Corduroy Mansions

59. Something to Do With Justice

William was delighted with his new assistant.

‘Our customers are quite sophisticated,’ he explained to her as he showed her round the shop. ‘Buying wine is not like buying groceries. The enjoyment of wine is an aesthetic experience, you know. Wine is about place and the culture of place.’

Jenny looked at him anxiously. ‘I don’t really know much about wine, you know.’

‘You don’t have to,’ he said. ‘If somebody asks for a recommendation and you feel out of your depth, then simply say so. Refer them to me. And if I’m not here, suggest to them that they try something new, something that looks interesting to them. Say something like, “Well, you’re going to be the one who’s drinking it. What do you think?” Something like that. Of course there are a few tried and tested expressions you can use. You can always talk about nose. Most wines can be said to have an interesting nose.’ He smiled encouragingly. ‘Shall we have a little practice before the first customer comes in? I’ll be the customer and you be you. But you’ll be me, if you see what I mean.’

He adjusted his tie. ‘All right. Here we go. You say to me: “Can I help you with anything?” Go on - you say that.’

Jenny took a deep breath. ‘Can I help you with anything?’

‘Well, good morning. Yes, you can actually. I’m looking for something for a dinner party I’m going to be having. Can you recommend anything?’

She looked flustered. ‘Well . . .’

‘Ask what I’m having,’ whispered William.

Jenny complied. ‘What are you having?’

‘I was thinking of a venison stew,’ said William. ‘And maybe smoked salmon to begin with.’

Jenny thought quickly. ‘You’ll want white for the fish and . . . er, red for the venison.’

‘Good, good,’ whispered William. ‘But you need to be a bit more specific. Ask what sort of white I like.’

‘What sort of white do you like?’

‘Something clean.’

She stared at him.

‘New Zealand,’ he whispered. ‘You can’t go wrong with New Zealand.’

‘I don’t think you can go wrong with New Zealand,’ said Jenny.

William nodded. ‘Good, good. So you show me the New Zealand section over here. See? And then you wave a hand at the whites and you say: “Would you care to look over some of these?” And I do, like that. And I choose this one, let’s say, and you say, “That’s very nice.” Because it is. All the wines I stock are nice - so you won’t be telling a lie. And then you say, “As for the red, you’ll need something big for venison, don’t you think?” And I’ll say “Big? Yes, that would be nice.” So you take me to the Bordeaux section over there and you wave your hand at that shelf - those are all big wines - and I choose one and, again, you say, “That’s very nice.” You see how it is. Simple, isn’t it?’

He showed her the till and the way the credit card machine was operated. ‘Always turn your face away when customers put in their PIN,’ said William. ‘Thus. You see? You must never watch them putting in their PIN.’

That was the end of her training, and she was launched. When the first customer came in, William deliberately held back and gave her a nod of encouragement. It was not difficult and by the time that William made her a mid-morning cup of coffee, she had competently attended to over ten customers, all of whom seemed pleased enough with her service.

Then, while she was drinking her coffee with William in the back office, her mobile phone rang. She glanced at the number on the screen just in case it was Oedipus - in which case she would not answer. But she did not recognise the number, so she answered.

‘Jenny?’

She knew the voice immediately. Barbara Ragg - his girlfriend, poor woman. She saw her from time to time and sometimes took calls and messages for Oedipus from her. She quite liked Barbara, who could surely do far better, she thought, than Oedipus.

‘Before you go any further, Barbara,’ she said, ‘I don’t know if Oedipus has told you - I’m not working for him any longer.’

There was silence at the other end of the line. Eventually Barbara spoke. ‘Oh.’

Jenny debated with herself whether to say anything about the circumstances of her dismissal. Why not? It was nothing to do with Barbara, she knew, but perhaps it would be a good idea for her to know how her lover behaved.

‘Yes. Oedipus sacked me over the weekend. On Saturday. He sent me a text. He sacked me by text message.’

There was a further silence at the other end of the line. Then: ‘By text? My God, Jenny! That’s . . . that’s hateful.’ There was a pause. ‘And to think . . . Saturday. That’s the day I walked out on him. You didn’t know that, did you? I was phoning to tell you because I thought that you might get a very different version from you-know-who. I thought I’d set the record straight.’

Jenny’s heart gave a leap. ‘You dumped him? You dumped Oedipus?’

‘Yes. You know we went down to Rye?’

‘Yes, I put it in the diary.’

‘Well, we were down there and the scales fell from my eyes. Over breakfast, to be precise. I was sitting there at the table and the scales fell from my eyes.’

‘Well done.’

‘And I feel much better. I can’t tell you how much better I feel. I’ve already met somebody else, by the way, but that’s another story. Now, look . . .’

William, listening to one side of the conversation but pretending not to, stared at the inside of his coffee cup. He had problems of his own - with Eddie, and, to an extent, with Marcia. And here were these two women talking about their own problems with that nasty Snark character. Was anybody’s life straightforward, he wondered, or did one have to go into a monastery for that? To be a monk and keep bees and make wine for the abbot and lead a life of quiet order and contemplation. Was it still possible, he wondered, or had the world become too complicated, too frantic, to allow such peace of mind?

Jenny and Barbara finished their conversation. They would meet for lunch the following week. Barbara had a proposition that she wanted to put to Jenny. Something to do with Oedipus. Something to do with justice, she said.