at my old desk, that’s all.’

‘Have you heard anything lately from the IT Unit you are about to merge with?’

‘No. There’s been no reason for me to contact them recently.’

‘Their top man has found another job. He’s moving on.’

The head of the new combined unit was to be called ‘Director of Information Technology Services’, and was to have a deputy. My assumption was that my boss would become ‘Director’, and his counterpart in the other firm his deputy. Lizetta’s news meant the post of deputy might be within my grasp.

From Peter I learned that both jobs were to be advertised in ‘Computer Weekly’, and my hopes faded. Dozens of applications could be expected from people in senior positions in other companies. When the advert appeared my immediate boss, the head of the IT Unit, called me in, held up the newspaper and said, ‘You’ve been keeping an eye out for this, I assume?’

‘Yes, but...’

‘Which job do you intend to apply for?’

‘What would you say my chances were of getting Deputy Director?’

‘Why don’t you put in for both?’

‘I assume you’ll be Director, they’ve had to advertise because of personnel policy, but you’re bound to be appointed.’

‘They’ve offered me early retirement. I’ve spent enough of my life trying to satisfy all the old fusspots in this organisation. Sixteen years of dealing with them is plenty. Put in for Director. If you want it, you’re welcome to it. God knows you’re ambitious enough. You’ve been wily, the way you’ve cultivated your contacts among the partners. I have to admire the way you’ve done it. Myself, I never managed to overcome the instinct to tug my forelock to them; they’ve always thought of me as one of the servants. You can still put in for deputy. Make it a two-way bet.’

Peter and Lizetta endorsed his advice to aim high. They also gave me the names of the four partners who were to make the appointment. One of them I knew from the Thursday swimming sessions; the others I discreetly found opportunities to talk to, saying warm, mildly optimistic words about the firm’s prospects after the merger.

Three outside applicants and I were invited for interview. I was nervous, but my voice did not waver and my hands did not shake. My rivals were at a disadvantage because they were known only from their curricula vitae and references. However impressive these might be, and however well they performed at interview, how could the panel be as confident about these strangers as they were about me?

Three days later I was working quietly at my desk when Lizetta rang to tell me the Director’s job was mine. The announcement would not be made official for several days, and was not to take effect until my boss retired in three months time. When I told him the news he shook my hand warmly and we went out for a drink. His recommendation must have been very positive for me to have been successful. When I tried to thank him he said he was looking forward to passing me all the pressures and problems, and that since I was so keen there would be no need to wait three months, he would begin handing them over tomorrow. The knowledge that he was shortly to leave seemed to have reinvigorated him and rekindled his sense of humour, and we agreed on a combined party to celebrate his retirement and my promotion.

Lizetta contacted me again a few weeks later to ask if I had thought about requesting a new company car. I said that my preference, if any rewards were due, was for money. ‘Motor cars are what I’ve rung you about, not money. I’m trying discreetly to hint that if you act quickly you stand to benefit, that is if you don’t mind driving something that one of the old codgers has had his hands on.’

‘Exactly what sort of benefit are we talking about?’

‘I can’t tell you the details. Can’t you just put in a simple memo when someone asks you to?’

One of the old codgers, a man of at least sixty-five with pale wrinkled features, had for the past year been driving a Mercedes convertible. He looked out of place in it, like an old nail in a jewelry case. He had decided to trade up, at the firm’s expense, to a more appropriate Mercedes saloon, and the one year old convertible was offered to me. The car was in beautiful condition, the white leather curves of the interior flawlessly sculpted into an outer shell of gleaming blue bodywork. I would never have chosen something as showy myself, but since such a generous symbol of my new standing in the firm was being offered, why refuse?

Misgivings that I might be thought to have accepted a cast off faded completely when those around me gasped in envy. One day Peter saw me getting out of it in the car park and said: ‘You look as though you’re doing better than some of the accountants. I’d watch my back if I were you.’

On the first Friday evening that the trophy was in my possession, without saying anything to Andrew or Tom I drove down to the garden centre. Instead of going as usual straight to the Beckford Arms I went up to Tom’s flat, interrupting him eating. I waited while he finished his meal and showered, resisting the urge to join him, sitting instead by the window and smiling over the prospect of showing him the Mercedes.

On our way downstairs to the street I said off-handedly: ‘I came over in the car this evening for a change. We may as well drive to the pub.’ He shrugged his indifference. We walked past half a dozen standard, ordinary vehicles parked at the roadside, the usual jumble of popular makes of car in assorted colours, until we reached my magnificent Mercedes. I sauntered around to the driver’s door, opened it, got in and flung open the passenger door, looking up at Tom’s bemused face with a casual smile.

‘How d’you get this?’

‘It’s my new company car.’

He climbed in. ‘What are you – chief exec or something now?’

