Chapter 18: The Presentation

I spent the rest of Saturday in a daze. It wasn't Cupid's arrow which had impaled me but Suzannah Weston's smile. I walked around with a soppy grin on my face. I was in love with a beautiful woman — and we all know where that leads.

It was a hopeless, hapless, amour. She had amply demonstrated her dislike, disdain and probably disgust, for me, making any chance of a relationship with her as far-fetched as West Ham United winning the Premier Championship, or me copping on with Debbie Harry.

It was a pipe dream and nothing more. In fact I did dream of Suzannah Weston on Saturday night. Then on Sunday morning I took a cold shower and returned to the paper I had been working on before being yashin urdi, as they say in Uzbekistan. With the shadow of her smile locked into my memory banks I wrote and rewrote my paper, then did a dummy run of my lecture/address, using all the aids I could think of to put across the function and workings of my program.

I went to bed early Sunday night knowing I had done all that could be done.

I got into work early Monday morning. Although I knew Suzannah Weston would be absent from the presentations enough heavy hitters had been invited for me to want everything to be tickety boo.

John Rudry was already in the office. Being the team leader he carried a considerable load on his shoulders; it would reflect badly on him if the team didn't perform well.

"You're in early Des. Couldn't you sleep?" He said, as I entered the room.

As a matter of fact I had slept like a log, and woke at first light on Monday morning feeling refreshed and on top of the world. I had dreamed of Suzannah Weston throughout the night; nothing salacious or sexual – well maybe just a little – and it had been a lovely dream.

When I went over to the post room to pick up the team's mail Maureen was behind the counter.

"Did you enjoy your weekend, Des? You look as if you did" She winked. "Shona has gone to get coffee from the vending machine ... she looked as if she enjoyed her weekend as well."

Shona came in a few moments later. She saw me and put down the coffee cups, then gave me an open mouthed kiss, her tongue swirling around in my mouth.

She pulled away wetly. "Thanks for a wonderful weekend, Des," she gasped, before kissing me again. Maureen gave a grin, and picked up her coffee.

"I'll leave you two love birds to it," and she disappeared into the back room.

Shona removed her tongue from my mouth. "Reg soon spread the news of you staying the weekend at my place. I had a call from Alan first thing this morning asking about it. I told him you'd given me the best shagging I've ever had, and he was convulsed with jealously. He's taking me to Paris next week, and promises to shag my brains out."

"I'm glad it's all worked out for you, Shona." I wasn't lying. I still liked her, it was just we didn't have the chemistry, and any way my heart and mind was now filled with Suzannah Weston.

The presentation went like a dream. John Rudry introduced the team, and he was a good speaker. Next up was Ted Blackford, the ex-RAF bloke, who had also done some instructing in the RAF and could put over his ideas so they were understood. After him came Brian Blewton, who knew what he was talking about although he didn't have the fluency of John or Ted.

Then it was my turn. I can't tell you much about the programs due to the Official Secrets Act, but my program sat on top of several others, acting as an operating system, from which the collated SSR data was analysed before being passed on to the appropriate air combat control centre.

My presentation took about 15 minutes, and I had graphics and charts to illustrate my talk. Soon after starting I knew I had the audience in the palm of my hand, and couldn't put a foot, or finger, wrong. When I finished my spiel I got a huge round of applause. John Rudry was as chuffed as could be. Other members of the visiting big wigs congratulated me, and I wished with all my heart Suzannah could have witnessed my triumph, such as it was. However, it was probably because she wasn't there I was so relaxed and at ease.

The team and visitors adjourned for coffee, and Douglas Green, the fellow who had translated the Uzbek proverb on the day of the induction, when Suzannah and I first crossed swords, came over and spoke to me.

"You have a gift for lecturing, Mister Desmond. Have you ever thought of using the skill in my department, Procurement and Publicity?"

I hadn't, although if I hadn't picked up a criminal record I had intended becoming a teacher, or lecturer, when I first left the army.

Douglas Green continued. "I took an interest in you at the induction course last July. Uzbek speakers are as rare as hen's teeth in the UK. You are a decorated former soldier, and have excellent interpersonal skills, especially with females, or so I'm informed." He gave a wry smile. "Attributes like those, coupled with a professional method of presenting facts, are always welcome in Procurement and Publicity, where we have many contacts with the Minissty of Defence."

He handed me his card. "Think about it, Mister Desmond, or may I call you Des?"

