As the weeks passed by after that union meeting, the situation deteriorated, with both sides becoming entrenched in their positions. A strike was looking increasingly likely, and Bernice would soon have to make a decision: to choose her abstract principles or the concrete reality of her magazine and its team.
Perhaps partly as a result of feeling guilty about Pete's sudden departure, and partly too because she finally had the time, Bernice was now getting to know the team as people, not just professionals filling spaces in an organisational chart. And so now Bernice found herself chatting to George about his garden, to Wobs about last night's rave, to Yasmeen about life in a newsagents, to Kate about all the old times - though the subject of her surprise pregnancy was still something Bernice found she was unable to tackle.
This slow and subtle mingling of public life by the private manifest itself in other ways too. People started bringing in small personal items to put on their desks or hang on the wall. Janice brought in a battered rag doll which she would hold and stare at silently from time to time; Dave started burdening his desk and shelves with ever more obscure books - 'Afghanistan Today', 'Reinventing the J-curve', 'Freemasonry and The Cathars'; and Wobs had pinned up various brightly-coloured fractal images behind him under the growing series of The Business's front covers which formed a barometer of what they had achieved, and also of the inexorable passing of time. Bernice loved this slow accretion of objects that was taking place in her department like some organic process of growth and enrichment. She decided that this processing of clothing an office was what made just another box in a building a true home from home.
Bernice was also beginning to understand better what made her people tick. She was pleased to see that her five minute snap judgements were largely correct, but noted with delight too extra richnesses in peoples' characters that she would never have guessed from that first brief meeting - a surprising sympathy of Dave for Janice's educational shortcomings, a lively curiosity and appreciation by Terence of Wobs' musical activities.
But above all, the more Bernice worked with her team, the more privileged she felt to be associated with them. Every month, she had to remind herself, these people created the miracle that was a magazine, starting from nothing but thoughts and ideas, turning them into words and images, and producing finally pages and magazines, thousands of them, which went out into the world to inform, entertain, perhaps even to change it. To enter the office after a meeting with Martin or James, to be embraced by that companionable hum of telephone conversations, typewriters clacking away and the odd peal of honest laughter occasioned by the give and take of office chat, was one of the most satisfying experiences she knew. Each time she was reminded why she was an editor, and why she had taken this job.
Another source of satisfaction was the magazine itself. From the initial pagination of 200 pages - with well over half of them being filled by editorial's desperate efforts - it had moved on to nearly 300 pages, with around 190 pages of advertisements. Glorious, expensive advertisements as Martin pointed out to Charles with great pride. Moreover the circulation was healthy too: sales of the first issue had turned out to be around 60,000, which had then dropped to 50,000 as the novelty value had worn off, but which were now climbing steadily as loyal readers passed the word on to family and friends, until it had reached nearly 70,000 if the preliminary figures from the newstrade could be trusted. Martin's bottom line was looking positively perfumed these days, though only against plan. That is, although doing better than he said they would, in real terms they were still not making much money - and certainly not enough to take a major hit like a strike.
Still, The Business was already a definite success. Bernice had established a very clear place in the market; she and her team were widely respected, and even BuM was beginning to show signs of being spanked: its issues were the same size as before, but there were more deathly BOMs than ever, and advertising was distinctly pallid. Assuming that somehow they survived the introduction of New Technology, only the threat of Morgan-Banacek's mega-launch threatened to halt the continued growth of Bernice's thriving baby.
At least it turned out that they would not as she feared just be sitting back and letting the American intruder waltz in to their market, but fighting back - and in no uncertain terms. Against all the odds, Wobs' CD idea had been given the go-ahead.
A couple of days after their failed brain-storming session Wobs had come back with not just figures, but several full-blown competitive quotes from some of the leading disc manufacturers in the business. Bernice was surprised how low the costs were for each CD, but aware that the total was still high. Nonetheless, it was worth a try, she thought, and arranged a meeting for herself and Wobs with Martin and Tim.
As soon as Tim heard the idea he practically leapt for joy:
"Yes!" he said, "it's brilliant. It'd be the first - the coverage - nationals - " he became incoherent at the thought of it all.
"Hang on," said Martin, more sceptical. "Where are we going to get 50K from?" - £50,000 being the overall cost of the exercise, and 50K being manager-speak for such a sum.