‘I told you, I got another promotion.’ He inspected the dashboard and fingered the lever that controls the indicator lights. The firm’s leasing agreement for cars had a clause that restricted driving them to staff, but he was an experienced and careful driver and I asked if he would like to take the wheel.

We completed a circuit of the neighbouring streets. Passers-by must, we felt sure, be turning their heads to look at us, but of course we kept our eyes straight ahead. At a junction where an elderly couple were waiting to cross we stopped and magnanimously waved them forward. We were the most terrible show-offs.

We wove our way around the streets for a quarter of an hour or so then headed for the Beckford Arms. Street parking was always difficult there, but Tom spotted a tight parking space a couple of hundred yards from the pub, and edging the car back and forth half a dozen times brought it tidily into the kerb. Not until after he had put the hand brake on did he think of the risk. ‘We probably shouldn’t leave it here. Might get nicked.’

‘Having it stolen from outside a pub might not go down too well at work.’

‘You’re right. Be safer to put it in the garage at the back of the garden centre. You don’t want it being crated for the Costa.’

‘Don’t want it being what?’

His mood changed suddenly. He must have thought I was making fun of him. ‘You know what I mean. Do you have to make something of it every time I use a common expression?’

‘That wasn’t how I meant it. “Crated for the Costa”, it’s the first time I’ve heard the term, that’s all. Shipped to a villain in Spain... it’s a good way of putting it.’ Anything I said now would make his mood worse. There had been other instances when he had sulked over a chance remark or some trivial mishap, and hours might pass before his good humour returned. He seemed to become gripped by some deep internal insecurity. Perhaps the difference in our incomes made him feel inferior. To me it hardly mattered; we could enjoy ourselves perfectly well together without needing to squander large amounts of money. His abilities were no less valuable than mine. He could, as if by magic, install an electric light fitting without visible wires in the middle of an internal wall, or cure burst pipes that were damaging people’s homes and causing real distress and anxiety. Business executives in the City might be better paid, but their high salaries were more likely to be won through greed and forcefulness than by talent and hard work.

We drove back to the garden centre in silence, both miserable. He moved one of the vans out of the garage to the street to make room for the car, and when it was safely locked inside I put my hand on his arm and said plaintively, ‘Oh Tom.’

He turned to look at me, and to my relief his expression lightened. He put his arms around me and hugged me. ‘We’ll go and see Andrew. Have a quiet drink in the pub together. Don’t take no notice of me.’

In the pub Andrew talked so enthusiastically about his latest venture that he made us forget our tiff. He had bought a part share in a horticultural nursery in Buckinghamshire. Discussions and negotiations through solicitors had taken months, but at last the contract had been signed and he had spent the whole day looking over the greenhouses, talking to the staff, and updating himself on sales figures.

While Tom was at the bar I told him about the Mercedes left in his garage at the garden centre and our misunderstanding. ‘Just another of his moods. He’s had his share of problems, but he always comes round. Congratulations on the Mercedes, puts the Ferns and Foliage vans to shame. You’re becoming too important for us, Mark.’

Later, lying beside Tom trying to sleep after making love, all the other occasions when he had sunk into a dismal mood for no or little reason passed through my mind. Any slight mishap or misunderstanding might set him off. Once he had over-cooked a casserole, not ruinously but badly enough to carbonise a few bits of meat and turn some chunks of vegetable into rather odd goo. It was still edible, and the chips and cauliflower he had cooked separately were fine, but he over-reacted and apologised again and again for hours afterwards. Nothing I said could take his mind off it. On another occasion in a restaurant a knife slipped out of his fingers and dropped onto the tiled floor with a clatter. He hardly spoke through the rest of the meal except to apologise: ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry,’ or ‘I can’t help it, I’m clumsy I know I am, I’m sorry.’ In fact he was anything but clumsy, but for the whole evening every time he picked something up he did so with extreme caution, as though the wine glass was about to shatter in his fingers or his coffee cup break away from its handle. Reassuring words or attempts at humour did nothing to bring him out of these fits of self-denigration.

The next morning, following our misunderstanding in the Mercedes, he was the one who was in the more cheerful mood. After breakfast to my surprise he was keen to take the wheel again, and we showed my prize off along the King’s Road and went on to Regents Park. We took photographs of each other in the driving seat, and asked someone from the garden centre to take one of us sitting together in the car, and standing, arms around each other’s shoulders, beside it.

That evening in the Beckford Arms Tom asked everyone we knew if they had seen my new car, boasting about how it looked and handled on the road. Among the ‘Wow!’, ‘Really!’ and ‘Fantastic!’ responses were a couple of sour comments: ‘more money than sense’ and ‘public transport’s best, causes less pollution.’ What was important was that, despite the misunderstanding of the night before, he was now happy with the Mercedes. Whether others liked it, loathed it, or were envious mattered not at all.