Chapter 7

If Dora had charmed Mum, an hour of flute music ranging from medieval through classical to folk convinced my father. It was actually Mum who called a halt and insisted that it’d been a long day for all of us and it was time for bed. Dora and I sat in the living room with cups of tea until the sounds of movement ceased upstairs. She snuggled against me, leaning into my embrace, holding my hand against the swell of her breast.

“Your Mum is nice,” she said. “I told her everything, like you said.”

“Good. She obviously approves of you – she told me not to let you get away.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’d be a fool to try to make it on my own. Besides, I think I love you.”

“I think it’s too soon to say that. But I also think you’re like no woman I met before. If I think of life without you, I feel awful. Horrible.”

“Really?”

“Really. Dora, I’m an engineer; a scientist in a way. That doesn’t mean I’ve never taken an interest in anything else. The attraction between us is, well, chemical now. That will fade. But if we both work at it, I think love will be there. I think we could grow old together.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good! Wonderful. In that case, I think we should be married. Married before the baby’s born. Will you marry me?”

“MARRY?!” she pulled away and turned to face me, gazing into my eyes. “Are you serious? What will your mother say?”

“Of course I’m serious. You shouldn’t worry about what Mum will say if we marry – you should worry about what she’ll say if we don’t.”

“Steve, marriage ... it’s beyond a dream. I ... I want to talk to your mother before I say yes. Is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay.” I leant forwards and gently kissed her.

“Tomorrow. What are your plans? You were going to Sheffield?”

“Yes. I need to ring Icomsec tomorrow and arrange to see Mister van Walters. What I do will depend on when he’s available.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Can I be on top again this time?” Said with a demure smile.

“I think that sounds like a perfectly wonderful idea. Just so long as we leave the light on.”

The smile turned into a beam; she stood, reached out a hand, took mine, and pulled me to my feet.

Shower. Sixty-nine. Dora playing cowgirl until her third triggered my ejaculation. Sleep with the prettiest girl in the world sprawled on top of me.

“Icomsec. How may I help you?” Very sweet soprano voice.

“Good morning. Steve Thompson. I need to arrange to see Mister van Walters.”

“One moment, sir.” Eine kleine nachtmusik. “Steve – if I may?” van Walter’s voice.

“Certainly, sir.”

“Then I shall be Franz to you, if you wish, and we shall proceed happily. Thank you for calling.”

“I’m visiting my parents, a few miles north of Sheffield. I thought I’d ring and see when you’d like to meet me ... Franz.”

“Oh, that is very good! Could you come this morning? I don’t want to put you out.”

“Not a problem. I’ll be on a motorbike. What time?”

“Just ask for me when you arrive. What is your preference in beverage?”

“Oh, coffee is always good. Black.”

“Excellent. I’ll see you later this morning, then.”

I found Dora with my mother in the kitchen. Dora was kneading bread dough, and Mum was rolling out pastry. Mum looked up. “Oh, Steve. You’ve made a much better choice this time.” Dora just smiled at me.

“I’ve got to go to Sheffield,” I said, “on Oscar. D’you want to come, Dora?”

She actually waggled her head side to side. “I’d like to ride with you, but you’ll be busy, won’t you? And your Mum and I have things to talk about.”

Thus I was on the road by ten, having had to dismount Oscar from his perch on the back of the van. I didn’t have far to go; just about twenty miles, but the roads over the moors are not fast, and five miles or so are through urban areas with heavy traffic, traffic lights, one-way systems and, of course, the ubiquitous buses which stop erratically and hold up traffic. We won’t go into the situation with the trams.

The company had moved into new premises, modern buildings between the bus and railway stations, overlooked by some of the Hallam university buildings. I knew that many of the engineering students would be interning with local companies like Icomsec. Happily (not that it was difficult to find somewhere to park a motorbike) there was an underground secure car park where, after a short delay, I was admitted.

I’d never met Franz van Walters before. He was a tall, spare, dark man, disconcertingly dressed in blue cargo trousers and a matching polo shirt bearing the company logo. He picked up on my surprise. “I prefer to dress casually when I can. I still get to crawl inside cabinets from time to time if only to prove to my staff I know what I’m doing. Welcome, Steve. Come to my office.”

Indeed, his office was not the orderly, power-statement place I’d been accustomed to with my former line-manager. Oh, it was tidy enough, but there were hard-copies of various technical documents lying around, and odd bits of component, too, some of them the worse for wear. He lifted a pile of books off a comfortable chair and waved at it. “Take a seat, Steve.” As I did, he rolled his chair round from behind his desk so he could sit with me without the desk making a power statement. I was impressed.

“I’ll get right to the point, Steve. We want you back, and I have a proposal – actually several different proposals – to set before you, depending on your current situation.”

“Well, um, Franz...” I was still a little uncertain about addressing a senior management type by his first name, but this man was definitely not your usual manager. Similarly, I’ve never been any good at bargaining, so I decided to lay my cards on the table. “My circumstances have changed somewhat. Whilst on the road I acquired a girlfriend who I’m hoping will soon be my fiancée. So, yes, despite enjoying what I’ve been doing the last few weeks, I’ll be looking to settle down.”

“I see. What we had in mind was Mister Cawthorn’s position, but with much more hands-on work. You’d be doing much the same as before, with some additional supervisory responsibilities and, perhaps, involving some training, if that interests you. However, we do not expect you to put in eighty hour weeks.” He went on to mention a salary figure which, while less in hourly terms than I’d been asking as a contractor, made my eyes widen. “Additionally, we were going to offer you a studio flat in West One as part of the package, either rent paid or a supported mortgage.”

“I’ll be needing something larger than a studio, I think, Franz.”

“Just what I was thinking, if you’re intending to marry again. I happen to know there are no larger apartments available in West One just now. Would you be interested in a modernised terrace? Or would you prefer a city centre apartment?”

“Actually, somewhere in the west or southwest areas of the city, just outside the inner ring, would be good. I’m hoping Dora ... my girlfriend ... will be able to start as a student at the University, probably autumn next year.”

“Indeed? Another engineer, perhaps?”

I shook my head. “No. Not at all likely. She’s a musician. Plays the flute such that the choirs of heaven pause to listen.”

“Well, if we help you find a suitable property...”

“I think I’m sold, Franz. Overwhelmed, in fact. The van will serve well for the time being, but I’ll need to find a pitch not too far out of the city. When would you like me to start?”

“Soon. I’d say tomorrow, but that would be unfair. How about next Monday?”

“As long as I can find a place for the van.”

“Excellent! Just let us know if there’s a problem.”

Rather than patronise the company cafeteria, Franz took me to the railway station. There is a franchise operation called ‘Upper Crust’, offering very fresh, crusty, French bread sandwiches made to order. Their coffee is pretty good too. We sat outside on the plaza, chatting amiably amid the hiss of flowing water and passing voices. We parted at the company reception desk, and as I was about to collect Oscar, Franz said, “I look forward to seeing you next Monday, as long as all is well. Don’t plan on a full day. There’ll be a few hours of admin, I want to have lunch with you to discuss plans, and you should be able to be on your way before the traffic builds.”

“Thanks, Franz. I look forward to working for you.”

When I arrived home, Dora wrapped herself round me and administered a scorching kiss while Mum watched, smiling. When she broke the kiss she beamed up at me and said one word. “Yes.”

Finding a suitable pitch for the van was much easier than I thought it might be. A site at Hope offered full facilities and was less than a hundred yards from a station on the Manchester to Sheffield railway line. While I probably wouldn’t commute regularly on the train, it would certainly be convenient, not to mention dry and warm in bad weather.