Chapter 9

The rest of Tuesday was just plain busy. It wasn't a good day. It started with me being tired, upset and frustrated. Then I'd had to sack a senior director, and although I knew it was right that he should go, it was inevitable that I would still worry about the man underneath all the business bravado. Sacking people is simply not a nice thing to have to do. But he's only a few months off being able to draw a pension, and an ex-gratia payment should see him through.

It was the evening and I was back in my flat before I really had time to reflect on the events of the day. I began to really like Carole's theory that Peter Davies was a cheat even in his marriage. It was consistent with what I know of him before his marriage. It may explain a little of why Molly was willing to cheat on him with me. And it would explain why she was upset to be reminded that I didn't cheat on her, ever.

Interestingly and by chance, Dennis Murrell's little outburst seemed to support the theory.

But it didn't explain what it was that was so important for Molly to want to talk to me about. There seemed to be only two possibilities. She was going to ask if she could swap back again, that her first husband was a better buy than the second, so she wanted to come back. But I still didn't believe that of Molly. She was too true to her own emotions, she married for love, not because the man was good husband material. The second possibility was that she was going to ask me to move away and leave them in peace. That despite what sort of man Peter Davies was, she was going to see it through. I remembered that was her commitment to Ann Walters years ago when they had met.

Well, whatever the explanation, my answer was the same - No. I'm not taking her back because she sees me as the lesser of evils, nor am I giving up my children.

On Wednesday, I spent the morning doing my bit for a sales presentation, but it ran late. I got back to my office pretty certain I was going to miss my train for London.

Carole was waiting for me, "Don't worry. I've packed your briefcase with all the files you'll need. Now give me your keys, I'll drive you to the station, and then I'll take your car and park it at your flat, I'll leave the keys with the porter, and take a taxi back here."

As she drove along, she asked, "And how goes my soap opera? What's the latest instalment?"

"I don't think there is one. I haven't heard from Helene since she was in my office. I guess that's for the best. And Myra and myself are OK. I think we are at the beginning of what could be a very good personal and business friendship."

"And how about the one great love of your life?"

"Molly? Well, I hope you're wrong. She may be a great love of my life, but I hope there's room for a second great love one day. Just, not yet. I'm in a pretty good place at the moment. I'm beginning to build a good relationship with my sons. I'm back living in a city I know and love. And I'm the managing director of a great company with a great future. Things are pretty good. But I'll admit there's a vacancy for a little companionship, a little delecting as you would say. But that's all."

"So nothing's happened about her tearful walk out?"

"No. But I wasn't expecting anything. Anti-climax seems to be the name of the game with her. I really do think that Molly is a nice person, she doesn't mean to hurt or upset people. The same's true for Ralph, her father. But I begin to feel that they are playing mind games with me. Maybe they don't mean to. But they do, and I'm fed up with it. I'll sit peacefully on the train and think about it for a couple of hours."

"I hope you don't. I put the first draft of your quarterly report to the Group Board in your case. I need you to go through it and mark it up with corrections."

"Something to look forward to!"

Wednesday afternoon in Head Office was good. I seemed welcome, and anyone who I saw and who I respected as having influence, seemed to think I was doing OK at Franks. I was called into HR. They knew of the Dennis Murrell debacle, but they weren't surprised. Apparently, Charles Dyer and the takeover team had spotted Dennis as having to go when they did their review. HR just wanted to be sure there would be no nasty repercussions.

Coming out of HR, who do I bump into the delectable but now untouchable Myra?

"Hello, I wasn't expecting to see you here."

She smiled, "I could say the same."

"Are you doing anything this evening by any chance?"

"Yes. Heading back to Bath. I'm in Bristol tomorrow."

"Could I convince you to catch a later train, and we'll have an early dinner? I'm at a bit of a loose end. I'm sure we can grab something to eat and you catch a nine or nine thirty train."

"Sounds good. I'll see you in Reception at six say?"

