The Planner(80)

‘So, just to be clear,’ said Robert, ‘provided we could demonstrate the various outputs that you’re looking for, there’s no requirement for us to be in a consortium with a housing association or anyone else.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And although the council has overall targets, the outputs for Sunbury Square can still be negotiated with senior officers.’

‘Yes. To a certain extent, yes.’

‘Right,’ said Simon. ‘I’ve got to head off. I’m meant to be in another meeting. But this has been very useful.’

Simon rose, and nodded to Paul.

‘James – we must see you again soon. Either here or at the football, of course.’

He left the room, and Paul followed him out. James had the impression that they were now going to talk about what he’d just told them.

‘It’s not like Simon to take such an interest in a project at this stage,’ said Robert. ‘I think he really likes this one. He likes you too.’

Robert and James talked some more. They talked about a proposed development off the Old Kent Road and an application to turn a school in Peckham Rye into flats, and made some speculations about the retail property market. After a while they began to talk about the football again and Robert checked his email. It dawned on James that there was no longer a good reason for him still to be there. In his briefcase he had a copy of his CV and two of his best research reports, but they wouldn’t be needed. The interview was over.

Margarita said goodbye tenderly as James left the office and travelled back down in the lift. There was no doubt, just like at the football, he had been looked after beautifully. They had been generous hosts, they had shared confidences and listened respectfully to him. But something hadn’t happened. Had he done anything wrong? No, he didn’t think so. He had been helpful, he had spoken openly and generally behaved, as far as he could tell, like a businessman. In fact, if anything, he might have been a bit too helpful. No doubt, he had passed the test, but the problem was – he wasn’t sure now if there had actually been one. He had expected things to be a bit more resolved than this. Ambiguity and miscommunication, meetings that finished inconclusively – this was the kind of thing that went on at Southwark Council. It wasn’t the sort of thing he thought that property developers did.

James passed back through the entrance, which was just as busy as before, and out into Canary Wharf again. The sky was darkening, but people were still crossing the squares, moving briskly between the towers. Lights were coming on, the coffee shops were emptying, but the bars were filling up, for even Canary Wharf had a night-time economy. It wasn’t hard to visualise himself here – no longer in the Red Lion with Rachel, but in a modern, well-lit bar with blond-wood seating, drinking a bottle of chilled white wine, exchanging market intelligence with Paul, Robert, Margarita – maybe giving Adam a call and getting him to join them, and then ordering a large Mediterranean mezze platter on expenses.

It wasn’t hard to visualise, but was it going to happen? In any case, did he really want to work for Galbraith & Erskine? He wasn’t so sure that he did now. Drinking wine with Margarita was one thing, but he wasn’t convinced that hanging out with the likes of Paul would be a recipe for long-term happiness. The crucial thing was how much they got paid. It needed to be a lot: there didn’t seem much point in still earning significantly less than Adam and Carl, but no longer being able to look down at what they did for a living.

There had been, he could now see, a lack of clarity in his objectives. What he had really wanted most of all was for Simon Galbraith to like him. But that didn’t seem like an especially sensible ambition. What did he want his affection and admiration for if it wasn’t to get a job? As he walked down into the underground station through the fast-moving and efficient private sector crowds, it occurred to him that maybe he should have spoken to Felix after all.





15

28 March

In a city as dynamic as London it is impossible to anticipate all the ways in which change will happen.

– The London Plan, Section 8.8



‘Okay,’ said Felix. ‘What we’ve got to do now is put them all together.’

Art, recreational drugs, anonymous sexual encounters, high-end shopping, financial irresponsibility, alcohol free at the point of purchase. It was what cities were for, it’s what they were – an agglomeration of reckless promises. And it was what London did better than any other city. It was still the capital of possibilities and unsustainable desires, the place where you could commit an unlimited number of mistakes and moral atrocities.