14

DEREK FAIRFAX’S LUNCH had been a frugal affair: cheese-and-tomato sandwiches followed by an apple, consumed on a bench in Calverley Park. Not that he would have enjoyed anything more lavish. He had too much on his mind to concentrate on what he ate or drank.

The same could not be said of David Fithyan, who returned from his own lunch shortly before three o’clock and clambered from his Jaguar with the clumsiness and flushed countenance of a man to whom food and drink were matters of considerable importance. Watching him from his office window, Derek noted the characteristic scowl of impending liverishness and decided to avoid him for the rest of the day. Unfortunately for him, such a decision was not his to take. Less than ten minutes later, he was summoned to Fithyan’s presence.

‘I said nothing about your absence last week, Derek, did I?’ He spoke in a slurred growl betokening indignation as well as intoxication. ‘You’ll agree that was generous of me.’

‘Er … yes. I suppose it was. I—’

‘Exceedingly generous of me.’

‘Well …’

‘I’m a tolerant man. Always have been. Too tolerant, the wife says.’

‘Really? Well, I’m not sure—’

‘We had to send Rowlandson out to that firm in Sevenoaks to cover for you. He made an utter balls of it.’

‘I know. I’m sorry about—’

‘But I said nothing. And why? Because I thought we understood each other.’

‘We do. I—’

‘No we don’t!’ Fithyan brought the flat of his hand down hard on his blotter. ‘But we will before you leave this room.’

‘I’m not sure I—’

‘I had lunch with Adrian Whitbourne.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Whitbourne & Pithey are one of our biggest clients.’

‘I know.’

‘Good. I’m glad you know that, Derek. Perhaps you also know who one of their biggest customers is.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Ladram Avionics. Mean anything to you?’

‘Well, of course. I—’

‘Shut up! Shut up and listen!’ Fithyan’s forefinger waggled ominously at Derek. ‘Whitbourne as good as told me today that if a certain member of our staff goes on antagonizing and harassing the managing director of Ladram Avionics – as he has been doing – then Whitbourne & Pithey will start looking for a new accountant.’

‘Oh.’ Derek looked past Fithyan, past indeed the treetops waving beyond the window, and saw his own naïvety staring back. Maurice Abberley was bound to have contacts and bound to use them when challenged. It was as obvious as it should have been predictable. ‘I see,’ he mumbled.

‘If we lost a client as important as that, we’d probably have to review our staffing levels. We wouldn’t need so many people, would we?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘But we aren’t going to lose them, are we?’

‘I certainly hope not.’

‘We aren’t going to lose them because the managing director of Ladram Avionics isn’t going to have occasion to complain about us to Whitbourne ever again, is he?’

Derek looked at Fithyan and realized the utter hopelessness of appealing to his better nature. The human race was divided in his mind not by race or creed or politics but by whether they mattered or not, whether they wielded power or were wielded by it. On one side of this divide stood Maurice Abberley. On the other stood Derek and his brother. Questions of right and wrong were therefore irrelevant. A man of influence had spoken. And Fithyan had listened.

‘Well, is he?’

Derek shook his head. ‘No. Absolutely not. If I’d had any idea this would embarrass the company, I’d have—’

‘I want this … whatever it is … dropped. Is that dear?’

‘Yes. Completely. And it will be. You have my word.’ But, even as he said it, Derek prepared an escape clause for his own reference. A promise given to David Fithyan was as valid as a promise given by him. The great divide might yet intrude.