"Please, Kit, don't come at me with profound wisdom. Not today."
Kit was not at all put out. "It's all right, Martin. I've given them coffee and your apologies. I told them you'd had a power breakfast you couldn't cancel. Actually it might work to your advantage." She smiled at him reassuringly.
Martin squared his shoulders and began his morning.
He wasn't to know it, but other people's mornings were difficult too. His son Jody had paced and paced around a small bed-sitting-room rehearsing over and over the speech he would make at lunchtime in Quentins Restaurant. Would it come out as he intended it to? The more often he said it, the less likely it seemed.
In the restaurant, under the watchful eye of Brenda Brennan, the Breton waiter Yan was polishing the cutlery on each table with a soft cloth and having a bad morning. There had been a letter from home with vague mentions of his father going to Concarneau to have tests in the hospital. Nobody said what the tests were for. Should he go home and find out? It would be useless to telephone, they would only tell him not to waste his hard-earned money.
Kit Morris was not having a good day either. It didn't help that Martin was behaving like a spoiled child. She had her own problems. Like how the future was going to work out for her elderly mother. She was no longer able to cope on her own. It would be coming to live with Kit or going in to a home. There were no other options, her married brothers had made that clear. Kit needed some time to think it through. She had been going to ask Martin for a few days" leave. But today was not the day to ask him.
Martin sat at his table in Quentins, drumming his fingers. One of his colleagues had driven him there. The man had patronisingly urged Martin to have a good relaxed lunch, noting that he was on a fairly short fuse today. So now he was fifteen minutes early and of course that boy would be late as he always was. Martin went over the meeting in his mind. The people had been very cagey, they had not said yes or no to the pitch that had been made. They would let him know later in the day. Most things had gone well. What he needed was a good stiff drink. The waiter, foreign of course, didn't manage to catch his eye. The boy did look over once, but his eyes were vacant, so Martin clicked his fingers to attract his attention. Something happened to the boy's face then. A veneer of coldness came over it. It was so deliberate that Martin could not believe his eyes. The young pup was not even going to acknowledge him. This was not good enough, it simply was not. This was a top-class restaurant with standards. He clicked his fingers again and the boy's face was like stone. Martin felt a nerve beginning to tic in his forehead. He stood up and was just about to approach Brenda Brennan to complain in the most forceful of tones when there was a sudden power cut. Every light in the place went out. In a dark, heavily curtained restaurant on a wet, overcast day, it was astonishing the effect it caused. The place seemed to be in complete darkness. For a moment, Martin thought that he had been having a blackout and was greatly relieved to hear fellow diners gasp, laugh and make remarks about the incident.
Holding the table for support, he eased himself back into his seat. Brenda had organised her troops with candles on every table within minutes. She moved amongst them all, assuring everyone that they cooked by gas as well as electricity. So there would be no problem and she insisted that everyone have a drink on the house by way of an apology.
"That's if you can get anyone who will serve you one," Martin grumbled.
I beg your pardon, sir?" Brenda Brennan was startled.
"Well, that Latin Lover over there seems to have been stricken with deafness and blindness even at a time when the lights were on," Martin said.
"Yan is one of our best waiters, so you do surprise me, but let me please serve you, sir. What would you like?"
He saw her speaking to Yan while the boy tried to explain something. He was being very definite about whatever it was he was saying. Martin couldn't hear, but he saw Brenda seem to console him and place her hand on his arm. And then she was back with exemplary speed with his vodka and he tried to relax. Eventually the waiter approached to leave him the menus. Martin had not yet succeeded in relaxing.
"Oh, I see you've noticed me at last," he said.
"I'm sorry, sir," he said.
"Don't even try to tell me that you didn't see me," Martin began.
"No, sir, I did see you. I am sorry for not coming over."
"And why didn't you?"
"You made this sound with your fingers." Yan did that click.
"Yes, because I wanted to get you to see me." "I trained with a maitre d"hotel who said we must develop a diplomatic blindness if such a thing happened, and not to serve the person. Ever. But Mrs. Brennan, she has just explained this is not the policy here, so I apologise."
"Things like that might work in France . . ." Martin began.
"I am from Brittany, sir," Yan said. His face looked pale and anxious. Possibly Brenda had threatened to sack him. The boy did not look well.
"Are you all right?" Martin asked unexpectedly.
"Thank you for asking me. Just I'm a little worried in case my father might be ill and if I should be beside him."
"Are you close to your father?" Martin asked.
"No, he is far away in Brittany," Yan explained.
"I meant, can you talk to him, do you like each other?"
"No father can really talk to his son, no son can really talk to his father, only the very lucky ones. But I care very much, yes."
At that moment, Martin saw his own son being shown to the table. The familiar surge of annoyance filled him. Joseph ... or Jody as he insisted on calling himself . .. wore a torn anorak and grey faded sweater underneath. He looked so shabby, so out of place, yet his smile was confident and happy.
"Dad, I'm so sorry I'm late. The buses were full because of the rain, and I was so anxious to get here because . . ."
"It's all right, Joseph. Give the waiter your order for a drink. It's free because the electricity has failed."
"Has it?" Jody looked around in amazement. He said, I didn't even notice."
Martin looked very impatient. The boy was showing himself to be almost an imbecile.
"Please, Joseph, get some grip on reality," he began.
"But Dad, I was so excited coming to see you to tell you the great news, great, great news."
"You've got a job?" his father asked.
"I've always had a job, Dad," Jody said.
If you call sweeping up leaves a job."
"It's gardening, Dad, but that's not the point. The point is that . .." Jody stopped, hardly able to speak for the magnitude of what he was going to say. "The point is, Dad, I spent two whole mornings wondering how to tell you and now I wonder why, why was I rehearsing it?"
"Rehearsing what?"
"I saw you, Dad, as I came across the room, talking to the waiter.. ."
Jody indicated Yan, who had not left but was looking from one to the other as if he were at a tennis match. "And you looked so kind and concerned, like an ordinary person not a great businessman ... so I said to myself, why do I have to wait until it's a good time to tell you? We are going to have a baby, Jenny and I... we are so excited, I can't tell you how pleased and happy we are. Imagine, a son or daughter of our own. A new person!"
The hint of tears was in his eyes, the eagerness that had never died. The optimism that even his father's cool dismissive attitude had never managed to quench shone out of him.
At that very moment Brenda came over with an envelope for Martin. "Your secretary delivered it by hand. She said she knew you "would not like to be disturbed by the telephone."
Kit had chosen this moment of all moments to bother him with some office business. He barely looked at it but tried instead to think of a response to his son. Before Martin could speak, Yan had taken Jody's hand. "Mes felicitations ... I mean, my congratulations, what a wonderful piece of news. You must be happy, you and your wife."