It was an extraordinary time for those who worked with and for Matt, and even more extraordinary for his family. He was generous in giving credit where it was due, frequently praised Louise – and even the nowdeparted Jimbo, on occasions – and paid several quite fulsome tributes to Eliza, but the fact remained that the credit was for the most part his, and he knew it. Louise had pulled off more than one coup on her own, but she did it from the security of Matt’s framework just as Jimbo had capitalised on and exploited opportunities that Matt had created.
Against all the odds, however, the effect of all this success was, initially at least, beneficial. The truculence created by his modest background combined with his searing conviction that it was an injustice that should be righted, eased considerably; he became less tense, and better-tempered; less dismissive and more tolerant; he listened more and shouted less.
‘It’s really funny, isn’t it?’ Jenny said one morning to Louise. ‘Not being worried what sort of mood he’s going to be in.’ And then added that she quite missed it really and she wondered if it was going to change again.
Louise told her that she should make the most of it while it lasted.
Eliza felt the same. The break in hostilities between him and the rest of the world was, she felt sure, temporary. It was nice, but was not to be trusted; rather in the manner of one of those over-bright summer mornings that offer the first wispy clouds by breakfast, and lowering dark skies by lunchtime.
But so began – she realised, looking back – one of the happiest periods in her life. She was still restless, still lonely – for the kind of company she craved at least – still bored; but Matt’s saving Summercourt had made her see how much he loved her. He had done it primarily for her, and she knew it. And consequently, knew that all his demands, all the personal sacrifices she had made, were actually worth it.
Nevertheless, he did love the idea of owning Summercourt, as well as the place itself. His owning it, he felt, was so pleasingly inappropriate. It was the sort of house that spoke of breeding, of sophistication, of taste; Matt would have been the first person to cheerfully disclaim any pretension to any of them. Just the same, he had the money to buy it and restore it, as its former owners, so well endowed with those qualities, could not, and that fact, that slap in the eye for the Establishment, made him very happy indeed.
It was costing him a small fortune, as he liked to say – with its implication that he could find several even larger ones should he so desire – and the expenditure of every pound of that fortune made him feel sleekly self-satisfied.
Matt was also very happy – when he thought about it. The least analytical of people, he was only aware of uncomfortable emotions: rage (frequent), stress (more frequent still), envy (now rare). When he was feeling none of those things, it could be presumed he was happy. He had the things he had always wanted: money, status – and Eliza. His love for Eliza surprised him at times: born that day on Waterloo station, it had never faded, never failed. From unapproachable creature, a world removed from him, she had moved towards him through the years, and was now almost unbelievably at the centre of his life.
It was not a comfortable relationship still: he found her frequently enraging. There had been women over the years who, he could see, would have made him more comfortable, more at ease with life, less challenged. Eliza was disruptive, demanding, restless, and very critical. He had no opportunity of growing complacent so long as he was with her.
Sometimes when they quarrelled, and more seriously than usual, he would glance at least in the direction of life without her, and found himself faced by an abyss so vast, so terrifying, so ugly he would literally close his eyes and turn away.
She was what she was, with all her imperfections; and he could consider no other.
His honeymoon with the rest of his immediate world was, however, coming to an end and very fast. In a way that Eliza could very well have predicted.
For he called Louise into his office one morning and told her he had offered Barry Floyd Jimbo’s partnership in the firm: without consulting her, looking in her direction, or considering that he might offer it to her. She found it hard to believe in the cruelty of it. In the sheer, blind, callous, careless cruelty.
She listened in silence as he told her. Then, as she had never ever done in all the years of provocation and injustice, knew she was going to break down.
And said that she wanted to be alone and shut the door; and put her head on her arms on the desk and cried and cried.
It was Jenny who first went in, who had listened to the sobs, in an agony of sympathy, her tender heart wrung, Jenny who had asked Matt what was wrong and if there was anything she could do, and was told to do what she liked; Jenny who put her arms round Louise, and told her to hush and fetched her some water and then sat down beside her and drew her head onto her soft, comforting bosom, which might have been created for exactly such a purpose, and waited there until the sobs subsided, and was told that she had been kind, very kind but Louise thought she would go home for the rest of the day.
What hurt Louise most was what she clearly was to him. In spite of everything, all the loyalty, the thought, the care, the hard, hard work, the near-inspirational ideas, she was still simply the sassy girl with good legs who had walked in the door and been hired as the company PA. There she was, preserved, a sexy dolly bird, for the rest of their time together; everything else that she had achieved had clearly been seen as some kind of happy accident made possible by Matt and Jimbo’s generosity, and the opportunities they could offer her, and nothing to do with any talent that she might have brought to them. A considerably greater talent – and commitment – than Jimbo had shown, particularly latterly.
And – just as bad, worse possibly, was Barry, who had accepted the offer, shaken hands on the deal and not even thrown her a word of warning, or sympathy, or insisted that she should at least have been aware of it, before going off to meet some developers in Manchester for the day. That was a truly, truly dreadful example of Men, in all their arrogant, God given superiority, At Work.
At some point in the afternoon, Jenny called and said that Matt would like to speak to her.
‘I said I’d try, Miss Mullan, ask you if you wanted to speak to him, but I told him I didn’t think it was very likely.’
‘You tell him you were right, Jenny. I don’t want to speak to him.’
‘Of course, Miss Mullan. Are you feeling a little bit better?’
‘No, not really,’ said Louise.
Later, much much later, the phone rang again and it was Barry. Louise told him to fuck off.
‘And just before you do, may I say I always thought Matt Shaw was a bastard: I had a slightly higher opinion of you. How wrong I was.’
