The Ascendant

Chapter Thirty-Eight

I was in the office early again on Monday morning. If I was going to realise my gym membership and pursue my burgeoning feelings for Dawn then I would need to earn some serious money to have any chance of either.

Despite my early start, I was still not the first to arrive; Rob was sat burrowing through his In tray, trying to make some headway before the next wave of shit hit his desk, and Hobbs was also in, his office door shut and his expression deadly serious as he levered weighty words into his dictaphone: another tier of executive stress.

I was due to meet with David Van Straten at some point today. David was one of my peers, in theory at least, and was responsible for the Surrey and Kent areas. Hobbs clearly held David in high esteem, and had intimated that David’s status within the department was something I should aspire to. By all accounts David is a master of efficiency, presumably not unlike Mike Dixon, who had already shown me a great deal. David, would apparently be providing me with a few more pointers, and Angela, the posh one who runs the West London postcodes, would push some more insight my way tomorrow.

As yet there were no plans for me to listen to the advice of the hapless Rob, but as Hobbs had said he does get the job done. I reminded myself that I was still some distance from matching that minimal achievement.

I took out the revision book I had acquired last week – checking that no-one was likely to tap me on the shoulder – and perused the notes I had compiled whilst during Mike's induction. The information was becoming a bit more soluable and the weekend break had refreshed my mind; allowing me to absorb everything more easily.

I was still riding the crest of a wave - thankfully not the kind which Rob was about to encounter - and had to maintain my forward momentum. Impressing David Van Straten was an imperative step towards securing my future, as Hobbs would certainly be seeking his opinion on my suitability for the job. If David was anywhere near as sharp as Mike had been, then displaying some understanding and savvy would be essential to my cause.

The morning sped by as I began to make links between the theories set out in my notes and the information I could obtain from the database. I ran reports on each contractor for the last three months, comparing their efficiency, workloads and cost effectiveness. I could now see why Hobbs had found my initial report so wide of the mark, though I still felt his comments about my choice of colours was a tad too harsh.

Rob bore the look of a man overboard with no life jacket but he was hanging in there manfully and I could see there was much for me to learn from his tenacity. Although still on the dry run stage myself, I knew that would soon be changing.

Shortly after eleven David Van Straten made his entrance. He was in his early thirties, quite tall and fairly athletic in a rugby playing sort of way. He wore an enormous suit which just about covered his Herculean shoulders and was very confident, while his accent bore the clipped tones of his South African origins. He checked on how Rob was getting on and they shared a joke about the piles of paper on Rob’s desk becoming ever higher before he made his way into Hobbs’ office. There, he was to spend the next couple of hours talking, analysing, reviewing and laughing. It was abundantly clear that David had an enviable rapport with Hobbs, even more relaxed than the relationship Mike had built up with him.

At around two o’clock, as I was eating a dry tuna sandwich at my desk, David and Hobbs emerged and headed in my direction. Hobbs made the necessary introductions, even mentioning my idea to publish the contractor league table. After I managed to retrieve my hand from David’s iron grip he told me how he liked the sound of my idea, adding how he thought it was promising that I was coming in to offer a fresh angle and a new way of looking at things. I began to feel more confident and was able to hold my own in conversation a little better than I had last week; I had earned my stripes, or a sticky badge at least.

Hobbs left us to talk and David quizzed me about what I had done to date, my opinions concerning the overall process, and how I had spent my time this morning while Hobbs had not been available for consultation. I showed him my notes, though the revision book remained in my desk drawer; and ran through some of the figures I had been analysing, pointing to the patterns and correlations I had spotted and how I intended to implement or further investigate any findings. I told him it was still early days for me but I was impressed with the organisation and the team, and wanted to become a fixture within it.

‘Paul has said he wants me to work independently from Wednesday onwards, out in the field and so forth,’ I explained. ‘I want to make sure I’ve got plenty of ammunition when I meet my contractors. On my only previous encounters with them I was there purely on a listen and learn basis and I want to show them that I’ve got plans and ideas of my own.’

I gave David the full schpiel, wondering if he could see through my veil of nonsense, but as it turned out he had a greater supply of bullshit than Old McDonald’s farm. He was the master of the buzz word, and had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of clichés and sporting analogies, ranging from the hum-drum of a sticky wicket to up-and-unders on the hard playing fields of northern Transvaal.

‘The important thing, Bin, is to stay focussed and customer oriented. At the end of the digh, it’s a learning cirve and you’ve got to kip yer eye on the ball, at all times men.’

I really didn’t detect an ounce of content but kept nodding my head anyway as I rocked back in my swivel chair, trying to act knowing and powerful.

‘When I'm dealing with my corntractors, I don’t fuck about men. I till them stright. It’s my way or the fucking highway men.'

‘The fucking highway men?’

‘Fucking roight men. I don’t take no shit men. You’ve got to learn farst or these fuckers will fuck you over big style. Tick no shit, that’s my motto.’

I'd soon got the hang of what he was saying, but I wasn’t sure if David’s strong armed tactics would work for me; I didn’t have his imposing presence or brawler's vocabulary. He did have charm, however, and was probably handsome in a rugged sort of way.

I made a few mental notes about how to deal with my ‘didlines’ and David bade me farewell about an hour later, calling into Hobbs’ office for a brief chat before heading off. I got the impression I was not discussed at that point, perhaps it would have been too obvious although such a conversation would be taking place before too long.

I was not as edgy or unsure of myself as I had been before Friday’s rallying cry and after two weeks’ swimming in the company of sharks, I was beginning to develop some predatory instincts of my own.