Candlesight. Michael Liddy
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the chair, Amelia folded her arms. “So what exactly is this conversation about?”
Richard unwound himself into the small club chair to the left of her desk. “I don’t think there’s that much more you can do with him. He’s not going to give you what you want.”
“And that’s acceptable to you?” Her voice was flat and emotionless.
He came forward and placed his elbows on his knees. “Amelia, I don’t know how the hell he managed to come up with what happened down there. All I can say is that it works and it keeps working. I’ve spoken to the cranky prick and he’s scared of me. Even given that I can’t get a read on whether he’s strong and intelligent or just a pig who lucked on something.”
Amelia took a deep breath. “Rich, you can’t luck on something like that. Somewhere, somehow, somebody came up with what Coremade is.”
“And maybe that was Ted and maybe it wasn’t. I’m prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt and let him run that place. It’s been ten years and it’s still working, that tells me something.”
She sighed and her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t like you, what’s going on?”
Richard stood more erect and looked down at her. “Arthur’s heard you’ve been down at Kensington.” He paused. “Amelia, he’s concerned.” There was a thinly veiled threat in his tone.
“Arthur? I still don’t understand why were you so intent on keeping it.” Her brow creased up into a deep frown. Taken aback at the mention of the word ‘concern’, she continued quietly. “I know it has sentimental value but why is Arthur so interested in Coremade?”
“Arthur told me that Coremade had to be kept in Kensington, it had to be kept going and it had to be kept true to its brand.” Richard spread his hands. “He was extremely forceful about those points, it was part of the handover of CEO to me. As he turned and began to walk away, he spoke in a haughty tone. “Be careful Amelia.”
Momentarily unsettled by his comments, Amelia took her thoughts away from the spreadsheets in front of her. Perhaps she didn’t need Ted. As the moments passed though, her disquiet heightened. This first part of rebuilding the product lines, the ideas, wasn’t everything, there were many more trials to overcome. She focused on the documents in front of her again. Somewhere within the sheaf of papers in front of her was the name of a person who could help, and she was becoming more and more sure now that it wasn’t Ted. She was certainly nervous about Arthur’s attention, but reasoned that surely she wasn’t doing anything wrong.
After another twenty minutes of scanning and cross referencing the material in front of her, she came up with four names. Three she’d already met as part of the course of her waiting for Ted and none of them presented with the attitude, insight, drive or inquisitiveness she would have expected. The fourth was someone she hadn’t met; a man by the name of Alan Wilson. He was there throughout the '90s, and was there still. According to his summary he had enormous annual leave and sick leave owing, which told her he was never away from his post.
Amelia smiled and pushed the rest of the papers away. “Maybe it’s you.”
She could picture most of the people in that chaotic jumble of machinery and benches and in quick time she narrowed it down to several faces this person might be. With a great deal of concentration Amelia dismissed this line of thinking from her mind. It would be at least a week before she could routinely press Ted again, and there was much work for her to do. She was mature enough to realise part of her fascination was because this was a diversion from a much greater challenge, like the unreasonable calling one has to organise a sock drawer the day before an exam.
Making one concession to this puzzle before she cast it from her mind, Amelia called the woman on the front counter at the factory and circumspectly quizzed her on Alan. The responses she received were vague, though the woman was obviously trying to be helpful, Amelia came away with little except a description of where the man spent most of his time in the factory.
The following morning she was doing tedious administration when her desk phone rang. She left the three people at her small meeting table to answer it and was greeted with the grave tone of their usually effervescent receptionist.
“Arthur is on the line for you.”
Amelia frowned and paused before responding. “Don’t you mean for Richard?”
“No, he wants to talk to you.”
Taking a deep breath, Amelia turned towards the others in the room and waved them away with a tight lipped smile. “Sorry I have to take this, we can finish this up later, we’re almost there.” None of them commented and they quickly filed out of the office. “Ok Jenny, put him through.” At the click she spoke in a dispassionate voice. “Hello Amelia Wightman.”
A deep and well weathered voice responded in level tones. “Amelia, it’s Arthur here. How are you?”
Making her voice immediately more soft and open, she replied quickly. “Hello Arthur. I’m well. A lot to do here but we’re getting through it all I think.”
“Yes, I’ve had some whispers coming through to me of what you’ve been up to. You’re doing a great deal it would seem.”
She was flattered. That whispering could have come from anywhere given his sources, but she chose now to suspect Richard though there was little doubt he’d have done so only to take credit. “It’s nice of Richard to mention me, but really it’s everyone here, we’re all working hard.”
He gave a soft chuckle, though it was a humourless gesture. “He’s not mentioned you, I have other eyes and ears in Havesheld.”
Amelia felt a slight chill at that statement. Arthur, like each of his forebears, had been an implacable and almost heroic figure; astute, worldly and possessed of extremely strong will and a towering resolve. To have him acknowledge her existence filled Amelia with a thrill of excitement, but beyond that, other questions began to form in her mind.
Awed though she was of him, she wasn’t cowed, and she spoke her mind. “Arthur, I have a question, if I might?”
Silent for a moment, the elderly man finally replied quietly. “Which is?”
“Well, if you’re in touch enough with this place to know what I’m doing,” she tried to phrase the question delicately, “why did you let James get us into the position we’re in now?” Arthur had run the business profitably for forty years, through all sorts of economic conditions; if he knew what was going on, why would he let it come so close to ruin?
The reply, when it came, was delivered in an even tone. “Who do you think told Richard what was going on?”
Genuinely startled, she couldn’t help the most obvious response. “You knew?”
“Of course I did, but I had to let him run the company. Only when the danger was too great did I step in and tell him what to do.”
Amelia was confused. “But Richard found it out himself, when he got that call from the bank and then started putting it all together.”
Arthur’s tone became more flat as his patience seemed to wane. “No, that’s how I told him to make the play when you confronted James so he’d leave quietly and without a fight.”
Her mind was racing, but Amelia knew better than to ask details; he’d told her as much as she needed to know to figure out the rest. Quickly her mind came to a more pressing observation. “Has all this got anything to do with why you’re calling me?”
“Yes it does. As I said, you’re doing a great deal and it’s been observed.” His voice became softer again. “You should keep doing exactly what you have been.”
Thoughts still racing, Amelia didn’t quite know how to reply. Nothing insightful or dramatic came to