Simon Brett - Mrs. Pargeter's pound of flesh

‘So here at Mind Over Fatty Matter everyone makes their own?’

‘Yes.’

‘You don’t think,’ suggested Ellie, gently poisonous, ‘that that encourages selfishness and lack of community spirit among your staff..?’

Sue Fisher fielded this one expertly. ‘No. The point is that everyone has the right to make their own coffee, and also the right to make coffee for anyone else. You’d be surprised at the level of spontaneous coffee-making for others which goes on within the company.’ She smiled an invulnerable smile. ‘And, incidentally, here at Mind Over Fatty Matter, we don’t use the word “staff”.’

‘Oh, what word do you use instead?’ asked Ellie Fenchurch sweetly. ‘Underlings? Minions? Slaves? Serfs?’

Sue Fisher conceded a humourless laugh. ‘No, we’re all co-workers.’

Mrs Pargeter, who was enjoying this preliminary sparring, waited keenly for Ellie’s response.

‘ Co-workers, eh?’ the journalist echoed. ‘That sounds very impressive. Very… one might almost use the word “idealistic”, Sue.’

‘Ideals are not something I shy away from, Ellie.’

‘Good, good. How refreshing that is to hear in these materialistic times. So… here at Mind Over Fatty Matter, everyone works for everyone else, is that it?’

‘Everyone works for themselves and for everyone else. They all feel part of the same process. The goals of personal fulfilment and the company’s success become indistinguishable.’

‘That’s a very clever idea. You mean,’ Ellie Fenchurch asked innocently, ‘that everyone in the company is on a percentage of the profits?’

For the first time in the interview Sue Fisher coloured. ‘No, I don’t mean that. That would be impractical.’

‘Why?’

‘I can assure you we have investigated the possibilities of such an arrangement and I’m afraid it would just be an administrative nightmare.’

‘Oh dear. How distressing.’

‘But there are plenty of incentive schemes and promotion prospects to make all co-workers feel that they can become part of the company’s success.’

‘That is a relief.’ Ellie Fenchurch smiled guilelessly. ‘So, in this sublimely ordered community, all the co — workers beaver away together for the greater good of Mind Over Fatty Matter…?’

‘If you like,’ Sue Fisher replied cautiously.

‘Like bees in a hive, maybe…? All buzzing about, thinking of each other, seeing where they can help out the other bees…?’ Sue Fisher did not argue with this analogy. ‘All producing as much honey as possible so that they can benefit from the hive’s incentive schemes and promotion prospects…?’

‘Yes.’

Then came the attack. ‘And all of them totally subservient to the queen bee?’

Sue Fisher looked — rather appropriately — stung.

Before the guru of Mind Over Fatty Matter had time to respond, Ellie Fenchurch pressed on with her offensive. ‘But I’m not really here this morning to talk about your management of this company. The fact that you present the place as the ultimate worker’s co-operative, whereas in fact it’s a despotism — and not even a benign one — is-’

‘Just a minute.’ The wind had returned to Sue Fisher’s sails. ‘You print any of that stuff and you’ll have my lawyers down on you before your paper hits the streets. Mind Over Fatty Matter is run as a co-operative. Every co-worker has the opportunity to fulfil his or her potential-’

‘Unless they show too much potential.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean there’s a great list of talented people who used to work with you and who got elbowed out when they started to threaten your dominance of the company. You feel more secure surrounded by yes-men and gofers and actually running the whole show yourself.’

‘Look, I thought up Mind Over Fatty Matter. It is my concept.’

‘Exactly. And you’re very happy to keep it that way, doing all the strategy yourself and having the nuts and bolts work done by others.’

‘The art of management is the art of delegation, Ellie.’

‘Sure. I’ve nothing against the way you run this place. It’s efficient and it’s successful. All I do object to is the fact that you present what is undoubtedly a dictatorship as some kind of benevolent workers’ co-operative. I’m not against commercialism, Sue, just hypocrisy.’

‘Calling me a hypocrite in print wouldn’t do you a lot of good from the legal point of view,’ said Sue Fisher coldly.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t do that. I’m not stupid. My interviews always get my point across without breaking the libel laws.’

Given Ellie Fenchurch’s track-record in character-assassination, this was a chilling promise, but it didn’t slow down Sue Fisher. ‘My basic assertion remains that everyone in this company has equal chances to-’

‘Equal chances to rise to the level of a glorified secretary, yes. Those who show the talent to go any higher than that pretty soon get cut down to size.’

‘That is simply not true. I can-’

‘I can give you a few examples, if you like.’ And Ellie Fenchurch started to reel off a list of women’s names.

She was good. Mrs Pargeter felt privileged to be in the company of such an expert; she could understand why the late Mr Pargeter had so valued his Public Relations Officer.

Ellie Fenchurch’d really done her research. Sue Fisher remonstrated against the first couple of names on the list, but as the catalogue continued, she grew silent.

‘I’ve been in touch with all of them,’ Ellie concluded smugly. ‘And I’m very happy to include their views as background research to my interview… unless, of course, you’d rather I didn’t.’

Sue Fisher capitulated ungraciously. ‘I think it might be better if you didn’t,’ she mumbled.

‘Good. Fine.’ Ellie Fenchurch beamed. ‘So we can get on to the subject I really wanted to talk to you about… which was the reason why I invited Mrs Pargeter of “Sycamore” along.’

‘All right.’ Sue Fisher was quickly regrouping her resources. ‘I can assure you I have no worries on that front. The claims made for all Mind Over Fatty Matter products have been rigorously researched, and I can assure you that nothing goes on sale in the High Street until it has undergone every possible testing process.’

‘Good. Fine,’ Ellie said again. She was deceptively relaxed. Having caught out her opponent once, she felt confident of maintaining the advantage. She drew a printed catalogue out of her handbag. ‘Now, in your manifesto-’

‘It’s not a manifesto,’ Sue Fisher contradicted tetchily.

‘You could have fooled me. It reads like a manifesto. All the pious principles according to which your company is run. All the promises of how your company will single-handedly sort out the economy, bring hope to the Third World, and save the planet at the same time. For a moment I thought I was right back in the middle of the last election campaign.’

Sue Fisher gave a patronizing smile. ‘All right, Ellie. I’m sure you’re enjoying your little performance, but what actually is the point you’re making?’

‘There is a claim in this’ — Ellie waved the catalogue — ‘propaganda document… that you do not market any products which you have not tried and found satisfactory yourself…’

‘That is true.’

Ellie Fenchurch grinned, luxuriantly in control of the situation. ‘I think I should bring in Mrs Pargeter at this point.’

The lady in question was so entertained by the duel that she would have been quite content to continue just watching it, but she knew where her duty lay and accepted the cue. She opened the folder on her knee and took out a set of papers. ‘Yes, we at “Sycamore” are particularly interested in two products. The first is Mind Over Fatty Matter Face Polish…’