Once inside the wood, however, the unsettling and frivolous pleasures of the sunny meadow soon faded from his awareness. In the arboreal semi-gloom, sombre and serious, it was impossible to evade the imminence—and inevitability—of his destiny. Electric anticipation and dark foreboding were now blended into a heady cocktail, flooding through his veins and seeping out into the dappled light of the woods.
He was floating along the beaten mud river of the path as it meandered languorously among the grey plastic pillars, climbing steadily up the slope. Although his legs were moving to and fro in the syrupy air, this was more as a token gesture than a practical aid to motion; for he was gliding forward without touching the path as if being towed by the great butterfly that flitted ahead of him, bouncing awkwardly on the air like an amateurish marionette, its great wings flashing with gold and silver in the shafts of sunlight, and glowing with their own pale light.
He sensed movement with the blind eyes of his skin and looked to the right and then the left. Cathedral gloom, punctuated by vast pillars of grey plastic and vertical bars of yellow light, stretched out into infinity in all directions; it was a vast, yawning space, filled only with a quiet background hum into which echoing trills of birdsong wove their intercoiling filigree patterns. The forest floor—a shallow sea of fractal-leaved bracken, dazzling lime green in the submarine light—rolled slowly towards him in oily waves, hiding all manner of aquatic denizens under its undulating surface. Everything was alive, in motion, but nothing stirred. The clammy chill of his flesh blended with the liquid gloom and a glob of cold jelly slithered down his back. He shivered; his aloneness was a palpable thing, as solid as the air. He deliberately slowed the movement his legs—but the velocity of his inexorable forward slide did not alter by a single iota.
Something crawled over his scalp; he turned in time to catch a trail in the dark air, the echoing shadow of a shape disappearing under the rolling bracken. The clamminess flowed over him like slug-slime, welding his clothes to his skin. There was something out there, he could feel it. He stopped walking altogether and, towed by the butterfly, floated along sideways while peering intently into the gloom. A ripple swirled on the surface of the bracken, then another and another, a row of tiny whirlpools, as if something stirred beneath the surface, something travelling parallel to the path. Transfixed and unable to turn away, Loofah followed its covert progress with a creeping dread.
The advancing ribbon of eddies seemed strengthen and then, just as the bracken sea slipped down into a sudden dip, the marine denizen broke surface again, curving out of the waves like the humped back of a great whale. But it was a jet black whale, with two parallel stripes of livid yellow along its arching dorsum, and sitting astride it, like a tiny sea-sprite riding a porpoise, was a lissom-limbed Barbie doll, a lascivious leer marring its otherwise comely plastic features. Loofah breathed again.
As the flatworm once again disappeared beneath the waves, something else moved deep in the far gloom; a ghostly deer was leaping through the trees, braving the daylight to be with him. Loofah turned back to the path, in time to see two little spaniel tails disappear around a beech trunk ahead. A shoal of silver birdsong swam out of the dark air, scudded playfully about his face before blending seamlessly into the background hum. Slim pillars of yellow light that pierced the arboreal darkness blinked on and off as a quiet breeze ruffled the high canopy. The butterfly caught one on its wing and ricocheted the light it into Loofah's face. Squaring his jaw, he smiled thinly and set his legs back in motion—he was the Seeker, after all, and he knew his duty.
The bracken sea ended abruptly, like the edge of a petrified lava flow, and the path spilled out onto a jewelled carpet of wood anemone, bluebell and sun-gold celandine; they were now in a more open area of forest. The brightness surged through him, washing the last of the heaviness from his veins and flesh, until he weighed no more than a sunbeam. Then the light lifted him off his feet and he pirouetted into the air, waltzing with the butterfly to the sparkling melodies of the unseen avian orchestra.
As he danced through the air he half expected to see Cissy and Elspeth come scampering through the trees. But although there was no sign of the two little dogs there was something moving among the trees, heading in his direction. Was it the cow, or perhaps the perfumed pig, finally stirring off its velvet bed?
No, he could see now that it wasn't the pig. For, although the figure did have a definite porcine corpulence, the debonair official would never have been seen dead in a sackcloth shift with his oiled and perfumed skin smeared in what looked like ashes. And he certainly couldn't imagine the Great Boar beating at his chest with his fists and yowling like a lovelorn baby into the arboreal silence.
'I'm sorry, Miss Leggett,' said Loofah, as kindly as he could, 'But you must understand there's really nothing I can do.'
