Just Business (3 page)

She watched him, letting go of her anger, her disappointment in him. The hard lines to his face were set in concentration as he wielded the chopping knife, mincing the capsicums to a pulp. His dark hair had a few grey strands at the temples, his skin the pallor of a man who sat at his desk for most of the daylight hours. At that moment it was difficult to find any love for him inside her. She didn't want to think thoughts like that so she went upstairs to change.

Denis Greene got a call at 8.00 pm that night. He had been expecting the call but Lily happened to be passing when the phone rang and picked it up before he could get to it.

‘Denis!' she yelled from the hall where the phone was mounted on the wall.

‘I'm coming!' he replied, pressing mute on the TV so there wouldn't be too much background noise.

He took the phone from Lily. ‘Hello?'

‘This is not a good situation.'

It was the same voice as before. Denis knew the voice but had not met its owner.

‘It's not my fault,' he said sulkily. ‘I didn't ask for this to happen.'

There was a brief pause before the uncompromising response from the caller. ‘You were in the middle of a critical job. It needs to be completed.'

‘Can't you ask someone else to do it?'

‘No!'

‘What's the solution then?' Denis asked cautiously. He was starting to have a bad feeling about how this was all going to end, notwithstanding the fact he didn't have any real information on the end game.

‘The solution is that you've got to get your job back.'

The caller hung up and Denis went back to the TV, pretending to watch it. He flicked from channel to channel, his mind far away. He had over $100,000 in his bank account now. They would pay him more if he completed the job but he wanted out. It was too risky, and the longer it went on, the more likely it was he would get caught. He had thought that being retrenched had got him off the hook – it was a perfect excuse to walk away. But it seemed the caller had other ideas, and for the first time Denis was worried that he was out of his depth with these people. Pots and pans clashed in the background as Lily cleared up the kitchen after dinner. There was no risk she would sense his anxiety; they had not been on the same wavelength for years.

Helen didn't go home after work. She didn't want to have to face her mother. The old lady didn't understand words like retrenchment and sexual harassment and tomorrow would be time enough to enlighten her. She was at her friend Tina's house when her mobile rang. It was eight-thirty and there was a hot pizza waiting to be eaten.

‘Hello. I'm ringing to see how you are.'

‘I'm okay.' Helen was surprised. The caller was not someone she was expecting to hear from.

‘I was personally disappointed to find your name on the hit list today.'

‘Were you?'

‘Of course.' The voice was insistent. ‘It doesn't seem very fair considering what you've contributed to the company.'

‘I don't think a single one of the fifty people today felt it was “fair” to lose their jobs,' Helen said tartly, feeling she was being patronised but not entirely sure.

‘But
you
more than the others – you so
much
more than the others.'

There was a strange pause.

‘Why do you say that?' Helen asked suspiciously. Did the caller know about Phil? Had her claim of sexual harassment leaked out already?

The caller didn't answer her question, only said, ‘If you want to take this any further, you have my full support.'

There was another strange silence as Helen tried to read between the lines. ‘Thanks for the offer but I'll handle it my own way,' she responded after a few moments.

The conversation ended and Tina topped up their respective glasses of wine.

Helen drank some before saying, ‘What a bizarre phone call!'

‘Who was it?' Tina asked, taking a bite from an oversized slice of pizza.

‘Someone from work.'

‘Was it that man – what's his name again – Phil?' A full mouth never prevented Tina from asking questions.

‘No, not him.' Helen shuddered.

‘Is he married?'

‘Yes, poor woman. I bet she has no idea what her husband gets up to behind her back.'

Tina finished the slice of pizza before commenting, ‘You didn't sound very pleased to hear from that person who called you.'

‘It just didn't make sense,' Helen replied, lifting her glass to take another sip of wine. ‘But then it's been that kind of day!'

Scott was trying to put Jenny to bed when his mobile rang. It was nearly nine o'clock, two hours past her usual bedtime. She was putting up a commendable performance and he could barely hear the person at the end of the line.

‘Hello.'

‘Hello – Jenny, stop that – I said stop it – Hello, who is this?'

The caller responded as Scott retrieved Jenny's teddy from the floor. He swore it was the last time. If she threw it out once more, the damn teddy could spend the night on the floor.

‘What can I help you with?' he asked, turning out the bedroom light one more time, waiting outside for the screaming to start.

