The Players And The Game Read Online Free PDF Page B

George Rose, and included all the directors. Apart from these there were two names on it, those of Blaney the home marketing manager, and O’Rourke, who was concerned with exports. Obviously Paul Vane should have been on it too. The memo came from Hartford’s office, and Paul rang his secretary.
    The girl who answered said that Miss Popkin was away ill. ‘I’m her assistant, Joy Lindley.’ He explained what he wanted. She said, ‘I’m awfully sorry, Mr Vane. I’m afraid it was my fault.’
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘The memo. It was sent to you by mistake. I really don’t know how it happened.’
    ‘What do you mean, Miss–’ For a moment he could not remember her name – ‘Lindley. I rang to tell you that my name should be put on, that’s all.’
    It was only when she said doubtfully, ‘Yes, I see,’ that he realised his name had been left off by intention. He covered up by saying that he would have a word with Mr Hartford. She sounded relieved as she said that that would perhaps be best.
    When he put down the receiver he felt a gust of anger. This was clear confirmation of what he had said to Alice about Hartford gunning for him. Blaney and O’Rourke were departmental heads on his own level, and to leave his name off a list that included theirs was a deliberate insult. Five minutes later he felt composed enough to speak to Hartford.
    In the outer office he saw the girl. She was young, with fluffy pale golden hair. She gave him a nervous smile.
    You’re Joy Lindley.’
    ‘That’s right. Mr Vane, about that memo. It was all my fault.’
    ‘Never mind.’ Below the desk top stretched slimly attractive legs. ‘How long have you been here?’
    ‘Three months.’
    ‘Like it?’
    ‘Oh yes, very much.’
    ‘I’m just going in to have a word with Mr Hartford. Don’t worry, Joy, I shan’t bring you into it. That’s not necessary at all.’
    ‘Thank you very much.’
    You’ve made a friend, Paul, he said to himself as he passed on.
    Hartford looked small behind a big desk. A steel and glass inkstand in the shape of a pair of gear wheels stood on it, together with a chromium photograph frame containing the picture of a woman, and a letter-opener. It seemed that the letter-opener got little use for the desk was now, as always, almost completely clear of correspondence. Hartford was known to believe that only an inefficient man had a cluttered desk, a disturbing conclusion for somebody like Paul, who always had a pile of papers which could not be dealt with immediately, but equally could not possibly be shut away in a file.
    The senior figures at Timbals used first names to each other, but Paul felt uncomfortable in doing so with Hartford. His manner was more boyishly naïve than usual.
    ‘Brian, I understand the new luncheon-room is going to be opened next week, is that right?’
    ‘Quite right.’
    ‘Fine. I may have a couple of people I’d like to bring along next Thursday. Not sure yet, but I thought I’d check the opening date with you.’
    Hartford’s voice was like the first frost of winter. ‘I’ve sent memos to everybody eligible to use the new luncheon-room. You’ve not had one.’ It was a statement, not a question. When he said no, Hartford said nothing more.
    ‘You mean the room is for the exclusive use of directors.’
    ‘I didn’t say that.’
    ‘Well, then?’
    Hartford’s tongue came out and briefly touched his lips in what was undoubtedly a gesture of pleasure. ‘I should have thought the conclusion was obvious.’
    Paul felt a flush rising in his neck. He kept his voice quiet. ‘You mean I’m not to use the room.’
    ‘The names of those eligible to use it were on the memo.’
    ‘It’s not confined to directors. Blaney and O’Rourke’s names are on it.’ He stared across the desk. Hartford huddled on the other side, immobile as a lizard. Paul was pleased that his own voice was still quiet. ‘You’re discriminating against me. If it’s good for one departmental