Face the Wind and Fly (27 page)

One picture. Four people looking at it. Each sees something different.

They’d gone to Madrid, as a family, when Ninian was about nine. Harry had not yet met Jane and was footloose. Kate was exhausted and overworked and Andrew, high on record-breaking advance sales for
Martyne Noreis and the Cuckoo in the Nest
, had suggested a family break, his treat.

In the gallery, trying to teach Ninian about art, all he did was snigger at the painting. ‘He really wants to win, doesn’t he?’

Harry wanted to move on. ‘I like the colours, nice big blocks,’ he said. ‘The guy’s shoulder looks strange, though, doesn’t it? Just a couple of teenagers, playing cards.’

Andrew was excited. ‘Look again, Harry. There’s a world of meaning in there. I could write a whole book on the basis of that one scene alone.’

Kate was the only one who looked at the girl’s face and saw power. She was calm, assured and knowing. Whatever the youth did, she knew she was going to win. He was going to try and cheat, but she was going to deal with it. She looked like Kate felt at work – always right, always in charge.

Harry’s revelations reminded her now of that picture, and of their reactions. They had all been playing out their lives from parallel perspectives. All these years, she and Harry had looked at the situation they were in and had seen in it only one dimension, whereas in fact many dimensions had existed. That realisation gave her strength and hope.

In the village, though, people still avoided her. As she’d predicted, Mrs Gillies had spread the news of Andrew’s departure more speedily and with more deadly accuracy than an Exocet missile. Many villagers resented the fact that he’d left and some weren’t shy about telling her it was all her fault. Forgie revelled in the fame that came to the village through their local celebrity and Kate had always been a nonentity, at least until the Summerfield project had brought her to their attention for all the wrong reasons.
You’re hardly the life and soul of the village
, Andrew had said, callously, and she’d felt hurt. She knew now, though, that there had been more than a grain of truth in what he’d said.

The end of the year was approaching and the weather was dull and damp. The protestors were still encamped in Bonny Brae Woods, she knew, but she had heard that their numbers had diminished. The amateurs and hangers-on had drifted off with the chillier nights and only the professionals were left, doggedly determined. This was, though, a lost cause, and they knew it as well as she did. Even the press had lost interest. As soon as another suitable project presented itself, the eco-protestors would be off – hoping, no doubt, that it might be in a more temperate southerly zone, Kent, perhaps, or Surrey. Few of those Kate had heard talking at the encampment had had Scottish accents.

The walk through Bonny Brae was still denied to her, for obvious reasons, but there were plenty of other walks to choose from. Most days she found herself retracing the route round the back of Forgie House and up the hill to where she’d encountered Ibsen. She told herself it was because she was pondering the logistics of the Summerfield Project in case she was reinstated as manager, though she knew in her heart this was not really true.

Once, she saw his asthmatic van disappearing round the corner, farting hazy fumes behind it, and once she met Cassie. She was walking, as she had taken to walking, with her head down, so it was Daisy Rose, the baby, she saw first, in her stroller. Daisy waved a tiny fist at Kate and blew happy bubbles from the corner of her mouth. Little feet kicked energetically with excitement.

‘Hello!’ Kate stopped impulsively and bent to offer her a finger. ‘My, you’ve grown.’

‘I’m sorry, I—’

She looked up. The family genes were unmistakeable in the tilt of the head and the humorous glint in the eyes, as blue as a loch under a cloudless sky. ‘You must be Cassie.’

 It was the nearest she had come to contact with Ibsen and she wasn’t sure how to handle it.

‘I guess you’re Kate.’

Kate’s heart lurched. Cassie knew who she was. She held out a hand. ‘Hi.’

‘Ibsen’s talked about you.’

‘Really?’

She grinned, in the family manner. ‘You’re the power behind the wind farm,’ she said, ‘and the garden.’

Kate smiled ruefully. ‘Actually, neither now. I’ve been suspended by my company, and the garden needs nothing doing now it’s nearly winter. I’m in no-man’s land.’

‘Sounds uncomfortable.’

‘It is.’

