The early summer at Wright's was traditionally the time for appraisals, those strange rituals when staff pretend to say what they want, and when managers pretend to listen. Each year some new format was tried, and each year the ritual was as unfulfilling as the last. Which was a pity, because in principle it was sound idea; it was simply a case of business theory and practice failing to mesh once more.
This year Personnel had come up with a special form that led the appraiser through the various stages, and was designed to formalise the process as much as possible. Needless to say, Central Personnel was even more remote from the realities of work than the local managers, so the whole exercise had even more than usual the air of some intricate choreographed ballet of minimal relevance.
Relevant or not, Bernice had to go through ritual twice: as an interrogator of her team, and first, as victim. Like so many other aspects of working in a big company, appraisals were for her largely an obstacle that needed to be overcome as quickly as possible, a nuisance that stopped her getting on with the main task in hand, producing the magazine.
"So, Bernice," Martin said as he prepared to take her through the new form, "I think you understand the principles behind all this. We are not talking about a unilateral judgement on my part, but rather of a consensus position of agreed understanding - at least I think that was the invocation I was told by Personnel to use." One of the ironies for Martin during this process was that all of the sound things that such appraisals represented - a chance to talk honestly about the past successes and failures, and to look forward realistically to the future - were denied to him. He had no such appraisal procedure from his boss, who was supposed somehow to guess what Martin wanted unless Martin sent him a memo or even told him straight out, which may or may not have been the idea. As if in mockery, the thought for the day from his Wright's Manager's Diary was: "Those that live by the memo die in oblivion."
"So," he went on, turning to the first page of the form, "looking back over the last year, what do you think have been your major successes?"
"Apart from launching a magazine against impossible deadlines and with staff who were dumped on me you mean?" she said, though with a smile.
"Well, yes, I suppose we had better try to capture that," Martin conceded as he tried to scribble down something suitable for Cristina to type up later - thank God she could read his writing, acting as his translator to the outside world, he thought. And then suddenly he remembered that she was leaving next week, for 'personal reasons' which she refused to explain further. Damn, he thought to himself, how would he cope without her? Even though for the last few months he had been concentrating on his other titles, now with the launch of New Business it was crucial for him to co-ordinate their counter-attack. This meant more meetings that needed to be fixed up, which in turn meant that he would soon be suffering from her absence all the more.
"But in personal terms, say, what about that?" he continued, trying to concentrate on the job in hand.
"Well, I think I've grown as a manager, dealing with difficult situations as they arose" - and God knows there'd been enough of them, she thought; but had she really handled them so well? Had her leadership been decisive enough, for example? That was more a matter for personal introspection rather than public discussion here, she decided, allowing good sense to prevail - "I've worked closely with the advertising side" - she thought of James, and then inevitably of Chris, and the doubly unresolved situation there - "I've become much more involved in all aspects of the magazine," she concluded rather weakly.
True, Martin thought, she had taken on many of the burdens that were traditionally those of a publisher, getting involved in everything because she had realised that it was all connected, that no one part of the magazine could function without the others.
"What about failures?" probed Martin, prompted by the form - which was a useful alibi for asking the kind of questions that he might otherwise have avoided.
"Failures," she said, thinking of Chris, Chris, Chris and Chris. "Well, I've made misjudgements, I've not acted soon enough, perhaps I've shied away from difficult decisions, postponing things."
"What sort of things?" asked Martin.
"Oh, staff issues, the usual." What was she going to do about Dave, about Chris? Martin did not pursue the obvious opening here, perhaps afraid of opening too many cans of worms, of exposing the raw nerves that he knew to be sensitive - not least because of him.
"Right, are there any skills that you have that you feel are not being fully exploited in your current position?"
She thought of Chris again, but said: "No, not really." Her job engaged her fully, too fully.
"OK," Martin said, passing on to the next page. "Are there any areas where you feel you could have been better supported - staff, equipment etc?" Martin had been dreading this question.
"Well, Martin, there is the little matter of the replacement for Pete. It's been four months now. You told me that there were bureaucratic procedures to be gone through, ads to be drawn up etc. etc., but four months? If I were the cynical type I might think that I've been strung along, Martin." It had been ridiculous, this wait. In a sense she could cope, but that was not the point. She did not want her team size reduced, and there were other issues besides. Yasmeen, for example, who was becoming impatient with her current position and starting to drop hints about 'progressing'.
"Yes, I know, I know," said Martin putting his hands up in mock self-defence. "You're quite right, but could we talk about that after this, please - I was going to have a word anyway." Unfortunately, he thought.
