Chapter 12

John did not in fact phone Carol on Monday evening, or any other evening that week.

There was a call from Paula Grantham, Sir Maurice Callaghan’s PA, first thing on Monday morning.

“John,” she said, “Sir Maurice wants to see you. Tomorrow would be good. You were going to send your half-yearly report, he says. He wants you to bring it, and be prepared to stay in town for a while. OK?”

“Pauline!” came John’s strangled cry.

“Sorry, sorry, so touchy! Is that all right with you babe?” and she giggled. “Phew, some people are so picky!”

John smiled, unrepentant, “That’s fine,” he replied. “Any idea what’s in his mind?”

“He did say to get Tom Forshaw to deputise for you, so it could be for some time, but he wants to put it to you himself.”

“His right, I suppose,” he said, and disconnected.

The rest of the day was taken by getting Tom sorted out and perfecting the report with Julie. Then off on the early train the next day.

Paula nodded him through to Sir Maurice Callaghan’s office.

“Two things,” Sir Maurice got to the point after their greetings. “You’ve livened up your end in a very short time, and the board want to hear it from you. They’re meeting tomorrow.

“Then I’ve got a group from the Dutch division the day after. You remember pointing up some potentially serious personnel problems with that division when you were with them? Well, it’s really blown up and it’s now affecting their performance. I want you to get involved with that as well. You saw the problem before anyone else; you may end up going over there to try to sort it. How do you feel about that?”

John thought for a moment. “If I have to go over there, I need to get back to Tom before I go.”

“Agreed.”

The report went well, and the board were suitably impressed, John thought, and endorsed what he was doing. The meeting with the Dutch visitors showed John that he would need to go to Holland and stay for at least a fortnight if not longer. There were some deeply endemic problems with some staff, and some of their systems were at still seriously at odds with those of the parent company long after the take over.

He took a train back on the Thursday night and was in the office with Tom at seven the next morning. Julie said the earliest flight to Schiphol was Sunday morning, so there was intense activity to sort everything out in time.

When John returned home from his office at nearly midnight on Friday, he found a pile of post. With a sigh he settled to sort it out and work his way through it.

Half way through he came across the invitation to the Midsummer’s party. It was impersonal, really just an advertisement for the party. The envelope was hand written, but he did not recognise the writing.

He wondered whether he should bother. He thought of phoning the hotel but it was nearly one in the morning, so he decided against it. He would ask Tom the next day.

On Saturday their hopes of an early finish dwindled as they found more areas that needed covering. John had never organised the appointment of a deputy before, and he cursed himself for not taking that precaution, though he never thought it would be necessary so soon. Tom shrugged it off; after all, he said, it was never envisaged that John would turn into a trouble-shooter, and an international one at that.

They had lunch at the Griffin, which took longer than usual because it was a weekend and the staff were stretched, and on returning, they finished to their satisfaction shortly after three.

“I got an invite to that Mid-Summer’s party. No idea who sent it. You going to the party?” asked John.

“I was,” Tom replied, “but I’m bushed. Anne’s not that keen, so I think we’ll stay at home.”

“Me too,” added John, “I’ve a very early start tomorrow.”

When he got home, He had a shower, and packed a large suitcase and a cabin bag before taking his briefcase to the study. There he saw the answer-phone light blinking. He pressed ‘playback’.

“Hey, John, sorry I missed you. Just to remind you about the party. Carol is very keen you come, see you there. Bye.”

To his discomfort, he could not place the male owner of the voice, or the phone number, but the person obviously knew him well enough, and must have forgotten to give his name. He thought it might be Leo.

He sighed. If Carol was wanting him there, it was a chance to tell her of his feelings. He cursed himself that he had not phoned her earlier. He noted with a grin that it was his second curse of the day. He picked up his mobile and found her number. There was no reply. When it went to voicemail he said he would be at the party, and wanted to see her.

He felt a frisson of excitement at the prospect of seeing her and telling her that she had proved everything and he wanted to try again with her, slowly and gently. He could envisage her expression as she learned they would be an item again. He couldn’t help envisaging her in bed with him either. which excited him further.

He was glad he had packed for the next day, now he only had to dress appropriately and drive over. He would not be drinking and he would not be staying long. He would explain why.

The evening was fine and warm when at eight forty-two John arrived at the hotel. As he entered he noticed the public bar to his right, and the noise of a party to his left the other side of some impressive oak doors. He was about to turn to his left, when the receptionist, a large man in a waistcoat and white shirt, called to him.