Chapter Six

Next morning I returned to Leo Components weighed down with baggage: laptop, suitcase and the remains of a throbbing headache. Up in his office, it looked as if Jack too had barely slept – no doubt for an entirely different reason. The angles of his face seemed more pronounced, casting shadows where yesterday there were none; his hair was sticking up at the front as if someone had just run their fingers through it.

I averted my eyes before he caught me staring.

The first thing he said was, ‘Sorry about last night, I didn’t expect to have to rush off like that.’

For some reason this rankled. ‘You seem to be making a habit of apologising after every meeting we have. Perhaps you need to change your underlying behaviour.’

A weary smile. ‘Something else for me to work on.’

‘And I can’t believe you didn’t expect what happened. If you choose to eat at a popular restaurant in your local town, isn’t it likely that you’ll bump into someone you know? Although I must admit the speed with which you left wasn’t exactly flattering.’

He reddened. ‘I’ve said I’m sorry. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to prepare for the union meeting.’

‘So do I.’ I spun on my heel and stormed into Betsy’s room.

In her calming presence, I recovered my composure and asked for the meeting agenda and attendee list. A mix of Leo Components and Sphinx Industries representatives, with Jack chairing, Betsy taking minutes and the HR Director, Phil, no doubt there to defend his territory. The same group had probably already met during the acquisition negotiations, but that was history. I knew that, as the UK manufacturing industry was still heavily unionised, the newly formed company would succeed or fail based on the discussions round this table. Jack’s dictatorial style would be highly counter-productive, and I couldn’t help feeling nervous on his behalf.

I needn’t have worried. It looked like he’d taken all my feedback on board and – even more remarkable – worked out how to act on it. He started with introductions, triggering the inevitable amusement when he described me as his executive coach, and then embarked on the next agenda item – ‘Vision’. Instead of pitching his own thoughts, however, he asked each of the attendees to outline three wishes for the company.

It was a shrewd move. He effectively handed the floor to the union representatives, but forced them to put aside any confrontational speeches they might have prepared in favour of constructive ideas. Accordingly, when conflict emerged, it was among themselves – and not directed at him, their original target. As they spoke, he captured the main themes on a flip chart. Betsy kept glancing meaningfully at her watch, but he ignored her.

Only when the heated discussion had run its natural course did he sit down at the table again. ‘Excellent, we have the makings of a great vision for our new company. If I can summarise, starting with where we are now … Phil, you pointed out that we’ve got a North-South divide: a sharp decline in the manufacturing power base of the North, and the growing dominance of London as a global financial centre. But we agreed that we can’t afford to dwell on this, that our company needs to change – unless we want to see more local communities destroyed. And you’ve given me a clear picture of what change looks like’ – he gestured to the flipchart – ‘with some common themes coming through. Like transforming our approach to employee relations, such as self-managed teams and profit sharing. And that suggestion of yours, Nick, about making manufacturing sexy again – that’s why we’ve been arranging visits for local schools, but there’s a lot more we can do with our apprenticeship schemes.’ He paused and looked briefly at each of us in turn. ‘I haven’t felt so positive about the future in a long time. Nothing we’ve talked about here is impossible, but we need to turn words into action. That’ll mean additional investment in areas which we’ve traditionally neglected. Can I rely on your support if I put a business case to the Board?’

Heads nodded round the table; then, to Betsy’s obvious relief, we moved more quickly through the rest of the agenda. There were still points of contention, but Jack had removed the sting. The meeting ended with a sandwich lunch which, by yesterday’s standards, was light and healthy. As we ate, we split into various conversational groups: Nick talking about the football transfer window with two of the Sphinx men; Jack and the remaining union representatives, too far away for me to overhear; Phil, Betsy and I comparing notes on holidays in Spain.

When Phil left the table to go to another meeting, Jack came to sit in his place beside me. ‘I thought we’d leave for the Lakes mid-afternoon, once I’ve finished off a few things with Betsy. Is that okay?’

‘Of course. We can discuss this meeting when we’re in the car – or tonight, after dinner.’

He laughed. ‘Believe me, after one of Mitch’s meals you won’t be in a fit state to do anything except sleep. Anyway, I wouldn’t want to get indigestion.’

‘From all those unpalatable truths?’ I smiled. ‘Perhaps there aren’t quite as many as last time.’

