The next few weeks passed in a flash for Kate as she was busy with work. She worked long hours, preparing for the float of Green Goods Ltd. It was a fairly straightforward deal but time consuming none the less. She made a trip to Green Goods’ head office, outside of Brighton, to inspect the premises and get a feel for the company. Poor Ravi didn’t get to go to Brighton, which he thought was unfair since he had worked so hard on the preliminary draft of the documents.
It was not an exciting trip, but she did get to stay away over night and it was always nice to get out of the office. She discovered just how much of a family business Green Goods was on her visit. Seated in his rather dingy but serviceable office, she asked Crazy Clive about the identity of the shareholders of the company.
“Me, my wives and children,” he answered plainly.
“Wives?”
“One wife, two ex-wives.”
“And the children?”
“Three from the first marriage, two from the second and two from the third. The four younger ones are too young to hold the shares yet so I hold them on trust.” Kate just nodded.
“Do any of the family members work in the business?”
“Jane, my wife is the marketing manager but she only works part time as the kiddies are still little. Carole, my second wife, is the company’s accountant and my first wife, Delia, does the designs for our products.” It was news to Kate that you needed an in house designer for such things but you learn something new every day.
“And do any of the children work for you?”
“Yes, Alex, my oldest son, works as the manager in our main store, but the other two older ones are still at college. The next lot are at school and the little ones haven’t even started school yet.” Crazy Clive looked exceedingly proud of his rather unconventional but tight knit family. Quite the model business tycoon, thought Kate. All that was missing was the black polo neck sweater.
She took a snow dome of Brighton pier back for Ravi in an effort to cheer him up. It didn’t work.
When she returned there was a message waiting for her from Tom. Kate called him and he asked about her trip. She told him that she had seen Anton DuBois, the tennis player, at the hotel where she was staying.
“I’m worried. Are you becoming a sports groupie?” he asked earnestly, with the laughter just below the surface.
Kate, suddenly curious, asked “Do you have groupies in golf?”
“Oh, you know, some of the younger lads certainly have girls that like to follow them around.”
She snorted. “Does that mean these younger lads have meaningless sex with girls desperate just to get close to a golf star or that these girls follow them around while they play in tournaments, which is not a groupie at all but in fact a spectator?”
“I think there’s probably a spectrum of fans with varying degrees of, er, enthusiasm for their chosen golfer.”
“So, Tom, which part of the spectrum do your fans usually come from?” she asked tartly.
“Kate, sorry, I have a call on my other line. I have to go, I think it might be my mother.” He said with a barely suppressed chuckle.
She resumed her work, redrafting the prospectus documents following her trip to Brighton. It was tedious but satisfying work especially when interspersed with daydreams about Tom Benson and with her in a starring role as a golf groupie.
On Sunday night Kate was sitting on her huge red couch, eating pasta from a bowl and watching a documentary about the Saatchi art collection, when the phone rang.
“Hello, Kate speaking,” she said vaguely as she maintained her focus on the television. She found it quite astounding the things Charles Saatchi kept in his house in the name of art.
“Hi, Kate, it’s me.”
“Hello, you,” she positively purred down the phone line as she realised that it was Tom – all interest in fine art dissipating.
“Listen, I’m playing in a tournament in Ireland next week and I’d really like you to come.”
She was momentarily taken aback at his invitation. “Tom, I have to work. I can’t just drop everything and flit off to Ireland for a few days,” she said peevishly. It was most unreasonable of him to issue such invitations.
“I realise that, but couldn’t you just come on Saturday morning and leave again on Sunday evening? Surely they give you weekends off.”
“Huh,” she snorted. She thought about it. A weekend in Ireland watching a golf tournament, a golf tournament featuring the eminently watchable Tom Benson. The eminently watchable Tom Benson who was asking her to come.
“Mmmm,” she said noncommittally.
“Before you tell me that you won’t be able to get a flight at this late stage, I have arranged a seat in a private jet for you.”
“What? You have a private jet?” she gasped unbelievingly.
“No, it belongs to a friend.”
“Do you expect sexual favours if I accept this invitation?” she asked sternly.
“Darling Kate, I’m shocked. I’ll be working, playing in a golf tournament. Sex is bad for your performance on the course.”
“Really?” she asked intrigued.
He ignored her question. “Will you come or not? Fred Higgins is leaving from Stanstead airport at 9.00am on Saturday. He’s willing to bring you. Please come.”
