Blue Bedroom and Other Stories Read Online Free Page B

life, his mother had told him. And Willie had said that death was a secret between God and himself. But Granny believed that death was the glittering, shining peak of each person’s private mountain, and that perhaps was the best, the most comforting of all.
    Mr. Sawcombe had climbed his mountain and reached his peak. Toby imagined him, standing there triumphant. Wearing sun-goggles because of the brightness of the sky, and his best Sunday suit, and perhaps holding a flag.
    He was suddenly very tired. He closed his eyes. A two-hundred-percent lambing. How satisfied Mr. Sawcombe would have been, and what a pity that he had not lived long enough to know about Daisy’s twins.
    But as sleep crept up on him, he smiled to himself, because, for no particular reason, he was suddenly pretty certain that wherever he was now, his old friend already knew.

Home for the Day
    After a European business trip that had taken in five capital cities, seven directors’ lunches, and countless hours spent in airport lounges, James Harner flew into Heathrow from Brussels on a Wednesday afternoon in early April. It was, inevitably, raining. He had not got to bed until 2 a.m. the previous night, his bulging briefcase weighed heavy as lead, and he seemed as well to have caught a cold.
    The smooth and shaven face of Roberts, the advertising agency’s driver who had come to meet him off the plane, was the first cheerful thing that had happened to him all day. Roberts wore his peaked cap, and he moved forward to relieve James of his suitcase, and to say that he hoped he had had a pleasant trip.
    They drove straight to the office, and James, after casting a cursory eye over his desk and presenting his secretary with the small bottle of duty-free scent that was no more than her due, took himself down the passage to call on his chairman.
    â€œJames! How splendid. Come along in, old boy. How did it go?”
    Sir Osborne Baske was not only James’s chairman, but, as well, an old and valued friend. There was, therefore, no need for formal pleasantries or polite small talk, and within half an hour James had him more or less briefed on what had been happening: which firm had shown interest, which had remained cagey. He kept the best till last—namely, the two valuable accounts that were already in the bag: a Swedish firm that made prefabricated knock-down furniture, quality goods, but in the slightly lower price bracket, and an old-established Danish silversmiths which was expanding cautiously throughout all the market countries of the EEC.
    Sir Osborne was gratifyingly delighted and could not wait to pass on the good news to the rest of the directors. “There’s a board meeting on Tuesday. Can you get a complete report out by then? Friday if possible. Monday morning at the latest.”
    â€œIf I get a clear day tomorrow, I should be able to get it typed on Friday morning, and circulated on Friday afternoon.”
    â€œSplendid. Then they can peruse it during the weekend when they’re not playing golf. And…” But he paused tactfully while James, suddenly overcome by an agonizing sneeze, fumbled for his handkerchief, exploded enormously into it, and blew his nose. “… got a cold, old boy?”
    He sounded nervous, as though James might already have infected him. He did not approve of colds, any more than he approved of large waistlines, heavy business lunches, or heart attacks.
    â€œI seem to have caught one,” James admitted.
    â€œHmm.” The chairman considered. “Tell you what, why don’t you have a day at home tomorrow? You look fairly washed out, and you’ll have more chance of getting that report done in peace without endless interruptions. Let you see something of Louisa, too, after all this time away. What do you say?”
    James said he thought it was a splendid idea, which he did.
    â€œThat’s arranged then.” Sir Osborne stood up, ending the interview