Read Online The Decision by Penny Vincenzi - Free Book Online Page B

both perfect for each other, not knowing the other exists, needing an introduction. That’s where we come in. You don’t have to be a genius, Matthew, just a bit sharp. You’ll soon learn.’
    Matt didn’t have to learn sharpness; it was in his bones. Within weeks Mr Stein was leaving him to show clients round premises on his own.
    He didn’t realise until much later how fortunate he had been in Mr Stein; how excellent was his grounding, how profound was his advice.
    ‘Two things count in this business, son,’ he said over a pint of warm beer one evening. ‘One is that you have to be a gentleman. Your word is your bond. You can’t let someone think they’ve got an office and then a week later tell them they haven’t, just because someone’s come in with a higher offer. This is a small world, Matthew, and people have to trust you. And you’ve got to be able to get along with people, mix with all sorts. All gossip this business, especially at the higher level.’
    There was one thing which Mr Stein didn’t mention and which Matt had no need to learn either, and that was the importance of hard work. And not just office work; if there was anything to be done, Matt did it, however disagreeable. The army had taught him that too. Indeed one day when the Barlow and Stein toilets were blocked and no plumber was to be found, Matt went out and bought caustic soda, a rubber plunger and some heavy-duty gloves and cleared the offending pipes – temporarily at least – himself. When some simpering typist said she really didn’t know how he could do such a thing, he told her about Charles Fullerton-Clark who had once been ordered to scour the army lavatories with a razor blade, and had sung rugby songs while he did it.
    He decided regretfully that he couldn’t go down to the coast with Paul Dickens.
    He set out for the City as soon as the offices closed that Friday evening, reckoning it’d be better to get that side over so that he could be in the West End on Saturday, good fun even if he was working; he’d delivered about fifty letters when he heard someone calling him.
    ‘Matt! Over here, Matt, it’s me, Charles Clark.’
    And there he was on the other side of Lombard Street, waving at him. He’d never have recognised him, Matt thought, he looked exactly like all the other toffs round here, rolled umbrella, bowler hat, pinstripe suit. But he seemed genuinely pleased to see Matt, grinning and waving him over.
    ‘It’s jolly good to see you, old chap,’ said Charles, slapping him round the shoulders. ‘What are you doing here? Got time for a pint?’
    Matt said he thought so and followed him into the King’s Head on Lombard Street.
    ‘Remember Matt Shaw?’ said Charles to Eliza next day. ‘He was in the army doing basic training with me. You met him with me at Waterloo one day.’
    They were having a drink in the Markham in the King’s Road: the newly dressed King’s Road, filled with pretty young people, glamorous cars, and the clothes boutiques that were replacing the old food shops, all following their leader, Mary Quant, who had opened Bazaar, the very first of them, as early as 1955. No one would believe it had been there that long, Lindy had told Eliza. ‘It seems so absolutely brand new, but it’s just one more proof of Mary’s genius.’
    ‘Yes, course I remember Matt Shaw,’ Eliza said. ‘He was quite tasty as I recall.’
    ‘I ran into him in the City. He had quite a sharp suit on, filled out a bit, his hair’s longer. It was really good to see him. He’s working for an estate agent. Commercial variety. He’s doing well.’
    ‘Oh, really? Well, good for him.’
    ‘Yes, it’s the business to be in at the moment, that’s for sure. The potential for development in London is incredible, I know that. Typical Matt, he was delivering letters by hand, seemed embarrassed about it. I told him not to be so bloody silly. He’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder but I do like him a lot. We thought