"Well, I think I can find it...I have a few pennies squirrelled away..." he said awkwardly. Bloody typical marketing, thought Martin, always salting away a few K here and there - no wonder my forecasts are shot to hell. But he was nonetheless delighted that such a bold project might be possible without the need for 'new' money. Meanwhile, Bernice and Wobs kept quiet, content to let Tim's enthusiasm sell the idea for them.
"But what kind of music will be on the Compact Disc?" asked Martin, still trying to be calm and collected about this.
"But don't you see?" said Tim excitedly, "that's the point: it doesn't matter. It's the concept that counts...."
"Nonetheless," continued Martin doggedly, "I think we need something appropriate for the readership - none of this ear-splitting modern stuff...."
"We've had a think about this," Bernice offered, "and come up with the idea of music to relax to before or after work - soothing away the stresses and strains of life in the office...."
"Hm," said Martin, still trying not to get carried away like the others, "Tim, could you get together with er, Wobs here, and check I mean work together on this, see if we can make it fly." Tim gladly assented.
And make it fly they certainly could. The costs were confirmed, Tim had a dig in his squirrelled budgets, pulled out a hefty acorn or two, and schedules were agreed for producing the CD and mounting it on the cover of the May issue - the earliest they could reasonably aim for and also likely to be close to New Business's launch date. In all this Bernice was amazed at Wobs' business-like approach, and thought to herself how he had developed in the few months she had known him. She was too modest even to suspect that it was largely her example and help that had brought about this change.
But while the CD master was being finalised, and she waited with trepidation during the technology negotiations for the moment of truth when she would have decide what she really wanted - her principles or her magazine - she found she had something else to worry about.
"Bernice, I-I'm sorry to disturb you, this is Cristina, could we talk, please, I don't know what to do..." a tearful voice had said down the phone.
When they met up in Achilles' for a coffee, Bernice was shocked at the state of Cristina. Hitherto she had always seemed the epitome of control and order, friendly but restrained. Now she seemed to be going to pieces.
"Forgive me for troubling you like this, but I just didn't know where to turn, and I thought that you..." her voice trailed off, as if she had no idea what she thought.
"No, please, Cristina, I'll be glad to help if I can, what's the problem?" said Bernice. God, she thought, I sound like some headmistress.
"I really don't know where to begin. I've never felt like this before - well perhaps at the start with, with Martin, I mean it was such a privilege - he's such a great publisher, and yet...." Poor thing, thought Bernice as Cristina explained her long devotion to Martin, and his total ignorance of it, if not indifference to it.
"And so after all these years of hoping that Martin might one day take some notice of me, along he comes and just sweeps me off my feet,"
"Along who comes?" said Bernice.
"James," said Cristina with what sounded like a sigh.
James? Not Mr James Slide by any chance. The bastard, thought Bernice.
"What happened?" was all she said.
"Well, from the beginning, when he joined, I could tell he was, well, friendly, and more recently he was becoming more, um, insistent. But he is so good and attentive, and so handsome and strong...."
Poor Cristina, thought Bernice, to go from a sheep to this wolf.
"So what's the problem?" she continued, trying not to show her thoughts.
"It's just I feel so confused. I mean is it right that I should give up my, my hopes for Martin? Just like that? And I don't know whether it's right - ethical is the word I want - for me to be... involved with someone like James, I mean, since I work for his publisher, there might be conflicts."
There certainly bloody will be, if I know James, Bernice thought.
"What would you like to happen?" she asked.
"I just don't know any more," she said with real confusion in her voice. "Perhaps to know what James really felt, whether I should, should let myself go in this way."
Definitely not, Bernice wanted to say, but knew that saying it now would certainly not help the poor woman.
"Look," she said, "how about if I try to find out - discreetly, of course - how things, er, lie with Mr Slide? Then I can get back to you and we can talk about it further, OK?"
Cristina nodded weakly. She just needed someone to provide a point of reference in all this now that she felt herself so adrift. Even talking about it with Bernice made her feel slightly better.
They went back to the office, and Bernice left Cristina at the lifts of her tower before going on to hers.