Dinner with Myra was good. Maybe because there was no shadow of 'what happens later' hanging over us, we both knew that later she was going to catch a train for Bath. After we left the restaurant, we took one taxi between us, first going up to Paddington Station to drop off Myra, and then to head back to my hotel in St James. It was just after we'd dropped Myra at the station that my phone rang. It was Molly. My first thought was for the boys.

"Hello, Molly. I wasn't expecting to hear from you. Are the boys OK?"

"They're fine. Don't worry. Are you OK to talk, you're not at dinner or anything?"

"No. I'm in the back of a taxi just going round Marble Arch, and I've had dinner."

"Are you alone?"

"Yes."

"Did you have a lonely dinner?"

I felt myself reacting: mind your own bloody business. Maybe that's why I replied, "No. I had dinner with Myra Hepsted. You've seen her. She was the girl I took to the RNIB Ball, remember?"

"Oh!" I could hear the disappointment in her voice. Good. Maybe her love life is in tatters, there's no reason for her to think mine is. It is, but there's no reason for her to know that.

I left a pause, before I asked, "What do you want, Molly?"

"I just wanted to say... Well, for a start I wanted to say how wonderful it was, having all four of us playing board games on Monday, it was like we used to be."

A wave of sadness and regret hit me. How dare she conjure up emotions for something she chose to break up? We'd still be a family if it wasn't for her. "Yes it was. It's a pity we don't do that anymore. I wonder why?"

I waited for a reply. There was nothing, until there was an eventual deadness to the sound and I knew she had gone. Sod her!

I stared at the dead phone, and I felt that knot in my stomach. Why does she do this? How does she do this? We've been divorced for four years, and yet one phone call and she can get me making thoughtless barbed comments, she can get me so angry, so frustrated, so... I don't know what.

I accept that she is a great love of my life, but how many girls have I been with since? How many miles have I travelled around the world? How many times have I cum without a thought of her? Surely, I should be over her by now?

I realised that my cab was stationary, we'd arrived at my hotel and the driver was waiting for me to get out.

Thursday was hectic, a major sales presentation in the morning, followed by a meeting with our American partners who hold the patents on our scanner, then some internal meeting, and finally another sales dinner at the Savoy Hotel. In the end I caught the last train, a stopper all the way to Bristol, and eventually I got home at two o'clock on Friday morning.

But I was up at my usual time. I changed the clothes in my overnight bag from the dirty ones from the London trip to clean ones for the Exeter trip. I decided not to bother with breakfast, but, between cups of coffee, I did walk down the road for a paper.

When I got back I collected my car keys and loaded up. I was standing on the top step at the main entrance waiting for Myra to turn up, when who should come along, but Molly.

I looked at her, I was suspicious, "Molly! Good morning. What brings you to see me this early on weekday?"

"Carole told me that if I wanted to see you before the weekend, my only chance was now."

"Oh. And?"

"And I want to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I rang off the other night. I'm sorry that I ran away on Monday... it's just that you say these things. I know you must hate me, but why do you have to say things to upset me? It's been five years now..."

The irony of it struck me, "I guess I could ask you the same question. Anyway, what is so important?" I paused before she could answer, "I'm a bit pushed for time right now. I'm going away for the weekend, down to Exeter, I'm hoping Carole's booked a nice country house hotel outside Exeter somewhere. But I'll be back on Sunday."

"Well, I wanted to say sorry. And I wanted to agree some time when we might talk. I want to talk to you, Chris, please..."

"So you and Ralph keep saying. Well actually I want to talk to you, I don't know what to get Jamie for his birthday. I don't want to buy him anything that'll upset you or Peter. But, it'll have to be Sunday, I'm afraid. How about I have the boys on Sunday afternoon, about two thirty say, and then we can talk when I come back. Will they be at your place or Ralph and Susan's?"

Just then, we both turned, as Myra was staggering up the steps with a bag over each shoulder, a briefcase in one hand and a very heavy looking overnight case in the other.

Myra just looked at me, "Car keys please. I'll put these in your car." She glanced at Molly and probably realised that she was interrupting a private conversation, "Sorry, I'll wait for you in the car. OK?" and she held her hand out for the keys. I gave them to her and she staggered off.

I looked round at Molly, she looked rather shaken which was odd, Myra wasn't that rude.

