Just Business (15 page)

‘It shouldn't have happened,' Niamh replied through gritted teeth. ‘I told Malcolm to have Phil out of here within the hour – I don't know why he delayed.'

‘Where's the Christmas spirit gone this year?' Sharon enquired, her humour resurfacing.

Niamh looked at her watch, grinning as she said, ‘Why don't you head home early? You've a big night tonight, what with Santa Claus and all.'

Chris didn't come home from work that Christmas Eve. He rang at six to say he was having a drink at the office and that was the last Niamh heard from him. She watched an old movie and went to bed at ten. She slept soundly, waking the next morning to find his side of the bed hadn't been touched. Her first reaction was panic. Jumping out of bed she checked the answering machine for a message. Nothing. Then she checked her mobile. Ditto. She racked her brains. Had he said something? Had he
told her he wouldn't be coming home and she had been too preoccupied to register? No – he had definitely said nothing. Had he been in an accident?

She rang his mobile, her heart pounding. For some reason she was caught off guard when he answered.

‘Hello.' He sounded tired but he didn't sound hurt.

‘It's me,' she managed to say.

‘Hello, “me”.'

‘Where are you?'

‘At the office. I couldn't get a taxi last night. I was over the limit so I bunked down here.'

‘Any reason you didn't call me?' A strange nausea was starting to work its way up through her body.

‘I thought I was coming home. It was about 3.00 am when I realised I had no hope of getting a taxi. I didn't want to alarm you by phoning – I knew you'd be asleep.'

She could see him in her mind: he would be shrugging, confused about why she was making such a fuss. ‘That's very thoughtful of you,' she said sarcastically. ‘Didn't you think I would be worried to death when you weren't here when I woke up?'

‘No … sorry.'

There was remorse in his voice but it was too late. She hung up on him; she didn't care if she was being childish.

She started to cry – helpless tears because she could see now, after months of trying to pretend differently, that they had no future. Their lives were too far apart, so distant that Chris didn't think he needed to tell her if he wasn't coming home. He had stayed away the whole night.

Oh God!
A dreadful thought came into her mind.
Has he been with someone else?

She thought of all the late nights, put down to the big court case. She thought of their nonexistent sex life. Then she thought of her mum and dad and the infidelity that had cost them all so much. The alarm on the bedside table was flashing 8.00 am. She wiped the tears from her face and straightened up. She didn't have time to think about it now. The bakery would be sold out if she didn't get there quickly.

Niamh sprinted down the street but it was too late. An apronclad man was locking the doors.

‘Sorry. We had hundreds of people come in this morning.'

‘Don't you have
anything
left?'

‘Not a single bread roll.'

It was the only thing her mother had asked her to bring to the family dinner. Fresh bread. She hated the thought of letting her down.

Her mobile rang. The number displayed wasn't a familiar one.

‘Hello,' she said, breathless after her futile sprint.

There was no response.

‘Hello,' she said again.

This time she heard a familiar voice in the background.

‘Jenny, who have you called? Jenny – give Daddy the phone.'

‘Scott?'

‘Oh, Niamh, hi – sorry,' he sounded embarrassed, ‘Your number is programmed in my mobile and Jenny somehow called you … She's got all these wonderful toys from Santa but all she wants to do is play with my phone.'

It seemed that Scott had uncanny timing, turning up every time there was an altercation with Chris. And this time giving her a glimpse of what normal family life should be like on Christmas morning.

She heard him speak to Jenny in a solemn tone. ‘The mobile's off limits, honey.'

Jenny obviously didn't like things being off limits and made noises that sounded like the start of a tantrum.

‘Here, eat your toast. That's a good girl.'

‘Scott, is there a bakery near you in Dee Why?' Niamh asked suddenly.

‘There are a few up on Howard Avenue.' He sounded surprised by her strange question.

‘Are they open this morning?'

‘I don't honestly know.'

‘Okay – have to run – hope you and Jenny have a lovely Christmas!'

Hearing his voice but not being able to see him was strangely poignant. For the last week, since the party, she'd felt as if his arm was still around her shoulders, giving her solace from the impasse with Chris.

She ran back to the house to get the car. There was still a chance she would be lucky enough to find fresh bread over in Dee Why and would be saved from arriving empty-handed to the family dinner.

Chris was home when she got back, fumbling through the kitchen drawers for some magic pills to ease his headache. She put him out of his misery by finding him the Panadol and then pouring him a glass of water.

‘Thanks. God!' he groaned, ‘I haven't been that drunk in years.' Chris rarely got drunk. He liked to drink but always knew when to stop. ‘Sorry about last night,' he said when he finally noticed she wasn't speaking.

‘Sorry isn't good enough.'

‘What do you want from me – blood?' he asked irritably.

‘I want to know who you were with.'

‘I was with my colleagues – I was at the office – I've already told you that.'

