The Knowledge Stone (34 page)

Julian quickened his pace to a shambling trot and arrived just in time to plant his bottom on the vacant seat as the middle-aged lady was on “final approach” for a landing on that same seat; Julian was reminded of the majestic landing manoeuvre of a jumbo-jet. This thought amused him and he gave a little private smile, greatly admiring the inventiveness of this imagination.

Even when faced with such a frustrating situation, it is true that many people in the world would not seek to engage with it but would pass by without overt comment. However, middle-aged businesswomen are unlikely to be so retiring!

‘Young Man, you have just taken my seat,’ she roared in a loud and frightening voice. Even the birds hushed as everyone in the immediate vicinity fell silent and looked around; with the vivid curiosity of humankind, all were fascinated to see how this confrontation would now develop.

Julian knew that he was a very kind-hearted and generous person. After all, did he not help old ladies across the street when it was required? Was he not always kind, pleasant and honest in everything he did? He squinted up at this formidable lady and addressed her in a smooth and pleasant voice: ‘Madam, I am very sorry you seem to be upset but I’m afraid you have misunderstood the situation. I was sitting beside my friend here (he indicated the pretty girl next to him) and I left my seat to retrieve somebody’s hat that had blown away in the wind. I have just returned at this moment to resume my seat.’

Julian was taken aback when the businesswoman looked quizzically at the girl and spoke to her: ‘I thought I knew all your friends. Who is this?’

‘I’ve never seen him in my life before, Aunt Matilda,’ the girl replied.

This reply imposed a dramatic hiatus upon the scene as the information was received and processed by all who were listening intently.

Release was provided when a new voice moved the action forward: ‘You are welcome to have this seat.’ A boyish young man who had been sitting at the other end of the bench now stood up and was smiling at the businesswoman. ‘I’m quite happy to sit on the grass.’ So saying, he moved several metres away and sank down on the grass, returning his attention to the slim eReader tablet in his hand.

‘Thank you for your kindness and generosity,’ the woman called to the young man before sitting down heavily on the bench beside her niece. As she did so, she unleashed a ferocious glare upon Julian. This, however, was totally wasted because Julian had been quick to turn his back on the girl, at the same time expertly wiping the details of the recent situation from his mind. Julian was very skilled and experienced in such matters.

‘Time for my free lunch,’ he was thinking equably. ‘I hope tomorrow will be another fine day so that I can enjoy another free lunch in the park. I’ll go back to the sandwich shop and spend the other five euro I was given by mistake. That boy will have a little problem today when it’s time to cash-up; he really should be more careful.’ Julian smiled proudly, well pleased with his victory.

Now sitting completely at ease in the warm sunshine and fortifying himself with his tasty (free) sandwich, Julian reviewed his life with considerable satisfaction. He held an important position in his workplace, a large legal firm that dealt primarily in commercial matters. As Head of Document Control – the department was known as “DC” throughout the Firm – he knew that everyone depended upon him to provide them with the correct paperwork for the particular task they were about to carry out. Absolute accuracy was essential and a high standard was called for and expected.

‘Well, there are mistakes very occasionally,’ he conceded, ‘but that is of course inevitable in such a complex organisation.’ If pressed on matters of error, this is how he always responded, smiling charmingly. Apart from that occasional admission on behalf of his department, Julian always claimed that DC was extremely efficient. This, he said, was due to the quality of his personal management and organisational skills: ‘I am very skilled at recruiting good quality staff and training them to the highest levels,’ he would insist to the Partners and senior lawyers of the firm, ‘that is why you find our operations so reliable.’

Now in his early thirties, Julian had been employed by this large legal firm for around eight years. When he talked of his employment with the firm, he presented quite a rosy picture of his recruitment, followed by a rapid progress through the ranks: ‘I agreed to come here after I had completed my Law degree,’ he often said loftily, ‘and they were very pleased to be able to recruit a person of my quality.’

However, the reality was actually quite different.

Julian’s father was a skilled and successful solicitor and it had been planned that his only son would follow in his footsteps. The family were rich and lived in a large and expensive house where they wanted for nothing. As a child, Julian was thoroughly spoiled and his every desire was provided by his doting parents. From his youngest schooldays, Julian had been sent to the best schools and it was expected that he would study at his father’s “old” university, a prestigious establishment that had a significant reputation for its Law courses. Having gained an excellent degree, like his father had, Julian would then become a top-class solicitor.

However this plan and strategy did not work out as expected. Over the years of his boyhood, the various schools saddled with a lazy, reluctant and far-from-bright Julian worked tirelessly on him (as such schools do) and eventually managed to secure him a place at the prestigious university of his father’s choice – the establishment that he himself had attended. Here, Julian was to study Law.

In fact his acceptance at the university was touch-and-go, with his father and others having to plead the boy’s case to the Selection Panel. Fortuitously, some of those on the Panel were old friends of Julian’s father. So the indolent and conceited Julian was enrolled at the university, unaware that he had almost been rejected; his father did not wish to upset him by informing him of this. Predictably, the subsequent Honours Degree Law course had not gone well and Julian had been very lucky to acquire a degree at the end of it; the award was at the very lowest level – a mere Pass Degree.