‘I hope not. After yesterday’s meeting I downloaded some management books and stayed up all bloody night reading two of them.’

My smile faded. He must be lying; he would hardly have spent the night in bed with Karina reading. I pushed my plate away, unable to finish my second sandwich.

‘Something wrong?’ he said, frowning.

‘No, I’ve just had enough. Excuse me.’ I scrambled to my feet, left the room and took refuge in the Ladies. At least he couldn’t follow me in there.

When I came out, Nick was waiting. ‘Jack asked me to show you the factory.’ He looked me up and down. ‘We’ll stick to the viewing gallery, less of a distraction for the lads. No offence, but on Friday afternoons concentration’s not at its best.’

Strange, wasn’t it? From someone like Nick Suggett, this behaviour seemed nothing more than quaintly sexist and rather pathetic. Whereas the same looks and words from his boss would have produced a very different reaction …

I said abruptly, ‘Aren’t there any women working on the factory floor? These days jobs have to be open to both genders, you can’t discriminate.’

He shrugged. ‘The women prefer office jobs, always have. But Jack’s trying to get the local sixth-formers interested in apprenticeships, girls as well as boys. Can’t see it working myself, but good on him for trying. Anyway, come and see the Leo Components production line.’

I followed him down the back staircase – far less impressive than the front one – then out into an enclosed yard, bleak as a prison. I could hear a strange muffled clanking, although there wasn’t an obvious source. As we approached a tall brick building opposite, the noise got louder. When Nick opened a huge metal door and ushered me inside, I almost reeled. A row of machines confronted me, each as big as a room, pounding and hissing in a relentless rhythm. And the heat … unbearable.

To my relief, we escaped up a flight of steps and into a room with thirty-odd chairs facing a large wall-mounted TV screen. Cooler and much, much quieter. The wall behind the chairs was a sheet of glass, overlooking the factory floor.

‘Take a seat.’ Nick busied himself with a laptop, while I settled myself in the back row. I found that the chair swivelled, so that I could watch either the screen or the factory. I smiled at the thought of a bunch of teenagers let loose in here, endlessly spinning – to the despair of their teachers.

A cough from Nick drew my attention. ‘There’s a company video here which explains what we do, then I’ll show you the different processes through the window.’

I hadn’t the heart to say that I’d already watched a similar video on the company website. In any case, he talked over it – mainly about Jack. It seemed that his appointment as Chief Exec had marked a turning point in the company’s fortunes. Investment for the latest technology in deep draw stamping? Jack had got the Board’s seal of approval. More aggressive management of key customer accounts? Jack had master-minded the plan and secured the funding to implement it. Better community relations? Jack had offered the old company football field to the local youth teams and was now raising money for its maintenance and improvement.

‘Makes you wonder why he needs a coach,’ I said drily, when I could get a word in.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong – he’s got plenty of faults. And some of the managers resent him like hell. But he’s given the lads here hope, and that’s an achievement in itself. You see, Jack started on the factory floor too—’ He looked over my shoulder. ‘Shit! Looks like Maggie’s in trouble, I’d better go down there and sort her out.’ And he dashed out of the viewing gallery before I could ask him who he was talking about.

I turned to scan the factory floor, but I couldn’t see anyone remotely like a Maggie. Anyway, hadn’t Nick just told me that all the female employees were office workers? And then Jack strode into view, loosening his tie and collar, rolling up his sleeves, listening intently to a smaller man at his side who was half-running to keep up. When they stopped at one of the machines, Nick joined them and they stood for a while, deep in a discussion punctuated by occasional gestures at various dials and displays. Finally Jack reached up and wrenched a lever, bracing his body to increase the force. I stared down at him, absorbing every detail.

What was it he’d said earlier about making manufacturing sexy? Take a well-built man, shirt half off, applying himself to a physical task with power and purpose … Job done.

He glanced up, caught me looking at him and grinned; I blushed like a teenager and swivelled my chair away from the window. When the viewing gallery door opened a few minutes later, my gaze was fixed on the TV screen – although I had no idea what I was watching.

