An Ocean Apart (32 page)

David waved his hand dismissively. “Och, it was nothing. She was just a very stupid woman!”

“No, it meant a lot to me and I think probably to Benji as well. So thanks from both of us.”

She started to go into the kitchen, but then stopped and turned to him once more. “Och!”

David looked at her. “What?”

“You said ‘Och!' Now I know that that
is
Scottish!” She let out a laugh and entered the kitchen, leaving David to shut the door behind him.

Although there were tell-tale signs of Benji's having been there, like the open chocolate-milk carton being still on the table, he had obviously thought of something other to do than watch television. Jasmine walked over to the French doors and scanned the garden, but seeing no sign of him, she turned and motioned David to follow her through to the house. They went into the hall and stood at the bottom of the stairs, and Jasmine called out for him. Benji's muffled voice replied from somewhere above.

“He's in his bedroom,” Jasmine said quietly. “If you go upstairs, turn left on the landing and it's the furthest room on the right, okay? Tell me how it went when you're through, so's I can give Jennifer a call. Good luck!”

David gave her the thumbs-up and headed up the stairs. He walked along to the end of the landing and hesitated for a moment outside Benji's door, working out how best he could eat humble pie before finally knocking.

“Yeah?” Benji's voice answered from inside.

“Benji, it's, erm, David. Would you mind if I came in for a moment?”

There was silence.

“Benji?”

“If you have to.”

David pulled a face at this less than hopeful response and walked into the room. The boy was lying on his stomach on the bed, playing intently with a Game Boy, never raising his eyes for a second to acknowledge David's entry.

David stood in the centre of the floor and pushed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans while surveying the room, trying to find some talking point with which he could break the ice. It was wallpapered throughout with images of Superman carrying out gravity-defying stunts with an assortment of beautiful women held close under his Lycraed armpit. Light flooded into the room through the large dormer window, and he walked over to look out at the unimpeded view of the Great South Bay and over to Fire Island beyond. To the left of the window, a row of shelves was stacked high with a vast array of technological toys and plastic models of grotesque comic-book heroes, and underneath these, covering the whole surface of Benji's desk, was a computer system that looked complex and powerful enough to launch a rocket into space, its screen saver blipping out repetitive images that floated out to the surface of the screen before vanishing.

“That's pretty impressive,” David said, nodding at the computer. He turned to see if Benji had reacted in any way, but he was still engrossed in his Game Boy, pushing hard at its controls as it sang out little tunes to register his rate of success and failure. David decided to persevere by trying out some inbred knowledge.

“I'm surprised you're still playing with a Game Boy. You've got CD-ROM over here.”

He walked over to the desk and picked up some of the CD games that were lying beside the computer. Benji sighed deeply at David's unwelcome disturbance and pressed even harder at his controls.

Realizing that he was getting nowhere, David decided that the only option left open to him was the direct approach. He was just about to turn round to speak to Benji when his eye was caught by a small ukulele, tucked away forgotten on the top shelf, its small body emblazoned with the words “Hi from Hawaii!” He reached up and took it down and plucked at the strings. It was completely out of tune. He began fiddling with the wooden tuning-pegs, twanging the strings, and once he had it reasonably in tune, he strummed off a couple of chords before reaching up to replace it on the shelf.

“How d'you do that?”

He swung round to find Benji watching him, his mouth open, the now silent Game Boy held limply in his hands.

“What?”

“I thought that was only a toy. You made it play a tune.”

David looked up at the ukulele. “Well, I don't suppose that one was specifically designed for playing.” He took down the ukulele once more. “Probably just a souvenir, but it's got all its strings and it seems to work all right.”

He played a number of quick chords, strumming hard and fast on the instrument, then, finishing with a flourish, he held his hands out at each side as if willing applause and gave Benji a quick bow.

“Where did you learn to do
that?
” Benji asked, his eyes wide. He slid off the bed and, discarding his Game Boy onto the bedside table, came across the room towards him.

“Well, I had this rather eccentric uncle who used to come to stay with us when I was a boy. He always brought his ukulele and made up silly songs for me. He taught me how to tune it first.” David twanged the strings, singing out a word for each pitch. “My—Dog—Has—Fleas.”

Benji laughed and, snatching the ukulele from David's grasp, plucked clumsily at the strings, singing out the tuning-ditty at the same time.

“There you are,” David said. “You've just had your first lesson.”

Benji's eyes shone with delight at his new-found skill.

“And then, once you've mastered that, you can start on the guitar.”

Benji's eyes grew wider by the minute. “Wow, really! Can
you
play the guitar?”

“Well, I haven't for some time, but yeah, I reckon I could again. It's rather like riding a bicycle.” David paused for a moment, realizing that this was a perfect entrée for his apology. “Speaking of which, Benji, erm, the incident that happened yesterday when I was mending your bicycle … well, I'm sorry that I shouted at you over the swimming-pool thing. I didn't realize that you were an expert at holding your breath.”

Benji smiled and shrugged. “Aw, that was nothing. Say, did you ever play in a group or anything?”

David laughed and shook his head at the boy's fickleness. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I did—at university.”

“Wow! And did you write songs and stuff like that?”

“Sure. Not very good ones, but if the group played them loud enough, they didn't sound too bad.”

“Wow! That's incredible! I thought you were just a gardener!”

David chuckled. “Well, I have just a few hidden talents.”

Benji looked down again at the ukulele. “How old were you when you started playing this?”

“Oh, about eight.”

“Eight! But I'm eleven,” he said excitedly.

“Well, then, it's time you started to learn how to play, isn't it?”

“You mean you'd
teach
me?”

“If you want.”

“Yay! And would you teach me how to write songs and things? I mean, I can write poetry. Would that be a help?”