"What about the future?" he continued. Yeah, what about it? he wondered. Is there any for you and me, for a start? Things had hardly gone as he might have wished over the last year. Despite the clear evidence that she treated him as a business colleague and no more, he still harboured some faint, by now hopelessly complicated longings for this woman he had come to admire and like even more. The fact was, though, that recently he had seen even less of Bernice than during the launch, and he was conscious that his own actions - and those he was forced to carry out on orders from above - were putting more and more distance between him and her. Nonetheless, he allowed himself to dream.
" - I mean, what about your long-term aspirations, what do you want...?" he asked.
"The future..." said Bernice meditatively. She hardly knew what to say. Everything seemed to be up in the air, what with New Business just out, the position of her magazine uncertain, staffing unresolved - she dreaded to think what would happen when Kate went on maternity leave - to say nothing of Dave and Chris. And Chris: it always seemed to come back to Chris, that collision of her business and personal life. If only she could talk about it...but Martin was hardly the right person.
"Frankly," she said, knowing that this was not the answer that was required from her, "I try not to think about the future apart from commissioning articles and planning changes to the magazine. I just don't know what I want, Martin, I'm sorry." So was he.
"Well, let's explore this a bit further. What exactly is the problem?" he asked, trying a little harder to do his duty by her.
"It's this necessity to be so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, to be able to take anything from the team and bounce right back, to listen to their problems and not let them get me down. But it does, I'm only human after all, but sometimes it seems to me that being a manager requires more than that."
Tell me about it, thought Martin as she explained her problems. At least you've got me to listen to you; Charles just doesn't want to hear about problems. And this was true, literally, when Martin approached Charles with a problem he was told that there were no problems, only opportunities, and that he, Charles, would be very disappointed if Martin could not exploit whatever opportunities faced him. And that was that. It was perhaps Charles' biggest failing: in all other respects he was a model boss, supportive and helpful. But it seemed that he had decided that his immediate underlings were sufficiently senior to cope with problems themselves, or that he had enough of his own or simply didn't want to add wrinkles to his fine brow and grey tints to his imposing head of hair.
"Yes, I fully understand," he said. "It is one of the more draining aspects of being a manager, I know. But it just comes with the job. But let me assure you that you do it very well, if you have any doubts about your ability. I've had quite few editors" - well, only in a certain sense, he added mentally - "and I can assure you that you're very good. Don't let it get you down."
Is that it? she thought. But then what else could he say? He was right: it just went with the job, which perhaps meant that she was not right for the job, whatever he said.
"OK, that's about it," he said. "Perhaps if I could just make a few comments which feed into the key tasks for the coming year. First of all, for God's sake take some holidays. I think I'm right in saying you've not been away at all since you joined, isn't that right?" - it was - "you need a break."
"Easier said than done, what with issues to get out, counter-launches and whatnot. And anyway, aren't we being a mite hypocritical here, Martin?" she asked, "I don't think you've taken any hols either." Nor have the team much, she realised quickly, so dedicated had they been to the magazine. She resolved to raise the issue during their appraisals, and to make sure that they had more time for themselves in the future.
"Ah well, it's a bit different for me," replied Martin, caught off guard a little by this sudden reversal of roles as Bernice quizzed him. "You know there's always a palace revolution when the dictator goes away. No, but seriously, I am taking some holiday quite soon, actually, in the middle of June."
"Oh yes, somewhere nice?" she asked.
"Well, er, Mexico actually," he said somewhat bashfully. You wouldn't like to come would you? he added to himself.
"Ah, right," she said. Well it would be, wouldn't it? "But look, can we talk about this Deputy Editor post, please?"
"Well, we're supposed to add a few more key tasks," he said uncertainly, "but I can always stick those in later - basically you're doing a really great job, so there's nothing really serious that needs to be done. And certainly that will be reflected in the pay rise in September" - that was another thing she felt cheated on: pay was normally reviewed in September, but her letter of appointment last year, and those of her staff, all specified that the agreed salary included any reviews for that year. This meant that she would have to wait nearly 15 months for a pay rise. "But I should warn you that things are getting increasingly tight here at the company. The Business so far has done OK, but in general throughout the division forecasts have taken a very steep nosedive, and senior management is getting a bit twitchy. As a result there's bound to be a certain amount of belt-tightening for all of us in the near future."
