Days 155 and 156
Writing exercise – find new ways of using the words, late, silent, ugly, traditional, and extra and incorporate them all in a novel way…
….
I could have said I was late. I could, but I didn’t. I could have said I forgot, and that would have been the truth, but what was the point of telling them what they already knew?
I said I was held up by traffic, which, as everyone knew for that time of day at Trafalgar Square, was a given
They asked why I chose that time of day when I knew what the traffic was like, and I said it suited my mother, which it did, and no one was going to argue with that.
She was the one at the head of the table and looked very severe. Come to think of it, she was always looking very severe.
The only time I’d seen her smile was the day my father died. He left everything to her. I’d smile to if it happened to me.
“Now that we,” with an especially withering glare in my direction, fortunately at the other end of a long boardroom table, “are all here, shall we begin?”
Depending on her mood, it could last five minutes or five hours. Judging by the phone call I got at seven minutes past five this morning, it might last a week.
It was only three words long. “The game’s afoot.”
I tracked down the meaning, one of several other reasons I was so tardy, to Sherlock Holmes, an expression he used when a new case presented itself.
I didn’t get the inference. My mother thought I would be better off learning Latin than English Literature.
“How is the lavender case?” Her eyes roamed around the table and stopped on the rather fearful Alex, an intern who had finally got her first case.
I convinced Mother she was ready. I might have made a mistake.
“There has been no communication with the proprietors of the lavender factory, so I went down to Dorchester to get a first-hand response. The factory is closed, and a ‘For Sale’ sign is on the door.”
This was relayed in a somewhat halting a week voice, brought on by my mother’s intimidating glare.
What she meant to say but wouldn’t was, there was a collective silence from everyone from the top to the bottom.
Silence would not have done in this case. My mother doesn’t like any form of silence.
“There were a hundred and fifty people in that factory. Are you saying an alien spaceship beamed them up and took them away?”
My mother could be scathing using what little humour she had.
And Alex could have said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly what happened’, but she didn’t. She did say, “I found an open door at the rear of the premises, went up to the offices, and got a recent staff listing. Interviews begin tomorrow.”
“Very good, Alex. Just try to he a bit more assertive.”
Exactly what I told her.
“Next.” Her eyes went around the table and stopped at William. “How is the Ferg case proceeding?”
The Ferg case was one where an employer’s representative had maligned an employee on the grounds of their appearance.
It could be said they had called her ugly, and because beauty was a necessity in the promotion of their product, the fact that our client had suffered disfigurement in an accident, caused by employer negligence, we were suing said employer.
“They are willing to pay out 450,000 pounds in compensation. The papers will be signed next week.”
“Excellent work.”
It was indeed our fee would be big, very big. At least the client will be getting more than the original offer of 20,000 pounds.
“Next,” the eyes travelled the circumference of the table and landed on Wendy.
Wendy was my favourite, the one who least noticed me and who was more focused on a career than anything else.
She said so the first day we were introduced, and I decided to forget about her. I think I realised soon enough that because I was the boss’s son, I was not someone to get involved with, and to be honest, I agreed with them.
“As I understand it, you need more resources.”
I saw the memo. She wanted one extra investigator, but when approaching someone like my mother, who was against ‘throwing a pile of people into a project just to fall over each other’, asking for help was the same as admitting defeat.
Hence, the verbosity around using the word resources. It was clever.
“Sam can help you if and when he’s free.”
Sam was me. She never offered my services to anyone, so what was she up to?
Wendy looked at me and smiled.
I got the distinct impression my body was going to be found washed up in the lower reaches of the Thames, if not tomorrow, the next day.
“Any other business?”
Everyone knew better than to say there was.
“I have just one item. This business was built on a solid foundation of hard work and getting results. My husband, the late Mr Forster, his father, and his father before him set the standards, the methodology, and the systems that drive us towards the objective of being the best of the best. Please remember that as you all go about your business.”
She stood, took a last look around the faces of the company, then left.
What she failed to say was that we had traditions, that we were a traditional company. She, like my father, hated change, but only change was going to save us.
The trouble was, I did not dare tell her.
Then I realised the room was empty and Wendy was standing next to me.
“Sam.”
I said nothing. She had that ability to turn me into a gibbering idiot.
“Can you drop by my office in an hour. I have a job I would like you to do.”
“Sure. In an hour.”
“Yes. See you then.”
After she left the room, I sighed. I think I knew what my mother meant with her enigmatic three words. She knew I liked Wendy.
…
© Charles Heath 2025
