My second promotion brought me responsibility for four staff, and the risk of hostility were I to come out was greater than ever. Until practised in my new role, I was vulnerable to anyone who might want to show me up as a novice manager. The firm was a highly competitive place. An individual's status was determined not solely by salary, but also by job title, promotion prospects, houses, cars, family standing, and holiday arrangements. Every time someone succeeded in pushing himself a little further forward, those close to him fell a little further behind. To 'bend over for someone' was a term used by some of the male staff to mean being subservient, to accept humiliation. To have handicapped myself by declaring myself to be a 'bender' would have been foolhardy.
The electronic warbling of the telephone in my room recalled me to the Hotel des Amis. Peter was ringing to say he wanted us all to meet downstairs in ten minutes to go for a walk. He asked me to pass the message on to Marie and to find out from Madame what was on the menu for dinner that evening.
My knowledge of French was probably the only reason he had asked me to join him at his house in the Lot Valley. One day at work his secretary overheard me on the phone talking to a friend in French. One or two nearby colleagues knew a few words, but not enough to understand that we were arranging to go to a gay club. She happened to pass by during this call, and a couple of days later he summoned me to his office and asked, 'Don't happen to speak French by any chance, do you?'
I told him about my school exchange visits to a French family. 'Booked your holidays yet?' he asked. 'If not you might like to come down to my house in France near the River Lot sometime. Caroline and I enjoy having company. She'd be delighted to have you as a guest. Languages are not one of my strengths. She knows a bit of French but those little linguistic problems that crop up now and again can be damn embarrassing.'
Not sly enough to invent a fictitious booking for Spain or Greece I mumbled vaguely about not having any definite plans, and when he repeated the invitation a month later I had still not thought of a convincing reason for turning him down. Besides, being more friendly with him could only help my career. Fearing that to spend a whole week with them might prove unbearable, I set up a potential means of escape by saying I had always wanted to visit Bordeaux, and asked if he would mind me fitting in a day or two there.