“Every day, but I missed that one. Textiles don’t come into my line of business. Extraordinary, McTaggarts going down the drain.” He twisted his mouth into a rueful smile.
“Mind you, probably the eternal-light-bulb scenario. Can’t expect to make money on a product that lasts forever.”
“That, of course, was one of their problems. And they never diversified. I suppose, an oldfashioned set-up, and saw no need. But even for the classic tweeds, the market has shrunk. Great estates sold up, and shooting-lodges standing empty. No longer a call for tweeds for the gamekeepers and the foresters. But they’ve had other setbacks as well. Old McTaggart died a couple of years ago, and his two sons weren’t interested in the business. One was already into computers and the other running a huge garage on the outskirts of Glasgow. They had no desire to return. I suppose life in the Far North had lost its appeal.”
“How extraordinary.” Neil let out a sigh.
“Oh, well, I suppose everyone has different aspirations. So what happened then?”
“Well, first the sons did a bit of asset-stripping, selling off all the mill houses; then they put the whole place on the market. When there wasn’t much interest forthcoming, the workforce approached the local Enterprise Company and together they undertook a management buy-out of the business. Problem is, there’s not a bottomless source of employment in that area, as you can well imagine. Anyway, they’re all skilled workers, they’ve been in the trade father and son-weavers, spinners, dyers-you name it.” Sam drained the last drops from his glass.
“So, they were ticking along all right, getting a few new orders, exports to the States, that sort of thing-then, bang, disaster struck. It rained nonstop for two months; the river broke its banks and flooded the mill to the height of a man’s head. They lost everything-their stock, their computers, most of the machinery. And that was it. The banks foreclosed, the LEC got their fingers burnt, and the workforce faced up to a future without employment.”
Neil got to his feet and came over to Sam and took his glass.
“God, that was really hard luck.”
“I know. So, in desperation, they approached Sturrock and Swinfield. David Swinfield carried out a fairly extensive feasibility study on the place, and it was duly rescued. The mill’s still in a hell of a mess, though. It hasn’t been in operation since the flood, and all but three of the workers are laid off.”
Neil handed him his replenished glass.
“So, what’s your part?”
“I’m to go and get it back on its feet again. Run the place.”
“Just like that? Straightaway?”
“Not quite. Even before the flood, the mill was pretty run-down. Most of the machinery was probably put in at the time of the Ark. So it’ll be a year before it’s all up and going again.”
“I’m surprised that Swinfield’s feasibility study showed that there was any financial viability at all in the place. I mean, do you think it’s still possible to make something of an industry in such a remote location? To be quite honest, I wonder if it’s really worth the hassle.”
“Oh, I think so. Of course, we’ll have to diversify, but re| member, the name of McTaggarts has terrific good will| throughout the world. It’s worth a hell of a lot if we’re to < look closer at the luxury markets.”
“What? Not the end of the good old heavyweight thorn-proofs for country wear surely? That would be tragic. You’ll have to keep making those.”
“Of course we will-and tartans too. Those are McTaggarts’ stockin-trade. Tradition. But they’ll form only a part of our production. We’ll be concentrating more on lighter, more colourful textiles. Jacketing fabrics for the Italian market, for instance. Shawls, scarves, throws, sweaters. You know, the fashion industry. Both expensive and expendable.”
“Cashmere?”
“Of course.”
“So, forays into darkest China are on the cards?”
“David Swinfield already has agents in Manchuria.”
“And what about machinery?”
“Probably source it in Switzerland.”
“Which will mean a total retraining programme for the workforce.”
“Yeah, but it’ll be carried out on-site by the supplier’s commissioning team. What unfortunately it will mean is a reduced workforce.”
Neil was silent, assessing all this. Then he sighed and shook his head, looking a little bemused.
“It sounds exciting, but it’s hard to see you settling down to life in a peat bog. After London and then New York. It sounds on a par with being posted as British Vice-Consul to the Andaman Islands. Hardly a leg up.”
“It’s what I know about and what I can do.”
“Salary?”
“Upped.”
“Bribery.”
Sam smiled.
“Not at all. Simply a bonus.”
“And what will you do with yourself? Your leisure time? When you’re not working flat out on the mill floor, or trying to get books to balance. I hardly think Buddy is going to be a hive of local gaiety. You may well be forced to take up bingo.”
