CHAPTER 11 NOVEMBER                                              Halpern's parties were something of a legend at ‘The Tunnocks’. For one thing the setting was a bit out of the ordinary. Garloch House was grander than one would have expected as a home for even a senior executive in MCI and managing director of the whole Gairnock plant. It was rumoured that his wife had money. It was also rumoured that her old man couldn't stand his son-in-law.          The house sat in private grounds amid lawns, rhododendron bushes and mature chestnut trees. There was a small lochan - the original ‘Gar Lochan’ behind, and round about were the rolling Ayrshire hills. It was built in sandstone, big rough hewn blocks which projected at the corners to give the house a notched appearance. This was enhanced by the rafters which supported the steeply pitched roof. They extended downwards at the eaves to hang above the walls like pointed teeth.          Another thing which people talked about was the food. Folk who had been to previous parties told the others in hushed tones of the huge haunches of venison, the array of salads, the mouth watering sweets and the copious supply of booze. But the thing which was the most talked about, and joked about, was the way Halpern used his parties as weapons of office warfare and instruments of control. His technique, it was said, was to corner some unwilling subordinate, whose resistance had been suitably weakened by alcohol, and then to blackmail them with subtle hints of embarrassment in front of the other guests if they did not agree to some change in working practices or re-assignment of duties which increased the control which he had over the working parties and committees of the plant.          ‘You'll be ok Allan,’ they said. ‘He won't be able to get you pissed. But watch out for the sherry trifle - its 100 percent proof.’          Helen Rowe and her husband Roger gave Allan a lift from their house where he had showered and changed out of sweaty cycling clothes into his good suit.          ‘Halpern does this about three times a year,’ said Helen. She was in the front passenger seat while her husband Roger drove but she had swivelled half round to talk to Allan. ‘Each time he invites a different group of staff, carefully selected to give him maximum leverage.’          ‘You keep saying what a clown he is,’ said Roger to his wife, ‘but everything you say about him suggests that he is a pretty shrewd operator.’          ‘He's both,’ said Helen. ‘He is completely transparent. Everyone knows what he is about and despises him for it, but he still gets his own way every time.’          ‘Sounds like he should be in politics,’ said Roger. Roger was built like a front row prop forward which was not all that surprising because he was a front row prop forward. He had played for West of Scotland. Helen was in awe of Roger's physical presence. ‘Even his muscles have got muscles’ she told Allan with a giggle and a hint of pride.          ‘So what's his scheme this time?’ Roger asked. ‘Who's to be the target?’          ‘I think it's Rosa,’ said Helen lowering her voice and warming to the gossip. ‘He's invited the whole gang of us and he's been calling her at short notice into one meeting after another. Her face gets longer each time.’          Roger said ‘He's the boss. Why does he need to go through this fandango just to manipulate her. He can just tell her what he wants.’          ‘Oh that would be too easy. He gets his kicks by manipulating people. It's a cat and mouse game and he enjoys it.’          ‘Well at least that means it's not you that he's got his knife into,’ said Roger without enthusiasm.          ‘Well no, actually,’ said Helen. ‘If he is after Rosa then we are all involved. He may try to use us to embarrass her. He softens people up that way. So watch out. Especially you Allan. It's a good thing you don't drink. One of his favourite tricks to get one up on a manager, is to get the members of that manager's team really drunk and making fools of themselves ..... This is it Roger! Turn in here!’          A half-moon of tarmac set in from the road, all but the central area covered with copper beach leaves. Sandstone walls with grey green lichen and ivy. Two massive pillars and heavy gates which looked as though a century had passed since they were last closed. A long drive, single track with depressed tyre tracks and grass bursting up through the middle. Then the house. Roger whistled.          ‘Have you not been here before?’ said Helen. ‘No. I remember, I came the last time with Bill Thompson.’          ‘Now that's a nifty bit of real estate.’ said Roger. It was a professional opinion. He was an estate agent.          The tarmac gave way to a wide expanse of gravel before the house where a fair-haired lanky youth in a leather zipper-jacket and jeans waved them down. He was wearing earphones and the faint buzz of heavy rock could be heard as Roger wound down the window.          ‘Would you park round the back please, to the right.’          ‘That's Stephen Halpern,’ said Helen as they crunched over the gravel. ‘He's a computer freak.’          There were outbuildings to the rear and a splendid view over the loch and a lot of cars. They walked back round the house where there were a couple of steps and a pair of stone lions. The front door stood open. Roger paused with a foot on the first step and a hand on the head of one of the lions. ‘Damn,’ he said. ‘I forgot the garlic and the crucifixes.’                   *      *      *      *      *          Watch out for the peppers. They're so hot they suspend them in a toroidal magnetic field.                   Some Nuits-Saint-Georges?          No thanks I'd prefer wine.                   