‘Are you okay after today? I presume it came as a shock.'

‘I'm as okay as I can be under the circumstances.' He could hear Jenny moving about in the cot but there was no screaming yet.

‘I sympathise with your position. It's so much harder when there are children in the picture.'

The purpose of the call wasn't yet obvious to Scott and he had a headache that could only be relieved with a beer. ‘Look, I have my hands full here. Is there any particular reason for your call?'

‘I'm merely offering my support,' was the response. ‘I want to ensure you get a fair outcome considering your circumstances.'

He should have asked more questions but it was late, he was tired, he needed that beer. ‘I've got to go.'

‘OK. We'll talk again.'

When he hung up he realised he hadn't heard Jenny for a few minutes. He dared to peek inside her room. She was horizontal and fast asleep. He went downstairs and got a beer from the fridge.

Niamh tossed and turned, unable to shake the nightmare. Her mum and dad were there, shouting at each other, Uncle Tom standing between them. Chris was in the background, violently waving the chopping knife around. And Scott, furiously angry, yelling in her face, ‘I'm going to sue you. I'm going to sue you!'

‘Can I see the child?' she asked and everybody stopped screaming at each other.

Scott turned to pick it up. ‘Here –'

Then everyone started screaming again because the child's face was black from lack of oxygen.

It was after ten when Niamh got in the next morning. That was late, too late given the hoards of emails that were unanswered from the day before. She shrugged off her jacket and slid her laptop into its docking station. Sharon, her peroxide blonde hair even more awry than usual, arrived with a much appreciated cappuccino.

‘I thought I'd save you the trip to the coffee shop …'

‘Thanks … did you stay on much later last night?'

As she had left Sharon had been on her way to raid Malcolm's fridge for a second bottle of wine.

‘Malcolm's office was locked so we went to the pub,' Sharon responded, stifling a yawn. ‘I didn't get home until after midnight.'

Niamh laughed. ‘Okay – I get the picture. I'll try not to disturb you too much today.'

She was still smiling as she started to read her emails. About ten minutes later, there was a knock on her door. She looked
up: Scott. Her stomach did an immediate flip which she did her best to ignore – the last thing she needed was to be thrown off course like yesterday. She noticed that the black bags under his eyes matched her own: they had a sleepless night in common. He and his child had been on her mind half the night after that terrible nightmare.

‘Good morning.'

‘Hello.'

He sat down and they faced each other from the same positions as yesterday. He was dressed casually in a black surf T-shirt and faded jeans. He hadn't shaved; stubble glistened on his tan. Before she could help it, the
sexy beast
discussion from the night before came to the forefront of her mind. She remembered her cooling cappuccino and took a quick drink of it to hide her embarrassment.

‘I just want to let you know that I'll be taking legal action.' There was no anger this time, no accusations; just a statement of his intentions.

‘Okay – thanks for coming in to tell me.' It was no surprise. She knew he wasn't the kind of man to take a perceived injustice lying down.

There was a brief silence. It seemed that he had something else he wanted to say. ‘Look, Niamh … I don't have any alternative. I can't afford to be without a job …'

‘It's okay, I understand – who's your lawyer?'

He grimaced. ‘I haven't got that far yet.'

There was another silence and she was sorely tempted to ask him about his child, just to make sure that her nightmare wasn't some kind of terrible premonition. But he would think she was totally mad if she admitted to dreaming about him.

He stood up, saying, ‘I guess I'll see you around …'

‘Okay … bye …'

As he left she caught herself staring at him. The black T-shirt was tight across his shoulders, the back of his neck an even deeper brown than his face. His jeans hung low on his narrow waist. Luckily he didn't turn around to see her staring but Sharon, who sat right outside her door and had a bird's-eye view into her office, did. She winked. Niamh pretended not to see.

What's wrong with me?
she thought.
Are things so bad with Chris that I've resorted to leering at every attractive man that comes my way?

She went back to her emails. Even more messages had come in. She wasn't making any progress on yesterday's backlog.

She had just started to get somewhere when her phone rang.

‘I've got a call on hold,' Sharon said tentatively. She could see from her desk that Niamh was absorbed and wouldn't welcome the interruption.

‘Tell whoever it is that I'm unavailable this morning.'

‘I did – but he insists that it's important.'