“I shall fish. Remember fishing with my father? And I shall play golf. There are at least five wonderful links in the neighbourhood. I shall join clubs and make friends with old gentlemen in soup-stained pullovers.”
“More likely to be all kit ted up by Nick Faldo.”
“Whatever.”
“So you don’t feel all this is a bit of a regression?”
“I’m going back to my roots, if that’s regressing. And oddly enough, I relish the prospect of being a troubleshooter. As well, I know about running a small mill. I learned it all from my father. And he truly loved the business. He loved his machines the way other men loved their cars. And he used to touch great bales of tweed as though he were caressing them, for the pleasure of feeling the woven wool beneath his fingers. Perhaps I’m the same. I only know I’ve had enough of marketing. I can’t wait to get back to the factory floor, back to the start of it all. Right now, I feel it’s exactly what I need.”
Neil eyed him across the hearth. He said, “Don’t be offended, but I am not sure whether your chairman isn’t being paternalistic.”
“You mean because my personal life has fallen apart.”
“Frankly, yes.”
“Don’t worry. I asked him the same question over the Stilton. But I’d been earmarked for the Buckly Mill job long before he heard about Deborah.”
“Of course. Silly question, really. Sir David Swinfield didn’t get where he is by having a soft heart. When do you go?”
“Soon as possible. But there’s a lot of planning and thrashing-out to be done before I take off. A meeting’s set up for tomorrow morning with the financial chaps. A time schedule of reinvestment. That sort of thing.”
“Where are you going to live once you get there? I thought you said that the McTaggart sons had sold off all the houses.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But that’s just a small matter. I’ll probably stay in a pub or rent a house. Never know, I might even shack up with a raven-haired lassie with a turf-roofed cottage.”
Neil laughed.
“And hoots, mon, to you!” He glanced at the clock, shifted his considerable weight in the chair, and yawned enormously, running his fingers through his hair.
“Well, all I can say is best of luck, old boy.”
“It just needs a good kick-start to get it going again.”
Neil grinned.
“In that case, you’d better buy yourself a good pair of football boots, because you’re going to need them….”
He got no further for, at that moment, the doorbell rang.
Neil said, “Oh, hell,” set down his glass and got to his feet.
“That’ll be the old bore now.” But before he got any farther, they heard the kitchen door open and Janey’s swift footsteps pass down the hall. Then, her voice.
“Hello. How are you? How lovely to see you.” And she sounded nothing but delighted, and Sam thought, not for the first time, what a wonderfully kind girl she was.
“Come along in.” Murmurs of a male voice.
“Oh, chocolates. How kind. I’ll have to keep them out of the way of the children. Did you walk from the tube, or were you able to get a taxi? Give me your coat, and I’ll hang it up. Neil’s in here….”
The door opened. Both men by now were standing, and Neil went forward to greet his guest, who was being ushered into the room by his hostess.
“Hello, there …”
“Neil. My word! Good to see you. It’s been too long. This is enormously kind of you.”
“Not at all…”
Janey said, “And look what he’s brought me.” She had changed for the evening into black velvet trousers and a white satin shirt, but over these still wore her red-and-white-striped cook’s apron. She held up a modest box of After Eight mints.
“Divine chocolates.”
“Just a token. Trying to remember how many years it is since I’ve seen you both. When was it? A lunch with your parents, Janey. Too long ago….”
Standing with his back to the mantelpiece, Sam eyed the newcomer. He saw a man well into his sixties, but with the bearing and mannerisms of a young blade from forty years ago. He had probably once been attractive, in a David Niven-ish sort of way; but now his features were blurred, his cheeks veined, and his trim moustache, like his fingers, stained with a lifetime of tobacco. His hair was white, thinning, but worn long on his collar, his eyes gleaming and very pale blue, and his face and hands deeply tanned, and smudged with age-spots. He wore grey flannel trousers, brown suede shoes, a navy blazer, brass-buttoned, and a blue-and-white-striped shirt. From the high, stiff collar streamed a silk tie of great flamboyance, striped in startling shades of red, yellow, and peacock green. His wrist-watch was gold and there were gold links in the cuffs of his shirt. He had clearly made much effort with his appearance, and smelled strongly of Eau Sauvage.