‘That garden,’ Cassie said, pushing the stroller to and fro with little, reassuring movements to keep Daisy Rose happy, ‘has been the making of Ibsen.’

‘Really?’

‘He spends hours on those drawings of his. Planning stuff. Going to meetings.’ She guffawed. ‘Meetings! Ibsen!’

‘He was a real natural with the volunteers.’ Kate’s heart swelled as she spoke the words. It was good to talk about him.

‘It’s been a bit of a surprise to all of us. It hasn’t been easy for Ibsen since—’ Her voice tailed away.

‘He told me about Violet,’ Kate said softly.

Cassie was clearly shocked. ‘He did?’

Daisy Rose decided she was bored and started to wriggle and grizzle, and the grizzling turned into a whimper and threatened to become a cry.

‘I’d better go. Nice to meet you.’

‘And you.’ Kate bent to the baby. ‘Bye bye, Daisy Rose.’

, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t utter a word. She opened her mouth to ask Cassie to pass on her good wishes, but nothing came out. ‘Bye, then,’ she muttered lamely, and continued her walk, head down, ears burning.

Chapter Twenty-eight

The disciplinary hearing took place in an impersonal meeting room at the AeGen offices. Kate felt her unfamiliar high heels sink into the dark green carpet as she strode across the room to the table. It was strange to be in tailored business wear again. She’d contemplated getting a haircut, but was rather enjoying her new-look longer-length style. It softened her appearance, and in the circumstances, she decided, that might be not be a bad thing. She wore the houndstooth check Burberry scarf she’d been wearing the day Mark told her she’d be managing Summerfield. It seemed a fittingly symmetrical choice. To complete the outfit, she’d pinned the suffragette brooch Andrew had given her onto her jacket, a flash of brilliance that lifted the black. Only she understood its message of defiance, but that was all that mattered.

The florid-faced Alan Weatherstone, Director of Human Resources, formally opened proceedings.  ‘We’re here, Kate, to review the matter of your suspension.’

‘Yes.’

‘You know everyone here, I think?’

Simon Thomson, AeGen’s Director of Operations was the other man present. He was the most senior man in the company, other than the chief executive, which instantly underlined the seriousness of her position. Kate had her own representative, Judy Fulham, from her trade union.

‘Yes.’

Alan said, ‘Let’s start then. First, I’d like to apologise for the length of time it has taken to conduct the inquiry, but you’ll appreciate how important it was that we do things by the book.’

‘Of course.’

‘The issue under investigation led to a charge of gross misconduct – that is, that on the day in question, you caused the good reputation of AeGen to be brought into disrepute as a direct result of your behaviour towards members of the public, in an incident that was filmed and later reported in the media.’

Kate remained silent. Her case had been prepared on her behalf and this was not the time to start arguing. The facts would emerge.

‘You asked us to speak to a number of people, including your line manager, Mark Matthews, other members of your team, in particular your assistant Jack Bailey. Correct?’

‘Yes.’

He patted the thick file in front of him. ‘We took evidence from fourteen people in total. In addition, other salient facts were taken into account, in particular the position you had been put into when the AeGen management asked you to take charge of a controversial project in your own village. The pressures you were under were borne out by the threatening emails you received on your computer, and which you had filed.’

Thank God she had filed them.

‘There are two other important mitigating facts. First, that you claim you had asked Jack Bailey not to include the route through Bonny Brae Woods on the plans to be shown at the public exhibitions, and second, the fact that your son was present at the time of the incident.’

Kate had battled discrimination and inequity all her life, but she felt intimidated by the formality of the proceedings, even though Judy had run through what would happen and they had rehearsed their responses. She hated being here in disgrace – in these offices, where she had been an important player with ambitions to reach the top. She didn’t even have a pass, only a visitor tag. She steeled her nerves.

‘First, let’s run through the facts of the incident itself—’

The whole hearing took almost an hour. The overwhelming weight of evidence was on her side, and they seemed to have been very fair. Alan Weatherstone smiled and said, ‘I think that concludes things from our side. Have you got any questions?’

‘No. Thank you.’

