Hemingway’s Chair

Christmas the
work was going to be done.’
    ‘Like
he told us Arthur Gillis had been sacked.’ Elaine picked up an orange drink
with the straw already protruding. Then she set it down again. ‘Just telling
isn’t enough, Martin. Padge would have had us in there and explained what was
going to happen. He’d have treated us like equals. He’d have asked us what we
wanted, not told us what we were going to be given. Don’t you see that?’
    ‘Padge
never had to explain anything. He never did anything.’
    ‘Well,
I’m beginning to think it was better that way,’ she said.
    Elaine
sucked fiercely on the straw of her orange drink until it gurgled dry.
    ‘I’ll
keep an eye on him,’ said Martin. ‘I’ll tell him he has to let people know
what’s going on. Trouble is he’s too busy. He’s always got some meeting or
other. Trying to drum up business. He talks to people all the time.’
    ‘Like
Joe Crispin?’
    ‘Who’s
Joe Crispin?’
    ‘He’s
a little man with a face like a ferret. He came in this morning looking for
Marshall.’
    ‘Oh,
him. I didn’t much like him.’
    ‘Nobody
does. He’s a builder. And he’s cheap and he’s crooked, and when I came out here
for coffee I saw Marshall shaking hands with him as if he’d just agreed to
marry his daughter. Talking of which — ’ She had got no further when the door
to the main office swung open and Geraldine appeared. She gave a quick
professional smile, as a nurse might to a couple who must eventually be given
bad news.
    ‘Martin,
there’s someone to see you.’
    He
made a face. ‘I’m having lunch.’
    ‘I
told her that, but she insisted. She says,’ and here Geraldine mimed the
flourish of a cigarette and mimicked a familiar drawl, ‘you guys know each other.’
    ‘Is
she American?’ Martin asked.
    Geraldine’s
eyes rose heavenwards. ‘No, she’s Spanish. What do you think?’
    Martin
threw a sidelong glance at Elaine. He cleared his throat in what he hoped would
sound a businesslike way.
    ‘I’ll
come through,’ he said, and laid aside the remains of his cheese and ham roll.
Geraldine held the door open for him. Martin went through and surveyed the
customers from behind the glass. Geraldine flashed a smile at Elaine, snapped
her fingers, whispered, ’ Hasta la vista,’ and followed him through. The
heavy door swung shut on Elaine.
    Ruth
Kohler was at the end of the counter, beside the parcel scales. She waved at
Martin and called out his name. As he moved down the counter towards her he
anxiously scanned the queues. No one was showing much interest apart from the
new coroner’s wife. She was a woman called Bridget Moss and she’d been eager
for everyone in the post office to know that. She was sharp, alert,
professionally friendly and a good fifteen years younger than her husband, Eric.
    Kuth
looked excited. ‘Can I come round?’ she asked.
    Martin
shook his head, it’s not allowed.’
    ‘Can
you come out?’
    Martin
looked up again. Bridget Moss threw him a bright smile. He knew that sort of
smile. It was the sort of smile that said. ‘I’m watching everything.’ Ruth was
beginning to laugh. ‘My God, this is like the zoo!’
    Other
heads were turning now. The more she tried to suppress it the more hysterical
Ruth’s laughter became. ‘And I’ve caught you at feeding time!’
    ‘I’ll
come round,’ said Martin severely.
    He
found the key and let himself into the public area. Ruth was recovering but was
still the focal point of interest.
    ‘Oh,
I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ She blew her nose, severely, into a crumpled tissue.
    He
followed her eyes down to the waistband of his trousers. A flap of cheese had
somehow lodged itself there. He brushed it swiftly away and lowered his voice.
‘How can I help you?’ he asked, trying to sound like a bank manager.
    ‘Other
way round, Martin. I might be able to help you,’ said Ruth, rather more loudly
than Martin might have liked. There were half a dozen people at the writing
desk, filling in forms, or licking and applying postage stamps, and Ruth
squeezed into a gap in the middle and beckoned Martin over. He tugged at his
tie. He felt exposed out here in the public area. Like an engine-driver would
sitting with the passengers. Ruth, unfazed, took out from her bag a large brown
envelope from which she carefully withdrew a black and white photograph. She
laid it on one of the blotters provided for customers. ‘You see that?’
    Martin
peered down at it. It was a