Chapter 17

The river does not concern itself about things that fall across its path, it just finds a way of slipping around them. It is determined; it thinks only about how to find its way down to the sea.

It was the same room in the corner of the mill that Anjali had first met the Danish Chair. It was a quite different room in many ways. The late evening schedule of the meeting suited her. Slipping through the net that seemed to hold everyone in their place in Briardale was a priority. She did not want to offer any explanations to the Factory Manager or his Personal Assistant.

The appointed Chair of the Briardale Weaving Company looked down at the drawings and careful description that Anjali had sent to him, a personal letter with its important documents enclosed.

‘I thank you for the copy of the designs that you used at our last Board meeting. It was an extraordinary thing to send these designs to me. What made you think of doing such a thing?’

‘I was looking into the river, and the idea came to me. I think the approach is a successful one; I did not want everything to just disappear back into the depths of the river from which it came.’

The Danish Chair of The Briardale Weaving Company almost smiled but checked himself.

‘It is in the delicate hoar frosts of the morning, in the woods around my home in Denmark, where my thoughts seem to be the clearest. Perhaps the things around us are always talking in the language that they feel we will most likely listen to.’

He splayed the garment designs across the oak of the tabletop, his eyes scanning over the coloured sketches and the highlighted words in the various descriptions.

There was a clock on the bookcase at the back of the room that was ticking, fast, like a heartbeat.

‘I think your most prominent English playwright pointed out that “there is a tide in the affairs of man?”

‘I have suffered from fashion being used against me. It will not surprise you that, being on the receiving end of such an initiative, I am keener to explore its future possibilities than others who merely saw its short-term effects might be.’

I am interested in your design, Anjali Darji,’ he said, examining Anjali’s business card closely.

She could hear the clock again, and now its beat seemed to have slowed.

‘Perhaps it is not the clock but the time that is slowing,’ Anjali thought.

‘This is interesting,’ he said. ‘The idea of such communication, such influence through the subtle delivery of the essential message, whilst the cynical mind is otherwise occupied on the deceptive detail of the words.’

‘I must tell you, Anjali, that I was not a supporter of keeping things in Briardale. I was unconvinced of the possibilities of the place. I hope that your designed approach has helped us to see things more accurately.’

He seemed to be considering something - and could not believe that he was considering it.

‘I find it intriguing how carefully you have set out the things that the audience needs to think, in the colour and fold of fabric. The conversion of logical thought into a visual message that the eyes accept. Our eyes are the weak point in the human armour of logic. They do not approach the message with the cynicism that reasoned thought allows. The eyes accept things for what they are - or rather what they appear to be. In your design, the argument looks strong. This impression is given that the Factory Manager’s approach is certain to succeed. Seeing is certainly believing.’

He thought for a while - and then seemed to accept the inevitable.

‘It is like those models of faces that contain the elements of the face but reversed outwards. When the model is side-on you can see it for what it is - the negative of a face. Then when the model turns so that the face faces you, the design is released, and all you can see is a normal face. No matter how hard you try to see the model for what it really is.’

He smiled to himself.

‘We are just weavers of coarse wool, Anjali. This damp valley is the ideal place for us. But like everyone we want to be the best in the world at something. And - as is often the case - the thing that we want to be the best at is something that we are not, yet, good enough for.

‘The manufacture of great garments is a brutal world, where the fashion outweighs the achievement. There are certain materials we have developed that should be far better appreciated than they are. How should we communicate that to a very cynical audience?’

He rose from his high-backed chair, and wandered to the window and looked across the town, now darkening into sodium light as the evening settled in.

‘We are such a disparate group of people in the family,’ he said, turning his back to the window. Our plans come together like explosions in reverse. Each project begins with the shrapnel and the wounds, and if luck is on our side, it ends in something that is workable. If only we could communicate our certain convictions, there would be less blood on the carpet.’

‘Anjali,’ he said, ‘I think your designs are interesting.’

He returned to his chair and sat down.

‘I am very keen to proceed with this. The question is, how keen are you?

‘If we are to pursue this idea, then you must come to Denmark. There are things that require a close eye on their development. I have seen so many promising ideas come to nothing because someone did not want them to succeed.’

He gathered Anjali’s designs together, placed them back in the envelope and handed the envelope to her.

‘Come to Denmark, that is the commitment I need. We will give it a year - and then we will see where we are.’