Goodmans Hotel

We met at reception at six-thirty and walked out into one of those powerful winds that sends papers and food packaging flying up into the air between tall City buildings. He marched me past three pubs, doubtless wanting to be far enough away from the office to reduce the risk of bumping into anyone we knew.

Eventually we headed for the run-down dingy little pub where I had been taken ages ago to see the female stripper. A handwritten notice told us this form of entertainment continued, but fortunately it had finished at three o'clock. There were perhaps half a dozen people in the bar, drinking and talking quietly in the half-light. He bought the first round and we sat at a small square table against a wall, squinting at each other past yellow wall lights set too low down.

'Fancy the old codgers getting the better of me like that. A couple of them encouraged me, probably leading me on for their own devious reasons. That merger has done some good, but evidently it wasn't enough to shake most of them out of their usual do nothing attitude.'

'They stuck together, when the crucial moment came.'

'Damn right they did. Nothing to be done about it now. Bloody firm. Whenever you try to achieve something there are always a dozen buggers trying to hold you back. Easiest thing is to let them all go to ruin in their own chosen way. Not only have they thrown out my ideas for the Institute but they're trying to ship me off to the States. You know I had a spell there some time ago?'

'Yes, you told me about it. How long would it be for?'

'At least a year. Have to get used to the idea, I suppose, try to see it as an opportunity. Right now it seems more like a punishment. They're an ungrateful lot of bastards. I don't suppose any of them has a clue how much effort and sheer determination were needed to pull off that merger. I gave everything I'd got to achieve that. Honestly thought I'd begun to make a difference. They won't get the best of me that easily. Time is on my side, they can't cling to their lackadaisical old ways forever.'

Drinking so early in the evening on an almost empty stomach began to affect my head. Peter's need to unburden himself was understandable, but he showed no concern for my situation. Friendship with him was always friendship on his terms. In this ritual commiseration over pints of beer it fell to me to buy the next round whether I wanted another drink or not. Up at the bar I asked for a packet of crisps and a packet of peanuts, hoping that food would prevent my head from becoming worse.