“Fred Higgins? CEO of Elert? Client of ALG?” Kate’s voice got higher and higher with each question. “You asked him to give me a lift on his private jet to come and watch you play golf. Oh my God! Tom!”
“Calm down, Kate. Fred is one of my sponsors and we are quite friendly. He won’t think twice about it. Anyway he likes you. He loved your Vietnam story and how you handled your little faux pas.”
“Oh, this just gets better and better.”
Tom lowered his voice, “Kate, please come. I really want you to be there.”
The rational part of Kate’s brain could see nothing but problems. How could she possibly go away for the weekend? She already had plans, admittedly with Imogen, who would push her to go, but still. She had loads of work to do. Fred Higgins would be there, she would travel to Ireland with him. She wasn’t sure what Henry Abercrombie would say when he found out about it either. She didn’t think it was a good idea to mix business with pleasure. But thinking of pleasure, she found herself agreeing to the scheme without resolving any of the issues.
Kate then spent a frantic few days clearing her schedule, her desk and her conscience so she could go to Ireland.
First of all she dealt with Imogen, which was easy since she thought Kate should pursue the whole Tom Benson thing as far as she could.
“Go, go, why haven’t you already gone?” was Imogen’s response.
“Ah, because today is Monday and the golf tournament doesn’t actually start until Thursday.”
“Oh, okay, fair enough.”
“What do you think you wear to a golf tournament?”
“God, no idea. Whenever I’ve seen it on television, they’re always wearing terribly sensible looking clothes.”
“Eeew.”
“Hmm, not easy to look like a wanton sex goddess to attract and keep the attention of your golfer whilst wearing a pair of trainers.”
“Perhaps it would be better if I didn’t distract him while he’s playing,” said Kate, with a giggle.
“My advice would be jeans or cargo pants, trainers and a cute little top.”
“Hmm, thanks, Imogen. You do realise this means I won’t be able to come to the opening of Charlie’s art exhibition with you on Saturday night.”
“Oh, that,” Imogen said dismissively. In fact, Imogen was already busy planning who she could invite in Kate’s place. “Do you think that cute guy from the juice bar would like to go?”
“You don’t even know him beyond buying watermelon juice from him on the weekends.”
“Yes, but what better way to get to know him than by admiring paintings by my dear friend Charlie.”
“Are you forgetting what Charlie’s paintings are usually like?” Charlie was a friend of Imogen’s who just happened to be a lesbian and painted huge abstract canvasses that on closer inspection all looked vaguely like vaginas.
“You’re right. Do you think your banking friend, Richard, would like to go?”
“Piss off! Will I see you sometime this week for dinner?”
“I’ll see you on Thursday at book club.”
“Oh, bugger.”
“Have you read the book yet?”
“No,” wailed Kate. “What is it again?”
“The Glass Palace.”
“What’s it about? Is it good?”
“Tut, tut, no talking about the book club book before book club.” This was a rule insisted upon by Su Lin. Kate didn’t quite know why it was so important but Su Lin insisted that it was vital and they all went along with it, even Imogen, who was not known for her obedience or her ability to not talk about things you weren’t supposed to talk about.
“I’ll whiz through it tonight.”
“Ah, Kate, I hate to tell you this but it’s more than 500 pages.”
“No problem, I’m a fast reader.”
Kate could hear Imogen chortling as she hung up the phone.
She casually approached Henry and mentioned that she had been invited to go to Ireland to watch a golf tournament and that Fred Higgins would be there. She was a little hazy on the details (particularly that she had been invited by Tom Benson and that she was flying there in Fred Higgins’ plane). Henry thought it was a terrific opportunity for Kate to further cement the relationship between ALG and Elert. Kate walked away wondering if Henry thought she was having an affair with Fred Higgins. He probably wouldn’t mind provided that it meant that Elert’s lucrative work continued coming into the firm, thought Kate grimly.
She did not get to read The Glass Palace that night or the next as she worked ridiculous hours to ensure she didn’t need to be in the office over the weekend. On Thursday she asked Natalie if she’d mind picking up a copy for her during her lunch hour - a lunch hour that Kate spent at her desk working. She groaned when Natalie let the brown paper bag containing the book drop on her desk with a sickening thud.
