A Shock to the System by Simon Brett

all the London departments, as well as the regional ones, met to discuss staffing problems and proposals. Chairing the meeting was one of the tasks George Brewer had willingly relinquished to his assistant, and it was a job that Graham enjoyed. It also gave him an insight into the fortunes of the various sectors of the company, privileged information that fuelled his own scheming over the next six months. Excluding him from the Departmental Heads’ Meeting would remove his finger from the company’s pulse.
    â€˜But, Robert, I chair that meeting.’
    â€˜ Have chaired it in the past. I think it’s a job that should be done by the Head of Personnel.’
    Graham considered his position. There was no doubt that Robert had planned this annexation of responsibility. The casual line of ‘just had a letter about a three-day conference’ did not fool him. Robert had certainly made up his mind to send Graham to Brussels the previous week; the softening-up of the weekend had been calculated and this new assault was definitely a challenge. Graham now understood the game Robert was playing. It was the tactic of any conqueror – to relax his victims with assurances, and then to remove their liberties piecemeal, in a series of small raids, none in themselves big enough to warrant resistance. Robert was working on the assumption that the worm wouldn’t turn.
    But Graham was not prepared to submit that easily. ‘O.K., that’s a point of view, Robert. I don’t agree with it, but obviously you’re entitled to your opinion.’ He paused. ‘However, I would point out that on April 23rd George Brewer will still be Head of Department. I think I should consult him before I agree to go to this conference.’
    â€˜I’ve squared George.’
    Robert spoke with finality. Graham knew there was no point in appealing to the older man. George would only bid for sympathy, agree that no one took any notice of him any longer, and plead for company in another maudlin drinking session. Graham had been thoroughly outmanoeuvred.
    It was like the weekend, designed to diminish him and make him feel subservient to Robert Benham. The only thought which protected Graham from its full effect was the knowledge that he had done something that Robert had never achieved. He had committed a murder.
    And was going to commit a second.
    As he left Robert’s office and passed George’s he gave himself another boost by inviting Stella out for a drink after work. She consented, suggesting that this time, rather than leaving together, they should meet in the wine bar. He liked her practicality, the precision with which she followed a sequence of steps she had certainly trodden before. He wondered how many of his colleagues had trodden them with her.
    He liked talking to Stella. Again he found that evening it was a relief to be with a woman who made no demands on him and who talked about things that were not part of his daily life. He relaxed, and felt his relaxation was justified, a licensed day out from training so that he didn’t become obsessed with thinking of the challenge ahead.
    As they emerged after three glasses of wine, Stella said she’d be happy to cook him supper one night, and Graham realised with slight shock that this was a sexual invitation.
    Sex had not figured much in his thoughts since he had killed the old man. His fantasies of expensive women were intellectual, not physical, desires. No doubt he had made dutiful love to Merrily a few times and he had certainly fell sexual envy for Robert and Tara at the weekend, but lust had not been a strong motive. He wondered if it ever had for him. The ‘Swinging London’ experiments of his twenties and his marriage to Merrily had, in retrospect, been prompted more by the demands of convention than importunate desire. And now that there was something else of significance in his life, he felt no shame in admitting that sex was not