‘Who is it?' Niamh asked with a sigh.

‘A solicitor, Paul Jacobsen.'

‘I don't know him.'

‘He says he's representing Denis Greene.'

‘Put him through.'

‘Will do,' said Sharon obligingly.

‘Hello, Paul. This is Niamh Lynch speaking. What's the issue with Denis?'

‘My client is currently on a business-sponsored visa,' he explained in a smooth voice. ‘The business visa will expire in six months and he has an application in progress for permanent residency.'

‘I don't know Denis personally and I wasn't aware of his visa situation,' Niamh admitted when he paused.

‘Denis and his wife have lived in this country for almost four years and they want to make it their home. But as a result of his redundancy, the business visa will no longer be valid and they will have to be repatriated back to England.'

Niamh frowned in concentration. ‘What about his application for permanent residency?'

‘The Department of Immigration will turn him down if he isn't resident in the country at the time his application is being considered.'

Niamh took a few moments to think, wondering why Jessica hadn't foreseen the issue. She was normally very perceptive but then yesterday had been a stressful day. There hadn't been time for perceptiveness.

‘Where is all this leading to, Paul?' she asked eventually.

‘I believe a mutually acceptable solution would be to find Denis a similar role in the company. Then he will still be employed by HDD and living in the country when the Department of Immigration examines his application for permanent residency.'

Niamh felt sorry for Denis and his wife, but the situation wasn't as simple as the lawyer was suggesting.

‘Retrenchment is not a decision we take lightly. We have already looked for alternative roles for everyone involved – including Denis.' She couldn't help the uncharacteristic terseness in her voice. The digital clock on her screen was evidence of the morning slipping away.

‘Let's not debate the issue now,' Paul Jacobsen urged. ‘I'll send a letter in the next few days and then we can meet to talk it over face to face.'

He hung up and Niamh didn't waste any time before calling Jessica's extension. They had a long discussion and agreed to meet Lucinda later on in the day to get her opinion.

Hunger pangs told Niamh that it was lunchtime. Sharon had gone out while she had been on the phone to Jessica and she'd missed the chance to give her a food order. She peered out the window. The slice of sky between the skyscrapers had heavy clouds – it looked as though she would have to take her jacket.

She bumped into Yoshi as she passed by his office on her way out.

‘My sources tell me that we may have some legal issues that have come out of yesterday's retrenchments,' he said accusingly.

There was no acknowledgement, no greeting, and Niamh felt her hackles rising.

‘Yes, that's true. So far, we have three potential legal actions.'

‘I need to understand the specifics as soon as possible.'

‘I have nothing in writing yet –'

‘I need an immediate summary,' he said insistently.

Niamh's frustration bubbled over and hardened her voice. ‘Yoshi, I was in back-to-back meetings for all of yesterday and I've had interruption after interruption this morning. I'll summarise the issues when I get five minutes spare – but I have to talk to Malcolm and Lucinda before I release the details to you.'

It wasn't often that Yoshi was challenged. It was less often that the challenge came from a woman almost ten years his junior.

‘I take offence that you propose to update Malcolm without including me!'

Niamh met his narrowed black eyes. ‘There is no need to be offended. The last time I checked, Malcolm was still the CEO of this company. Has something changed?'

There was a tense silence. Niamh's gaze didn't falter.

Yoshi was surprisingly the first to relent. ‘You are correct, of course. I apologise. However, I would consider it a personal favour if you could copy me on the summary. My boss in Tokyo is extremely anxious to know of any risks to our profit forecasts.'

Niamh awarded him with a smile. An apology from the haughty liaison director was not to be sneezed at.

‘Okay, Yoshi, I will do that favour for you. Just be patient for a little while longer.'

He nodded and backed out of her way so she could pass.

Yoshi watched Niamh as she walked past the lifts and made for the fire exit. She was small in stature, like the Japanese women, but any similarity ended there. There was a steely determination beneath her youthful appearance and he had witnessed her fighting with passion whenever profit was put ahead of employee rights. Yes, she was a very different creature from the softly spoken women in the Tokyo office who showed him such fawning respect. She opened the heavy door of the stairwell and he heard her heels echo as she descended the four flights of stairs. The stairs ended in an alley off George Street and were used by those too impatient to wait for the lifts.

