Modern Interiors. Andrea Goldsmith
of the early brainwaves, in which cheap liqueurs were packaged in icons of wealth: a glass Rolls Royce, a Porsche, a yacht. More recently, Selwyn had developed The Aussie Collection to capitalize on the tourism boom. This included The Red Centre, a claret that gave ‘the glow of sunset’; Sydney Harbour Bitter for a ‘deep thirst’, and Drysabone Lager, a low alcohol beer guaranteed ‘to keep the man drinking through the long hot Aussie summer’. The worst of Selwyn’s schemes had been, in Lorraine’s view, unequivocally obscene: a variety of spirits sold in molded glass body parts designed ‘to satisfy all tastes’. It was the only time Lorraine and George had a serious business disagreement. She had stood in his office, a glass penis filled with cream liqueur in one hand and a cherry brandy female torso in the other, trying to make him see reason. What she called obscene, he said was bawdy, what she described as pornographic he insisted was ‘a bit of fun.’ The only point on which he gave any concession was her appeal to consider the good name of Finemore’s, so the products were marketed under a different label, although everyone knew where they came from.
Each of Selwyn’s schemes was launched in a blaze of expensive publicity that might have been justified for products with some longevity, but none of Selwyn’s schemes ever lasted for more than a year. And between schemes, when he might have applied himself to the routine workings of Finemore’s, Selwyn always had something better to do. ‘The Academy,’ he would say when a subordinate made a request of him, ‘I’m providing some lectures for a colleague, can’t be bothered now.’ And the subordinate, who as often as not had not attended university much less ‘The Academy’, would take the problem to Lorraine. Selwyn, it seemed, fancied himself as a harbinger of the new; he was a man drawn to the splash and sparkle of fast money. Time and time again Lorraine had pointed out to George, such an astute businessman in all other respects, that good business did not require quick manoeuvres, and while George would agree, while he would admit to some of Selwyn’s shortcomings, he nonetheless maintained that Selwyn would prove an asset to Finemore’s.
As for Gray, he was George’s son, and blood was thicker than water. Or so George believed. Gray would ‘come good,’ George used to say, ‘he’s just a bit slow off the mark.’ And while it was true, he was a bit slow, George never realized Gray liked it that way. Gray interpreted slow as thoughtful, careful as considered. When projects were proposed or problems arose, the snailshell of Gray’s imagination would drag through plans, analyses and options, after which he would subject his colleagues to a seemingly endless trail of advice and opinion. Gray believed that on his birth he had taken up an option on perfection; he was that common individual, a man truly satisfied with himself.
Lorraine had never had any children of her own, yet well knew the allegiances of family. As the oldest of four girls, she had gone out to work early, studied accountancy at night, and contributed to the family upkeep; following her father’s death, she had been the sole support for her mother and sisters. Time passed quickly under these circumstances and soon the youngest child had left home and Lorraine was thirty-three and newly employed at Finemore’s Fine Wines and Spirits. Her first position had been as company secretary, and, until the boys fired her, they would always refer to her as a secretary, as if there were no lower being. When she had been at Finemore’s for about two years, Harry Harrison retired and Lorraine took over as finance manager. That had marked the beginning of the problems with Gray, who, having just joined Finemore’s, considered the role of finance manager to be rightfully his. But George was firm: if Gray wanted to learn about Finemore’s there was little sense in his starting at the top. So Lorraine settled into the office next to George, while Gray was despatched to stores.
In time, Gray worked his way into the executive offices of Finemore’s Fine Wines, but always there was Lorraine guarding the managing director’s door, and when Selwyn Pryor arrived, Gray found himself having to be doubly vigilant. Lorraine had used seduction with George, and Selwyn was not above subterfuge, but whatever the means, as far as Gray was concerned, both of them were intent on wresting his rightful inheritance.
The years passed; Selwyn became head of marketing and Gray managed the purchasing division. As for Lorraine and George, they continued to run the company together. Annual turnover increased at a healthy 15% per annum, a little more in the good years, slightly less in the sluggish. The move into retail occurred about four years before George’s death. For some time, Lorraine and George had realized that if Finemore’s was to maintain its level of profitability, they would need to diversify. While other companies moved off-shore, George and Lorraine turned to the local market for expansion opportunities, specifically, the local retail market, which they had long recognized as underdeveloped. The advantages to Finemore’s were obvious: as a major wholesaler, Finemore’s had a knowledge of the retail market that most retailers didn’t have; all merchandise could be ordered from the parent company only as required thus minimizing the need for the retailer to keep large stocks, and with interest rates low and discretionary spending high, trade in luxury consumerables was assured.
Selwyn was thrilled; at last, he was heard to say, he would control an entirely autonomous branch of Finemore’s; and Gray was appeased: at last, his very own piece of the company. So when Lorraine Pascoe was appointed head of the new retail division, the boys were understandably enraged. For close on a week they took it in turns to visit George’s office, each railing against Lorraine’s appointment and insisting it be retracted, each admonishing George to keep his private life separate from the business. George regarded the former advice as ill-considered and the latter as impertinent; the entire incident, he told Lorraine, showed that the boys had a lot more to learn before they could be entrusted with greater responsibility – and not just about business, he added, but about life in general.
From that time until George’s death the boys avoided Lorraine. They let it be known it was loyalty to the Finemore family that motivated them, but few people were convinced. Selwyn turned his attention to the designer pubs he had finally convinced George to open and Gray took on the presidency of his wine and food society. At the office, they refused to speak with Lorraine and would communicate only through secretaries. At first, Lorraine decided to ignore their silliness, but when they persisted, she ceased to communicate with them altogether. Which was no loss to her: she didn’t need them to do her job, but they needed her. So their jobs suffered, but so concerned were they with their vendetta they seemed not to care.
When George died, Lorraine knew her position at Finemore’s was no longer secure, and yet she thought the boys would have had sense enough to keep her on. What she had not counted on was their arrogance, which is, after all, what protects the mediocre from their mediocrity. Selwyn and Gray fired Lorraine because they were convinced they could do the job better, because she should never have been given so much power in the first place, because they hated her and because she deserved to be punished.
Easy to understand why she was now without a job, Lorraine was thinking, as she lifted out the last slices of eggplant and placed them on brown paper to drain, but a mistake nonetheless. The final straw had come when she refused to give her signature to a loan application. It was Selwyn who had approached her with a plan for three additional designer pubs, a plan which she suspected Gray knew nothing about for his signature could have been used just as well as hers. But whether Gray had been consulted or not, did not alter the fact that Selwyn’s proposal was ill-considered. In the eighteen months prior to George’s death, Finemore’s had opened two designer pubs; since then, the economic climate had changed, as had discretionary spending. Lorraine mentioned the steep rise in interest rates which made borrowing unwise; she reminded Selwyn of the weak dollar and the effect this had on companies such as Finemore’s so reliant on imports, and she was about to explain how the leisure sector would be hit by the economic downturn when Selwyn stormed out of the room: he didn’t need a tart to tell him about business, he said, and within a week the ‘restructuring’ had occurred and Lorraine had been given three months pay in lieu of notice.
She covered the food and left the kitchen. In the bedroom she dressed and did her hair, then sat on the edge of the bed wondering what a fifty-five year old woman with an assured income and a desire to work should do. But her mind was a pudding, no sense to be made, and she gave up. She slipped her feet into some comfortable shoes and wandered into the lounge room, an attractive, strong-bodied woman, long hair caught up in a chignon, dark hair, dark