‘Sorry, Alicia.’ Nick’s voice, slightly out of breath. ‘Maggie’s a bit temperamental—’

‘Who is Maggie? I didn’t see her—’

He chuckled. ‘Yes, you did – she’s our new sixty-three-tonne power press. No one can pronounce the name of the company who built her, so we call her Maggie for short. She cost God knows how much, produces components twice as fast as the old one and I’ve already suggested to Jack that he moves in with her. Can’t keep his hands off her, I think he’s programmed her to go wrong deliberately.’

I risked a look back through the window, but Jack had gone. His performance today intrigued me: one minute eloquent and visionary at the union meeting, the next hands on and practical in the factory. It made me wonder which man I’d be spending the weekend with …

The video rolled on, and Nick continued his voiceover. There were no more insights into Jack Smith, however, and I found it difficult to concentrate on the technical detail. As soon as we reached the end, I thanked him for his time and asked him to show me the way back to Jack’s office. I felt exhausted, and anxious to get the journey to the Lakes under way; if there were any unpleasant surprises in store, I wanted them over and done with.

But Jack’s office was empty. Swallowing my disappointment, I retrieved my laptop from my bag and sat down, intending to distract myself with my emails.

The interconnecting door with Betsy’s room was, as usual, slightly ajar, and I could hear her taking a succession of phone calls. For each one, she went through the same routine: no, Jack wasn’t available; yes, she would pass on the message. As her tone grew noticeably less patient, it dawned on me that all these calls must be from the same person.

And then I heard his voice, asking if something or other was ready, and Betsy saying, ‘Fat chance, what with the phone going non-stop all afternoon. I gave up on writing down all the messages – basically, Karina wants you to call her.’

Emails forgotten, scruples ignored, I leaned towards the door so that I didn’t miss a single word.

‘Did she say why?’ He sounded wary – or maybe cautiously optimistic?

‘Just that it’s urgent. But then it always was with her, wasn’t it?’ A pause. ‘Jack, I’m worried. I don’t understand why she’s calling you at the office, out of the blue.’

Her concern was palpable. I noted the shift in her manner, from work-based camaraderie to a display of personal loyalty, however understated. For some reason, I thought of Nick’s words earlier – ‘he’s given the lads here hope’. And I realised that Jack Smith had deeper qualities than I’d originally thought.

Next door there was silence for a moment; then he said quietly, ‘Because she can’t get me on my mobile. I changed my number, remember?’

‘No, I mean why’s she calling you now? It’s been over for a good six months, and you were so sure your “Karina campaign” was working.’

He cleared his throat. ‘We saw her last night, at Corleone’s. She was in a bit of a state, I had to take her home.’

‘Oh, Jack.’

‘What else could I do?’

‘I know.’ A loud sigh. ‘You’d better ring her back, then – hadn’t you? I expect you won’t want to use your mobile. You can call her on my office phone while I pop along to Accounts and get those reports you’re after.’

Was that just a ruse to give him some privacy? Maybe I should have done the same and brought my eavesdropping to an end; but I couldn’t tear myself away.

Another silence; then I heard him say, ‘Hi, it’s me.’ An economy of words that spoke volumes; I found myself closing my eyes, as if to shut out their intimacy. He continued, ‘Feeling better? … That’s good … Yes, it was … No, it didn’t matter at all … I know, but … Well, if that’s what you want … Tell him, then … I can’t, I’m away for the weekend … Yes, staying with Bill and Mitch … You never did, did you? … No, Karina, that’s not a good idea.’

It was easy to imagine the other side of the conversation and fill in the gaps: she would be seeking reassurance about last night, suggesting that she dispensed with Henrik, asking to see Jack again this evening. What a shame – for both of them – that he’d made other plans. I smiled grimly to myself; he obviously couldn’t bring himself to mention that his plans included me.

Then it seemed that one of them – I’d have loved to know who – hung up on the other. My eyes fluttered open, and I made a determined effort to appear engrossed in my inbox.

Jack breezed into the room a few seconds later. ‘Right, time to set off.’ His tone was light and cheerful, as if nothing had happened. ‘I told Bill we’d get to Threlkeld by six o’clock – let’s hope we have a clear run.’ In a show of reluctance I kept my eyes fixed on my laptop screen for a little longer, before slowly lifting my gaze. With a flicker of surprise, instantly masked, I found him standing too close. He was dressed differently, more casually than before, an open-necked shirt and chinos. There was something about him – a freshness, maybe – that made me feel too hot, too formal.

