A Woman of Our Times. Rosie Thomas

      ‘We’ve talked on the phone,’ Harriet automatically defended herself. ‘Thanks for being concerned, but there’s no need, really. Hello, Henry.’

      She knew that she sounded stiff, and wondered if she had been so absorbed in her scheme that she had forgotten how to talk normally. She knew too that her visitors had come out of friendship, but she felt the intrusion even more strongly. Conundrum was hers, succeed or fail, and until it had succeeded her protective instinct towards it was as strong as a mother’s. But still she took the men’s coats, and pitched the cats off the chair, and brought a bottle of wine and glasses from the kitchen.

      They settled themselves as comfortably as they could in the small space.

      ‘It’s fine for me,’ Harriet said quickly. ‘I don’t need a lot of room, and it’s cheap because I take care of the cats. Sort of take care of them.’

      ‘How did it go today?’ Charlie asked, dismissing the flat.

      ‘Today? Yes. Well, it didn’t go, exactly.’

      She told them, briefly, and they listened, nodding their heads with their accumulated financial expertise. Suddenly they reminded her of the three wise monkeys at Morton’s, and she felt a flash of anger.

      It strengthened her determination to launch Conundrum in her own way, with her own money.

      She took her sample down from the mantelpiece again and gave it to Henry to play with. She walked up and down the cramped room, talking about her plans for the fair and the compelling promotion that would bring the buyers flocking. She made ideas up as she went along. She would have the box’s sunray motif made up in three dimensions to back the stand. She would have her sales team in black and white shiny outfits, she would invite celebrities to play. With the force of her enthusiasm alone, if necessary, she would get the buzz going. As she talked Henry Orde flicked the release spring. The rattle and roll of Conundrum’s balls counterpointed her words.

      ‘When I’ve got the orders I can go back and choose who’s going to lend me the money,’ Harriet finished triumphantly. ‘It’s the best way to do it. I know it’s the best way.’

      There was a little silence.

      ‘Well?’ Harriet demanded.

      Charlie sucked at his wine, and Henry appeared to be intent on rearranging the coloured counters in the slots.

      ‘Don’t you think I can do it?’

      Charlie looked up at her at last. She felt like a termagant standing over him, but she stood her ground.

      ‘You could lose everything you’ve got,’ he said. ‘I’ve seen it happen. So has Henry.’ Henry was a solicitor.

      ‘And equally, I’ve got everything to gain. I can only go bankrupt, can’t I?’

      Henry looked at her then, too.

      ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said. He had a nice, bashful smile that Harriet had always liked. ‘You could just be right. I think it’s worth going for. They’re a very conservative bunch at Morton’s. And this isn’t their field. They prefer telecommunications, electronics, the heavy stuff. I know someone you could try.’

      Henry took a business card from his wallet and scribbled on the back of it. When Harriet looked at what he had written she saw the words Landwith Associates, and an address in SW1.

      ‘They’re a small firm of venture capitalists. With a reputation for risking long shots.’

      Harriet returned his smile, and put the card away. ‘Thanks. I think I’m going to do it my own way, just the same.’

      ‘Good luck.’

      Twice in one day she had been wished it. It would do her no harm, Harriet thought.

      ‘I saw Leo the other night,’ Henry said, interrupting her reverie.

      Harriet had not seen Leo for weeks, since the completion of the sale of the flat. She felt a twinge of guilt when she realised that he was fading out of her life, and then reminded herself that she had no reason to feel guilty about Leo.

      ‘How was he?’

      Harriet saw the two men exchange a half-glance. She guessed what it meant. Henry and Charlie thought that if she wasn’t alone, stranded here as they imagined in a poky flat, then she wouldn’t need to chase after entrepreneurial rainbows and risk losing the little security she had.

      They didn’t believe that she could make it, and they were old friends. No wonder Morton’s had turned her down.

      The realisation was comforting. It might just be that the fault was not hers after all, but only the shortsightedness of the huge, hermetic, male-dominated business world.

      ‘He asked about you,’ Henry told her. ‘Not that I could tell him anything.’

      ‘I’ll have to give him a call,’ Harriet said mildly.

      They sat for a little longer, talking and drinking wine, until Charlie looked at his watch.

      ‘Time for home.’

      ‘Is Jenny back?’

      ‘Yes. I must go, or I’ll be late for supper.’

      Henry’ stood up too. Harriet wasn’t sure what his current domestic arrangements were, but he clearly also had somewhere to go. Yet they both hesitated, and it struck Harriet that they felt badly about leaving her. They were sorry for her, abandoned in reduced circumstances with the cats and the balance sheets for company.

      ‘I’ll come out with you. I need some fresh air.’

      ‘Listen, Harriet, why don’t you come too? Jenny’d like to see you. I’ll just give her a call and tell her we’re on our way …’

      Harriet shook her head. ‘Not tonight, thanks, Charlie. I want to do some things. Just give Jenny my love, and tell her I’ll see her soon.’

      ‘You can’t work all the time, Harriet.’

      ‘I don’t.’

      It wasn’t the truth, but there was no need for anyone to know that. Harriet opened the basement door and almost shepherded the two of them up the iron stairs to the street level. A taxi came by, and Charlie flagged it. It pulled in to the kerb and the driver opened the window, his breath visible in cumulus clouds in the January murk. Henry paused before he climbed into the back, his hand on Harriet’s arm.

      ‘Do one thing for me. The rights in this game, whoever they belong to. Secure them, before you do anything else.’

      ‘I will,’ she promised. ‘I’m going to do that next.’

      Harriet didn’t know why she had procrastinated. Only that the cathedral of Morton’s, and everything else that she had been pursuing in the months since she had left Leo, seemed far removed from Simon amongst the flotsam in his cold house. She was afraid, perhaps, of being unable to find a language that would bring them together. Henry and Charlie were right, however. This was just one of the new languages that she must learn.

      The taxi drove away. Harriet stood for a moment looking down the street at the lights behind drawn curtains. The thin fog blurred the yellow squares, so that the light seemed to spill beyond the window frame. Then she shivered in the cold air, and turned back down the iron steps.

      This time, Harriet drove up to see Simon. She went first to visit Mr Jepson at Midland Plastics, and ordered a dozen more Conundrum samples. She sat in his office with its chipped metal filing cabinets and girlie calendar, drinking thick tea and listening to the subterranean pounding of machinery down on the shop floor.

      Mr Jepson wanted to be paid in advance. Harriet leaned forward over his desk.

      ‘Can I have everything by February the twentieth? Without fail? With a written undertaking?’ Mr Jepson appeared to be offended that she would not accept his word as his bond. Harriet opened