‘And I'm meant to just accept it, right?'

‘Come on, for God's sake!' He threw his hands up. ‘It's Christmas morning – let's not start the day with a fight.'

She could tell by his face that she wasn't going to get anything out of him. But she was determined to have the last word. ‘If you stay out like that again, don't bother to
ever
come back here.'

He went upstairs to shower, unbuttoning yesterday's shirt on his way. She made herself a cup of coffee and brought it outside to the courtyard. She sat down at the wrought-iron table and allowed the coffee to calm her because she didn't want to be fighting with Chris when they arrived at her mother's. She wouldn't be able to bear it if her mother guessed what was going on.

He came outside twenty minutes or so later. He was clean-shaven and was obviously feeling the first pangs of hangover hunger. ‘What are we doing for dinner?' he asked.

‘We're going to Mum's,' she responded as if for the first time. Chris never absorbed the details of their personal life, knowing that when he needed to ask, Niamh would be there to repeat the information.

‘Let's get going, then. I'm starving.'

It was only ten minutes' walk from their place but Chris insisted on driving his precious BMW. They were the last to arrive. The gift distribution had already begun, with Uncle Tom dressed as Santa Claus. The twins were dying for their turn to sit on his knee and were too engaged to greet their auntie. Her
mother was in the kitchen, looking flustered as she always did on Christmas Day. Her knees were swollen and standing for any length of time brought a lot of pain. But it was Christmas Day, there was dinner to be served and she wanted to be in the thick of it.

‘I've got the bread,' Niamh declared as she put the loot on the counter.

‘That's great … I like to have fresh bread on Christmas Day.'

‘I know – that's why I went all the way to Dee Why to get it.'

‘Dee Why?' Chris asked with raised eyebrows before adding, ‘I wouldn't mind one of those bread rolls – I'm famished.'

He helped himself and her mother cut some ham so he could have a sandwich. One of the twins wandered in, his small face lit up with excitement at the parcel he had received from Santa. The twins were too young to twig that Santa was just their granddad sweating in the heavy red suit.

Her mother saw Niamh's expression as she looked at her nephew and said, ‘You shouldn't leave it too late for a baby.'

Chris bit into his sandwich and Niamh bit into her lip. They both said nothing.

There were no exceptions – even the adults had to sit on Uncle Tom's knee and swear that they had been good for the year. Niamh sat on the lap of the well-padded figure, looked into the familiar face, had a brief fantasy of what their lives would be like if it was her dad sitting there rather than Tom.

‘Ho, ho, ho! And what does this little girl want for Christmas?'

‘Something outrageously expensive, Santa,' she joked.

Just to be happy,
she thought to herself.
Like I was when I was a little girl in Ireland. Before you came along and ruined everything.

Chris's big case was going to court in the first week of January and he spent most of the Christmas holiday in the office. Some nights it was after midnight when he came home. The court case seemed to come with a social side as the next morning the smell of alcohol lingered in the bedroom.

Her suspicions well and truly roused, Niamh found herself going through Chris's pockets. And one morning, while he was in the shower, she searched his wallet. But if there was another woman, he hadn't kept any incriminating evidence.

The holiday dragged on. She spent long lonely days thinking about divorce and, considering her past, wondering if she would ever have the courage to go through with it. A few times she picked up the phone to call Aisling, hoping her older sister might give her that courage. But it always seemed like the wrong time to call Ireland: dinnertime, the baby's bedtime, too late at night, too early in the morning. Niamh spent a few afternoons with her mother but never told her what was happening
with Chris. And she started to exercise again, running along the walkway in Manly, always on the lookout for Scott.

She was relieved when it was time to go back to work; she needed a routine she could hide behind. On her first morning back she was speeding up the bus lane when her mobile rang. This time she recognised Scott's number when it appeared on the screen of her phone. She struggled to get the earpiece in place so she could talk hands-free.

‘Hi there.' He had such a nice voice – warm, friendly, everything that Chris's wasn't.

‘Oh, it's just you this time – not Jenny.'

He laughed. ‘Yes, it's just me. Did you have a good Christmas?'

Before she could answer, the bus in front stopped suddenly and she had to jam on the brakes. ‘Shit! God, that was close!' She took a steadying breath. ‘I nearly ran into a bus!'

There was a pause before he asked, ‘Are you okay, Niamh?'

She knew he didn't just mean the near miss with the bus. She was tempted to tell him everything: her growing suspicion that Chris was having an affair, her inability to walk out on their marriage, her dad dying alone in a garage. The bus moved off and she came back to the real world.

‘I'm fine. How can I help you?'

‘I have a favour to ask,' he said. ‘I know I'm in the middle of a dispute with HDD – and I would understand if you didn't want to do this – but I wanted to put your name as a referee on my résumé.'