‘Should I change my clothes too?’ I asked, hesitantly.

‘Good idea. We don’t want poor Bill thinking he’s getting a last-minute VAT inspection.’ He switched on that disarming grin and, despite the slur on my business suit, I found I couldn’t rise to the bait. Maybe I was simply too tired to care.

‘Give me ten minutes.’

It took less than that to wheel my suitcase to the Ladies, wash my face and slip on jeans, T-shirt and trainers. I kept a sweater with me as well, in case the weather turned cooler in the hills. But a glance in the mirror stopped me in my tracks: my French pleat now looked ridiculously out of place. I quickly undid it and let my hair swing loose around my shoulders.

When I returned to his office, his eyes widened – although all he said was ‘okay, let’s go’ as he picked up my case. On the way out, I fully expected to run a gauntlet of stares and nudges – but I noticed none; perhaps he left early every Friday with a woman and a suitcase in tow.

We reached his car. While he put the cases in the boot, I opened the passenger door – and stopped dead. The seat was back in its semi-reclining position; hardly surprising, given the woman he’d taken home yesterday. No doubt they’d started in the car what they’d finished in the bedroom. I almost recoiled at the very thought of taking her place, but managed to pull myself together and get into the car.

This time, Jack needed no prompting to adjust my seat. And, as if he could read my mind, he stumbled through an explanation about needing to make Karina comfortable, because she kept falling asleep. Totally unconvincing.

We travelled the first few miles in silence. This latest reminder of last night’s humiliations, real or imagined, as well as the car’s stop-start progression through a maze of road works, didn’t encourage conversation – let alone a coaching debrief.

Once we joined the M6, however, the traffic flowed more freely and I regained my composure, launching into a comparison of today’s meeting with yesterday’s, from the perspective of his performance and learning. During the discussion that followed, I stared out of the passenger window to avoid looking at him. But that didn’t fully protect me from his sense of humour; or charm, when he chose to use it.

As the business talk subsided, I started to feel uneasy – almost nauseous. Oh, he was a good driver; no problem there. This was more about me and my ripped-open wounds of recollection. Those road trips with Troy, along the Pacific Coast Highway, up to Napa and Yosemite, down to Mexico … Except that, for much of the time, I hardly noticed the scenery – did I? Take a high-spec car, an unerring ability to find secluded parking areas, and lovers who couldn’t keep their hands off each other … No wonder the trips became a succession of ‘why wait?’ moments.

Oh yes, that faraway summer I’d learnt all about love, if that’s what it was. And, when it was all over, I’d vowed that I’d never be played for such a fool again.

Jack made sporadic attempts at conversation. Each time, I blinked rapidly and struggled with a non-committal murmur in response, before retreating to the past. It was as if my finger was hovering over the self-destruct button.

And then came the hills, transforming the landscape from the ravages of industry to a gods’ playground. Some spanned the horizon like the shoulders of giants; others flanked us so closely that I could almost have reached out and touched them. Lower, greener expanses were speckled with grazing sheep and stunted trees; higher up, waterfalls streaked white against bare rock. The broad ribbon of motorway twisted and turned between them, silvered by the sun; no sign of the famous rain.

Perhaps Jack sensed my brightening mood, because he broke the silence once more. ‘Pennines on the right, Lakeland fells on the left. When I was young, I climbed most of them with the Venture Scouts. Kept me out of trouble, my mother always reckoned.’ A pause. ‘I was even angrier than most sixteen-year-olds, but that’s another story.’

A sudden image came to mind, a scowling, lanky, black-haired boy in uniform; I managed a wan smile. ‘Maybe you should take it up again.’

‘Oh, I will – but it’s not just about having the time, it’s about having the right person to do it with.’

I tried to picture him and Karina hillwalking – and failed.

When at last we left the M6 behind, the contrast couldn’t have been more marked. The roads were narrow, edged with dry-stone walls and crawling with traffic. Every so often a string of cottages on either side, with the occasional shop or pub, indicated a village: rural communities, presumably revitalised each spring by the tourist trade. I wondered if Threlkeld would be any different … Which reminded me – I needed to prepare for meeting our hosts.

‘How have you positioned the purpose of this weekend with Bill and Mitch?’ I said, briskly. With any other client, it was a question I would have asked much earlier; except, of course, with any other client I wouldn’t have been in this situation.

