Kingsley’s. And this is Wendy Helmann, my invaluable Executive Secretary. If I’d known you were going to feed them, I should have invited myself to the banquet. Please sit. We are very happy to see you.’
He indicated a place on the settee, and Morgan and I reseated ourselves. Mr. Reed remained standing. He said, ‘If they’d introduced themselves, I should have telephoned you like a shot. How extraordinary.’ He stared at Sir Robert.
Sir Robert said, ‘Well, you were amazingly generous, both with your help and your hospitality. I long to hear about this film you are making. Do please sit down.’
Roland Reed said, ‘You really didn’t know who I was?’ Still smiling, he was speaking to Morgan.
I sat on the edge of my seat. I could see Sir Robert’s mouth tighten. Mo Morgan said, ‘Brother, if I’d known who you were I’d have sold you Kingsley’s. Come on and sit down. They think you think there’s a conspiracy.’
Quite unexpectedly, the other man laughed. He said, ‘I don’t think I’d have bought it. No. It’s all right, of course. Delighted. Let’s get down to business. By the way, I thought you wouldn’t mind if I brought along a second opinion. A two-man team like your own, as it were.’
‘Please!’ said Sir Robert. His expression had eased. As he spoke, someone tapped on the door. To the uniformed man who came in, he nodded acceptance. The uniformed man stood aside, looking behind him. He was smothering a twitch under his tarbush.
Roland Reed said, ‘I’m sorry she’s late. She always loses—’ and stopped. He was smiling as well, for good reason. Through the door marched the orange-haired den-mother, still attired in the hat and the gauchos. She stopped level with Roland Reed’s chest, and trained her gaze on his face.
‘You said they’d lead me all the way from the door, and did they hell? I’ve been to the casino, the shops and the Gents. Next time, you make the bloody dinner.’ She turned to Sir Robert. ‘Sir Robert? Mo? And Wendy.’ Her face, golden with freckles, conveyed unbounded amiability.
Roland Reed said, ‘You recognised Mo and Wendy? Imagine the shock I got when I walked in and saw them. I wish we’d known who they were.’
The orange-haired woman rolled up her eyes, looked at me and Morgan again, and pulling off her water-carrier’s memento, dropped neatly into a chair. She said, ‘Rolly, I can’t be bothered. We knew who they were.’
Rolly Reed’s brown faced settled in on itself, like the face of a man who has had to put up with a lot, and rather liked it. He said, ‘You bloody rat,’ with affection.
I couldn’t imagine Sir Robert saying that to me in a thousand years. Reed had come to a secret business meeting with his reputation and millions at stake, and his stupid mistress (secretary? No.) had pulled the plug on him. Sir Robert looked as I felt. Mo Morgan looked wholly blank, until a smile such as I had never seen spread over his long beaky face. He said, ‘Go on! How did you know?’
She fanned herself with the hat, grinning back at him. ‘You do all you do and can’t guess?’
They were smiling at one another when Sir Robert asserted himself. I was proud of him. Gazing tolerantly at the red hair, the hat and the gauchos he said, ‘I don’t believe, Mr. Reed, I’ve had the pleasure.’
Roland Reed, BA, MA, LB, Finance Director and film amateur looked taken aback. He said, ‘I’m so sorry. I assumed you knew each other. Sir Robert Kingsley. Miss Marguerite Curtis Geddes, Chairman and Chief Executive of the MCG Company.’
Chapter 6
As an executive woman, I have never been as upset as I was that afternoon. Every normal canon of business procedure was flouted. Even Sir Robert, I could see, was quite shaken.
He must have known, I suppose, that the Chief Executive of MCG was a woman. Perhaps he also knew that she had been a professional make-up artist. It was clear, however, that he had failed to connect her in any way
He indicated a place on the settee, and Morgan and I reseated ourselves. Mr. Reed remained standing. He said, ‘If they’d introduced themselves, I should have telephoned you like a shot. How extraordinary.’ He stared at Sir Robert.
Sir Robert said, ‘Well, you were amazingly generous, both with your help and your hospitality. I long to hear about this film you are making. Do please sit down.’
Roland Reed said, ‘You really didn’t know who I was?’ Still smiling, he was speaking to Morgan.
I sat on the edge of my seat. I could see Sir Robert’s mouth tighten. Mo Morgan said, ‘Brother, if I’d known who you were I’d have sold you Kingsley’s. Come on and sit down. They think you think there’s a conspiracy.’
Quite unexpectedly, the other man laughed. He said, ‘I don’t think I’d have bought it. No. It’s all right, of course. Delighted. Let’s get down to business. By the way, I thought you wouldn’t mind if I brought along a second opinion. A two-man team like your own, as it were.’
‘Please!’ said Sir Robert. His expression had eased. As he spoke, someone tapped on the door. To the uniformed man who came in, he nodded acceptance. The uniformed man stood aside, looking behind him. He was smothering a twitch under his tarbush.
Roland Reed said, ‘I’m sorry she’s late. She always loses—’ and stopped. He was smiling as well, for good reason. Through the door marched the orange-haired den-mother, still attired in the hat and the gauchos. She stopped level with Roland Reed’s chest, and trained her gaze on his face.
‘You said they’d lead me all the way from the door, and did they hell? I’ve been to the casino, the shops and the Gents. Next time, you make the bloody dinner.’ She turned to Sir Robert. ‘Sir Robert? Mo? And Wendy.’ Her face, golden with freckles, conveyed unbounded amiability.
Roland Reed said, ‘You recognised Mo and Wendy? Imagine the shock I got when I walked in and saw them. I wish we’d known who they were.’
The orange-haired woman rolled up her eyes, looked at me and Morgan again, and pulling off her water-carrier’s memento, dropped neatly into a chair. She said, ‘Rolly, I can’t be bothered. We knew who they were.’
Rolly Reed’s brown faced settled in on itself, like the face of a man who has had to put up with a lot, and rather liked it. He said, ‘You bloody rat,’ with affection.
I couldn’t imagine Sir Robert saying that to me in a thousand years. Reed had come to a secret business meeting with his reputation and millions at stake, and his stupid mistress (secretary? No.) had pulled the plug on him. Sir Robert looked as I felt. Mo Morgan looked wholly blank, until a smile such as I had never seen spread over his long beaky face. He said, ‘Go on! How did you know?’
She fanned herself with the hat, grinning back at him. ‘You do all you do and can’t guess?’
They were smiling at one another when Sir Robert asserted himself. I was proud of him. Gazing tolerantly at the red hair, the hat and the gauchos he said, ‘I don’t believe, Mr. Reed, I’ve had the pleasure.’
Roland Reed, BA, MA, LB, Finance Director and film amateur looked taken aback. He said, ‘I’m so sorry. I assumed you knew each other. Sir Robert Kingsley. Miss Marguerite Curtis Geddes, Chairman and Chief Executive of the MCG Company.’
Chapter 6
As an executive woman, I have never been as upset as I was that afternoon. Every normal canon of business procedure was flouted. Even Sir Robert, I could see, was quite shaken.
He must have known, I suppose, that the Chief Executive of MCG was a woman. Perhaps he also knew that she had been a professional make-up artist. It was clear, however, that he had failed to connect her in any way
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