Dream Ticket - 7

SEVEN

‘Lewis! So glad to see you back in one piece! Or almost!’ boomed Syntex’s head honcho. ‘How was the skiing?’ He extended his right hand, then with a little chuckled swapped to his left. They shook awkwardly.

‘It was great, thanks – really enjoyable. Until my board and I parted company on the last day’.

‘Ah of course, snowboarding – nobody skis anymore.’ He jerked his head toward the window. ‘I saw you arrive; we don’t normally get taxis chugging into the car park before nine o’clock, so I thought I’d come and see you.’

His bushy eyebrows went up quizzically. ‘I presume you were coming to explain a few things to me, but we do usually expect people to take their full sick leave. Besides those things frighten the customers’ he added, tapping Lewis’s cast.

Tom Adams, was a giant of a man as befitted his lofty position as Syntex’s CEO. Thick set with a shock of white hair and standing at over 6’5” he had gained the nickname, the Bear. If he knew this he never let on, or ever would do – such was his geniality and compassion where his staff were concerned. The complete opposite to his brutal business manner, which was a rare balance.

‘I got back last night but wanted to come and set a few things straight about the interviews. But I’m puzzled... where’s Simon?’

‘He’s exactly where I hoped you’d be, Lewis. Stockport. In the Area Sales Manager’s office.’

Lewis gaped.

‘I must admit I was a little disheartened when I got your phone call. But,’ he held his hands open and slightly inclined his head, ‘I do respect your decision. It is a big step and if you feel you’re not right for it yet then,’ he smiled, ‘I’m sure your time will come. Thank you for being so candid.’

Lewis felt his eyes widen.

‘So Wallace of course was your obvious replacement,’ Tom continued. ‘I did actually want a shortlist of five this year, and have yourself and Simon on it - my two best guys - but I was out-voted at board level. Maybe it was for the best. Still, both of you outshone the two from Swinton, and that idiot from Leeds. I’m just glad Simon managed to put all this harassment nonsense from the Jennings girl behind him.’

He frowned as if considering this weighty topic, then clapped Lewis on the shoulder. ‘So! You were coming to see me then, hmm?’

Lewis’s mind was reeling. Simon had rung Adams! Pretending to be him! He couldn’t assimilate the facts quick enough to be able to act on them. His horrible little thought had proved right and the icy trickle down his spine had spread across his back making it prickle. That bastard had stitched him right up, telling the board he was dropping out. He thought quickly. What could he do? If he protested, he had no evidence. Simon had his position and his desk now and it would look like petty jealousy. Besides, he was supposed to have dropped out. Any protest would not only look ridiculous but would also serve to make him look indecisive.

‘Er yes. I was. Just basically to apologise. I hope I haven’t made you look foolish – putting me forward to have me reject the offer. I mean, not that I wasn’t flattered but. Erm’. He paused.

‘Nonsense!’ Tom replied, squeezing his shoulder with his enormous hand. ‘No offence taken. We’d have held the interview open until this week of course but, like you said, you’d thought it over and made your mind up. I suppose a bad accident and a brush with fatality followed by time to think makes you reappraise your life.’

His grip softened, along with his features. ‘I’ve done some thinking myself since then and realised perhaps I was pushing you a little hard – maybe taking you to place you weren’t ready for. Is that fair?’ His eyebrows shot up again.

He felt himself floating away and could hardly catch his breath. His skin tingled and he felt his heart racing.

‘Another year should do me,’ he choked, ‘I’ll be ready for the big boys then’.

‘Good stuff!’ Tom cried. ‘Now get off home for the remainder of your sick leave and I’ll see you in a few weeks – you’re not insured you know!’

With that he turned and strode back down the office towards the lifts.

* * *

Lewis spent the next hour in a flux between confusion and anger. He thought about confronting Simon, phoning Simon, killing him even. In his mind he’d driven to Stockport and pushed him from his fourth floor window. He’d waited in his car and wrapped a kettle flex round his neck. He’d kidnapped him and tortured him like the cop in his precious Reservoir Dogs. His over-active mind wandered as he contemplated how this betrayal could have happened. He’d been a fool of course, that’s how. He’d actually trusted Simon, who had already proven how devious he could be. Wriggling out of the groping allegations from Laura Jennings had only been one example of his scheming side. There had been countless others but, despite all this, Lewis believed he’d been safe. After all, he was a bloke and he hadn’t really considered himself to be a threat.

He sat slumped at his desk, spinning a pen round and round on his desk jotter with his good hand before the rest of his office started to arrive at about 8.30. He had been meaning to leave before they arrived but it was too late now; some of the girls had spotted him at his desk. Time to put on a brave face, he thought and spent the next ten minutes fending off good-natured jibes about his injury. The banter temporarily distracted him and he felt cheered by his colleagues, despite the numbness he felt deep down. They were all, to a man and woman, glad to see the back of Simon; especially the women and this cheered him no end. None of them knew of the skulduggery behind his appointment and through either diplomacy or ignorance, none asked the reason why Lewis had pulled out of the job interviews. He was glad; at this moment in time, he had little hope of explaining it himself.