“… yes, ages,” said Janey.
“It must be seven years. When they were still living in Wiltshire. Now, I must introduce you. This is Sam Howard, who’s staying with us for a few days. And Sam, this is Hughie McLennan.”
“How do you do?”
“Good to meet you.” They shook hands.
“Sam and Neil have been friends forever… since they were at school.”
“No friend like an old friend. God, the traffic in London is ghastly. Never seen anything so chock-a-block. Took me fifteen minutes to get a taxi.”
“Where are you staying?” Neil asked.
“Oh, my club, of course, but not what it was. Primed the porter, but might just as well have saved myself a gold sovereign. And the trouble.”
“Let me get you a drink, Hughie.”
Hughie visibly brightened.
“Good suggestion.” He glanced at the table upon which stood the bottles and glasses.
“Gin and tonic, if I may.” He patted pockets.
“You don’t mind if I smoke, do you, Janey?”
“No. No, of course I don’t. There’s an ashtray somewhere.” She searched, found one on her desk, emptied it of
paper-clips, and set it down on the table by the sofa.
“Hell, these days, nobody smokes. New York is a nightmare. Light up, and a guy comes and shoots you dead.” He had taken from his blazer pocket a silver case and extracted a cigarette, which he now ignited with a gold lighter. He blew out a cloud of smoke, immediately looked much more relaxed, and put out a hand to take his glass from Neil.
“Bless you, dear boy. Happy days.”
“Do you want a drink, Janey?”
“I’ve got my cook’s drink in the kitchen. A glass of wine. Talking of which, Neil, could you come and open a bottle for dinner?”
“Of course. Sorry. I should have done it before. Would you excuse me, Hughie, just for a moment? Sit down, make yourself comfortable. Sam will keep you company….”
When they had gone, and the door closed, Hughie proceeded to do as he had been invited. With his drink and his ashtray conveniently to hand, he settled himself in a corner of the sofa, one arm outflung, resting on the deep cushions.
“Charming house, this. Never been here before. Last time” I was over, they were still living in Fulham. Known Janey since she was a child. Parents are old friends.”
“She told me. You’ve come from Barbados, I believe.”
“Yes, I’ve got a house in Speightstown. Come back to London every now and then, just to keep the old finger on the pulse, check up on my stockbroker, get my hair cut, visit my tailor. Sad thing is, friends are getting a bit thin on the ground; every time I come, some other old mucker has popped his clogs. Sad, really. Still, the truth is we’re all getting older.” He stubbed out his cigarette, took another long swig of his gin and tonic, and fixed Sam with a speculative eye.
“You’re on holiday?”
“You could say that. Just for a few days.”
“What line of business are you in?”
“Wool-brokering.” And then, because he did not want to talk about himself, Sam carried on: “How long have you lived in Barbados?”
“About thirty years. Ran the Beach Club for fifteen of them, but chucked it in before I became a raving alcoholic. Before that, I had a place in Scotland. It was handed over to me by a parsimonious father who had no intention of paying death duties.”
A mild interest stirred.
“What sort of place?” Sam asked.
“Oh, a sizey estate. Farms, land, that sort of thing. A Victorian pile of a house. Shooting, good fishing.”
“Did you live there full time?”
“Tried to, old boy, but the winters at that latitude are not a joke. And to appreciate life to the full in the back of beyond, it’s necessary to have a bit of backup. It was all very well for one’s grandparents, with servants and staff, and cooks and keepers, slaving away for incredibly modest wages. When I came along, it cost an arm and a leg just to heat the bloody place. Not to say …” He cocked an eyebrow and gave a sly smile.
“Not to say that we didn’t have a good time. My first wife was a manic hostess, and she made certain that Corrydale was always bulging with house guests. I used to say she had house guests the way other people had mice. Food for an army and drink for a drunken army. Memorable days.” As he talked, recollecting his apparently halcyon past, Hughie fondled his silken tie, stroking it, letting it slip through his fingers.
“Of course, they couldn’t last forever. Then Elaine ran off with a commodity broker, and after that there didn’t seem much point soldiering on. As well, half the staff had left, and the bank manager was making disagreeable noises….”