"So where will they be?" I prompted.

Molly started down the steps, "Oh. They'll be at Ralph and Susan's. I'm going there for Sunday lunch... it doesn't really matter... no, it doesn't matter." And she was gone.

I watched her go. I think I was probably shaking my head in bewilderment.

I walked over to my car, Myra was sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for me, "I hope I didn't butt into a private conversation."

"Nothing I understood. Don't worry. Why so many bags?"

"Oh! I'm the delivery girl for a whole set of ITI Staff Handbooks, and ITI Pension Scheme Books. That's all."

Friday in Exeter was good. Stephen Hobbs had heard of Dennis Murrell's demise. He was very cautious in his words, until I let him understand that I wasn't sorry to lose Dennis, when Stephen smiled and just added, "So can we give up steam hammers and the water wheel and use electricity and other modern gadgets?"

I did tell him that I may ask him to help in some way as I reorganise the Production team, but I wasn't sure how yet. He was happy to be in Bristol whenever I asked. Later, he offered to take me to dinner, but I'd already arranged to meet Myra.

My dinner with Myra was much like Wednesday night. We had a pleasant dinner, and we were agreed that the Exeter operation had great potential. We soon had put together a shopping list of things we needed to know to help us plot a future. We didn't have a lot of time for socialising, as Myra had found out that the last train from Exeter to Bath was at about eight thirty, but it was a tribute to our professional relationship that we could get through a lot of work in a short time, and I dropped her at Exeter St David's station just in time for her train.

On Saturday, I became a tourist in Exeter. It was a city that, although really only just down the road from Bristol, I hardly knew. And I was impressed, I liked it. And in the evening, I turned up for the Company Barn Dance. Again I was impressed by the nice people that all the staff seemed to be. At one point I remember sitting by myself for a moment, thinking it's funny how birds of a feather do flock together. Just like Dennis Murrell was obviously a friend of that other alpha male, Peter Davies; so Stephen Hobbs seemed to have recruited a bunch of nice characters, like himself.

With a few glasses of wine in both of us, I felt relaxed enough with Stephen that I asked him, "Why did you allow yourselves to be taken over by TDF? You must have had a great future as an independent operator."

He smiled, "The previous owners were two brothers who both wanted to retire. TDF had a pretty big chunk of our order book. The brothers were both our top management and our sales team. Without them we didn't have either a sales channel or a managing director, and they wanted their money. It was their retirement fund, you can't blame them. We're a bunch of engineers. Good ones, but that's what we are. And we didn't have the leadership to get us the money for a management buy-out." And he turned and looked at me with a very questioning look in his brown eyes.

I was flattered, but also the MD of the parent company, I smiled, "Managing Directors are two a penny. They're easy to find." And we let the matter drop.

The Barn Dance went on until well after midnight. The following morning, Sunday, I slept late, had a wonderful cooked breakfast and read the Sunday papers, before setting out to drive back to Bristol. I'd enjoyed Friday and Saturday, and life was pretty good.

I turned up at Ralph and Susan's at almost exactly two thirty. The boys ran out and jumped into the car. Beyond a Hello and a smile from both Susan and Molly, nothing was said.

I was just about to get in my car when Ralph came up to me. I looked at him, I would guess somewhat suspiciously, "Yes, Ralph?"

"I just thought I'd let you know, I asked Susan about seeing Peter on Good Friday. You were right, Peter was heading here, just as Susan was walking back from Jean Pilton's. He stopped and gave her a lift for the final few yards. But he saw your car here and didn't come in, he didn't want an argument."

That didn't sound right to me, but I just said, "Well, it isn't important. It wasn't keeping me awake at night, Ralph." And I smiled and got in my car.

As I drove away, I realised what was wrong with the explanation. It was total crap, but I'm not going to worry about it.

The weather wasn't so good, so I just took the boys back to my place. I got them something to eat later on, and we watched a couple of DVD's. I was quite pleased that they seemed happy not doing anything particularly special. But I was still nervous about whatever the evening was to hold. I was about to have the promised talk with Molly - again!

