Just Business (16 page)

‘Thank you. I will arrange it with your secretary,' Yoshi responded.

‘Please sit and update me on what is happening in our Australian subsidiary.'

Yoshi had waited for the invitation and sat down with relief. Sometimes the formalities of the Japanese culture were cumbersome next to the relaxed way of life in Australia.

‘As expected, the quarter has closed with a large loss.'

‘Yes, due to the restructuring costs,' Nishikawa Shacho nodded. ‘Fortunately those costs are extraordinary in nature and the subsidiary should return to profitability next quarter when the benefits of the restructure are realised.'

His shrewd eyes were all over Yoshi's face, pressing for his concurrence.

‘I have concerns about our ability to return a profit over the next quarter,' Yoshi admitted. ‘There are a few lawsuits that have come out of the restructure. It may cost a considerable amount to settle with the individuals.'

‘I see!' The lines on the older man's face became tighter. ‘Was the executive team careless in the way they went about implementing the retrenchment programme?'

Yoshi was fair. ‘No. With the exception of one, the lawsuits are the result of a more litigious culture. I can understand the complaints of the employees in question but I could not see the same cases making it to the courts in Japan. Our employees here are more accepting of authority and our legislation doesn't favour the employee as it does in Australia.'

Yoshi's explanation appeared to offer some comfort but obviously not enough. Nishikawa Shacho probed further. ‘Are the
executive team managing our exposure to these lawsuits in the appropriate way?'

‘Yes, both the legal counsel and the human resources director are actively working on the claims.'

‘Has the financial impact of the lawsuits been disclosed in the quarterly financial package?'

Yoshi sighed inwardly. ‘I'm afraid that the finance director was dismissed before Christmas and the quarterly reporting package will be delayed.'

Nishikawa Shacho's eyes bulged with shock. ‘Why was Phil Davis dismissed?' The vice-president knew the Australian subsidiary's finance director by name; it was a senior position after all.

‘He sexually harassed a female employee,' Yoshi replied, not daring to look in Nishikawa Shacho's direction.

Nishikawa Shacho was appalled. ‘Doesn't Malcolm Young have any control over his executive team?'

‘It was Malcolm who hired Phil,' Yoshi said. ‘He was his mate – his friend.'

There was a brief pause.

‘Have we made a mistake with Malcolm Young?' Nishikawa Shacho asked, his voice dangerously soft.

‘I think we need to assess his performance very closely,' Yoshi answered, drawing on all his diplomatic skills.

‘I am not happy with what I am hearing. How can Australia achieve their financial goals if the executive team is not performing to the appropriate standard?'

There was something in Nishikawa Shacho's tone that implied he regarded Yoshi as part of the problem. Yoshi didn't retaliate; it wasn't the Japanese way. However, he was quite fed up with being held responsible for the shortcomings of the
Australian subsidiary. When they had dinner later in the week, he would tactfully remind Nishikawa Shacho that he was a mere liaison director and not the CEO of the operation.

Willem Boelhoers was in his office, working through the numbers for AIZ Bank. The contract was up for renewal and the proposed service agreements and associated penalties were more stringent than the old ones. Bruce had asked him to rework the numbers showing the worst-case scenario. The result wasn't good.

It was late and Willem was just finishing up when the voices started. He had a headache; numbers were not his strength. He didn't feel like waiting on to hear what was being said but he owed it to Niamh. She had specifically asked him to write down what he heard.

Without the daytime office buzz, the voices were clearer than ever before.

‘Too much resistance … running out of time …'

Willem started when his phone rang. He hesitated before answering it.

‘It's me.' It was his sister. He knew why she was calling; she rang every day to ask the same question.

‘What time are you coming home?'

‘I'll be there soon, I'm just finishing up here,' he replied, trying to listen to the voices at the same time.

‘Four more sites … must find another way …'

‘OK,' Regina said, ‘why don't you take your pills now, while we remember them, instead of later?'

‘Good idea.'