‘No? Then can I suggest you go and find yourselves a coffee? I’ll get someone to take you down to the canteen and we’ll come for you once we’ve reached a decision.’

‘Thank you.’

When the door of the meeting room closed behind them, Kate was about to speak when Judy gave her a warning glance and nodded at the back of the girl who was leading them down to the canteen. Kate closed her mouth again. When they were finally alone, Judy turned to her and said, ‘Well? What did you think?’

‘Tough but fair, I suppose. I was a bit shocked to see myself on that video again, I’d forgotten I’d been that forthright – even if it was meant to be a private conversation with my son. How do you think the decision will go?’

‘Hard to tell. On balance, I think it’ll probably be all right.’

‘I hope so. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t deserve to lose.’

They waited a full, nail-biting hour before they were summoned back upstairs. Alan Weatherstone placed his hands together on the file. He looks, Kate thought, like a judge about to pass sentence.

‘We’ve reached a decision, Kate. There were, of course, incontrovertible errors of judgement and behaviour on your part,’ he paused, his face impassive, then broke into a smile that seemed quite genuine and went on, ‘but on balance we found that the circumstances weighed against these. We are, therefore, going to reinstate you.’

‘Thank you.’ It was what she’d hoped for – what she had expected – but she was relieved nonetheless.

‘However,’ he continued, hardly giving her time to speak, ‘although you have the right to be reinstated in your role, we are bound to give you a formal warning. You understand that?’

The relief receded. ‘I— I suppose so. Yes.’

‘In addition, you will be expected to report every day to your line manager, Mark Matthews.’

‘Report? I don’t understand.’

‘You must give Mark a brief written report each evening before you leave the building on the main activities and decisions you have been engaged in during the day.’

‘Like a school work experience child, you mean?’ Kate said incredulously.

‘It’s just a safeguard.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ she shot back at him, her impulsive reaction so strong that she had no time to weigh her words. ‘Safeguard against what?’ A shaft of sunlight, sneaking in through the blinds at the window, caught the faceted diamonds in her brooch and sent up a rainbow.
The suffragettes had beliefs. They fought for a cause and they fought with passion.
Fight!

She slapped her hand on the table with such vehemence that it stung. She saw the men jump with surprise. Good. That had got their attention!

‘Forgive me for pointing this out, but I’m one of the most experienced engineers in the company. I’ve project-managed some of our biggest wind farms, on time and to budget. I’ve achieved more on the ground than many more senior managers in this company have ever done – don’t you agree? Alan?’ She stared intensely at the HR manager. ‘Simon? You know my record.’

Neither man looked her in the eye.

‘I think you’d find it very hard not to acknowledge the truth of what I’m saying. And yet—’ she paused again, while they shifted uncomfortably in their seats, ‘—and yet you want Mark to crawl over every decision I make?’

Judy’s foot pressed warningly against hers under the table, but the stress she’d been under over the past few weeks was threatening to explode like an Icelandic geyser.
I mustn’t lose my temper,
she thought. She couldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her again as she had appeared on television, shrewish and uncontrollable.

In fact … she wouldn’t let them have the satisfaction of seeing her again, full stop.

She said, before she had time to change her mind, ‘I’m sorry, but I think your judgement is flawed and your decision-making woeful. I have no wish to work in such an environment, or to work for people for whom I have little respect. You’ll have my formal resignation in the morning.’

She picked up her briefcase and stalked out. Judy ran after her.

‘Kate! Are you sure you mean that? After all this effort?’

‘I’m sure.’ Kate was walking so fast that Judy was almost having to run to keep up with her. ‘The whole thing has just made me see what a grim place this is.’ She stopped and gestured at the carpet. ‘Forest green. Environmentally friendly. Care for employees. “Our people are our greatest resource”,’ she quoted sarcastically. ‘“We stand for respect and integrity and we listen to our people”. Ha!’

Judy panted, ‘But we’ve won. You’ve got your job back. The reporting restriction will be lifted in time. Don’t you think—’

They’d reached Reception. Kate wrenched off her Visitor tag and threw it down on the front desk. ‘I know you think I’m just being hot tempered, Judy. And I do appreciate all your work on my behalf. But I’m not going to change my mind. I couldn’t go back in there and be patronised and demeaned by those people. I’ve got too much self respect.’

