An Ocean Apart (13 page)

David stopped fiddling with the broom handle and looked quizzically at Dougie. “What do you mean?

“Lieutenant Eggar? Was he no' a friend of yours?”

“Of course he was. But why do you think that I would be seeing him?”

“Well, he's in New York—or somewhere's about. I've just read a wee bit about him in this month's regimental news. Hang on a minute”—Dougie pushed himself off the rail—“I've got it in my locker.” He went back into the canteen, re-emerging a few seconds later with a copy of the magazine in his hand. “It came yesterday in the post. I just stuck it in my piece-bag last night to have a look at over the tea-break.” He licked at a dirt-engrained thumb and began to leaf clumsily through the glossy pages. “Now where the hell—aye, here it is!”

He bent the magazine in half at the penultimate page and handed it to David. It was a small paragraph at the bottom under the column “Other News.”

Richard Eggar (2nd Lieut. QOH. 1973–1976) recently organized a reunion of Queen's Own Highlanders who, like himself, have put down roots in the United States of America. Now a vice-president of Dammell's Bank in New York, Lieutenant Eggar said that he was well pleased with the attendance figure of fourteen, especially as three of the attendees had made the effort to fly over from the West Coast specifically for the occasion. Lieutenant Eggar, who is married and lives on Long Island, said that he would be delighted to meet with any QOH who might be visiting New York in the future. He can be contacted on 001 516 357 4298.

David raised his eyebrows and turned back to Dougie. “Do you mind if I borrow this?”

“That's nae bother. Just get it back tae me sometime.”

“You'll have it by lunch-time,” David said, placing the broom back against the wall and rolling the magazine into a scroll in his hand. “I just want to get that telephone number.” He glanced at his watch. “Hell, it's five to ten. I'd better go. I have a meeting in five minutes.”

As they began walking along the gantry together, Dougie turned to him with a kindly grin on his face. “Well, I hope I've brightened up your day a wee bitty.”

“Yeah, you have, actually. Listen, sorry if I'm seeming a bit distant at the minute.”

Dougie slapped him on the back. “Och, dinnae worry yourself about it. I think we know each other well enough. Just look after yourself, laddie, and dinnae do anything that I wouldn't do.”

David let out a short laugh. “That's leaving me a wide margin.” He descended the stairs, holding up the magazine. “I'll make sure this gets back to you.”

“Aye, well, I'll be here or hereabouts.”

*   *   *

The grandfather clock in the reception area had just whirred laboriously to a close after striking the hour of ten when David entered the building at speed and hurried across to the boardroom. Margaret, who was talking loudly on the telephone, swung round with a thunderous look on her face, but on seeing David the frown turned into a wide lipsticked grin and she simply waved heartily at him without interrupting her conversation.

His father was alone, sitting in his high-backed chair at the far end of the table and stooping down to suck the first mouthful from an overfull cup of coffee. He looked up when David walked in.

“I don't know how the hell she does it!” he said, his voice bordering on grumpiness.

David laughed. “Who's she and what does she do?” He walked up the room towards his father, pulled out the chair next to him and threw Dougie's magazine onto the table.

“Margaret! You ask her for a cup of coffee, and she comes in at the speed of light, dumps it down in front of you without one spilt drop, and look at it!” He gesticulated towards his steaming cup. “The wretched thing has a meniscus on it, it's so bloody full!”

He bent forward and slurped at his cup, then, pulling a large paisley-patterned handkerchief from his top pocket, he leaned back in his chair and wiped his mouth. “Did you go out to the distillery?”

“Yes, I ran into Dougie Masson.”

“Ah, right. I haven't seen him for a bit. How is he?”

“Seems to be fine,” David said, reaching forward to pick up the magazine. “He showed me this bit about an army friend of mine.” He flicked through the pages to the article. “Seems he's working in New York and living out somewhere on Long Island.” He pushed the magazine towards his father. “Thought I might give him a call to see if he has a spare bed for a couple of nights. Better than sitting in some hotel by myself.”