When I took the boys back, it was Susan that opened the door.

"Hi, Two young tearaways returned, duly fed, watered and entertained."

"OK. Thank you."

I stood there and waited, expecting to be asked in.

Susan looked at me, "Is there something else?"

"Yes. I was expecting to see Molly. She wants to talk to me apparently."

Susan smiled, very sweetly, "Well, she's not here. So, you can assume she doesn't want to talk to you, apparently."

I just about said "Oh." before the door was shut in my face.

I walked away very slowly, but with increasing anger. Fuck her! She's done it again. She comes to me on Friday with how important it is to talk, and now she's not here. Well, damn her, and fuck her, and I don't give a shit anymore!

Ralph came down the side of the house. I looked at him.

"She does need to talk to you, Chris. She's gone home, but you could go round there."

"No, Ralph, I couldn't. I've just about had a bellyful of you and your bloody daughter telling me that we need to talk, and every time, every bloody time she runs away. And I am most certainly not chasing around after her."

He watched me, and when he thought I'd calmed down a bit, he said, "She's upset and scared. Please, Chris, go and see her. There's so much she should talk to you about."

"No there bloody well isn't. She wanted to talk to me, so we go out to lunch, and I spend the whole afternoon with her, and she didn't say a damned thing. Then she comes to my office, takes one look at me and walks out. Then you say we must talk, so I come round here last Monday, on what would have been my wedding anniversary of all days, and when I tell her that I tried to be a halfway decent husband, she bursts into tears and runs away. Then she phones me, and rings off. And then she turns up on my doorstep and runs away with it apparently not mattering at all. And now she's hiding at home. I've had enough of it. I'm pissed off, fed up and angry."

He smiled, conspiratorially, "Women, eh? We can't live with 'em and we can't live without 'em."

That supercilious little epithet just made me angrier. I think at that point I lost it, "Fuck off, Ralph. I'm totally pissed off with you and your bloody daughter. You may like playing silly mind games. You may be happy that your wife lies to you. You may think your poor little daughter is all hurt and upset with me. But I don't fucking care. Understand? No more. Not now, not ever."

Ralph looked hurt. We stared at each other in some stand-off.

My problem was that I liked Ralph. He was an honest and trustworthy man, I was sure of it. I just couldn't really believe that he was playing games or interfering in my life without reason.

He very tentatively asked, "Cup of sherry? I think we both need one."

"Only if we can keep off your bloody daughter and her need to talk to me. OK?"

He didn't answer, but we both walked down their garden to his shed. As he poured two very healthy cups of sherry, he asked, "Why do you think Susan lies to me?"

I regretted throwing that one at him, it wasn't important, and it was in the heat of the moment. I sighed, but I answered him, "Because I was driving away from this house, down the road, that is turning left out of your drive. OK?"

He nodded, so I continued. "I passed Susan in Peter's car about three hundred yards down the road. Now, Jean Pilton's house is about four hundred yards up the road the other way. So, Peter didn't pick Susan up on the way back from Jean Pilton's. And by the time they got here, my car would have been totally out of sight. There would have been no reason for Peter not to come in. OK?"

Ralph looked troubled, but then he brightened with, "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation. Let's not make a big thing of it."

"I agree. There are a lot more important things in this world."

There was a long silence, before Ralph asked, "How's Myra?"

I looked at him, surprised. "She's very well as far as I know. Why?"

"You told me she's not in your life. Right?"

"Right. She and I had a very, very quick fling some weeks ago, But we're just friends and colleagues now. Why?"

"Think about it from Molly's point of view. She was your date at that Ball, and she said to Molly that she was going to get her hooks into you. Right?"

I smiled at the memory, "Yes."

"And then you're at the Theatre with her. Right?"

"Yes. But how did Molly know about that?"

"Susan found out from somewhere. Someone must have told her, I don't know who. And then you're having dinner with her in London this week. Right?"

"Yes. But only because I was at a loose end that night."

"And now you've just been away for a romantic weekend in Devon with her. Right?"