She howled again, pulling at the cropped remnants of her hair, and smearing tears and ash mud over her flabby cheeks. Loofah shook his head in genuine sorrow, proudly aware that he was not feeling even a tinge of vindictive triumph.
'Twenty years!' she cried, 'Twenty years of loyal, unstinting service to the Company! And now I'm tossed aside like a used piece of toilet paper. How could Mr Stobart do this to me? How could he?'
'The corporate career ladder is a notoriously slippery pole,' said Loofah, with a resigned but compassionate shrug, 'And more often than not what goes up comes down with a bump.'
'I'm finished, done for. And all because of one tiny little mistake—I can't believe it, I just can't believe it.'
'It's a harsh and unforgiving world, Miss Leggett.' He sighed with genuine commiseration. 'Sometimes when I see all the cruelty, all the injustice, my heart bleeds, it really does.'
The piggy eyes narrowed, spying a tiny flicker of hope.
'Then why won't you help me? I'm not asking for much. All you have to do is speak to him, tell him that I've persuaded you to co-operate with us and—.'
'No can do,' said Loofah, gently but firmly, 'I'm my own man now, you see: I do things my way. I don't work with anyone any more—not with Norbert, and certainly not with Mr Stobart. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.'
With a whimper, the former Under Manager slumped down into her sackcloth like a punctured barrage balloon. Loofah shook his head sadly and laid a sympathetic hand on a chubby shoulder.
'I think you're taking this too hard, Miss Leggett, I really do. Why not look on the bright side?' She stared at him blankly. 'I mean, you've still got a job, haven't you? And I'm sure that being Mr Sutton's assistant junior PA won't be as bad as all that in the long term. You mark my words: once he's got used to the new car, he'll be happy with just a twice daily hoover and polish, and then you'll have time for more challenging work—like refilling his stapler and sanitising his telephone receiver.'
Loofah watched until the corpulent and broken figure had disappeared among the trees, trailing the fading remnants of its last sorrowful moan in its wake. Then he shook his head sadly; he'd done his best, even if his words of consolation had failed to bring much comfort. At that moment his reverie was broken by the butterfly performing a tight circle around his head; its fluttering had a distinct edge of urgency.
'Alright, alright, keep your wings on,' he said to the impatient insect, 'I'm coming.'
But as he turned to follow the butterfly, a vast metal predator swerved in front of him, crushing parallel tracks of death through the woodland flowers, murdering the songbird music with the sinister purr of its perfectly tuned engine, and poisoning the sun-dappled light with the baleful sheen of its malign black carapace. With the butterfly just inches from the chrome-toothed maw of its radiator grille, the car slid to a halt and the driver's door clicked smoothly open.
'Yo, Dave,' said Loofah, just managing to keep the dismay out of his voice, 'How's it hanging?'
Loofah stifled a yawn as, for the umpteenth time, the electric sunroof slid noiselessly open.
'Meteorologically regulated via computerised sensor systems built into the integrated carbomer body shell,' drooled Sutton, 'State of the art driver comfort technology. Years ahead of its time—right? Right.'
'Very impressive.'
'Just look at that interior. Fully customised, right?—exactly to my own personal needs and wishes. Walnut shell dash mountings, with the central console moulded from a single piece of Italian marble-effect resin.' Sutton lowered his voice to a reverential whisper. 'And the upholstery.'
'Real leather, naturally.'
Sutton shook his head, with a knowing smile.
'Dolphin skin,' he said, 'Six animals per seat. They only use the underbelly, you see—the rest isn't quite soft enough. Not for the executive grade model, anyway.'
Loofah gasped respectfully, perfectly on cue.
'It's from a type that is only found in a river in China.' Sutton paused. 'Or was found, I should say,' he went on, then smiled and caressed the satin-smooth hide, 'Just think of it: the last of the species, saved from oblivion and preserved for posterity in my car's upholstery.'
As Loofah quietly contemplated this selfless act of eco-care, a shaft of dazzle blazed into his skull, obliterating the temple of mobile luxury in a momentary glare of light. It was the butterfly, fluttering in a sunbeam above the car, reminding Loofah of its presence.
'Now, just wait 'til you see the engine,' Sutton continued, reaching for the bonnet catch, 'Carbon fibre alloy with micro-balanced tungsten and vanadium valve head mountings. And—I know you won't believe this—but we're talking fully circuit-integrated carburetion control systems, with—.'