George raised his eyebrows as he reached forward to pick up the magazine, not so much in interest at the article but more in pleasure at his son's seeming willingness to try to make the best of the New York trip. He gave the magazine a cursory glance before sliding it back up the table. “That's a terrific idea. Give him a call once we've finished…”

As he spoke, the door of the boardroom was thrown open and Duncan Caple appeared, bearing an armful of files and walking backwards as he continued to speak to someone outside the room.

“All right. Well, tell him I'll return his call in about half an hour.” He turned and back-heeled the door closed. “Sorry I'm a bit late. Got held up.” He walked towards them, plunked down the files with a thud on the table and pulled out the chair opposite David. “Would it be all right if we kept this meeting quite brief? I'm expecting rather an important call from Japan at any minute.” He looked across at David. “David, sorry, how
are
you?” he asked, a condescending tinge to his voice. “Apologies for having to call you in for this trip, but there really was no alternative. Anyway, as I said to your father, it'll probably do you the world of good to get away for a bit.”

George began chewing quickly at the side of his mouth, furious at the crassness of Duncan's last remark. He caught the eye of the young managing director and fixed him with a steely glare.

“I think we'll just get the briefing over and done with as soon as possible, Duncan. David still has quite a bit to sort out at home.”

The rebuke went straight over the top of Duncan's head. He glanced at David. “What? Are you going straight back after this? I thought you might be able to make a few telephone calls for me, seeing that you're back into the—”

“No, Duncan,” George interjected pointedly, “David is going straight back after this!”

Duncan was silent for a moment. He was beginning to get fed up with having to carry the work-load of both David and himself, and fed up with the way that the Corstorphine family always seemed to close ranks on him whenever he was trying to achieve something for the company. He shook his head, taking on an air of truculent resignation.

“Oh, well, if that's what you've agreed between yourselves, then we'd better crack on with the briefing.”

He picked up one of the files, flicked off the elastic holder, and opened it in front of him.

“I won't go into huge detail on this, David, as I'm sure your father has filled you in on the reason why I feel it necessary to appoint a new distributor in the States. Anyway, it suffices to say that it is essential that we improve or at least maintain our sales in the U.S. This simply has not been happening with Lacey's. Now, I managed to get hold of profiles on four different distribution companies, and from those have selected one which will go before the board on Tuesday.”

George leaned forward in his chair. “I won't be here on Tuesday, Duncan. I'm traveling down to Glasgow for the Whisky Association conference.”

The managing director sat back, resting his elbows on the arms of the chair with the palms of his hands held upwards at either side of him.

“It really is only a formality, George, as we discussed here yesterday. It has to be done.” He turned towards David. “So, I've arranged your meeting with the new distributor for the Wednesday at ten
A.M
.”

The lack of response from David made George glance along the table to his son, immediately noticing that, after his brief spark of excitement over the article in the magazine, he had returned to his own introverted normality, gazing as if mesmerized at the palm of his hand and rubbing it slowly back and forth with the opposite thumb.

This was too much for Duncan. Come on, man, he thought to himself, so okay, you're mourning your wife, but it doesn't mean that you have to show such a blatant disinterest in what's going on.

“Excuse me, David,” he said sharply, “you may not think it, but actually what I'm saying is quite important.”

David snapped his head up to look at him, fury suddenly flashing in his eyes. George saw it immediately and held up his hands.

“Okay, let's calm this all down, shall we? Duncan, you have the briefing document there. Just give it to David. That's all he really needs.”

Duncan let out a resigned sigh. “Very well.” He slid the document across to David. “The name of the company is Deakin Distribution. It's relatively new, but has had excellent results in promoting the sales of a couple of English gin companies over the past two years. They're based on Madison Avenue, I'm not sure where, but the address is in the file.” He slapped his hands on the table and, pushing back his chair, got to his feet. “Well, I don't suppose there's much more to be said.” He turned to George. “What about flights?”