After his last lapse, Regina had suggested he carry the Zyprexa on his person rather than leave them at home. She thought it
best for him to have access to it at all times of the day. She was obsessive about his medication and had every right. Her house, where he lived, was full of reminders of what happened when he didn't take it. There was the glass door he had stuck his fist through, the phone he had ripped out of the wall, convinced it was bugged, and of course the TV. He didn't want to even think about the TV.

Now that he understood his illness, his forgetfulness about his medication was not intentional as it had been in the early days. But occasionally his workload overwhelmed him and he didn't get round to taking those two critical pills.

He took them as soon as he hung up from Regina and the voices stopped immediately. They must have been in his head after all. Panicked, he rang his psychiatrist, leaving a message on his paging service.

‘It's Willem Boelhoers. I need to see you. I think I need an increased dosage of the Zyprexa. I'm hearing voices again.'

Donna flicked through the Lonely Planet guide to Fiji while her boyfriend, Adam, watched television. The next morning they were flying their way to five days of sun, sea and sand. She couldn't wait.

Adam's parents arrived home from the theatre and came in to say hello. Donna found Steve and Mary Jones quite intimidating. They were both highly educated and upper middle-class, and extremely conservative to boot. Even though nothing had been said, she was quite certain that they disapproved of her and Adam's upcoming holiday.

‘Was it a good show?' she asked politely.

‘No,' Steve responded as his wife, Mary, said, ‘Yes.'

They all laughed, glossing over the underlying tension.

Mary progressed to the kitchen and could be heard filling the kettle. Steve surprised Donna by sitting down.

‘Are you looking forward to the holiday?'

‘You bet,' she grinned. ‘I'll have forgotten what to do by the time I go back to work.'

Steve's face darkened. ‘Yes, I keep forgetting that you work at HDD.'

‘Small world,' Donna smiled. ‘I believe Denis Greene is your client.'

‘
Ex-
client,' Steve corrected abruptly.

Adam peeled his eyes off the TV, sensing an opportunity to tease his father. ‘What happened, Dad? Did the guy fire you?'

Steve failed to see the humour. ‘Of course not. I resigned. The case had no merit. I have an ethical duty to the court, you know, not to waste its time with baseless cases.'

Steve stood up and muttered something about reading he had to do. Donna watched him go, her mind mulling over what he'd said: Denis Greene's case had no merit. That was very, very interesting.

Steve went to the study, pouring himself a Scotch before sitting into the worn comfort of his armchair. He was annoyed on many fronts. He knew that foreign holidays were a common enough thing for young couples these days. Yet he couldn't help feeling that there should be more of a formal commitment between Adam and Donna before they jetted off together. And he didn't like to be linked in any way to Denis Greene. The engineer was loud, obnoxious and had infinite ability to land embarrassing surprises on his defence team. Putting personalities to one side, the case was weak. The grievance of being forced to leave the country didn't stand up to close scrutiny. If it was true that
Greene had applied for a permanent visa then he would have automatically received a bridging visa while his application was being processed. Steve had resigned straight after the meeting with HDD and regretted that he had allowed Paul Jacobsen to talk him into an out-of-court appearance, something he rarely did.

If Steve was honest, Lucinda Armstrong had also figured in his decision to resign. She would be back in his life if he defended Greene. There would be a peck on the cheek every time they met to discuss the case. He didn't want to feel that yearning temptation again. He was getting too old for feelings like that.

He remembered Lucinda's engagement ring all those years ago. It was enormous, flashing in the faces of the partners, taunting them that the object of their desire was taken. Her fiancé was exactly what one expected. Rich. Successful. Older. He bought her a Mercedes to match his.

Lucinda produced a son and heir exactly eleven months after the wedding. It was a no-fuss pregnancy. Even those who were allergic to childbirth were in awe of her splendid tummy. Steve couldn't help comparing her to Mary when she was pregnant with Adam. He looked for varicose veins in Lucinda's long legs. For blotchiness in her flawless skin. For emotional outbursts. For an insatiable desire to go to the bathroom. There was nothing. Lucinda was superhuman even in pregnancy.