Niamh thought about it. Scott was a damn good employee and if it had been her choice she would never have retrenched him. He deserved a good reference. ‘No problem. It would be a pleasure.'

‘Thanks, Niamh. I appreciate your help.'

The rest of the journey to work was uneventful. Sharon looked up to say, ‘Happy new year' as she passed her desk.

‘Same to you,' Niamh replied, looking at her closely. ‘You look different …'

‘Fatter?'

‘No, silly. It's your hair …'

‘Oh, I got some more highlights … You look different too …' She tilted her head to one side and her expression became quite indignant. ‘You've
lost
weight!'

‘I've been jogging over the holiday,' Niamh explained a little sheepishly.

‘That's cheating!'

‘How is it cheating?'

‘Because it is! The rule is that Christmas is a time for laziness and overeating.'

Niamh laughed, then went into her office and turned on her computer. Soon she was buried in work. It was therapeutic; in the office she was in control, she was productive, she had purpose. At home she was none of those things. The morning sped away and it was midday when Bruce burst into her office.

‘I've an idea!'

‘You do?'

‘Let's hire a private investigator!'

She was lost. ‘For what?'

‘To check out the parts on loan, you know, the disk drives,' he explained. ‘Let's see if we can find out what Denis Greene has done with them.'

Niamh nodded, now recalling their conversation at the Christmas party. They had been talking out on the balcony and she had left him to dance with Chris. Then they had that
fight and he had gone home. She became aware that Bruce was looking at her, waiting for a response. ‘We have a meeting with Denis and his legal entourage again next week.'

‘Cancel it,' he urged. ‘Let's see what's going on with these parts. I have a hunch that all our problems will go away if we follow through with this.'

‘How much would an investigator cost?'

‘I don't know. But I can find out.' He looked animated and she strongly suspected that he was pleased to be back at work with the loneliness of Christmas behind him. ‘We used someone a few years ago …' His face crinkled as he tried to remember. ‘Helen would know the name …'

‘I'll be seeing Helen in a few minutes, we're having lunch,' Niamh said. ‘I'll ask her if you like.'

Bruce nodded and went to walk away. But he turned around at the door. ‘I forgot to wish you a happy new year …'

‘Oh, thanks, Bruce. I hope it's a good one for you too.'

‘And your Christmas, how was that?'

‘It was okay,' she said, her voice seriously lacking in enthusiasm. She could hardly say it was terrible.

‘Did Chris have some time off?' Bruce still loitered.

‘No. He was very busy – he has a big case on at the moment. I barely saw him.'

‘Right.'

He coughed as he walked away and she was instantly worried about his heavy smoking and the damage it was doing to his lungs. As far as she knew, there was nobody to tell him to cut back.

Helen Barnes was nervous. It was her first day back on the job and she was going to lunch with Niamh in a few minutes. It had
been Niamh's suggestion; she felt that Helen's promotion to the executive team warranted a celebration.

It was a short walk to the seafood restaurant on Circular Quay. The waiter must have liked the look of them because he led them to the table with the best view.

‘Can I get you any drinks to start?' he asked when they were seated.

‘We're celebrating, so why not?' Niamh smiled and Helen felt her stomach churn. But she somehow managed to make small talk while the waiter made a performance of pulling the cork and pouring two glasses of icy cold chardonnay.

‘I'm sorry you ran into Phil that day in the office,' Niamh said when their food order was placed.

‘It wasn't very pleasant but I'll get over it.' Helen grimaced and reached for her wineglass.

‘You must be relieved you won't ever have to face him again.'

Helen shrugged, indicating she didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to have to tell Niamh that Phil had called her mobile phone a number of times over Christmas.

‘I have something to ask you.' Niamh changed the subject and Helen's heart raced. This was it. Niamh obviously knew. Neither of them deserved to be in this awful situation. ‘I'm looking for a good private investigator.'

‘
What?
'

‘A private investigator – you know, a PI.'

Helen almost asked her if she was getting a divorce. It was the first thing that came into her head: Niamh needed a PI to follow a philandering husband. Thankfully Niamh continued to speak, saving her from an unforgivable faux pas.

‘As our newly appointed finance director,' Niamh grinned
and Helen gave a weak smile in return, ‘you should be aware that we have a contentious dispute with an ex-employee, Denis Greene. I won't go into the details right now – let's just say we think he's stealing from us. Bruce said you knew a private investigator.'

‘I used someone a few years back,' Helen said slowly, trying to concentrate. ‘Keith … Keith Longmore.'

‘Was he any good?'

‘Yes, he was very thorough,' Helen nodded, ‘and, most importantly, he got the result we wanted.'

‘Great. Do you still have his contact details?'

‘Yeah, I should be able to find a phone number.'

Their meal arrived and Helen raised her glass. ‘Thanks for suggesting lunch, Niamh. I'm looking forward to working closely with you.'