A lengthy pause before he spoke. ‘Let me give you the background. Bill’s been a customer of Leo Components for over twenty years, but I only got to know him when I moved into sales—’

‘I didn’t realise you’d been in sales. I thought you’d always been in production.’

‘It wasn’t that big a jump, more a technical sales role. And I only did it for a couple of years, a stepping stone to general management. Anyway, as Bill’s factory’s near Glasgow, we used to meet half way – Penrith, just off the M6, north-eastern part of the Lake District. Then we started doing a spot of fishing together, and Mitch would come down and join us—’

‘But I thought they lived here? Isn’t Blencathra Lodge their home?’

‘It’s their holiday home. They bought it last year, for their silver wedding anniversary.’

I frowned. ‘I thought same-sex marriages were only legalised recently.’

A puzzled glance across at me. ‘What makes you think it’s a same-sex marriage?’

‘Isn’t Mitch a he?’

He burst out laughing. ‘Midge is very definitely a she!’

‘Midge? As in another name for a mosquito?’

‘Bill says it applies just as much to her, since she’s small, annoying and frequently found in Scotland.’

‘Mmm.’ I was too busy working through this new information to share the joke. Did it matter that Midge was female? Probably not. But it mattered that I’d made assumptions instead of checking everything out. And all because, for the first time in a while, I’d let a man get to me …

Now he was asking me a question; I roused myself from the depths of self-reproach. ‘Sorry?’

‘I said, did you notice the painting in my office?’

‘The watercolour?’ I recalled the slate-grey lake, the snow-capped hills. ‘Is it of somewhere in the Lake District?’

‘Yes – Grasmere. We’re near there now – keep looking out of your window, you’ll soon see the lake. And Wordsworth’s buried in the village churchyard – mind, he’d be hard pressed to “wander lonely as a cloud” these days, wouldn’t he, with all these people around?’

‘You don’t have to be alone to be lonely,’ I said, half to myself.

A swift, appraising look. ‘You’re right, that was a stupid thing to say. Anyway, the painting’s a Midge original.’

‘Oh? I liked it.’

‘I’ve got a few more of hers, in the reception area and at home.’ And he went on to describe – at unnecessary length – her burgeoning career as a Lakeland artist, how she’d sparked an interest in art that he’d never had at school, his tentative attempts at painting in the privacy of her studio. Only half listening, I leaned back on the head rest, soothed by the gentle thrum of the car and the now-familiar timbre of his voice ...

I awoke in a panic, my mind spinning with questions. How long had I been asleep? Where were we? And the most ridiculous thought of all – had I slept with my mouth open? A frantic sidelong glance at Jack left me none the wiser. As he turned his head, I looked hastily away – just in time to see the road sign. Only two miles to Threlkeld.

Two miles? We’ll be there in five minutes, at most.

A surge of nausea. ‘Look, I need to know – what have you told Bill and Midge about this weekend?’

He swung the car down a strip of tarmac, little more than a lane. ‘That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. Bill’s more than a customer, he’s a really good friend, and so’s Midge.’ He hesitated, as though uncertain of his ground – or my reaction. Somewhere in the back of my mind, an alarm bell jangled. He continued, ‘They won’t be in a hurry to talk to you about me unless they feel completely relaxed with both of us, with our … relationship, for want of a better word.’

A sharp left into a long driveway leading to a creeper-clad cottage. Pretty enough, but my immediate thought was – that doesn’t look big enough for three bedrooms! In front of us, a tortoiseshell cat sprawling on the honey-gold gravel; beyond, with her back to us, a woman in bright blue trousers mowing a square of lawn. As we crunched across the gravel, the cat sprang up and scuttled behind an old stone trough crammed with trailing pink geraniums.

My hands clenched slowly in my lap. ‘What exactly are you saying?’

The car eased to a halt and he switched off the ignition. Even so, I could barely hear the muffled drone of the lawn mower for the ringing in my ears; a simple sign of stress – or that imaginary alarm bell, now frighteningly real?

Our eyes met – mine hostile, his defensive. I watched dry-mouthed as he slid his gaze away, to the cottage, and the woman in the distance.

At last he owned up. ‘I’ve sort of let them believe … Well, they think you’re my new girlfriend.’