you, yourself, feel about it?
- How do I feel about it?
- To be quite frank, Mr Cox, said Mr Lynd, clasping his fist at his belly, some of my colleagues and myself differ.
- Differ?
- I mean in our attitudes towards the workpeople, I mean the staff. Personally, I regard their, er, mental welfare, if you like, as something affecting the efficiency of the firm as a whole.
- Very true, Pete said.
- I tell you this, of course, because I realize, you are not, ah, of course, unintelligent, Mr Cox.
Pete scratched his nose and murmured.
- But what I meant to say, Mr Cox, continued Mr Lynd, his trunk falling forward and his forehead denting, was that I had gathered, um, the impression, once or twice, that you were inclined to be, how shall I put it -
He opened a black leather diary which lay to his right hand on the desk, and shut it firmly.
- far away.
- Really? Pete said, crossing his right leg over his left.
- Yes, said Mr Lynd, propping his elbows and juggling his fingers, that you weren’t keen, shall I say, was my impression, on your work.
- Keen on my work?
- Ah yes, said Mr Lynd, nodding briskly, as it were.
What do you mean, as it were? Don’t give me the needle.
- But I assure you, Mr Lynd, said Pete, I find my work very interesting. I should say concentration has many misleading appearances.
Watch yourself.
- I beg your pardon? said Mr Lynd, his eyes flattening.
- No, I mean . . .
Mr Lynd grinned frankly, his palms upthrust.
- I didn’t quite . . .
- No - Pete began, I -
His foot thumped the desk.
- No, he said, smiling, I’m quite at home, Mr Lynd, if that’s what you mean. Probably doing a bit of thinking about the job in hand at those times.
Mr Lynd’s forehead snapped up.
- Ah, he said, I’m glad to hear it, Mr Cox. I believe, you see, that you have a great deal of capability.
He sniffed strongly and felt for his pocketwatch.
Who told you that? Your wet nurse? You don’t want to believe a word they say, mate. Come on. Dismiss me. Enough. We’re like the misses cheese and cream. Admit it. I’m a closed book.
Mr Lynd clacked his pocketwatch shut.
- Tell me, Mr Cox.
- Yes?
- What exactly, if you don’t, as it were, he laughed, mind my asking, is your ambition?
Pete watched Mr Lynd open the cigarbox, close it and look up candidly.
- I’m afraid, he replied, stroking his chin, I can’t say that I’ve ever really considered it, Mr Lynd.
- Really? That surprises me.
Mr Lynd blinked, and dug his chin, straightening, to release his neck.
- Because I believe, he said, swallowing, and I am not alone in this, that you have some degree of potentiality where this firm is concerned, to be quite frank.
The sun rubbed upon his arm, as he stretched to push a calendar to the deskedge. He prevented its fall, straddled it to stand, and jolted upright in his chair.
- Yes. But you have, I take it, other interests?
- Oh yes, said Pete, I have a considerable amount of other interests. Domestic mostly.
- Oh? I don’t believe you’re married?
Mr Lynd’s eyes twinkled. Their chuckles joined.
- No, I’m not, Mr Lynd.
- I see. Well, perhaps I’m being a little too inquisitive.
- Not at all.
Mr Lynd lifted his jacketcuff and inspected and flicked at, with his little finger, his shirtcuff.
- Well, he concluded, any time you’d like to speak to me, please don’t hesitate to do so.
- That’s very kind of you, Mr Lynd.
- Good, said Mr Lynd, resting in his chair.
Pete stood up. The sun splintered the paperweight.
- Thank you, he said.
- No, no.
Little lamb, who made thee?
The door, closing, furred on the carpet, behind him.
Later in the afternoon, the sun lowering on the city, Pete leaned on the wall at the foot of the stone flight, smoking, watching through the window red buses move under trees by the river.
No alarm on the river. No sweat on the river. Steel only. Odour of steel. Steel glint on the tide. Armies of light on the metal water. Voices.