Yoshi returned to his office and shut the door. After a few moments of thought he dialled Malcolm's extension. When there was no answer he tried his mobile.

‘Hello.' Malcolm was barely audible above the laughter and music in the background. Wherever he was having lunch, it
sounded like a lot more fun than the sushi Yoshi would have at his desk.

‘We have some legal issues,' said Yoshi, speaking loudly in recognition that Malcolm would find it difficult to hear.

‘Yes, Niamh alerted me to that late yesterday. It was fifty people after all – some legal action has to be expected.'

But his philosophical response did not satisfy Yoshi. ‘Do you know who the people are?'

‘No, I don't need to know the details yet,' Malcolm said, obviously having moved to a quieter spot. ‘It's too early in the day – anything could happen.'

For Yoshi this was the wrong answer. ‘These claims could threaten the small profit we've committed to Japan. I'm sure Nishikawa Shacho expects you to know the details –'

Malcolm cut him off. ‘Yoshi, I'm lunching with prospective clients right now – I'm sure you'll agree that Nishikawa Shacho also expects me to bring in new business. Anyway, the lawsuits are only talk right now, there are no written claims and no information on the amount of money involved. Let's allow Niamh and Lucinda to deal with them for the time being.'

Yoshi wasn't going to give up. ‘I disagree with the priority you are placing on this.'

‘I must return to my clients.' Malcolm was already walking back to his table, the background noise becoming louder. A girl screamed in laughter just as he hung up and Yoshi was left wondering where he was. His sources had told him that the CEO had a liking for some rather questionable establishments in Kings Cross.

Yoshi's instincts were telling him that Malcolm was a mistake. There were already some warning signs that he was not the right man for the job. Was it too soon to feed this information
back to Nishikawa Shacho, the vice-president in Tokyo? Yoshi mulled it over as he ate his sushi.

Denis and Lily Greene were building up to a brawl. There was nothing new in that. Their personalities were absolute opposites and they annoyed each other in ways that not even they could predict. Denis carried his aggressive personality everywhere with him; it wasn't exclusive to home. Lily, though meek to those outside her immediate family, was a fireball within the walls of her own house.

‘Money, money – that's the only thing that means anything to you. You've no respect for anything else!' she spat at him from the kitchen sink.

Denis regretted telling her about the lawsuit with HDD. She didn't need to know and he should have anticipated that she wouldn't approve.

‘It's a good thing money means something to one of us – hell, if it was you in charge of finances, we'd be broke!' he yelled, staring ahead as he watched the TV.

‘Don't you start that! You wanted your wife at home, cooking dinners, cleaning, yet you keep throwing it in my face. I can walk right out of here and get a job, leave you to cook your own meals and clean your own mess,' she retorted, knowing even as she spoke that it was an idle threat.

‘That'd be the happiest day of my life – I wouldn't have to listen to your crap any longer,' Denis shot back, calling her bluff – he knew she was unemployable after twenty years out of the workforce.

‘Crap? Crap?' Lily screamed in rage, leaving the sink to stand over him hands on hips. ‘I'm the one who's been listening to crap. Six months, you said – a six-month holiday in Australia.
And here we are
almost four years later
with my mother still waiting for us to go back!'

Lily thought she knew it all and it often amused Denis that she knew so little about what was really going on. She didn't have the first idea of the technology industry and what he did day after day as a software engineer. She didn't know about the $100,000 that he had earned on the side, quietly accruing interest in a term deposit account. She didn't even know about the application for permanent residency. Boy, that would make her mad!

‘Damn you and your mother – you're both too stupid to see what opportunities there are in this country,' he snorted, reaching for the remote to change the channel. Denis was much more flexible than his rigid wife; he could happily live in either Australia or England. The decision came down to money, it was as simple as that. He had applied for the residency as an insurance, just to give him some options should he not want to go back to England when his business visa was up. A few months ago he had told the caller about his insurance policy. That was when the phone calls had been simpler. Instructions, not threats as they were now. He had only been making conversation; the caller didn't need to know his visa status. The caller had retained that information and was now making the application for permanent residency pivotal to the lawsuit. He wasn't given the chance to say that he wanted out of the whole arrangement.

‘Ha, opportunities my foot!' Lily screeched triumphantly, pointing a finger at him. ‘You've been doing the same thing since the day we got here – I haven't seen any extra money from
opportunities!
'