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now at the subdued anxiety of Paul’s expression, he wondered whether promotion was after all a good idea.
    ‘This is really Brian’s pigeon, you know that. You’ve spoken to him?’
    ‘Yes. He just said my name wasn’t on the list. If Blaney and O’Rourke can use the luncheon-room I should be allowed to use it too.’
    Childish and petty, Lowson thought, and stupid to run to him for protection. It showed a lack of adroitness. There were other ways of handling this kind of thing. He said that he would have a word with Brian. He looked speculatively at Paul’s slender figure, thin but longish hair and fashionably colourful tie. Perhaps Val’s doubts were right, perhaps he was a bit too much of a good thing.
    ‘How’s life in Rawley? Settling down?’
    Paul said it was terrific, marvellous to be out of London, with that note of enthusiasm which managed to sound at the same time both sincere and unconvincing. Alice was finding shopping a bit different but, yes, she was enjoying it too.
    From the depth of sensual repletion Lowson considered him. There was something odd about Paul. What was he like? An actor playing several parts, not quite at home in any of them? ‘And your daughter, Jean?’
    ‘Stepdaughter actually. Jennifer. I shouldn’t be surprised if she spread her wings soon, flew the coop. Youth, you know. She wants London.’
    ‘If there’s anything Alice would like to know, tell her to ring Val, she’d love to help. Has Alice joined the Townswomen’s Guild yet? Val’s on the committee.’
    ‘I don’t think so. She’s joined the bridge club.’
    ‘Plenty of time. Settle down first.’
    ‘As soon as we’re straight you must come round and have dinner.’
    ‘Plenty of time. Didn’t you tell me you played tennis? You should join the club. Sally’s a member.’
    ‘I’m meaning to. Just for these next few days I’m going to be pretty busy.’
    ‘I know. Still, you want to join one or two things, keep in the swim.’
    Paul got up. ‘You won’t forget–’
    ‘What? Oh no, leave it to me.’
    When he was alone Bob Lowson closed his eyes. The day had been exhausting, and he could easily have fallen asleep. Then the green light on his desk showed, and a bell tinkled gently. The call was from the managing director of one of Timbals’ European subsidiaries. It was about some confusion over export deliveries and should have been dealt with by O’Rourke, but the managing director had asked specifically for Lowson. He applied emollient remarks, said that he hoped to be making a European tour later in the year, and sent for O’Rourke. He did not ring Paul back until nearly five o’clock.
    ‘Paul, I think you’ve got the whole thing a bit out of perspective. Essentially the luncheon-room’s meant for the use of directors. When they’ve got guests.’ His laugh came warm, rich, easy. ‘Even directors aren’t really supposed to use it unless they have guests, though I dare say some of them will.’
    ‘Blaney and O’Rourke aren’t directors. That’s just my point.’
    ‘No. But Blaney’s on home marketing and O’Rourke handles exports. The way Brian put it to me is that they both often have guests from whom we’re getting business, people who demand a bit of special treatment. You know. That’s something you just can’t say about Personnel.’
    ‘I see.’
    ‘Just have a word with me any time you’ve got guests who seem to you to need the full treatment, I’ll make sure you use the luncheon-room.’
    ‘But my name doesn’t go on the list?’
    You shouldn’t have said that, Lowson thought, you should have left it alone. ‘Paul, I don’t mind bending the rules but I never break them. And they’re not my rules, you know, they’re Brian’s, though I thought he was being quite reasonable.’
    At that point Paul did leave it, and said thank you very much. If I made a list of the things he’s done wrong in dealing with that little matter, Bob Lowson thought, starting with talking