‘Miss Blanche Holland,’ he said quietly, and hung up. Until he heard the approaching steps of Miss Bolland he kept looking down at her application, as though studying it.

He really did not see the others who came to his desk and told their stories that day; he hired an inoffensive-looking girl with black hair and a skinny face. The perfume of Gertrude Hart flowed through his afternoon, and the vision of her thighs. And slowly her face faded from his image of her until only her real body remained to fill out the faceless one of his dream. During that day he found himself looking toward the door of the receptionist’s room as though to retrace and treasure every movement she had made. At times he dreamed of the trench in France, and for one moment he caught again the full, excrutiating desire he had known in that dawn … And dreaming, he noticed Mr Lorsch standing just outside his office, shaking Mr Gargan’s hand. Mr Lorsch said something, and then moved away across the floor and disappeared toward the elevators. Mr Gargan waited until the vice-president was out of sight. Then he turned toward Mr Newman and entered his office. He had his chin thrust upwards and was scratching his neck in thought.

Chapter Six

‘LAWRENCE’he began …

Mr Newman clasped his hands together on the desk. Mr Gargan had never before called him by his first name.

Mr Gargan finished scratching his neck. He looked only once at Mr Newman and drummed once on the desk with his fingers, indulging his manner of tilting his head down and looking off past his own shoulder, which he did whenever he was thinking with precision. He kept that position as he spoke.

‘Mr Lorsch has been laying out a bit of a reorganization.’ He sniffed tiredly through his Jersey-clogged nose. ‘I won’t go into all the details now, but it looks like you’re going to have to move your desk into the corner office.’

‘Hogan’s office?’

‘That’s right. Mr Lorsch thinks the best thing would be for you and Hogan to kind of …’ He looked at Mr Newman now. ‘ … shift positions.’

‘Jobs?’

‘Well, yes. Shift jobs. Exchange.’

Mr Newman nodded that he understood. He waited.

‘I guess you know Hogan’s not getting your salary, but we’re not going to cut you. You’ll get the same as at present.’

Mr Newman nodded.

Mr Gargan waited for him to speak. He had no words. The monstrous thing was devouring him.

‘Is there anything I’ve done that …?’

‘Oh no, nothing like that. You mustn’t feel it’s a demotion, Lawrence …’ Gargan smiled affectionately, his face – with the hair arching roundly from, the part in the middle – taking the shape of a blanched pumpkin.

‘Hogan hasn’t been here more than five years …’

What was he saying? From what long-locked cavern in his body was so much fierce anger flowing? ‘I don’t know how to frame the words, Mr Gargan …’