“Well, you've got it made then. If you can do that, you can write songs.”

Benji forgot to say “Yay!” this time, instead only letting out a high-pitched sigh that seemed to signify utter contentment. He looked up at David, a pleading look on his face. “Could you maybe start to teach me now?”

David shook his head and looked out the window. “No, not now. I think the evening's too good to sit inside teaching you how to play the ukulele.”

Benji's face lengthened with disappointment.

“So I thought that we might go and play some tennis.”

Benji looked up at him, his mouth open. “What?”

“I want to play some tennis. Is something wrong with that?”

“You can play tennis
too?
”

“Sure, why not?”

“All right!”
Benji paused for a moment, his look of excitement suddenly dropping from his face, and he began fiddling with the pegs on the ukulele.

“What's the matter?” David asked. “Don't you want to have a game?”

“Yeah!” Benji replied. “It's only that…”

“Only what?”

“Only that I can't run very fast, 'cos I'm kinda … you know.… fat.” He started turning the pegs of the ukulele round and round.

David slanted his head to one side and made a show of studying his physique. “I don't think you're fat. I would say you're more, well, powerfully built.”

Benji looked up at him, an expression of sheer hopefulness on his face. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course I mean that. I tell you what, in four years' time, I wouldn't like to meet you down a dark alley.”

“What?”

“Well, you'd probably beat me up.”

Benji's mouth broke into a wide grin. “No, I wouldn't! I'd beat up an enemy, but not a friend!” He laid the ukulele down carefully on his bed, then turned and raced towards the door. “Come on, let's go play some tennis.”

“Benji,” David said, staying where he was, his eyes fixed on the ukulele. Benji turned to see David beckoning him back with his finger.

“Yes?” he said quietly, looking at the instrument and trying to work out what he had done wrong with it.

“I watched you put that ukulele out of tune.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said humbly, going over to the bed and picking it up.

“No, it's all right. Only I want you to get it in tune for me by tomorrow, okay?”

Benji's face once more broke into a wide grin. “Okay!!” He put the ukulele down and ran back to the door. “Now can we go play some tennis?”

“Just one more thing.”

Benji turned back again, this time letting out a groan of impatience. David smiled at him.

“Look, as you no doubt heard, Germaine is not going to be taking you to school any more, and—well—Jasmine and I were wondering if you would mind if I started to take you.”

“What? In the Volkswagen?” Benji gasped.

“Well, if you don't mind.”

“Wow! That's so cool! Can we have the top down?”

“Yeah, I'm sure we can. Why do you want the roof down?”

“'Cos it's so cool, and…”

“And what?”

“Well, it's just that I was playing with Dodie yesterday and I bent down to get the ball, and she licked my face, and her breath is real lousy. That's why I stopped playing with her.”

David laughed. “Okay, it's a deal.” He walked over to Benji and held up his hand and they sealed the arrangement with a slap of palms. “Right,
now
let's go and play some tennis.”

Benji threw open the door and ran off down the landing, and David reached the top of the stairs in time to witness him making it to the hall in four leaps, yelling out Jasmine's name as he did so. Jasmine came running through from the kitchen.

“Jasmine! David's going to teach me tennis, and then he's going to teach me how to play the uke——the uke——” He looked back up the stairs towards David.

“The ukulele.”

“Yup, that's it. He's going to show me how to play the …
ukulelele.
He's taught me how to tune it already!”

As he ran off towards the kitchen, David descended the stairs to find Jasmine standing with an incredulous expression on her face. “For heaven's sakes, what did you
do?
”

“Oh, we just had a bit of private men's talk, and, well, he seems to be pretty
cool
about me taking him to school, so I think you're probably quite safe to make that telephone call now.”

He blew on his finger-nails and waggled his hand to signify his own self-excellence, then, giving her a wink, he headed off after Benji.

Chapter
  
TWENTY

Sam Culpepper chucked the briefing document onto the boardroom table and sat back in his high-backed leather chair. He glanced down the table at the pensive looks on the faces of his two main account directors, who, in turn, stared at him in silence.

“Okay, so it's not that big, but I really want us to win this contract.” He bent forward and picked up the cigar that was smouldering in the ashtray, and took a deep inhale of smoke. “Why? Because there are rumours that both Bates and Young and Rubicam have also gotten hold of this.” He slapped his hand down on the document. “… And it would be one hell of a feather in our caps if we got it. I'd make damned sure that Media Week found out about it anyway!” He let out a loud laugh which immediately gave way to a crackling cough.

Russ Hogan was the first to comment. “To be quite honest, Sam, I don't think we stand a chance. We've never handled a liquor account before, let alone one based in the UK. I mean, the amount of research that we're going to have to put into this is enormous. I really wonder if it's worth it.”

Sam slowly nodded. He could have bet a hundred bucks down flat that it would be Russ who'd come out with such a statement. Granted he was a good account director and excelled in smarming up his clients, but more often than not this was counteracted by his ability to sound off on a subject without giving much thought to what he was actually saying—and here was a perfect example.

Sam pushed himself out of his chair and walked over to the window, dragging on his cigar as he stared down at the clogged traffic far below on Fifth Avenue. He turned and looked at Russ.

“I think you're wrong, Russ. I think it
is
worth it.” He returned to the table, flicked ash off into an ashtray, and leaned on the back of his chair, swinging it from side to side. “It took us over twenty years to build up Culpepper Rowan to the size that it's now, but I think we've hit a peak, and for the first time I'm concerned about the underlying strength—or should I say, lack of strength—of the company. Now, I may be wrong, but I think that we may have become just a little too complacent with the work that's ongoing. Our accounts may be numerous, but the majority are small. We don't have one big fish to fry.”