"Mr Slide," she said over the phone, "I need to speak to you urgently." Of course, he said, his voice betraying not the slightest anxiety. Hmm, she thought, you obviously have no idea what I'm going to talk to you about, she thought as she marched out of her office towards his.
"Bernice, do come in," he said, his face halfway between a smile and something else that she found hard to describe. "I presume you want to talk about Cristina."
She was taken aback for a moment, then regained her composure. "Too bloody right I do, what the hell do you think you're up to, turning this poor girl's world upside-down?" She was annoyed with herself for calling Cristina a 'girl': it seemed to play into his hands.
"Well, if Martin can sleep with my secretary, I don't see why I can't sleep with his," he said with perfect coolness.
"What?!?" she couldn't restrain the cry. How did this bloody man always manage to throw her off guard, always know exactly what to say when, to gain the advantage?
"Anger really becomes you," he said, making her more angry - and more becoming. "Although you think you hate me, I know that I like you. So because I like you I will try to explain why Cristina, why - others, shall we say." She had sat down by now, hypnotised by the man and his outrageousness, but agog with curiosity.
"You will have gathered that I am ambitious. I want to succeed, and I will. Because my philosophy is that if you want something badly enough, you will get it. Oh, I know, you will think that this is terribly trite, that it clearly doesn't apply, but listen: the fact is, most people do not want things badly enough. Wanting something badly means being prepared to sacrifice other things for it; wanting something desperately means being willing to pay any price, to sacrifice everything. And that takes a certain kind of courage. I get things because I want them badly enough to use whatever means are necessary. Cristina is a means, just as the others are: call it securing all my bases."
"And what gives you the right to use other people in this way? asked Bernice appalled by the arrogance of the man.
"My will gives me the right. I'm only doing what others vaguely dream of because they lack the fibre to go out and do it. And the proof of this is that I always get what I want; always. For example, I could get you - " Bernice jumped slightly - "but don't worry, I won't: I'd rather have you as you are, a sceptical colleague - "
"What, am I more use to your ambitions like that?" she asked, sarcastically.
"Yes, you are, actually. I need this magazine to succeed; which means that I need the best editor to make it succeed: and you are the best." Was he trying to seduce her despite what he said? "I'll do anything I can to help you succeed - and that obviously includes not seducing you, since I know that this would ultimately not be a good idea...."
"You have a rather convoluted way of doing things, James," she said, hoping that the use of his first name was distancing rather than otherwise.
"Perhaps, but it works, so what do I care? But look, just to prove how disinterested I can be - " he paused to let his correct usage of an often-abused word sink in - "I'll give you a piece of advice, free and for nothing - "
"Very good of you, I'm sure," said Bernice.
"It is, since it's probably not really necessary from my point of view for you to know this," said James, still quite unperturbed by the conversation or Bernice's evident scorn. "But I'll tell you all the same. Just watch out for that young Yasmeen: she is a tough little bitch - far tougher than you are, though I don't say better. But just watch out for her...."
What on earth did he mean? Was Yasmeen another of his 'means? Or was all this just a smokescreen, a labyrinthine way of putting her off the scent? She no longer really knew. She was really outraged by this man and his airs, his overweening self-importance, his cynical manipulation of everyone - herself included. And yet if she was honest she also found him and his twisted, slalom-like conversation exciting, arousing even.
"And Cristina? What are you going to do about her? Will you leave her alone?" she asked with as much sternness as she could muster.
"Sure - when I have achieved what I set out to achieve," he added with emphasis. He too was quite serious now as his strange, slightly cross-eyed gaze held hers.
"I see," she said, though she was not sure that she did. She decided it was best to leave. James made no effort to stop her.
When she got back to the office she was still outwardly fuming. Janice noticed this, and asked her why.
"This is the second time in the last few weeks that I've seen you like this," she said. "Is something up?" Bernice explained about James's business philosophy, without going into details about Cristina, and without broadcasting it to the whole office.
"Oh, that," said Janice. "Yeah, he's been after me for weeks too. But I know how to handle his type. He seems really narked that he's not getting anywhere, too."
"Really? I mean, about him getting narked? I find him hard to imagine losing control anywhere," Bernice said, "even in bed," she added quite unnecessarily, and then wished that she hadn't.