“That's in hand. Mhairi's fixing it.”

“Good.” He picked up his remaining files and began to walk towards the door. As he passed behind David, he stopped. “Ah, just one more thing. I thought yesterday that it might have been an idea for you to pay a visit to Lacey's, just so that we finish with them in good grace. However, in retrospect I believe you should just leave it. I'll handle it from this end.”

He went forward and put a reassuring hand on David's shoulder, but removed it immediately when he felt him flinch at the contact. For a moment, his hand remained hovering in mid-air, then, with a brief nod in George's direction, he turned on his heel and left the room.

A heavy silence enveloped the boardroom until George finally pushed back his chair, picked up his stick and began levering himself upwards. “He may be a good business man, but by God he can be an insufferable little devil sometimes.”

David jumped up and helped his father to his feet. “Christ, I thought I was only a hair's breadth from thumping him.”

George chuckled. “Yes, I realized that.” He winced with pain as he took his first step forward, then began to shuffle his way towards the door. “Listen, old boy. I've booked you on a flight from Glasgow on Tuesday morning, and I've actually told Mhairi to make the trip open-ended. It's just that I thought that it might be, well, remedial or even beneficial for you if you stayed over there for a bit. Do some travelling or something. I mean, I shall leave it entirely up to you.”

David shook his head. “No, I don't think so. I reckon I'll come straight back. The children will want to see me—and anyway, I'll have to be thinking about coming back to work quite soon. I can't have you filling in for me for ever.” He smiled at his father. “About time you continued your retirement.”

“Oh, goodness' sakes, don't worry about me! I'm perfectly all right! In fact, I'm actually rather enjoying myself!”

David laughed. “Yeah, I can see that.” He paused. “Look, it's a really kind thought—and I might consider it just for a short while, but I'll need to speak to the children first. I'm going down to see them on Saturday at any rate, just to explain what's happening.”

“Damned good idea.” George stopped and walked back to the table and reached over for the telephone. “Now before you head off, just let me make sure I can get a lift home.” He dialled a number and waited for a second. “Ah, Margaret, would you be kind enough to get that young man Archie McLachlan to come into the boardroom? No, he's in distribution at the minute … yes, that's him … thanks, Margaret.”

He replaced the receiver and looked up at David. “Listen, I wouldn't worry too much about Duncan. He was making a meal of it, just because that's the way his mind works. You just handle this trip in your own way and at your own pace. I'll make sure you get all the backing you need from this end without your having to have any contact with him. All right?”

David nodded. “Yeah, probably the best idea under the circumstances.”

There was a quiet knock on the door.

“Come in, Archie.”

Archie McLachlan slowly opened the door and put his head round the corner, his eyes wide with uncertainty. “Did you want to see me, my lord?”

“Yes, Archie, come on in. You know Mr. David, don't you?”

Archie came forward and shook David by the hand. “Hullo, sir, nice to see you again.”

“Archie,” George continued, “Mr. David is heading back to Inchelvie right now, which leaves me without a car. Would it be going very much out of your way if you were to give me a lift back there this afternoon?”

“Not at all, my lord,” Archie said, his voice lifting with the thought of this important assignment. He paused for a moment. “The only thing is I'm afraid that I've only got an old Ford Fiesta.”

George let out a single loud laugh. “I don't mind what we go in, Archie, as long as it has four wheels and it moves.”

Relief spread across the boy's face. “Oh, well, in that case, certainly, my lord.” He began to edge his way back to the door. “If you would just like to let me know when you're thinking of going, and I'll get the car up to the reception door.”

George held up his hand. “Now, don't go quite yet. I have something else I want you to do.”

Archie stopped in his tracks and looked intently at Lord Inchelvie.

“Mr. David is going to the States next Tuesday, Archie, to appoint a new distributor, and I'm going to be in Glasgow on that day and the following one, while Mr. Caple will be in London and Europe from about Wednesday onwards.”