A nanny was recruited and left to do the job of rearing the baby. Lucinda lived life as before. Worked the same hours and continued her ascent up the corporate ladder. Steve's curiosity about the baby was his sole motivation to go to the firm's children's party that Christmas. He had barely tolerated the party when Adam was a child. Lucinda, the ultimate corporate
woman, was in the thick of the festivities. There was no nanny hovering in the background. Lucinda fed, burped and played with her child while she mingled and charmed all around her. Steve admitted defeat. The young female lawyer had him at checkmate. She was the very definition of inscrutable.

She left the practice a few months later to take a commercial role in a computer company. There was disbelief amongst the partners. Lucinda would have undoubtedly been the first female to make it to their ranks. Yet she changed direction with no warning and abandoned her partner aspirations to become legal counsel in the unpredictable world of high technology. They thought she was mad.

Steve hadn't known that the company she went to was HDD and all the old feelings had come back when he'd seen her again. She was even more beautiful than before. It was certainly for the better that he had resigned from the case and didn't need to face up to her beauty. He knew he wouldn't be able to resist it.

Chris was engrossed in the late-night news when Niamh sat down next to him. ‘Can I ask you something?'

He looked at her warily. ‘What?'

She pressed the mute button on the remote control. The sound ceased, leaving them to stare at each other. It had been ages since they'd had a conversation of any kind.

‘You went missing for a while at the Christmas party … where were you?'

He was instantly annoyed. ‘I was circulating – trying to make conversation with your colleagues. We've already been over this, why are you asking me again?'

‘You were gone for a long time – over an hour …'

‘So what? Are you saying I can't leave your side?'

She thought of telling him about the joker and the anonymous note by way of explanation, but his expression wasn't inviting.

‘Were you talking to Lucinda all that time?'

‘For Christ's sake, Niamh! What is wrong with you? I was only talking to her about some Law Society function!'

He switched the TV back on, his profile frozen as he watched the last few minutes of the news.

Niamh was thinking of Lucinda's snide comments about seeing Chris in Forbes. She was thinking of Lucinda in her cocktail dress on Christmas Eve. She was thinking of Chris not coming home the same night. And she was thinking of the joker, and if he was joking or trying to tell her something. She wanted to say what was on her mind, spring the ‘Are you having an affair?' question on him. But she didn't have the courage to do it – yet.

She went upstairs and showered before going to bed. She fell asleep easily enough but the nightmare was there, waiting. The garage, the black face, the finality, the guilt. The climax, the gaping mouth, woke her from her sleep.

Chris's breathing was heavy. Her heart thudding in her chest, she reached out to shake him awake, to demand comfort. But she stopped. He was the cause of the flood of nightmares, not the cure. Their relationship was deteriorating at such a rate that divorce seemed inevitable. Would the devastation be as bad as it was twenty years ago?

She had been ten, Aisling a year older. Their mother leaving their father to marry someone else was incomprehensible to them at first. But both parents had showered reassurances: it wouldn't change how much they loved them; there would be no more arguments; life would be better all round. Niamh pretended to believe them but she knew deep down that it was a bad, bad thing.

Coming to Sydney had taken the edge off the divorce: laughing as they were flattened by giant waves at Manly, running under the spray of the hose in the garden, settling in at school, becoming busy with new friends. There was less and less time to write to their dad. Sometimes they forgot about him.

The day of the phone call was sunny, a perfect winter's day in Sydney. She and Aisling saw their mother's face crumple as she spoke on the phone and they ran away into the garden. They cried for hours, for days, for years. Their guilt immediately isolated them from their new friends. The guilt of allowing themselves to be wooed by a new country and forgetting about their beloved father who had been left behind. From that time on, it was just the two of them, sisters and friends.

People didn't understand. They said he was selfish to do what he did. That's how they remembered her fun-loving generous dad. Selfish. Even when he was dead he didn't get the sympathy he deserved. But her mother and Tom knew they had blood on their hands. Their guilt permeated the house in Manly. There was no doubt that her dad would be alive had they not robbed him of his ‘brightness' and his ‘vision'.