Clive Bamford was collecting his belongings ready to leave the house when his mobile rang. He’d been tempted to ignore it, conscious he was already running late for work. Then he glanced at the screen and saw the caller’s name. Robin Kennedy.
It wouldn’t actually be Kennedy, of course. It would be Eric Nolan passing on some message from the great man. That was if Kennedy hadn’t already relegated him to someone even lower in the pecking order.
Even so, he couldn’t ignore the call. If he really did want to undertake this work, then there was no point in risking offending Kennedy so early in the process. He dropped his bag, sighed and took the call.
‘Clive.’ It was unmistakeably Kennedy’s voice booming down the phone. ‘Really sorry I missed you last night. I can only offer you my most sincere apologies. Just got caught up in something that ran on much longer than I’d expected.’
‘No problem, Robin,’ Clive found himself saying. ‘I appreciate you’re a busy man.’
‘Never too busy to find time for you, Clive. In fact, I was slightly annoyed Eric didn’t come to find me last night. Not his fault, of course. I’d told him I didn’t want to be interrupted. But if I’d known it was you…’
‘Don’t worry, Robin. Really. Eric was very helpful.’
‘I’m sure he was,’ Kennedy said. ‘And he was able to pass on the good news that you do want to work with us. That’s really why I’m calling. To let you know that I’m delighted and that we’re privileged to have you working with us.’
‘Likewise. That was why I wanted to let you know straightaway.’ Clive looked at his watch. His drive to work took forty minutes minimum. He was already running late because he’d become caught up in reading the material that Kennedy had given him.
‘I was just wondering whether there was any chance you might be able to pop over to see us today.’
Clive took another look at his watch. ‘Today? What time?’
‘This afternoon, if possible. We’ve got a meeting going on. We call it a symposium, but that’s a rather grand name for it. It’s essentially just a convocation of some of the more senior figures in the movement, in preparation for developing our next clutch of neophytes.’
‘Neophytes?’ Clive remembered just too late what the word meant.
‘The newbies, if you like. People who’ve joined us in the last few months and are beginning to take the first steps to enlightenment. Anyway, I thought that if you could join us, it would provide you with an immediate and very rounded insight into what we’re about.’
‘It sounds very interesting.’ Clive was already trying to work out the possibilities. He was due at work in – well, less than forty minutes now, he realised. He couldn’t take annual leave at this kind of notice, and he knew that once he went in he’d struggle to find any convincing excuse for taking the afternoon off. On the other hand, he was keen to attend the meeting. Partly because it did sound potentially invaluable in informing his understanding of the movement, and partly simply because he didn’t want to be appearing unhelpful or uncooperative.
‘I’m not sure, Robin. I’ve got various commitments today, and I don’t know—’
‘I do appreciate it’s very short notice, Clive. It’s my fault for not mentioning it before. But we don’t open these meetings up to just anyone, so until you were safely on board, I didn’t think it appropriate to raise it with you. But now you are, it would seem a tremendous pity for you to miss it. We don’t run these often, and the attendees are all people I’d want you to meet.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, then.’
‘Of course, Clive. Fully appreciated.’
‘What time do you start?’
‘If it’s possible for you to get to the farm by around two thirty, that would be perfect. We’ll have kicked everything off by then, so you can see us in full flow.’
Kennedy was already beginning to sound as if this was a done deal, Clive thought. ‘Just give me a few minutes, then, Robin. I’ll see what I can do. Shall I call you back?’
‘Just heading into another meeting before the day kicks off, so might be better if you text me to confirm your attendance.’
‘Will do. Thanks for calling, Robin,’ Clive said, but the call had already ended.
He thumbed through his phone contacts and found his manager’s mobile number. ‘Mark? Clive here.’ He gave a cough that, to his own ears, sounded anything but realistic. ‘Really sorry about this, but I’ve woken this morning feeling like death. Hoping it’s just a bad cold, but it feels like it might be flu. Temperature, aching joints, the lot. Barely been able to drag myself out of bed. I was trying to struggle in, but not sure I’m up to it, and I don’t want to risk infecting others…’
He ended the call having secured grudging acceptance of his non-attendance. He was already feeling guilty. He’d never skived off work before. He’d never even missed a day through genuine illness, which was presumably why his boss had accepted the story relatively readily.
He texted a short message to Kennedy: Managed to rearrange other commitments. Will be there at 2:30.
A moment later, the phone buzzed with a return text. Just a single word. OK. Clive would have liked a bit more appreciation but perhaps Robin Kennedy would express his gratitude in person later.
If he didn’t have to be at Kennedy’s till 2:30, he should at least make best use of the time. It would give him another opportunity to focus on the documents Kennedy had given him. He walked back into the kitchen to make himself another coffee.
He was beginning to reconcile himself to what he had done. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, he felt conscious that, without even realising he’d done it, he had somehow crossed a line.