“It was seven pounds.” Kate took back the change – seven quid for a book she was unlikely ever to read but she needed to bluff her way through book club. She pulled it out and turned to the last page. “550 pages. Bloody hell,” she sighed to herself. She scanned the last page and frowned over the description of the man and woman’s dentures entwined in the glass on the bedside table – very romantic. She read the back cover and filed away a few details for later reference – epic, masterful, three generations, Burma, India, Malaya – excellent.
Just before she was due to leave the office to go to Sarah’s house (they often met at Sarah’s house as she had a dining table and dining room large enough for all of them), she clicked on to the internet and did a quick search on ‘the glass palace reading guide’. She selected the top one on the list.
She laughed out loud when she read the warning on top of the page.
“Reader, beware! Proceed with caution! This reading guide may contain material that will allude to and possibly even reveal plot details. So if you have not read the book yet, please use this guide judiciously! Reading this guide before you have completed the book may in fact limit your thorough enjoyment of this excellent novel.”
It made it sound like your life was in imminent danger if you were to read the guide at the wrong point in time. It was probably an American website and they were just covering their asses in case some mad litigant decided to sue them for revealing plot details without warning, thus preventing them getting their money’s worth. Kate scanned through the guide and picked up a few more vital details – Rajkumar goes from rags to riches, Dolly in Burmese palace at time of British invasion, Rajkumar falls in love with her and Uma, a remarkable woman whom Rajkumar ends up with. Right, no problem, she could bluff her way through this.
When she arrived at Sarah’s, everyone was already there. Kate loved her book club. They were a rather odd assortment of women, who shared a passion for reading and not much else, which at least made their reactions to the books very different so there was rarely a dull moment. They were friends and friends of friends. A couple of lawyers (one now retired at home with a plethora of small children), bankers (one still working but with a baby), a social worker and a vet. Some of them were pretty competitive, forever striving to say the most insightful thing about the book, some enjoyed the chance to think about something other than work while others were happy to escape their children for a while and be in grown up company.
“I was just telling them all about your brush with fame. Although from what I heard it was far more than just a brush,” Imogen’s voice cut across all the general chatter in the room.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Kate, blushing furiously.
“You know, your golfing friend. Tom Benson, remember him?”
“Yes. Of course. He was the special guest at this year’s golf weekend,” Kate explained, glaring sidelong at Imogen, who was having a terrific time.
“Was he nice?” asked Sarah politely.
Before Kate could say something bland, Imogen interrupted, “Oh, I heard he’s fabulous in the flesh.” Kate blushed even more, which only served to arouse everyone’s interest.
“Kate, do you have a bit of a crush on the golfer?” asked Su Lin, joining the fray. Everyone was laughing, all eyes on her.
“Well, he’s cute and probably stinking rich, so why not?” she said glibly, hoping that would be the end of it. But of course, Imogen wouldn’t let it rest at that.
“Do you think you’ll see him again? I heard he’s playing in a golf tournament in Ireland this weekend. Perhaps you could pop over and see him there?” Kate glared at Imogen through narrowed eyes.
“Perhaps we should get on with the book,” Kate said coldly.
“Oh I loved it. It was so beautifully written,” said Sarah, clasping the book to her chest, as if to embrace it.
“Did you not think that he went on a bit too long?” asked Kate.
“No,” said Su Lin staunchly, “I knew very little about this period in Burmese history. I found it fascinating. Especially the way he juxtaposed the huge historical events with the small details of ordinary peoples’ lives.”
Towards the end of the evening, they were discussing the use of imagery in the book. Claire was going on about the use of photography in the book and Kate asked what they all thought of the last bit with the image of the dentures. There were again choruses of how moving it was, like a dance, the movements of the dentures mirroring that of the lovers themselves.
Then the topic turned to what the next book should be. Kate suggested Property by Valerie Martin.
“It won the Orange Prize,” she offered by way of explanation, and it was mercifully short. Claire, as a working mother, asked the million dollar question, “How long is it?” Kate smiled and replied “Just a couple of hundred pages!” That won Claire over and the rest were happy to go along with her and Kate.
Kate was very proud of herself at the end of book club, she felt that she had successfully bluffed her way through the book, and through Imogen’s minefield, and convinced them to read a short book.
“All in all a successful evening, wouldn’t you say?” asked Imogen as they were leaving, as if she could read her mind.
“Yes, no thanks to you, you bloody cow!”
Copyright (c) Sandra Pruim 2008