This was a very different tone, she thought, from a few months back. Then it had been spend, spend, spend, expand, grow, launch. Now the brakes had been slammed on in no uncertain terms. As a result the recent brilliant success of The Business appeared to have been downgraded to little more than satisfactory even though the figures remained the same, so fickle is the mood of business.
"One of the consequences of this - and believe me I've fought this all the way up the line - is that we won't be able to replace the Deputy Editor - I know, I know," he said when she was about to explode with wrath, "it's deeply unfair, but you must understand that we're running a business here. We can't guarantee any levels of staffing if the magazine and the economy don't justify it."
"But this is outrageous: you more or less promised me the replacement back in February. You've been lying to me, Martin, playing for time."
"That's not true," he said, annoyed that she was not seeing his position. He had really fought hard for the staff member, but it was Charles who had played for time at first, then finally flatly refused. Now he had to suffer Bernice's anger, when he was quite helpless. "You must understand my position: I'm just piggy in the middle. You give me a hard time, Charles gives me a hard time, I can do nothing." He wanted to say that he was suffering too: Charles had told him that Cristina would not be replaced either, and that Martin would have to share a secretary with the publisher next door. A double blow: losing someone as effortlessly efficient as Cristina, and being lumbered with the old dragon next door - a middle-aged woman of formidable character that reminded him of a maiden aunt he had been rather frightened of as a child.
"Oh, poor Martin," she said sarcastically, "it must be really horrible being a publisher." It was, he thought, she didn't seem to realise, especially when the going got tough. Somebody whose job was to make things happen usually ended up making unpleasant things happen when times were hard. He was beginning to realise that what he had enjoyed about being a publisher, the sense of power, of being able to do things, was strictly tied to the business environment in which he worked, and that the environment had changed. The Good Times were officially over.
"I am really truly sorry," he said as sincerely as he could, "if it were my decision you could have two new staff. But it's not, and you can't."
Bernice was conscious of Yasmeen's aspirations for the post.
"What about promotions within the magazine, presumably I can do that, especially since things are going so well for us?"
"Well, if you could just hold off for a little," he said, fully aware how unreasonable he must sound, "we're trying to slow things down a little as far as promotions are concerned."
"But that's madness, people will simply leave and go to rival companies." Martin spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders as if powerless once more. In truth the company would have been quite happy to slim itself down in this way, avoiding the need for potentially expensive redundancies. Once more it would be the magazines that had to pay the price in terms of more work for everyone else.
"This is bloody crazy, whatever happened to listening?" said Bernice, quite upset now. "Is there anything else?" she asked coldly. "Can I go now and try to get the magazine out before I lose any other staff?" He felt so frustrated that their conversations always seemed to end like this, when he wanted to use their work to draw them closer.
"No," he said exhausted, "there's nothing else. I'll send you the appraisal once - once it's been typed." Which I'll probably have to do myself the way things are going at the moment, he thought, increasingly fed up.
She left without saying any more and went back to the office.
"What's up?" asked Janice when she got back.
"Oh, nothing," said Bernice unconvincingly.
"Come on, tell me Bernice, you know it'll make you feel better."
She sketched a rough outline of her conversation with her boss.
"That bastard Martin," Janice said, angry for Bernice, and as unimpressed as ever with senior management. "But look, don't worry, we'll manage somehow. I don't mind staying later to help where I can." She was already staying late, often secretly to type out Dave's copy for him - he still refused to use the computer. Not that there was much copy these days, as he seemed to get more and more involved with his big story. And truth to tell, the New Technology had already increased George's productivity greatly, and Yasmeen too was even more productive. It probably would be all right, Bernice had to concede. But that was not the point. It was the principle of the thing.
Later that day she met Mr Slide in the corridor looking uncharacteristically grim.
"Something the matter, James?" she asked, hoping that Chris had not been stupid again, and still rather angry with him for what he had done to Cristina. The fact that she was leaving might have made Bernice even more angry, but on balance she felt that it was probably better for Cristina to make a clean break and get away from Martin as well. She should have no difficulty finding a job elsewhere.
"I've just had my appraisal with the Sugar Daddy," - James seemed to know all the editorial nicknames - including his own, presumably. "Things are not too bright, are they? I wanted another staff member - New Business have got ten bloody people on their ad team. Martin said 'no'. Not looking bright at all. I think it's time to reconsider our positions, don't you?"
She wasn't sure she knew what he meant, but was disturbed that someone as upbeat as James was cast down but the company's situation. Perhaps things were really serious, she thought as they parted and went their separate ways down the corridor.
