Martin spent the weekend dreading Monday. How could he have been so stupid? And did he really propose to her afterwards? Oh my god, he thought, how could he face her, what would he say? Supposing she told other people? He wanted to die, but instead still had to finish the blasted revisions to the plans, left over from Friday. Somehow his spreadsheet had lost its attraction.
Of course, as it turned out, when he met Becky in the corridor and was about to break out in a huge explanation/apology/retraction she simply smiled and walked past him. For her it had been just a flickering moment in her life, something that had passed by and hence by definition no longer really mattered. Not for a fraction of a second did she think about the implications of what had happened: for her they just did not exist. She was young - very young - and was more concerned with finding pleasure wherever she could than worrying about its implications or consequences. Because she was young she felt immortal, and hence able to postpone 'serious' issues indefinitely. Malicious thoughts like blackmail against Martin no more entered her head than unselfish ones like treating people as anything other than as potential good time. She would progress to both of those only later.
Martin was not alone in dreading Monday. Bernice too was not looking forward to certain encounters and the inevitable questions she would be bombarded with. She got in early to take the high ground of the office - in time, at least - and when Kate came in immediately asked:
"How was it, then, the disco, I mean?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that question?" she said, uncharacteristically cheeky. "Anyway, to answer yours first, it was simply unbelievable. We all thought we were going to some pub with a turntable and a few flashing lights. Not a bit of it: when we got to the venue it was a huge warehouse in the Docklands - and I mean huge. We were there early, so Wobs took us around showing us the equipment. Masses of it, speakers piled up twenty, thirty feet in the air, great snaking cables - seriously professional. And the respect everyone in there had for Wobs...I mean this man was in charge. It was so strange to see him in this other environment. It's certainly changed my view of him - given me a hell of a lot more respect - and I had a lot to start with." Bernice nodded intently, glad of this small respite provided by Kate's enthusiastic description.
"Anyway," Kate continued, "after an hour or two, the crowds start arriving, by the hundreds, until the place was really crammed - a couple of thousand people at least, perhaps four or five. To start with, just loud music played in a sequence, and then later Wobs gets on this control deck and really starts the crowd moving. I've never heard such loud music in my life - and I've heard a fair amount of heavy metal, which takes a lot of beating, so to speak - but this was something else. It was simply physical - visceral, even: it was music inside us. That sounds very mystical, but I mean it literally; the music was so loud that you heard it inside you rather than outside. It was a pity you weren't there to experience it," said Kate without thinking.
"It certainly was," said Bernice ruefully.
"Oh...I see...didn't work out?" asked Kate sympathetically.
"Depends what you mean. Let's just say that things fizzled out somewhat at the end." Was she being indiscreet in saying that? She found it hard to judge. She wanted to take Kate into her confidence, but felt a shyness out of respect for Chris.
Poor Chris, she thought as Kate kindly let it rest there. It had all been going so well, so smoothly, until that last crucial moment when it came to...doing it. And for some reasons Chris had been unable to. He said that it had never happened before, that he couldn't understand it. She told him it didn't matter, all the usual things, but it clearly did matter to him. Some irrevocable damage had been done to his self-image - perhaps already weakened by her own stupid comment earlier that evening.
And so he had left after she had called a taxi for him - he said he didn't feel able to stay. He also asked whether he could take the next two weeks off - he needed time to relax, to calm down. She could hardly deny him this. He had taken no holidays since joining, his copy was all in, and he didn't need to start on March's until next year. Reluctantly, she had agreed. He was overreacting, of course, but she knew that arguing at that moment would only make it worse. She asked him what he was going to do with the time; he said probably go out to his parents who were ski-ing in France.
And so she had passed a miserable night and weekend alone, and faced the prospect of an equally miserable Christmas with things between her and Chris off to a bad start and with no means to improve matters for three weeks. Her situation was not helped by the fact that Kate and Terence were up at the typesetters for the rest of the week, so she wouldn't be seeing them either. George too asked for a couple of days off at the end of the week, which left just her, Yasmeen, Wobs and Dave - not the most lively of offices.
As ever she consoled herself with work, losing herself in the joys of Alcoholism at Work - she could see the attraction; Pregnancy in the Office - fat chance; The Office Day - endless; and Coffee and Tea Breaks - she didn't mind if she did. Since the February issue was the first of 1989 she planned to write an editorial called 'Happy New Year' about the opportunities the coming year would bring, but felt more like writing one called 'Happy New Year???'.
Sometimes her mind drifted in the near-silence of the office. While doing research for her editorial she came across the statistic that in 1988 it was estimated that mergers in the US had taken place to the tune of something like $280 billion dollars. She tried to imagine what this meant: $280,000,000,000, but decided that it meant nothing. A merger: such a simple word, but with her own failed merger in mind one that seemed to be so much more complicated than it looked.
Fortunately for her own sanity an event happened just at the end of that week that would give her plenty to think about. Martin called her into his office, where she found James and Tim.
"Right," said Martin, looking far tireder and older than she remembered: he needed a good holiday, she thought. "Thanks for coming along. I've got a piece of news that we need to think about. I have heard from my sources " - he loved being mysterious, but in fact he heard it from Charles - "that sometime early next year Morgan-Banacek will be launching a business title aimed squarely at our market. The source seems good" - well, he hoped it was if Charles told him - "so we need to act on the assumption that it is."