'It's a lovely machine, Dave, it really is,' interrupted Loofah, 'And, if I may say so, no more than you deserve. It's great to see the Chief Executive promoting the right people at last.'
The freshly elevated senior executive grinned boyishly and smoothed the lapels of his suit jacket.
'Mind you, now you're in charge of the whole sector, I'll bet your work's cut out for you. They don't dish out fancy gear like this for nothing, I know that for a fact.'
Sutton's smug grin spread slowly across his face, threatening to split it in two, and he puffed out his chest like a victorious turkey cock.
'I'd love to see the engine, I really would, and I never tire of carburetion control systems. But I mustn't be selfish; I know you've got more decisions to make this afternoon than most men manage in a lifetime.' The new sector head trembled suddenly as if gripped by a para-mystical ecstasy. 'So shouldn't you be getting back to HQ?'
But Sutton did not reply. He was running his fingertips over the integrated carbomer body-work, staring dreamily into the middle distance.
'The Company, Dave—it needs you. Business calls, as they say.'
Loofah's words seemed to register and Sutton emerged from his reverie.
'Business calls, indeed it does. And that's exactly why I'm here. To do business. Right? Right.'
Loofah glanced around quickly—there was nobody there but him.
'With me?' he asked.
Sutton nodded. The butterfly was hovering over his head, waiting for Loofah. It could have passed for an embodiment of the Holy Spirit, blessing the executive's exalted new position within the corporate hierarchy.
'I see but—.'
'So let's talk turkey,' interrupted Sutton.
'Yes, but it's just that—.'
'No groping around in the proverbial bush—right? Time to call a spade a tool for digging holes in the ground. What I'm trying to say is that things haven't always run exactly smoothly between your good self and the Company. Agreed? Agreed.'
Loofah opened his mouth, but was silenced by a raised palm.
'Now don't get me wrong, I'd never bad-mouth a colleague,' the senior executive went on, 'But to be frank with you, man to man as it were, management of this project from our side has not always been—what shall I say?—one hundred and ten percent effective for one hundred and ten percent of the time. In fact, between you and me, we're looking at critical performance deficits in most—if not all—areas.'
The presentation paused briefly. Loofah saw a chance, but before he managed speak the steady drone had restarted. The butterfly was hovering overhead like an impatient kestrel; with frustration squirming in his belly, he thrust his hands into his jacket pockets.
'Now, I'm as PC as the next man—more so than most, if the truth be known. Equal opportunities for everybody, that's the key-word for modern people-resource management. If you're going to stay in the game these days you've got to use every bit of talent you've got—clear? Clear.'
As Loofah fiddled restlessly with the little bottle of lethal after-shave, his finger brushed against a small glob of stickiness at the very bottom of the pocket, enclosed in a shell of fluff and grit.
'But we both know in that business you've got to face the facts—right? And the simple fact is that you can't escape the facts.'
In the other pocket Loofah's left hand closed over the gravid swell of the strange fruit. A little homunculus stumbled through his brain and he shuddered quickly with remembered mortification.
'Alright, I admit that some of them type like a dream, and you even come across the odd one that can answer a telephone. But when it comes to the cut and thrust of executive existence—you know what I'm talking about, the sort of thing that's life and breath to the likes of you and me.' The open-minded sector head shrugged and smiled, knowing that Loofah understood. 'Let me put it like this,' he said, 'There may be a place for a pretty face and a nice pair of legs, but it ain't at the cutting-edge coal face of top-level corporate management and that's for sure. Right? Right.'
The impatient butterfly swept past at eye level, again ricocheting a sunbeam against Loofah's retinas. This time, however, as the dazzle faded, it left an after-image on the back of his skull, something abstract, half shape, half concept.
'Basically, when we get down to the short strokes, what I'm saying is this,' Sutton went on, speaking with clenched jaw firmness, 'From now on, things are going be run differently round here. Make no mistake, we are talking root and branch revision, a complete reintegration and redesign of corporate policy at all levels.' He paused. 'Though of course there'll be no changes to existing structures and systems—no, no, no, the Chief would never stand for that. If it ain't broke don't mend it, as I always say, and we don't want to be chucking out the bath-water with the much-loved infant still splashing around in it, do we?'
The image began to come into focus and Loofah reached out to grasp it: it was an embryo, a curled little foetus, the beginnings of an idea.
'And what's the bottom line?—as far as this project is concerned, that is?'
The foetal idea grew quickly, feeding from the placenta of his grey matter. In no time it was fully formed, every organ intact, ready for birth.