"No, wrong. But I can see how Molly might have thought that. I gave her a lift down to Exeter for a day's work at Franks, on Friday. We met up in the evening for an early supper, whilst she briefed me on what she'd discovered. And I put her on the eight thirty train back to Bath where she lives. Myself and Myra are not an item. But, even if we were, so what? Can't I have girlfriends? I am single man, or have you forgotten that?"

"I know you are." He paused, apparently deep in thought, "My guess is that Molly will ask you to do something that is probably the hardest thing you'll ever have to do in your life. And she fears that you are currently building a new life with Myra right here in Bristol, and that she has no right to ask anything of you."

My mind immediately went to the thought that she was going to ask me to move away and give up my sons. "And would you like to tell me what that hard thing is? Because I have a funny feeling that I can guess, and the answer is No. A very big, very determined No. Tell her not to waste her time."

"No. You have to hear it from Molly. I'm only guessing, but I think I know my own daughter."

"Well, I choose not to hear it, thank you. Not now, not ever."

There was an awkward pause, both of us sipping our sherries quite fast. It was Ralph that spoke first, "Tell me, this has worried me since we went to see the rugby. What happened on the night that Molly came down to see you after you'd separated but before you were divorced? I know she did."

I remembered that night as if it was yesterday, but there was no way I was talking about that with Ralph, not now. "It was all a very long time ago, Ralph. Let it drop."

He looked at me, and then said, "Well, I'll tell you what I saw. I saw you turn your back on your wife and children without any attempt to reconcile. I know it must have been hard, but you should have done better than that."

He paused and I just looked at him, questioningly.

He went on, "I brought Molly down that night, I was sitting in my car waiting for her, I was watching. To my mind she'd been seeing too much of Peter before she'd run out of options with you. I insisted that I was going to interfere just that once, much against Susan's better judgement I might add. I took her down to talk to you. We sat in the car for ages, until you drove passed and parked further up the street. Molly got out and met you at the gate. She talked to you, she said her piece, and it must have taken her three or four minutes. I couldn't see her face, she had her back to me, but I could see you listening. And then you said just something quite short and went in. She told me that you all you did was to wish her well with Peter. Is that true?"

OK, that travesty of the truth got to me, and I did reply: "Well, first, you've got to remember that only two days before, I'd received a letter from Molly saying that Peter had asked her to marry him, and she was inclined to accept. It would get us out of the money argument the lawyers were having. How do you think I felt about that, Ralph? My side of the bed is hardly cold. I prayed every day for some way back, but she was off with her one true love. I knew she had fallen for Peter, was obsessed by him, but so soon?"

I paused to look at him, he looked horrified.

I continued, "And Yes, she did meet me at the door to my flat. She stood there, I didn't know what to say. What could I say? She Um'd a bit, then she put her weight on the other leg and Ah'd a bit. Then she put her hands in her pockets and just looked at me. Then she put her head on one side and Er'd a bit. Then she took her hands out of her pockets and just looked at me. You tell me it was four minutes. It was half a life time. The woman who I loved so much couldn't even use one comprehendible English word to me. She'd just told me by letter that she was going to marry Peter. What the Hell was I meant to do, Ralph? What was I meant to say? Until that evening I'd clung to the hope that somehow, someway, there would have been a way back for us, that Peter was just a passing fancy. He wasn't. And No, there was no way back. I congratulated her on her engagement and I went in."

I could hardly speak, my voice was thick with emotion, I looked at him, he just watched me, "I went in, but even then I didn't shut the door on her. All she had to do was give it a push, if only she would. But she didn't. If she had, she would have found me sitting on the stairs, crying my heart out. I'd just lost everything, every damn thing. My marriage was over, there was no going back, not even in my dreams. You tell me Ralph, what was I meant to do? Why did she come? Why did she want to hurt me so much? All I ever did was love her."

My eyes were streaming tears, just like they had on that night. Ralph was still just watching me, but he looked so shocked, and there were tears rolling down his cheeks as well. Then all he said, slowly and very precisely, was "The stupid... dumb... cunt."

His jaw seemed to set, his face flushed, and I don't think he was with me at that moment. He was somewhere else, thinking something else. Suddenly he seemed to notice my presence, "Drink your sherry and go." And he walked out.