This was the reason that Julian was not a practicing lawyer but worked at an administrative level. All attempts to join a law firm as a trainee solicitor had failed totally when his prospective employers read his C.V. While Julian had acquired a superficial sophistication, a combination of his poor C.V. and his uninspired technical performance at interview was enough to preclude him from any of the solicitor posts he applied for. While his father was deeply disappointed, Julian himself was largely unconcerned: ‘I believe life is here to be enjoyed,’ he often told himself, ‘I’m sure I really don’t need to work my fingers to the bone just to earn a living. If they don’t want me as a solicitor (and I’m sure that’s just because they have a prejudice against me), something else will come along. After all, I am an intelligent and personable fellow; whoever gets me as an employee will be very lucky.’ Modesty was not one of Julian’s virtues!

After some time, now with the help of his father’s contacts, Julian was employed in a junior administration post in the large legal firm where he still worked. In time, his veneer of sophistication and unjustified confidence in himself gained him several promotions within this firm; some managers can be fooled by superficial qualities such as Julian’s. Then, by scheming, dishonesty and some luck, he finally managed to land the job of Head of Document Control (HDC), a medium-rank position in the organisation. Here, he gained a small, dingy office of his own and had a group of mainly junior staff working for him. He also gained a small, rather cramped parking space in the underground garage of the building. Whereas Julian had previously arrived by bus, he now took great pleasure in shoehorning his rather elderly 3-Series BMW into this space. As he did so, he usually thought: ‘A suitable high quality car for an excellent senior manager.’

In actuality, Julian was a poor manager. In addition, he was personally disorganised and suffered from a poor memory. Most seriously, he was lazy and unreliable; he took no pride in his own work and had absolutely no regard for detail or timeliness. Consequently, he often made mistakes, some of which were very serious and cost his Firm a lot of money in loss of trust, as well as lost or cancelled contracts. However, his cunning led him to conceal his errors carefully, usually by passing the blame to his subordinates in DC.

Because of all these problems, DC suffered from a frequent turnover of junior staff; many were dismissed in disgrace from their posts for committing serious errors, although often they were blameless, while others were sufficiently perceptive to recognise the degree of scapegoating that was swirling around the department and arranged to leave before the axe could fall upon them.

In such cases of inefficiency and poor management at the top, there has to be someone competent in a position of authority, someone who can adequately hold the departmental functions together. This “someone” was the Deputy Head of DC, Margarite, who was considerably more organised than Julian, in addition to being significantly more intelligent. Even so, Margarite did not escape the effects of Julian’s inefficiencies. Periodically, she was rather irritated to be blamed for DC errors that she knew she had not made. However, in her loyalty to Julian, she always accepted the blame without demur, remembering that everyone is bound to make mistakes occasionally: “Nobody’s perfect!” This was a favourite saying of Margarite’s. Secretly, however, she was convinced she was fairly close to infallible!

At this time, Margarite had worked with Julian for three years – ever since he had been promoted to be HDC. She had also been a candidate for the post, having already been Deputy HDC for two years but, as so often happens to those who occupy second-in-command posts, she fell victim to the popular attraction of “fresh blood” and was passed over. When Julian arrived to take up post, relations between HDC and his deputy were a little strained at first but his charm and good looks soon solved any suggestion of animosity. Thereafter, they had developed a close relationship; so close that they had shared his flat (and his bed) for the last two years.

It was here in the cosiness of this small flat that Margarite had developed a love for the slim and handsome Julian. For his part, he was unsurprised by her love and accepted it with neutral equanimity. He admitted to himself that it was very pleasant to have someone with whom to share life, to eat and drink together, to exchange thoughts and opinions.

However, although Margarite shared her most innermost thoughts, Julian was generally private and reticent in personal matters. When Margarite commented rather plaintively that he kept his thoughts secret, he would smile at her and say: ‘Well, not everyone is a chatterbox like you. You know I can hardly get a word in!’

Shortly after they started to live together, Julian had made it a rule that they should not talk about the work that they shared. Margarite was a little taken aback but was content to allow Julian to have his way.

On the other hand, Julian was always happy enough to share a bed with Margarite: ‘You are a lovely woman,’ he would tell her affectionately, especially after their lovemaking, which was almost invariably instigated by Margarite. Sometimes, especially on a Sunday when they did not go to work, Margarite would waken early and look with pleasure and tender love upon the still-sleeping Julian, admiring his handsome features and the contours of his masculine body. By contrast, Julian rose from bed as soon as he wakened, rarely glancing at Margarite, whether still sleeping or not.

‘You don’t love me,’ she would sometimes complain.

‘You know I do,’ he would reply, usually perfunctorily.

A Monday morning, grey and drizzly outside. Julian answering his telephone:

‘HDC.’ This said crisply. ‘Ah yes, Oberto, I will come right away.’ A hush fell in the General Office of DC as Julian strode across the room to poke his head into Margarite’s office – not much more than a cubbyhole in the corner of the room: ‘I have been called to see Oberto. I’m going there now.’ He left before she could respond.

The elevator carried him smoothly upwards to the top floor of the building where the senior staff worked. Julian walked along a wide corridor, thickly carpeted, until he arrived at a large, polished wooden door. The sign read ‘Senior Partner.’

Julian knocked and entered. The Senior Partner’s Personal Assistant, an unsmiling woman about Julian’s age, was typing at breakneck speed at her computer keyboard. She ignored Julian’s presence.

‘Excuse me,’ Julian said. The woman continued to type.