‘So,’ asked Jerry finally, ‘are you going to move into the bigger pen now that Sleazy has departed?’

Sleazy? It was amazing how the office mood had lifted following Simon’s departure. Lewis thought about the question and before he could think, found himself answering.

‘You know what, Jerry? I bloody well am!’

Have I not been pissed on already? he asked himself. Until I can get to the bottom of this and work out my strategy, I’m taking every quarter I can.

‘Good man! There’s more room than ever now Uma and his ego have gone!’

They laughed together and the next hour was spent moving Lewis’s stuff across the corridor. All the guys in the office pitched in and Lewis helped where his one-handedness would allow. He knew he was supposed to be at home and Tom would probably raise Holy hell if he found him, but the truth was he needed company. And he sought comfort in the company of like-minded people; those who had a common interest in the dislike of Simon Wallace.

By lunchtime the bulk of his pen had been transferred to Simon’s old one and the rest of the office grew quiet as sandwiches rustled and Coke cans crackle-hissed. Lewis sat in Simon’s leather chair and began to organise his files. He opened the bottom left drawer and stared down into the face of an angel.

Lewis had seen the photograph of Emma even before he had been introduced to Simon. It sat on the top of a four-drawer filing cabinet amongst some dusty plastic squash trophies and he could see it from his old desk - the first time he had, he had been utterly captivated by it. Her beautiful, soft-featured face had so much excitement, life and expression that the whole picture was brought out of its flat reverie and appeared to dance in the frame.

A few weeks later he formally met Simon but never got the chance to ask about the woman in the photograph. He had originally thought it must be Mrs Wallace but the location of the picture troubled him. Whereas most people kept their family portraits on their desks or close to their computers; places where they spent the majority of their working time, this one was twenty feet from where Simon sat, obscured from his chair by a plant. Until he knew Simon better to ask, he assumed it must be his wife, but settled for thinking that maybe it might be his sister. The physical distance indicated no real closeness to the person in the photo frame. In thinking that she wasn’t Mrs Wallace Lewis’s interest and fascination with the woman and her glass of wine grew until he had to know for sure.

He had wandered into Simon’s pen on the pretence of organising a squash game and casually remarked about the picture. The response threw him.

‘Oh her? Yeah, that’s the old bread knife, that is. Used to look good back then. Plumped up a bit now – think my salary’s got her settled.’ He snorted a harsh bray of laughter. ‘Well, she spends it like it’s going out of style anyway. Still – she’ll do for now, eh Lewis?’. He winked, clicked his tongue and dissolved into raucous guffaws that Lewis laughed along with uncomfortably. ‘Anyway, Tom likes his execs to be married – gives a nice symmetry at the board functions.’ He winked again and tapped the side of his nose as if sharing some great trade secret that would allow Lewis passage into the inner Sales Circle. He turned back to his spreadsheet and Lewis retreated to the haven of his pen.

What a complete bastard. But he refused to let his perception of Emma be tainted by Simon’s vitriol. Over the weeks he began to change his opinion of Simon and slowly began his withdrawal from their friendship. In its place blossomed a mild professional rivalry that Lewis, in retrospect, believed Simon enjoyed more. Healthy competition kept the adrenalin rushing, kept that edge that the top salesman needed. The sort of cut-throat opposition that would end with him sitting where he was now, in second place.

As he reverentially took the photograph from the drawer, a germ of a previous idea began to seed in his head. His mind was fertile for any idea to redress the balance but this one had potential on all levels.

‘He doesn’t deserve you, Emma’ he murmured, and it was true. Simon had no idea how to treat women; in fact how to treat people in general. He had clambered over colleagues and friends alike, abusing his power and his staff in an effort to get to where he wanted. He’d traded loyalty and friendship for power and status and his misplaced authority had driven a blind ambition for greed at all costs.

This man had a lovely wife who lit up a 6x5” glossy like a new sun. A woman who was merely a token nod towards an expected status, whose image had been placed among other old trophies and treated with similar irrelevance. From that indignity, to the final humiliation; here she was abandoned in the bottom of a dusty drawer by an uncaring husband. Left behind in favour of Uma Thurman.

‘You deserve better’ he said, touching Emma’s face with a trembling finger. He knew he’d long since abandoned rational feelings and fallen in love with the picture, perhaps within weeks of first starting in the office. As he’d discovered more about what Simon was and more importantly what he wasn’t, he’d entertained crazy notions of meeting Emma, revealing exactly what her husband was like and eventually of giving her love he knew she wasn’t getting. A romantic and noble idea, but one which suited his character and enabled him to somehow hurt Simon. But, as time went on, as Simon’s behaviour became intolerable and he was sure that Emma knew nothing, the idea became less fanciful and more a goal he had to achieve.

Now with an added incentive, Lewis knew the course of action he had to take. He also knew deep down there was a potential for failure – spectacular failure – but he had to try. Not since the collapse of his German IT venture had Lewis’s outlook swung so quickly from one state to the opposite. This time however it was from gloomy to sunny. He began to smile and the grey cloud that had wreathed his head for the last four hours began to lift.

Simon may be able to seal most deals but Lewis knew he was going to close this particular sale.

Chapter 8