I wish I could wear a sari. It's so cool and elegant. Roger do you think I could wear a sari?                   Have you seen Dianne yet? Dianne Halpern. She's here somewhere. She's the one with the pure white hair.          You mean the one with the legs?          Yes and the black and white flounces. She looks like a chessboard.                   Twin cams. Supercharged. Straight through outlet manifold. Racing tyres. Goes like a sewing machine.          So that's why he's a prick.                   Get a load of that! They're going to pop out any minute. How do they stay up?          She must have counter weights hanging down her back.                   Watch out for Dianne, Allan. If she gets her gimlets on you she'll eat you alive.                   Who's the crow?          That's Jack's latest. She is like a crow isn't she. It's not just the black outfit, Its the beaky nose.                   Do you think it would kill her to crack a smile?          Sullen disdain is in this year.                   Hello Jack! Is that attractive girl in black with you?                   Dianne! How lovely to see you again. That's a lovely dress. Super party. You are clever to get it all together. I hear you handled the catering arrangements.                   Who's the gorgeous hunk?          Hands off Dianne. That's my husband Roger.                   Rosa! Is that Maurice I see over there trying to seduce Eleanor Halpern?                   *      *      *      *      *          Being of a non-circulating species Allan hovered in the vicinity of Helen and Roger. Roger set about the food with some determination and reported back frequently to headquarters with his survey results while Helen concentrated on social topics. Between them they provided adequate coverage of the event from every angle and Allan benefited from the spin-off.          No-one had met Masood's girl friend before. Very graceful in her sari she added a touch of oriental elegance to the company and it was quite startling to hear her talking, like Masood, with a Glasgow accent even down to the ‘see this, see that’ vernacular. Allan had always defended this trait from its detractors by pointing out that Glaswegians were actually ahead of the world in incorporating the formal standards of computer languages into everyday speech. When you wrote a program in most computer languages you had to provide preliminary information to the compiler by identifying or `declaring' every variable          integer x;          integer y;          Then and only then could you indicate how they were related or what was to be done with them          {read(x,y);}          A true Glaswegian would do likewise          See fish;          See ma maw;          {Ma maw hates fish;}          If everyone did likewise, Allan argued, it would be much easier to process `ordinary' or `natural' language by computer.          It was Dianne, Halpern's daughter, however, who turned the heads. Tall and leggy and she wore a slim black dress which exposed acres of leg and bust. She had huge gold earings and several cable's length of necklace hung in multiple loops. The whole ensemble was topped by a tall mass of chalk-white hair. She could not have been more than nineteen but had the self-assurance of a woman twice her age. She seemed to be in charge of the catering arrangements and had frequent exchanges with the chef in the white hat who presided over the carvery and the two young women in demure white blouses and black skirts who hovered behind the drinks table.          Halpern cruised among his guests but it was noticeable that he manoeuvred people away from groups and cornered them individually the way a sheepdog does with sheep. His favourite pose was standing sideways on to his target, with a drink in one hand and his other hand on his target's shoulder while his gaze settled on a part of the floor two feet in front of the them both. Usually the victim was pinned in a corner. The hand on the shoulder riveted him to the spot and the sideways-on stance made it easier for Halpern to keep others at bay while he nodded his head and concentrated on what the petrified victim was saying. Allan's turn came quite late in the evening, sometime after Halpern had had a long discussion with Rosa.          ‘Ah, Allan Fraser, isn't it? I hope you are keeping your glass filled. Enjoying yourself? Splendid. Splendid. You're in Rosa's team aren't you? Yes. Splendid. How long have you been with us? Yes. And how are you finding the work? Let me see you came to us from ... Edinburgh wasn't it? And you are in the same line of country as Rosa. Splendid. We are all very proud of Rosa'a reputation you know. Yes. Tell me what are you're plans? How do you see your career at MCI developing? There are lots of opportunities you know for a young fellow with no family ties. How would you like to spend some time at our headquarters in South America? Work with the people there and get to know them. It could be an invaluable experience. My daughter tells me you're something of a celebrity. What? Yes I mean a celebrity. One of the young ladies over there .... ’ - he waved the hand with the drink in it in the vague direction of the buffet but did not shift the other which remained firmly on Allan's shoulder - ‘.... is a friend of Dianne's and she says she saw you doing remarkable things on a cliff somewhere. Seems you have had offers to climb professionally. That true? Goodness. What it is to be young and talented! Eh? Wish I was a few years younger myself. Used to be a bit of a sportsman myself you know. Not mountains. No. My interest was in rowing and in horses. Used to ride quite a bit. And gymnastics. Used to be able to do handstands and walk round the room. That was my party trick. Have you got a party trick? No. I'm sure you have. I'm sure you have. Now that I think about it that is a splendid idea.’          