Above him, voices. They played
- How do I feel about it?
- To be quite frank, Mr Cox, said Mr Lynd, clasping his fist at his belly, some of my colleagues and myself differ.
- Differ?
- I mean in our attitudes towards the workpeople, I mean the staff. Personally, I regard their, er, mental welfare, if you like, as something affecting the efficiency of the firm as a whole.
- Very true, Pete said.
- I tell you this, of course, because I realize, you are not, ah, of course, unintelligent, Mr Cox.
Pete scratched his nose and murmured.
- But what I meant to say, Mr Cox, continued Mr Lynd, his trunk falling forward and his forehead denting, was that I had gathered, um, the impression, once or twice, that you were inclined to be, how shall I put it -
He opened a black leather diary which lay to his right hand on the desk, and shut it firmly.
- far away.
- Really? Pete said, crossing his right leg over his left.
- Yes, said Mr Lynd, propping his elbows and juggling his fingers, that you weren’t keen, shall I say, was my impression, on your work.
- Keen on my work?
- Ah yes, said Mr Lynd, nodding briskly, as it were.
What do you mean, as it were? Don’t give me the needle.
- But I assure you, Mr Lynd, said Pete, I find my work very interesting. I should say concentration has many misleading appearances.
Watch yourself.
- I beg your pardon? said Mr Lynd, his eyes flattening.
- No, I mean . . .
Mr Lynd grinned frankly, his palms upthrust.
- I didn’t quite . . .
- No - Pete began, I -
His foot thumped the desk.
- No, he said, smiling, I’m quite at home, Mr Lynd, if that’s what you mean. Probably doing a bit of thinking about the job in hand at those times.
Mr Lynd’s forehead snapped up.
- Ah, he said, I’m glad to hear it, Mr Cox. I believe, you see, that you have a great deal of capability.
He sniffed strongly and felt for his pocketwatch.
Who told you that? Your wet nurse? You don’t want to believe a word they say, mate. Come on. Dismiss me. Enough. We’re like the misses cheese and cream. Admit it. I’m a closed book.
Mr Lynd clacked his pocketwatch shut.
- Tell me, Mr Cox.
- Yes?
- What exactly, if you don’t, as it were, he laughed, mind my asking, is your ambition?
Pete watched Mr Lynd open the cigarbox, close it and look up candidly.
- I’m afraid, he replied, stroking his chin, I can’t say that I’ve ever really considered it, Mr Lynd.
- Really? That surprises me.
Mr Lynd blinked, and dug his chin, straightening, to release his neck.
- Because I believe, he said, swallowing, and I am not alone in this, that you have some degree of potentiality where this firm is concerned, to be quite frank.
The sun rubbed upon his arm, as he stretched to push a calendar to the deskedge. He prevented its fall, straddled it to stand, and jolted upright in his chair.
- Yes. But you have, I take it, other interests?
- Oh yes, said Pete, I have a considerable amount of other interests. Domestic mostly.
- Oh? I don’t believe you’re married?
Mr Lynd’s eyes twinkled. Their chuckles joined.
- No, I’m not, Mr Lynd.
- I see. Well, perhaps I’m being a little too inquisitive.
- Not at all.
Mr Lynd lifted his jacketcuff and inspected and flicked at, with his little finger, his shirtcuff.
- Well, he concluded, any time you’d like to speak to me, please don’t hesitate to do so.
- That’s very kind of you, Mr Lynd.
- Good, said Mr Lynd, resting in his chair.
Pete stood up. The sun splintered the paperweight.
- Thank you, he said.
- No, no.
Little lamb, who made thee?
The door, closing, furred on the carpet, behind him.
Later in the afternoon, the sun lowering on the city, Pete leaned on the wall at the foot of the stone flight, smoking, watching through the window red buses move under trees by the river.
No alarm on the river. No sweat on the river. Steel only. Odour of steel. Steel glint on the tide. Armies of light on the metal water. Voices.
Above him, voices. They played
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