The latest meeting on the figuratively hot topic of bio-diversity had just ended. The effect of forest fire on wild life habitats had occupied every attendee, distracting them from the more usual criticisms of destruction of the environment by a Commission in favour of pulp mill spruce.
The massive Press coverage of the Lochaber conflagration with its tragic loss of life and dramatic pictorials of the fire fighting effort, had the most incorrigible critics loud in praise and expressive in condolence. In short, the meeting had been a triumph that Assistant Director would feed off for months. He lost no time in calling the minister and advising that political careerist to arrange to have an appropriate question posed in the chamber during the forthcoming televised session. Suitably humble posturing and an acceptance of glory-allelujahs could then be captured for posterity.
Assistant Director beckoned his secretary as he strode past her desk. She arose and followed him dutifully to his inner sanctum. There, he hung up his jacket and gestured that she should be seated. Thus relaxed, he stood and fingered a favourite tie, executive yellow with black spots that made a less than discreet statement on his pale blue shirt.
“Well, Alison,” he said, “matters have turned out rather well. Today’s meeting was excellent. The publicity from Lochaber was very positive. Director troubled to call me from Florida. He was pleased. You played your part, Alison, don’t think I have forgotten your support.”
“Thank you,” Alison said in flat monotone, “I do appreciate it.”
“You may remember Guthrie, the viscount I am friendly with? Could you type up a short message to him, a ‘blue skies’ letter. Write as follows: all is well at Strontian; the police will bring no charges of arson against any Commission employee; there were no failures to follow health and safety procedures in fighting the fire; all Commission tracts of land in Lochaber have now returned to normal.” Assistant Director leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Oh, and Alison, I nearly forgot. Add a sentence ‘and happily no mention has appeared of sensitive matters in faraway places’.”
The secretary arose and slipped away, leaving Assistant Director sighing contentedly. That letter showed a firm hand on the tiller. He sighed once more at the light touch of humour in closing. This final remark held true for a mere twelve hours. On being read by the Scottish peer, the forecast of blue skies was crumpled and tossed into a waste paper basket.