he’d made on behalf of those of his clients whose surnames came first in the alphabet, but now the directory was crowded with new files. Since a file name couldn’t be more than eight characters long, some of them were obviously the beginnings of phrases he’d typed in increasing desperation: EXPLAIN, PLEASE EX IDONTUNDE, WHATDOYO, GOOD GOD WHAT NOW BUG GERIT … “What were you trying to do, Luke?”
He cleared his throat and stared hard at her as if to remind her who was boss. “I thought I’d figured out a better way to organise the information.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
“I’m not planning to dispense with you. I know you need the work. But you’ve got to appreciate I need to be in control of every aspect of my business. I thought you’d shown me the ropes.”
“Just enough to hang yourself with, by the look of it,” Julia thought better of saying. “You must have forgotten something I showed you,” she said, ‘and anyway I was planning a few more lessons.”
“Here we are with no distractions,” he said, his eagerness revealing itself as nervousness. “I’ve lost nothing, have I? Everything it says is there is there?”
“All the files that are listed are on the disc. I take it you haven’t been able to get into them.”
“I haven’t seen a word of them all morning, so I can’t have harmed them, can I?”
“Let’s hope not,” Julia said, and having typed the command to edit a file, moved her chair aside. “Go ahead, ask to see one.”
“But I don’t want to edit, I only want to look.”
“That’s the command you use anyway.”
He typed a client’s name and crouched forwards, resting his fingers on the keys, and Julia wanted to pull them away in case he panicked and typed something disastrous. When the columns of figures and dates and names of investments appeared he relaxed, but not for long. As soon as he’d scrolled to the end of the file he demanded “How do I get rid of this?”
“You don’t want to erase any of it, surely.”
“What are you getting he began, so fast it sounded like a single word, and controlled himself. “You know what I mean. How do I make it disappear?”
Abandon it.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk, dangerously near the keyboard. “That can’t be right. I want to keep it.”
“You will. If you didn’t want to you’d delete it.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Of course she had, at his first lesson, even if not in those words. She watched as he closed the file and opened another, scrolled through it, abandoned it, opened the next file…. His delight at his competence reminded her of Laura unwrapping birthday presents, though Laura was never so self-absorbed. As he opened the third file he said without looking at her “Feel like a coffee?”
She felt more like a spare part. “How many sugars in yours?”
“One teaspoonful, as level as you can make it,” he said, and sent the names and numbers streaming upwards like smoke.
Julia looked on the floor by the spare electric socket and then behind the desks. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the kettle’s hiding, would you?”
“Sorry,” he said, fumbling for his keys. As soon as Julia had unlocked his room he said briskly “Thanks.”
The kettle was beside his desk, the top of which was covered with neat heaps of documents and with Luke’s memos to himself in handwriting that looked wilfully illegible, a telephone, a pocket tape-recorder, an executive toy with its steel balls dangling. It seemed as if he wanted to keep everything about his business under tight control, even the coffee and sugar and powdered milk, and she wondered if she would be able to hear working for him once he stopped regarding her as in some ways more knowledgeable than himself.
When she returned from the tap in the toilet Rankin’s shared with the accountants upstairs she found that Luke had brought out the coffee ingredients and locked his door. By the time the lid of the
He cleared his throat and stared hard at her as if to remind her who was boss. “I thought I’d figured out a better way to organise the information.”
“That’s what you pay me for.”
“I’m not planning to dispense with you. I know you need the work. But you’ve got to appreciate I need to be in control of every aspect of my business. I thought you’d shown me the ropes.”
“Just enough to hang yourself with, by the look of it,” Julia thought better of saying. “You must have forgotten something I showed you,” she said, ‘and anyway I was planning a few more lessons.”
“Here we are with no distractions,” he said, his eagerness revealing itself as nervousness. “I’ve lost nothing, have I? Everything it says is there is there?”
“All the files that are listed are on the disc. I take it you haven’t been able to get into them.”
“I haven’t seen a word of them all morning, so I can’t have harmed them, can I?”
“Let’s hope not,” Julia said, and having typed the command to edit a file, moved her chair aside. “Go ahead, ask to see one.”
“But I don’t want to edit, I only want to look.”
“That’s the command you use anyway.”
He typed a client’s name and crouched forwards, resting his fingers on the keys, and Julia wanted to pull them away in case he panicked and typed something disastrous. When the columns of figures and dates and names of investments appeared he relaxed, but not for long. As soon as he’d scrolled to the end of the file he demanded “How do I get rid of this?”
“You don’t want to erase any of it, surely.”
“What are you getting he began, so fast it sounded like a single word, and controlled himself. “You know what I mean. How do I make it disappear?”
Abandon it.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk, dangerously near the keyboard. “That can’t be right. I want to keep it.”
“You will. If you didn’t want to you’d delete it.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
Of course she had, at his first lesson, even if not in those words. She watched as he closed the file and opened another, scrolled through it, abandoned it, opened the next file…. His delight at his competence reminded her of Laura unwrapping birthday presents, though Laura was never so self-absorbed. As he opened the third file he said without looking at her “Feel like a coffee?”
She felt more like a spare part. “How many sugars in yours?”
“One teaspoonful, as level as you can make it,” he said, and sent the names and numbers streaming upwards like smoke.
Julia looked on the floor by the spare electric socket and then behind the desks. “You wouldn’t happen to know where the kettle’s hiding, would you?”
“Sorry,” he said, fumbling for his keys. As soon as Julia had unlocked his room he said briskly “Thanks.”
The kettle was beside his desk, the top of which was covered with neat heaps of documents and with Luke’s memos to himself in handwriting that looked wilfully illegible, a telephone, a pocket tape-recorder, an executive toy with its steel balls dangling. It seemed as if he wanted to keep everything about his business under tight control, even the coffee and sugar and powdered milk, and she wondered if she would be able to hear working for him once he stopped regarding her as in some ways more knowledgeable than himself.
When she returned from the tap in the toilet Rankin’s shared with the accountants upstairs she found that Luke had brought out the coffee ingredients and locked his door. By the time the lid of the
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