First thing next morning, a huge bunch of red roses arrived, with a card that read ‘I love you, and I’m sorry. Barry’. Louise instructed the florist to send them to the offices in Wardour Street, scrawling over the words with a heavy ‘Really?’
She stayed at home for another two days, gathering her strength; and then called them to say she was coming in to see them.
They said all the predictable things, that they really valued her input to the company but that it was a man’s world, and there was no way she could do the job that Jimbo had and Barry would; that they would create a new role for her within the company, with a new title, like New Business Director, give her more money, give her a swanky new office.
‘Well, that’s extremely generous of you.’
She saw the two of them glance at one another, clearly thinking that she meant it, that they had done it, pacified her, won her over. Driven by a wave of anger, she stood up, walked over to the door.
‘Let me tell you, you pair of bigoted, self-centred chauvinist idiots, I wouldn’t go on working with either of you if you paid me a million pounds a year. This is the last time I shall set foot in this office. And don’t think I won’t play very dirty if you try and hold me to my contract or tell me to keep my hands off the clients. I can think of several who’d rather work with me than you. WireHire for a start.’
‘I think you should be very careful about all this,’ said Matt. ‘Whatever you might say, there are legal restraints in place.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Louise, ‘I suppose you think I’m not capable of realising that either. Anyway I’m having lunch with a guy from the
Mail
tomorrow. I think I can persuade him to write a really nice piece about me and what I’ve achieved, and your pathetic, antediluvian attitude and how I’m looking for a job. I’m going now. Barry, please don’t bother trying to contact me. I’ll decide when or rather if that happens, OK?’
‘Oh, Christ,’ said Matt, as she swept out. ‘We’ll have to think of something pretty damn smart. And – what does antediluvian mean?’
‘Before the flood,’ said Barry.
‘Right. But I’ll tell you something,’ Matt added, ‘I’m not going to be held to ransom over this, Barry, and I imagine you aren’t either.’
Barry, who had spent most of his life avoiding conflict by the simple deployment of his charm, found himself in the interesting position of having to make a choice between Matt and his career and Louise and his personal life. Matt, slightly to Barry’s own surprise, won.
Louise, having checked out her contract and removed her personal possessions from the office, had left without further discussion of any kind. They tried to tell themselves they didn’t care.
‘I think you’re quite mad, both of you, and I think you’ll be very sorry,’ said Eliza, when Matt finally told her what had happened. She had a feeling he might not have done even then, had she not called the office one day, and found his phone answered by someone who sounded rather like Louise, but who informed her that no, Louise had left three weeks earlier.
‘Rubbish,’ said Matt. ‘She wasn’t up to a partnership, and that’s all there is to it.’
‘Really?’ said Eliza. ‘We shall see. I’d put money on us hearing quite a lot about Louise Mullan in the future. I shall miss her. I always enjoyed chatting to her. I presume it’s all over between Barry and her?’
‘I believe so, yes,’ said Matt shortly. ‘It was never going to work anyway. Not long-term.’
‘Because he’s married?’
‘Well yes, but also because she was far too ambitious. Not wife material.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ said Eliza. ‘Do come into the real world, Matt. Not that I’m in it either,’ she added with a sigh. ‘And it’ll be another twenty years I suppose before I even qualify for entry, if you have anything to do with it.’
She rang Jenny to find out Louise’s new number.
‘I’m sorry, Jenny. Very sorry. To hear she’s gone. Please give her my love and tell her if she likes to call me, I’ll always be very happy to hear from her.’
‘I will, Mrs Shaw. Thank you.’
‘She’s so nice,’ Jenny said, reporting this conversation to Louise. ‘What a time she must have with him, I feel quite sorry for her, even with all she’s got, the money and that.’
‘Jenny, so do I,’ said Louise.
Two weeks later, having worked out her statutory notice, Jenny left also, and moved into the temporary office Louise had set up in her flat. Both Matt and Barry were at a complete loss without her.
Barry moved into Louise’s old office, feeling a certain sense of discomfort; he missed her on both levels, but – at gunpoint – he would probably have said more in her professional capacity than her personal one. She had always been rather challenging as a girlfriend, but as a work colleague Louise had been inspirational. Bossy, demanding, sharp, confrontational – and inspirational.
Matt agreed they had lost a lot by her departure; while adding that there would be a lot less emotion and turmoil around without her and that their day-to-day professional life was certainly simpler. And that no one was irreplaceable.
Barry wasn’t quite sure how much he meant it.
The following spring, Eliza became pregnant again. Slightly anxiously, but very happily. Emmie’s behaviour had slowly begun to improve and she felt – just – brave enough.
Matt was extremely pleased. ‘This one will be a boy,’ he said, ‘I know it,’ and when he had had a few drinks, would lie with his head on Eliza’s stomach talking to the baby.
‘You in there,’ he would say, ‘you listen to me. We’re going to need each other, you and me, protect us from your mother and sister. Don’t worry, I’ll look after you, make sure they don’t boss you around too much. You take care now, son. See you soon.’
It was very sweet really, Eliza thought. Sweet and, like so much to do with Matt, unexpected. His unpredictability was one of the things she most loved about him.
‘I have some good gossip,’ said Annunciata.
Eliza and she were having lunch; they did so quite often, now that Eliza had more time on her hands – ‘Well, for a bit,’ said Annunciata, on hearing about the pregnancy, ‘you’re mad, you know that? You keep saying how much you miss it all, and then you go and lock yourself away for another ten years or whatever. It’s that husband of yours who locks you away, I appreciate that, but even so—’
‘I know,’ said Eliza, ‘but I don’t approve of only children. Anyway, tell me the gossip.’
‘Jack Beckham’s got the editorship of the
News
. Frank Fergusson’s been threatening to retire for years, and he’s finally done it.’