His hand was still on Allan's shoulder but he was addressing the room. There was sudden silence.          ‘Listen people. We are going to witness a remarkable feat. Allan here is a famous mountaineer and he is going to give us a demonstration.’          Some clapping and a startled gasp from Helen. Allan felt the room swaying, a burning sensation creeping up his face and a buzzing in his ears.          ‘Outside everybody. Dianne! switch on the outside lights!’          ‘I can't .... I .... I.... I've got no shoes ....’          ‘Stephen! You're about his size. Can you help him out with a pair of trainers or something?’          People were filtering out of the French windows on to the lawn. Helen was at his side.          ‘You've got to do it Allan. You've got to call his bluff. For Rosa's sake. For all our sakes. Do it Allan! Just do it!’          The drinks ladies were taking trays out on to the lawn. Powerful spotlights suddenly illuminated the dark house, throwing shadows upwards. More clapping. Stephen Halpern handed him a pair of filthy trainers. People giggling on the lawn, standing about. Some of the women were holding their arms and shoulders and the more gallant of the men offered them their jackets. Halpern shepherded him out with a hand on his back to be greeted by more clapping.          ‘Ladies and Gentlemen! Allan Fraser will now ascend the vertical wall of the house!’          Allan was wretched and nauseous. He looked at the house. The sandstone blocks were rough hewn. He went over to the wall and ran his hand over the surface. The clapping started again and then died as he did not leave the ground. A grip here, a toe hold there. He looked up at the eaves. The rafters projected down towards him, big handy rafters, just the right size for a full palmed grasp. He placed a foot experimentally on the wall and tested the friction. Quite good. He tried various angles to get the maximum angle at which a foot would slip if placed flat on the wall. Then he walked back out on to the lawn. The crowd behind him disappeared from his mind. This was an interesting problem. The blocks projected at the corner of the house a few yards away. He walked over to that point and tried another experimental foot. The edge of the first notch made a very good foothold. He reached upwards and found the block two notches above gave a sideways handhold and because the two walls were at right angles they could be used in alternately and in opposition to one another.          He took his jacket off and dropped it on the grass. He wiped the sole of his right shoe clean on the leg of his trousers. To hell with good suits! He had never felt comfortable in the thing anyway.          Reaching up he took handholds and stepped up on his right foot. Then he wiped the sole of his left shoe on the other trouser leg. He looked up the corner to the eaves. Thirty feet - ten metres. Over to the right was an open window set as a half-dormer into the roof space.          Now!          Gently, like a candle flame he swayed up the corner, alternating hands and feet, his balance to one side countering the handgrip on the other side as he moved a hand to the next block. His shadow, caught in the powerful cross beams of the spotlights, exaggerated his swaying motion, leaping from one wall to the other. There was a gasp from below.          ‘Splendid!’ That was Halpern's voice. ‘Come down now.’          Twenty feet. He kept going. Twenty five. Thirty. Halpern led the clapping.          ‘Ok Allan, come down!’          His head was under the eaves. The spiky rafters were right by his head. He leaned back and for a moment was out of balance as he transferred his grip to the first rafter. He stepped higher on to the next block. He was leaning backwards now almost at forty-five degrees feet flat on the wall hands underneath the rafters, his weight hanging on his hands and pressing his feet against the wall in a classic lay-back. He moved right and transferred his grip to the next rafter.          ‘Come down Allan!’          And the next. And the next. And the next. He was walking sideways across the wall from rafter to rafter. The window. He stepped on to the window ledge ducked and stepped through into a room lined with book shelves.          There was applause from below and a lot of laughter. He went over and tried the door. It was locked. A door banged in the house below him. He was in a study. He was in Halpern's private study. Feet were pounding up the staircase within the house. There was a chair. He sat down by the desk. Marble pen and ink stand. Clock. Telephone. Fax machine. Microcomputer. Papers. Lots of papers and a pile of tape recordings for a normal tape recorder all neatly labelled. A photograph of Halpern, his wife and two children - like a cornflakes advert.          A key was rattling in the lock. He stood up and went over to it as Halpern, very red in the face, threw it open. Halpern did not look happy.          *      *      *      *      *          ‘That was just marvellous!’ said Helen who was driving, ‘I've never seen him so deflated!’          ‘He was apoplectic,’ said Roger who was pissed. ‘It was jusht shuper. Talk about putting his gas at a peep!’          Helen said, ‘You'll need to be careful though Allan. You won't be his favourite person.’          Allan did not say much as they drove back to Gairnock. He was concerned about what Halpern might do but he was more concerned about something else. What the Hell was Halpern doing with a tape recording of a conversation between Dr. Rosa Telman and Dr. Allan Fraser.