Уильям Николсон - Motherland

The board applauds again.

Larry is invited to present his response to the parent company’s management in New Orleans.

Jimmy Brunstetter greets him as an old friend.

‘Too long, Larry, too long. I’m going to take you out tonight and give you a dinner that will knock your socks off. Now you go and freshen up, and do what you have to do, because I have to run.’

Larry has brought his report, and holds it in his hand.

‘Maybe you’d like to take a look at this.’

‘Sure, sure I would. Only right now I’m late for the meeting I cancelled another meeting for on account of being late for that one, if you get my drift.’

And away he trots, head bobbing, smoking as he hurries to the elevator. His assistant takes over.

‘Mr Brunstetter has booked a table at Broussard’s for seven p.m., Mr Cornford. Is there anything more I can do for you now?’

Broussard’s, in the heart of the Vieux Carré, is very grand. Ornate gold-framed mirrors line the walls. A statue of Napoleon holds pride of place.

‘I got us a table in the courtyard,’ says Jimmy Brunstetter, arriving fifteen minutes late. ‘They looking after you okay?’

‘Excellently, thank you,’ says Larry.

The courtyard is wisteria-covered, mild in the evening air, and grandly relaxed. Brunstetter seems to know everybody, most notably the proprietor-chef Joe Broussard.

‘So, Papa,’ Brunstetter tells him, ‘I got a VIP guest from England, and we’re going to do him proud, right?’

‘You said it,’ beams the chef.

Brunstetter takes personal charge of Larry’s menu choices.

‘Fried oysters. You ever had fried oysters? You have not lived. So you’ll have Oysters Broussard, you will die and go to heaven. Then, let’s see, oh sure, Creole Ribeye, that’s the one. You ever had Creole cooking? You have not lived. So what are you drinking? Tell you what, my friend. You order a Brandy Napoleon here, you know what they do? They bring it out and all the waiters sing the ‘Marseillaise’. Gives you one hell of a kick the first time, but after that it’s a pain in the ass, to be frank with you. But if you’d like? No? That’s good for me.’

‘So what’s the Napoleon connection?’ says Larry politely.

Brunstetter looks at him as if he’s mad.

‘This joint is French,’ he says. ‘Joe Broussard is French. Napoleon was French, right?’

‘Yes,’ says Larry. ‘I believe he was.’

The food is superb. Two courses come and go and no mention is made of the reason for Larry’s trip.

‘So you heard Sam retired?’ says Brunstetter.

‘Yes,’ says Larry. ‘What’s the new man like? I hope to meet him.’

‘A good man. A good man. But Sam was something else. Big shoes to fill.’

‘So is there a meeting planned for tomorrow? They didn’t seem to know in your office.’

‘Meetings? Don’t tell me about meetings! My life is meetings. But we’re here to enjoy ourselves, right? How about the brandy without the singing waiters?’

‘I left a copy of my report with your assistant,’ says Larry. ‘Can I be sure he’ll get it to the president?’

‘Don’t you worry about that. Don’t you worry about anything. This is the VIP treatment. You’re having a good time, right? Have a cigarette. You like something sweet? They got crêpes here, they roll ’em round cream cheese and brandy pecan stuffing, they float ’em in strawberry sauce, and all you have to do is open your mouth. You will die and go to heaven.’

The next day is a frustrating one for Larry. He waits in his hotel but no message comes. He calls Brunstetter’s office, only to learn he’s out of town for the day. He calls the president’s office to confirm that they received his report, and is assured the matter is being attended to. Left to his own devices, reluctant to walk the streets in the sultry heat, he stays in his hotel room and thinks about Kitty. He thinks about how he kissed her and how he told her he loved her, and the petty annoyances of the day fade into nothing. Something so big has come so right that now all he can do is rest silent, grateful, in its presence.

In the end, because thoughts of Kitty so fill his mind, he writes her a letter. All his letters to her have been love letters, but this is the first time he has written openly about his love.

I don’t know how to begin this letter. Whatever I write will sound either too faint to express what I feel or too presumptuous. What am I to you? One who has loved you for ten years and only kissed you once. One who wants only to spend the rest of his life with you and knows it’s impossible. What a mess it is. What a wonderful ridiculous joyful mess! Everything is wrong but all I feel is happiness. I suppose from now on we’re to lead lives of guilt and subterfuge but I don’t care. It turns out I don’t care about anything or anyone but you. I suppose this is how crimes of passion come about. As you see from the letter paper I’m in a grand hotel in New Orleans. They give me grand dinners, and a car and driver to take me wherever I want. And all I want is you. I long to say to my driver, Take me to Kitty. Then an immense American car would come swishing down the track to your house, and you’d get in the back seat with me, which is deep and soft and long, and …

He doesn’t finish the letter. Nor does he send it. He knows he can’t involve Kitty in a secret life she has to hide from Ed. But he keeps the letter, just in case the time should ever come when he can show it to her.

The next day a message comes from Jimmy Brunstetter. He would like to meet Larry at ten a.m.

Larry finds Brunstetter has the McKinsey report on his desk, but sees no sign of his own report. There’s another man in the room who is only introduced as ‘Walter’. This time Jimmy Brunstetter gets straight down to business.

‘So the McKinsey boys did a fine job, right? We were pretty pleased with what they turned up. There’s your company future right there, Larry. You seen the latest figures? We didn’t see Geest coming, did we?’

‘No, we didn’t,’ says Larry. ‘But the market’s potentially big enough for both of us.’

‘Potentially.’ Brunstetter glances at Walter. ‘We like actually .’ He taps the McKinsey report. ‘This is actually .’

Larry made up his mind before leaving London to show no signs of his real feelings about the McKinsey report. After all, United have paid for it.

‘The report is excellent in its analysis of costs,’ he says. ‘But it doesn’t take account of company culture. You’ll find in my report that there’s another approach.’

‘That’s good, that’s good,’ says Brunstetter. Once more he taps the McKinsey report. ‘The president and the board have signed off on this.’

‘Signed off? I don’t understand.’

‘The recommendations of this report will now be implemented.’

‘Implemented? I’m sorry, Jimmy, there’s some misunderstanding here. I don’t accept the McKinsey findings, and nor does my board.’

‘I don’t think you mean that, Larry.’

Walter is taking notes.

‘Give me a year,’ says Larry. ‘You’ll see in my report how I plan to tackle the issues the McKinsey report raises.’

‘You’ll make the redundancies?’

‘I’ll do all that’s necessary.’

‘Come on, Larry. We’re old friends, we don’t need to bull around. Fyffes needs to lose at least half its people. You know that. I know that. Are you going to do it?’

‘I don’t accept that cuts on that scale are needed,’ says Larry. ‘The company’s in good health. In a year we’ll be back in profit.’