I did sit there, drinking my sherry and composing myself. When I walked up the garden path I could see Ralph. He was in the kitchen, standing on one side of the kitchen table, Susan sat on the other side, looking very cowed. I couldn't hear a sound, but from the body language, Ralph was shouting his head off at her. You could tell he was in a temper that I never knew he had. As I walked up the path, I must have caught his eye, because he obviously went silent as I passed. But he was ramrod straight, and very angry indeed.

I drove home and poured myself one very large whisky. As I drank it I promised myself that tonight was the last time I'd ever try having a conversation about Molly or my marriage or Peter ever again with any of the Tremaine or Davies families. I was through with it all. The only contact would be with the boys, and Molly when it was necessary to talk about the boys.

I sat down and sent one of my irregular but fairly frequent emails to Mum. Thinking of her seemed warm and safe.

When I got to my office on Monday morning, Carole had beaten me in. She had Annette Morgan, the Deputy Head of Production, sitting on one of her sofas, waiting. I said Good Morning, and Carole followed me in to my office.

"I'll get you a coffee in a minute. I made space in your diary for you to see Annette. I guessed you'd want to see her as soon as you got in. She's being filling in for Dennis Murrell since last Tuesday, remember? And she hasn't seen you."

"You're right. Send her in, and you'd better make it coffee for two. Thanks Carole."

Annette Morgan is about fifty-ish, tall, angular and plain. But rumour has it she is really liked and respected on the shop floor. So, I greeted her warmly, and thanked her for stepping into the breach on Dennis's sudden departure. Then I told her that I wasn't going to promote her immediately, but that I was going to take the opportunity to look at the whole structure of production, and its relationship to the Exeter outfit. Of course she would be invited to have her input to that planning.

She surprised me as to how confident and understanding she was about the situation. Dennis was hardly mentioned, but there was the occasional aside on how she might now be able to restructure some things. When I mentioned Exeter, she immediately smiled. "You know, I have an awful lot of time for Stephen Hobbs. If your reorganisation meant that I had to report to him, well I really wouldn't mind."

"Thank you, Annette. It's nice to know that we have that sort of flexibility without problems. I'm very grateful."

After she'd left, Carole came back in.

"OK?" she asked.

"Very good indeed. Try sorting out an evening, I should take her and her husband or boyfriend out to dinner."

"Her husband's name is Samantha."

"Oh!"

"They've been together for years, but she's terribly discreet about it. A dyke on an engineering shop floor? Of course everyone knows, but it's never mentioned. They might not want to go out to dinner with you."

"Ok. Maybe I should give the dinner idea a miss then. At least until I've built a better relationship with her."

After that we talked through my trip to London, and Head Office's reaction to Dennis's departure. Carole reported that most people were not surprised, and plenty were pleased to see him go. Apparently Production Department seemed very happy, now that Annette was properly in charge.

"By the way," Carole looked pleased with herself, "A television producer phoned and wanted to know if you'd be a regular on a new business programme their launching. It's a weekly programme, but you'd do it about once a month, on a panel discussing business ideas. A mix of politics and business as it affects the area."

I smiled, and my ego was pleased, as Carole knew, "They'll have to have a word with my agent."

"They did. And I said you'd do it, but that I'd have to check it with you."

I was still smiling, "Good. If I'm paid for it, you can have ten percent." And she laughed.

Then she looked at me, "And my soap opera?"

"Not a lot to report really. Molly went on playing her silly games, and I had a pretty emotional exchange with her father when I told him to bugger off. He didn't seem to mind, he just didn't want to do it." I shrugged.

"There's more to this than meets the eye." She said wisely, but meaninglessly.

"Yes. I think Molly wants me to change my job, get out of Bristol and leave my boys behind, but leaving her to happily restore her marriage with Peter. Well, she's got a surprise coming. I ain't going to do it. And if she tries moving away with my boys then I'll fight it through every court in the land if I have to. If it's a choice between breaking up her marriage or me having to say good-bye to my sons, then she'd better find herself a good divorce lawyer."