Free Flight by Victoria Glendinning Page A

office, with time and leisure to pursue some of his other interests. Giles never commented or picked him up on this. He had made no deal, his hands were clean.
    On the telephone, Giles had said he was calling on a sudden impulse. He just wanted to ask Tom, as a personal favour, whether he might possibly give up his work in the field and base himself at the London office, to work on the restructuring of the enlarged business – if, of course, the merger were to proceed, after discussions which he understood were ongoing. Giles said he knew this would be a sacrifice, but he hoped Tom would consider it seriously, as his expertise would be quite invaluable.
    Scree, with matching cunning, replied that he would indeed consider it. It might be difficult. There could be problems. His tacit implication was, it would have to be made worth his while. The two understood one another perfectly.
    Then Tom Scree came back into the boardroom, and performed his graceful U-turn.
    Thus Martagon got what he wanted, but not in the way that he wanted. He had himself made a good case for the merger, while scrupulously cataloguing the arguments against it. Tom Scree’s volte-face had done the rest. Martagon collected the rest of the votes. Everyone followed Tom Scree’s lead. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes … all round the table. The only person left unpersuaded was Arthur Cox: ‘No. No. No. Over my dead body.’
    His was a lone voice. For everyone else, it was somehow not a victory. Mirabel inspected her fingernails, a lock of hair concealing her face. Members looked down at their papers, into their teacups, anywhere, but not at Arthur. Arthur stared out of the window. It had begun to rain. Only Martagon had not yet spoken. His heart was pounding, his armpits were prickling. Arthur turned his head and looked him in the eye. ‘And you, Martagon?’
    â€˜Yes,’ said Martagon. ‘Yes. I am in favour of the merger.’
    Silence.
    Arthur Cox rose awkwardly and leaned his hands on the table in front of him. ‘Under these circumstances,’ he said, ‘I cannot see how I can continue to take the firm forward. I am suspending my chairmanship of Cox & Co. as of this moment, in the confidence that the understanding as to my own future position, already guaranteed by the other side, will be duly honoured.’
    He disentangled himself from table and chair, turned, and stumped out of the room. No one spoke. They heard his heavy steps on the stairs, and then the street door opening and closing. Martagon had been sitting with his head in his hands. When the street door banged behind Arthur, he got up, went out to the lavatory, and vomited.
    *   *   *
    In the post he received a one-line note from Arthur: ‘You have behaved dishonourably.’
    That is true, Martagon said to himself. I should have come straight out at the beginning and told Arthur what I really thought. It seemed for a while as though he might be jollied into the idea of the merger, and no bones broken. I thought I was doing the best thing. But it wasn’t the right thing.
    He wanted to talk to Arthur, but Arthur was not there. Nevertheless Martagon found himself getting up from his desk and crossing the landing to Arthur’s office. He opened the door, expecting to see an empty room.
    Tom Scree and Dawn were in there. Scree was sitting at Arthur’s desk, swinging slightly on the tilted chair. Dawn was standing with her back to the window. Two tea-mugs were on the desk. Martagon had the feeling that he was interrupting something. They both looked at him. He saw that Dawn was in a state. She was twisting a crumpled tissue in her hands, and she had clearly been crying.
    â€˜Sorry … Another time,’ said Martagon, meaninglessly, and backed out, closing the door again behind him.
    She must be really upset about Arthur, he thought. And Tom Scree can’t be all bad after all, if he is the one person she can talk to