They spun through the revolving door and out into the car park.

‘I’m as good as they are. Better. And do you know what? It’s the first time I’ve felt
good
for weeks.’

The feeling of euphoria, perhaps surprisingly, lasted for some time. Andrew phoned.

‘How did it go? Did they give you back your job?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s great news, well done. I always had faith in you.’

‘I told them to stuff it.’

‘You did what?’

‘They were so condescending.’

‘You’ve given up your job on a principle?’

‘Yes. The principle of self-respect. Aren’t you proud of me?’

‘I think you’re as bloody-minded and impulsive as ever. How are you going to manage?’

‘I haven’t thought about it yet.’

‘Oh, Kate.’ The reproach in his voice was multi-faceted and she could name its planes – irritation, exasperation, concern, displeasure, and ire. Was the concern for her wellbeing, she wondered, or for his wallet? ‘We have to talk.’

Kate felt bruised. All the things that had defined her as a person had been put through the mill and ground to powder. Being a wife: fail. Motherhood: half marks? Friendships: fail. Her work: fail, fail, fail. She clamped the phone between her left ear and her shoulder. Would it be such a bad thing to mend things with Andrew, put a small tick beside the box that said Marriage? Might it ever be possible to rebuild her trust of him? Should she try, for Ninian’s sake if not her own?

He was saying, ‘I’ll come by tomorrow.’

A faint sense of alarm stirred. She needed time for her new situation to settle in her mind. ‘Not tomorrow.’

‘The day after then? I’ll take you out for lunch.’

She tried to think rationally. She needed to understand what and who she was in this new world of hers. Perhaps talking to Andrew might help. She’d have to talk to him sometime anyway, to think about what to do with Willow Corner. ‘Lunch then,’ she said, twisting her wedding ring. ‘On Thursday.’

In the small world of renewable energy engineering, news travels fast. Before teatime she got a call from an engineer she had trained with.

‘Keith Devlin here. Remember me?’

‘Vividly. Puking into a plant pot after a crazy night out, as I recall.’

‘Ouch. Can we never put our student years behind us?’

Kate laughed. ‘Only when the grey cells die in the last one standing. It’s nice to hear from you, Keith. How’s things?’

‘Mad. One of our project engineers has been put out of action. Heart attack.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I hope it wasn’t stress.’

‘He’s a man who likes his pies and beer. The stress was all in his arteries.’

‘He’s all right, I hope?’

‘He’s alive. But he was coming up to retirement anyway and his wife’s insisting he stops now, on medical grounds.’

‘That’s understandable. Listen, Keith, sad as I am for your man, what’s it got to do with me?’

‘I heard you’re on the market for work.’

‘What?’ Kate was astonished. ‘Where did you hear that from?’

‘You know how it is. Are you?’

‘I don’t know. Possibly.’

‘You’ve left AeGen though, right?’

‘Almost. My resignation will be with them in the morning. I still don’t know – who’s your mole?’

‘Just the jungle tom-toms.’

‘What might you be offering?’

‘Not a permanent job. Not as yet, anyway, we’ve got a head count limit. A contract. We need a project manager to take over from Tommy.’

‘Where?’

He named a site in the Borders. ‘Know it?’

‘I’ve followed its progress, yes.’

‘Think you could handle it?’

‘Of course. But Keith—’

‘Yes?’

‘Everything would depend on whether they try to put any restrictive covenants on me. I won’t know for a few days probably.’

‘Fair enough. We’re desperate though. You could just about name your price, though I shouldn’t be telling you that.’

‘How long’s the contract?’

‘Around a year to going live, bit of wind-down after that. Interested?’

‘Definitely.’

‘Give me a bell, then, soon as you know your position.’

‘Will do. And Keith—’

‘Yes?’

‘Thanks for thinking of me.’

She sat staring at the phone. Work: fail, fail, fail? Maybe not.