They toasted, the two wineglasses clinking. Silence descended as they ate, both sets of eyes staring into the beautiful view, both feeling the mesmerising effect of the water as it glittered under the sun. Niamh was hoping that this was the start of a friendship. She had lots of casual friendships but no close friend other than Aisling. It had been that way almost from the very start.

Helen was also hoping for a friendship. She really liked Niamh and she appreciated all that she had done to see that Phil Davis got his dues. The only problem was that a friendship was impossible while she was keeping such a deplorable secret from her.

Niamh and Helen finished their lunch and returned to work, going their separate ways when they reached the executive area. Niamh was passing Lucinda's office when the lawyer called her in.

‘We need to talk about Denis Greene …'

‘Yes, we do,' Niamh agreed.

‘I've been thinking about it over Christmas and I've come to the conclusion that the most sensible option is to reinstate him.'

‘I've been thinking about it too,' Niamh said from where she stood at the doorway. ‘We're between a rock and a hard place. Bruce doesn't want Denis back in the business and I think you and I have to respect his wishes. But I accept that we didn't give Denis adequate notice. If a compromise is needed, then I would rather pay him extra money for the inconvenience he's suffered.'

Lucinda stood up and came to the front of her desk. Her dark hair was drawn back in a stylish knot and her skirt stopped at just above her knees, showing her toned legs to their best advantage. ‘It wouldn't be a little bit of extra money, Niamh. It would be a lot. There are a number of factors to consider: length of service, age, position, status and prospects of obtaining re-employment. Denis would do well across all of them.'

Niamh shrugged. ‘I still think that paying him is better than reinstating him. Bruce –'

Lucinda stopped her short. ‘Bruce is letting personalities get in the way of what's best for the company.'

Niamh moved further into the office until she was standing directly in front of Lucinda. ‘Bruce has very valid concerns about Denis's performance and his integrity.'

Lucinda frowned. ‘What do you mean
integrity
?'

‘We think that Denis has been stealing parts. We're investigating it at the moment.'

Lucinda sighed and rubbed her forehead as if she had an instant headache. ‘Well, that changes everything.'

‘Yes it does.' Niamh paused. ‘On a different subject, I've also
been thinking about Scott over Christmas and I'm of the view that we should offer to settle.'

‘How many months?'

‘Six. It's only fair.'

Lucinda's phone began to ring. ‘Let me have some time to think about it.'

Niamh left Lucinda to her phone call and returned to her own office. There was a blue envelope sitting on her keyboard. It looked like an invitation of some sort. She opened it.

 

 

The typed words were threatening on the otherwise blank sheet of A4 paper and she felt a little sick. She turned the page over to check if there was something written on the back. She checked the envelope again. Both the envelope and note were anonymous. What had Chris done at the party? Something bad? Or was it more likely to be something funny?

She decided this must be someone's idea of a joke. She spent a few moments wondering who the joker was and then went back to work.

HDD had its headquarters in Mita, an hour outside Tokyo. Yoshi was staying with his parents on the other side of the city and the commute to the office was ninety minutes in total. Sitting on the crowded train, there was more time to think than he was used to. His sister still lived with his parents and all three had fussed over him since his arrival. There had been a big family dinner and a homemade cake. Yoshi felt very undeserving; all he could think about was his new lady friend
back in Australia. He didn't tell his family about her. They would certainly disapprove.

He got to the office for seven-thirty. The smoking room was full as he passed. It was an early start and it would be a late finish in the headquarters of the Japanese multinational. The staff worked their day around their superiors; it was important to be in before them and to go home after them. A young woman passed Yoshi in the corridor, giving a quick bow to acknowledge his importance. She, like the others, was very well dressed. The women spent a high percentage of their take-home pay on their clothes. Appearance was everything in Japan – it got you halfway to where you wanted to be. It was ambition that got you the rest of the way.

Yoshi made his way through the nondescript workstations until he reached the one occupied by Nishikawa Shacho. He couldn't help comparing the humble décor to the pretentious offices of HDD Australia. Nishikawa Shacho was a vice-president and board member. He was infinitely more senior than Malcolm Young yet the workstation he occupied was smaller than that of Malcolm's secretary.

In his late fifties, Nishikawa Shacho wore a charcoal suit with an immaculate white shirt. Yoshi bowed with respect and Nishikawa Shacho rose to return the greeting.

‘Murasaki San,' the older man sat down, ‘for how long will we have the pleasure of your company?'

‘I plan to be here until the end of next week.'

‘We must have dinner one night.'

They always had dinner together whenever Yoshi was in town. In fact, nine times out of ten they would travel three hours outside Tokyo to Kyoto where Nishikawa Shacho liked to be entertained by traditional geisha. There was one particular
geisha the vice-president liked to see. She was beautiful, articulate and very knowledgeable.