'I'll tell you up front, no pussy-footing around in the long grass,' said the straight-talking executive, 'What we're looking at here is a whole new deal, a different ball-game altogether. Clear?'
It was now as clear as day—but would it work? The butterfly flitted anxiously past Loofah's left ear. Of course it would work, he thought, with a mother's certainty of her offspring's worth.
'You with me? I'm talking collaborative venture here, I'm talking maximised profits for both parties, I'm talking everybody on board, all pulling together, a team. In a word, I'm talking equal partnership.' Sutton paused and grinned awkwardly. 'Well, maybe not quite equal,' he went on, 'but nearly.'
'It sounds great, Dave, it really does,' said Loofah, 'And I am right with you every inch of the way. But the thing is—' he winced with exaggerated discomfort and hopped from one foot to the other '—I've, um, just got to go and pay a visit.'
'A visit?' exclaimed Sutton, his expression clouding with puzzlement. 'A social call in the middle of top level negotiations?'
'I just need to see a man about a dog, that's all. I'll be back in a half a jiff.'
'A dog?'
Then revelation dawned, banishing the darkness of Sutton's confusion.
'Of course!' he cried, 'An injection of cross-species talent. Brilliant idea—I like it. Just the sort of blue-sky thinking that this project needs.'
As soon as he was safely out of sight behind the flowing plastic pillar of a mighty beech trunk, Loofah risked a quick peep. Pacing up and down beside his executive battle-wagon, Sutton was still in full rhetorical flow, apparently unfazed by the temporary absence of an audience.
'Top-flight original thinking, pushing the envelope to the very limits of stationery engineering,' he said, delivering his words of wisdom to the liquid air, 'The key-sign of gold-standard teamwork creativity—right? Exactly what this organisation is crying out—and from now on exactly what this organisation is going to get. Clear? Clear.'
Pulling back into cover, Loofah examined the newly hatched vegetable that was wriggling and squeaking in the palm of his hand like an overexcited aubergine. An anaconda of discomfort coiled around his intestines and he snapped his eyes tight shut. But to no avail; the half-formed foetal facsimile was still there on the inside of his eyelids: the blank, pink face, the black torso with the orange mottled green stripe down the front and the embryo arms fused at the side, the fawn-tipped denim-blue legs kicking mechanically.
'Individual initiative, that's the watchword for the future. Give a man his head and he'll pay you back with interest.'
Sutton's words trickled into the semi-darkness, carrying with them an impatient white-winged flutter. Loofah opened his eyes and, gritting his teeth against a rising tide of revulsion, dug his thumbnail into the shiny, featureless skin of the face.
'In the hard currency of performance that is, one hundred and fifteen percent all of the way.'
He would have liked to have pulled off the worst of the fluff and grit, but there wasn't time. And so, with a muttered apology, he pushed the congealed glob of chocolate, toffee and shortbread crumbs into the crudely fashioned mouth. The infant vegetable struggled like a recalcitrant child but eventually ingested the unappealing confection and, with a dribbling of green sap, swallowed.
'Now, don't get me wrong,' the corporate executive went on, to a pleasant accompaniment of trilling birdsong, 'If any of my lot puts a single toe out of line, then I'm down on them like a ton of bricks.'
At first nothing, just a lot of squeaking and wriggling as if it was trying to escape from his hand.
'But you've got to let your people take risks, of course you have.'
Then, almost imperceptibly, like a ripening fruit, it began to swell.
Keeping close against the tree, Loofah watched until Sutton had reached the end of his pace-line, spun on his heel and turned away. The now man-sized vegetable was absurdly top heavy and kicked its legs continuously with robotic incoordination; somehow, however, Loofah managed to keep the thing upright as he manoeuvred it round the tree and pointed it in the right direction. It was half-way to the car before Sutton turned to see it.
'Yo!' called the ambitious young executive in greeting, 'Everything OK with the dog? All on board and ready to roll? Brilliant.'
A tirade of shiny-skin squeaks was the reply, as the ungainly mannequin nearly tripped on a tree root, tottered unsteadily for a few steps, and then stumbled on past the car.
'You know, I like the way you do things,' said Sutton, swinging into step beside his new colleague, 'You're a man I can do business with, we park our cars in the same garage—right? Right.'
It squeaked again, then bounced off a tree. As it headed away into the woods, the eager executive was at its side, expanding effusively about the golden future of their professional partnership.