Simon Brett - A Shock to the System

And the sight made Graham Marshall laugh all the more.

An unpleasant shock awaited Graham the next morning. He had not been in to work since Merrily’s death, claiming a week of compassionate leave.

When he walked into his office he found that his desk had been moved from its central position to one side and directly opposite it was an identical desk, at which sat a young man in an open-necked shirt and brown leather blouson. The young man smoked a small cigar. Graham recognised him as Terry Sworder, one of the brighter Personnel Officers who had been recruited from Operations Research Department.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

The young man looked up at the question. ‘Oh, hi. Very sorry to hear about your wife.’

The sentiment was delivered without interest, purely as a matter of convention. Ironically, though Graham was not aware of the irony, he felt affronted that the young man was not showing more respect for the dead.

‘Thank you. But that doesn’t answer my question. What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Oh, Bob asked me to sit in while you’re away,’ Terry Sworder replied languidly.

‘Bringing your desk with you is a rather elaborate way of “sitting in”. If your presence was really necessary, I wouldn’t have minded you sitting at mine.’

The young man shrugged. ‘Bob said I might as well make myself at home since we’re going to be working together.’

‘Who’s going to be working together?’

‘You and me, pal.’

‘On what?’

‘Bob reckons it’s daft not having someone who can use the computer in this office, so I’m going to be here to help you with that.’

‘Oh, are you?’

Terry Sworder seemed not to notice the sarcastic emphasis. ‘Yes. We’re going to put in a terminal over there.’ He gestured vaguely to the corner of the room.

‘And you’re really asking me to believe that you’re going to stay in here?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘We’ll see about that.’

Graham stalked out of the door and set out along the corridor towards Robert Benham’s office.

The Head of Personnel Designate’s secretary directed him to the office of the retiring Head of Personnel. ‘Bob’s with George, I think.’

Graham didn’t like the way Robert Benham had suddenly become ‘Bob’ to everyone. It betokened a certain mateyness of management style that didn’t appeal to him. He didn’t want the Personnel Department filled with scruffy young men in denims calling everyone by Christian names. Christian names should be reserved for colleagues at the same level, and their use extended beyond that by invitation only.

He met George Brewer in the corridor outside his office. The old man was moving about nervously, as if anxious to get to the Gents, but his movement had no direction.

‘Graham, hello. Very sorry to hear about Merrily. I know how I felt when my own wife. . when … I … I don’t know what to say.’

Again Graham felt that this response was only just adequate. He said yes, it had been a terrible shock, and the reality of what had happened would only sink in gradually, and he would have to learn to live with it, and he thought hard work was going to be his best therapy for the time being.

‘But what are you doing out here, George?’

The old man looked shifty. ‘Oh, I. . It’s Bob.’

God, the mateyness had even infected George.

‘What about him?’

‘Well, he’s, er, he’s in the office with the Head of Office Services, and I thought it might be easier for him if I just slipped out.’

‘Slipped out? Waited in the corridor for him to finish?’

‘Well, er. . not exac. . yes.’

‘God, you are still Head of Department, George.’

The old man’s eyes appealed pathetically to him. Their corners, he noted, were gummed with yellow. ‘Don’t want to make waves,’ he murmured.

Graham snorted and pushed into the Head of Department’s outer office. Stella looked up at him over her typewriter.

Her expression was strange, tense and excited as if she was expecting something. With a feeling that was not unpleasant he realised that this was in response to his new status. The intent of their encounters at the wine bar had been ambiguous when he was married, but now he was a widower the potential of the relationship had changed. He recognised Stella’s awareness of this change and felt mildly flattered. The way his life was currently going, anything might prove of advantage to him.

‘Graham, I was very sorry to hear about your wife.’

The response was becoming automatic. He nodded grimly. ‘Yes, it was a terrible shock. Be years before I really take it in. Still, life must go on.’

He injected just enough twinkle into the last sentence to keep Stella’s hope alive, and continued, ‘Is Bob in there?’

‘Yes.

He’s with — ’

Graham didn’t wait for the explanation, but walked into the office.

Robert Benham was leaning over George’s desk. The Head of Office Services, a thickset man in his early fifties, was showing colour samples. ‘I want something bright,’ Robert was saying, ‘get away from the terrible institutional drabness of — ah, Graham. I was very sorry to hear about your wife.’

Graham didn’t bother with any response this time, just demanded, ‘What the hell is Terry Sworder doing in my office?’

‘Didn’t he explain?’

‘He gave some explanation, but I couldn’t believe he’d got it right.’

‘Why not?’

‘Robert, I have been in that office for four years. Lionel Agate was in it for five years before that. It is the Assistant Head of Personnel’s Office.’

‘Things can change, Graham.’

‘It’s something that goes with the job.’

‘It’s staying with the job. It’s just that you’ll be sharing it.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! Think what it’ll do to my status in the company if I’m shoved into the corner of my office like some junior filing clerk.’

‘Graham,’ said Robert Benham coolly, ‘I don’t give a shit about your “status in the company”. I don’t give a shit about anyone’s “status in the company”. All I’m after is an efficient operation.’

‘Oh yes? If you don’t give a shit about status, why are you having your office redecorated? Go on, that’s what he’s doing, isn’t he?’

The Head of Office Services, appealed to directly, took the opportunity to say what he’d been wanting to for some time. ‘Perhaps I’ll just slip out and wait while you finish this discussion. Then we — ’

‘You stay,’ snapped Robert Benham. ‘This interruption won’t last long.’

‘No?’ Graham was shouting now. ‘Go on, if you don’t care about status, why don’t we move half the typing pool into this office? I’m sure it wouldn’t inconvenience you much.’

‘Graham, I know you’re upset about your wife — ’

‘Don’t try that one! Oh yes, pretend I’m only behaving like this because I’m under emotional stress. Listen! I have a perfectly legitimate complaint, and I demand that you send Terry Sworder back to the Computer Room or wherever he crawled out of!’

‘No.’ Robert Benham shook his head briskly.

‘Come on, you haven’t answered my question. Would you object to having some “assistant” shoved into your office? Go on, of course you would.’

‘The two cases are not comparable. First, I am Head of Department ’

‘Not yet you aren’t!’

‘In all but name.’ The words were delivered with great forbearance. ‘Secondly,’ he continued, ‘if I thought I needed an assistant in here for the efficient discharge of my duties, I would install one.’

‘Meaning I don’t discharge my duties efficiently?’