She should have been expecting this, and yet it still came as a shock. They had barely established themselves in an already crowded market when along came someone else who wanted to push them out of it.
"Hm, Morgan-Banacek are serious competition. Huge interests in the States," said Tim. "They've got a title called New Business Frontiers - very American as I recall. That's about all I know."
"Yes, thanks, Tim," said Martin, without letting on whether he already knew this. "Anyone else got anything to add?"
James looked serious. "Martin, do you mind if I make a quick phone call? - it's relevant." What was he up to? Bernice wondered.
"Please. Do want to use this phone, or one outside?" asked Martin, intrigued as ever by Mr Slide, and slightly intimidated if the truth be told.
"No, here's fine," said James, glad to have an audience. "This may not work - " he warned as if they were automatically expecting miracles from his call.
He got through, and Bernice heard a woman answer.
"Susie, James here. Look sorry to trouble you, but I need your help. Badly. Listen: Morgan-Banacek, new business title, probably based on New Business Frontiers: can you help. Uh-huh, yes I know it's all confidential, but you have my word it won't go any further these four walls - great, Susie, right" - he was quickly jotting down names on a piece of paper on Martin's desk. "How do spell those? OK, got it, OK. You're beautiful. Listen, when can we do lunch? Next week? Say Thursday? Usual place? Yes, I know, but I've got a few contacts there. Love it. See you soon. And thanks...I'm really grateful," he said with an intensity that Bernice found rather distasteful.
"Right," said James. "Title's going to be called New Business - very original these Americans. There are three of them coming across to set up Morgan-Banacek UK Ltd: Dolores Katzenellenbogen, Randy - would you believe it? - Papadopoulous and Bud Morle. the latter seems to be the most senior. Early next year is the time-scale."
"Anything else?" asked Martin, impressed despite himself.
"Just one thing..."
"Yes?"
"You'll be receiving the bill for a very expensive lunch I shall have next Thursday - if that's OK...?" he asked with mock deference.
"Fine, fine," said Martin. "Right, well, that's very helpful. Basically we have some serious thinking to do: how are we going to deal with this intruder? What I suggest is that we all have a good ponder over the break and then get back together early - 2nd January OK with people? - and throw around the ideas and come up with a plan. Certainly not dull this game, is it?" he concluded, having almost forgotten about Becky and that Christmas Party.
As Bernice and James made their way back to their respective offices, chatting about Morgan-Banacek and the new launch and wishing each other season's greetings, she decided not to tell her team that evening. Why should they worry about it over the holiday? That was her job. So, in a fit of generosity she sent everyone home early, wishing them the very best, and then went home herself, to a cold, dark flat that suddenly seemed very lonely. At least she had some work to do.
Meanwhile, others were in fact still working. High up on Olympus, an Extraordinary Board Meeting was concluding. So extraordinary was it, in fact, that most of the Board were absent. Present were the main corporate trinity - God himself, his sharp-faced number two, who was also the Finance Director, and the Company Secretary, a silent, sad sack of a man who seemed to know everything about everything at Wright's, and was hence widely feared - along with the Personnel Director, none other than Dan Scowcroft, and a newcomer to the group, Ted Binkham, the recently appointed Information Technology Director of the company.
"Well," said God, it's been something of a mammoth session" - they had begun with an intimate seven-course Christmas lunch - "but obviously this is a rather special event. I think we've covered everything now. As Dan has said, the personnel side involves some overlap, but obviously that can be attended to. Technology, as Ted has so ably laid before us, is more of a problem in terms of integration, and requires some serious work by both parties, but nothing insuperable I think in right in saying, Ted?"
"Well, Chairman" - everybody called God Chairman here - "provided we can get the kit onto the desk soon, I don't think pulling it all together should prove too much of a problem."
"Fine, fine," said God. "So there we have it. I hardly need emphasise the requirement for the utmost secrecy on this one. It would be tragic - worse, fatal - if after all this time, after all the hard work by all concerned, something were to happen to put off the, shall we say, consummation."
"But forgive, me, Chairman," said Dan with exquisite deference, bowing his flaking scalp slightly, "obviously I've only come in on this fairly late, but is it all really sewn up - I mean getting into bed with them?"
"Of course, Dan," said God benevolently, "we shook hands on it - need I say more?"
"Ah, I understand," said Dan knowingly.
"But it is rather ironic," added the weasel-faced Finance Director, "that the end result of all this will be a flattened pyramid of management, is it not?"
A joke from the Finance Director? Why these were clearly exceptional times. Dan and Ted laughed out loud, the others smiled.
"Not the only result of course," said God, "Just think of the increased staff, the increased turnover, the increased responsibility of it all...."
"Ah yes," said the Finance Director nasally, "and the increased salaries to reflect that terrible responsibility...."
"Quite," said God, slightly shocked that the Finance Director had articulated quite so brutally the reality of the situation. But that was accountants for you, he thought.
"So, gentlemen," he went on, "perhaps I could conclude by wishing you all a Happy Christmas - and a very prosperous New Year...."
Yes, it was good to be working in business at the end of 1988.