I nodded my agreement, and he said to call him Dougie.

"You would be on a higher salary scale, with expenses, if you do decide to move from programming. It is quite normal for MilSys personnel to move within departments. Have a word with John Rudry."

I was tempted. If I could work myself into a higher position in the company then maybe Suzannah Weston would have a greater respect for me. Who knows, I might even find myself at meetings, or seminars, with her.

I decided to take the plunge. Faint heart never won fair lady, and I had an irresistible urge to win a fair lady, and her name wasn't Eliza Doolittle.

John was reluctant for me me leave his team, but he saw Procurement and Publicity being a better career path for me than programming, where I could just about hold my own. However, promotion went to those with degrees in computer science, and electronic engineering, which were way above my abilities.

The following Monday I rang Dougie Green and accepted his offer.

It took nearly three weeks for all the transfer details to be settled, but on March 5th, 2003, a year to the day I was wounded in Afghanistan – where the journey to where I am now began – I joined the Procurement and Publicity Department of Military Systems PLC.

It was probably the best move I had made since signing on for the Junior Leaders Regiment of the Royal Green Jackets all those years ago.

There was a strong representation of ex-HM forces in the department, and I hoped the underlying military ambience would curb the flashbacks and nightmares I sometimes suffered. Many of my new colleagues had been commissioned officers, and a few toffy nosed sods thought they were still in the Kate, and acted accordingly. Fortunately the vast majority were as good as gold, and I soon settled into the new, and different, regime from that of the department I had left. Other plusses were the generous expenses, and learning I would also receive bonuses on all contracts obtained via Procurement and Publicity. What's not to like?

Dougie Green gave me an introduction to what the work of the Procurement and Publicity Department entailed.

"We are known as 'Pros and Pubs' in the company, which more or less sums up what we do." He saw the puzzled look on my face. "We come under the Bids and Contracts division, and schmooze clients, and prospective clients. We give presentations, demonstrations, and lectures on the equipment MilSys manufactures, and discuss tailoring the equipment to customers' specific requirements. We are able to answer their initial questions on the product, but detailed questions related to cost, and the electronic engineering involved, are directed to the electronic experts at West Drayton, or other MilSys sites."

"So basically we are salesmen?"

He smiled. "Well, I suppose when it comes down to it we are, but it's not like selling double glazing or insurance, and we are invited by clients to give our spiel. No foot in the door technique for MilSys, Des."

I joined a team whose job was to present the company's products in the most favourable light to the army brass, or more specifically to the civil servants who controlled the military purse strings.

There were some drawbacks to my new job. The first being I didn't get to see Suzannah Weston as often as I would like; my new office was situated in MilSys HQ building in Aldgate, London. Sometimes we would be at the same meeting, but rarely had a face to face encounter, although we would smile at each other across a crowded room.

Another drawback was the number of meetings I had to attend. The bulk of MilSys work came from the UK military, and many of these meetings were held at the MoD complex in Whitehall. Occasionally meetings took place in upmarket hotels in London, where after all the talking, and note taking, and promises half made, the military brass and civil servants, from the Procurement Department at MoD, tucked into all the goodies provided by MilSys: booze, grub and girls.

I raised my eyebrows the first time I saw men, who after feeding their faces with as much shampoo and caviar they could cram into their greedy gobs, furtively disappearing into hotel rooms with females who were obviously whores, high end whores but whores never the less.

"I thought it against the law to bribe government officials. Couldn't we all get banged up for bribery and corruption, or something?" I asked Dougie Green as we watched a portly assistant permanent undersecretary follow a perky blonde into a room in the corridor where we were standing.

He laughed. "Really Des, you are so old world scrupulous. Business has always been conducted by greasing palms and influencing people. The girls are employed as 'hostesses' at these sorts of functions, and MilSys has no jurisdiction over what they do, or who they do it with, after the function is over." He gazed at me with a sincere expression on his face. "I can assure you we do not stick wads of cash into civil servants' pockets, neither do we insist the girls, 'hostesses' as they are known in the trade, sleep with the guests at the event. What happens afterwards is between them and their, err, clients, but generally the girls receive enough of an emolument to give freebies to the johns, therefore no money actually changes hands." Dougie shrugged. "It might be contrary to the spirit of the rules of engagement but every company does it, and if we didn't we would never get a sniff of a government contract, and would then have to lay off hundreds of workers from our factories. It is the way of the world I'm afraid."