Just Business (5 page)

‘Private joke,' Niamh told him.

He gave her an odd look and then muttered something about needing to get some cash from the ATM.

‘Is he all right?' she asked, watching him dart through the crowds as if he was being chased.

‘Yeah. I suspect that, somehow or other, he's come to the conclusion I'm hitting on you – so he's trying to make himself scarce,' Scott said with an embarrassed laugh.

‘That's very considerate of him. Pity his efforts are wasted on this occasion.' Niamh raised the bottle of beer to her lips.

‘It's my sister's fault,' Scott explained. ‘She's obsessed with finding me a girlfriend and it's rubbing off on Brett. The two of them need to be taught a lesson about interfering in other people's love-lives.'

He started to talk about his family – Deb, his big sister, and Jenny, his little girl. Niamh didn't have a happy family life to tell him about so she let him do the talking.

‘Jenny's got attitude now – I can tell already that she'll give me hell as a teenager.'

His voice was full of indulgent love and Niamh ignored the maternal tug at her heart. She focused on Scott, his voice, his laugh, his intoxicating proximity. She wasn't looking out for Brett at all and was disappointed when he rejoined them. He drank his beer, his eyes studying them both intently, trying to sense what had happened while he was gone.

Niamh winked secretly at Scott before she said, ‘Thanks for the beer. I have to go – my husband will be wondering where I am.'

Brett's face fell at the realisation she was married and Niamh couldn't resist teasing him further. She stood on her toes to kiss Scott's cheek.

‘Don't forget to call me.'

But the joke backfired on her. She felt his stubble graze her lips and she wanted more. She pulled back quickly.

What am I thinking of?

‘Come on, I'll walk you to your car.' Scott, thinking the joke was still on, took her hand in his and led the way to the door. The air outside was heavy with sticky heat and the stirrings of an electrical storm. Scott, still holding her hand, was laughing. ‘I
like your sense of humour. Did you see his face? He's convinced he's helped me get involved with a married woman – Deb will kill him when he tells her.'

Niamh faltered, about to say that she got her sense of humour from her dad, the king of practical jokers. ‘Brett was an easy target,' she said instead, reclaiming her hand from his grasp. She pressed the button at the pedestrian crossing. ‘I'd better get back to my car before the rain comes.'

‘Let me walk you to the office.'

The idea of spending another minute with him felt dangerous. She couldn't believe she had kissed him. It didn't matter that it was meant as a joke. She had kissed him and she didn't dare to analyse the feelings that came from that kiss.

‘No, I'm fine. Go back to Brett.'

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes. Thanks for your company tonight. It was fun,' she smiled and the green man beckoned her to cross.

‘Hang on!' He reached out and touched her arm. ‘I've been blabbing about myself all night. I want to ask you a question before you go.'

‘What?' she asked. The little man was now flashing for crossers to hurry.

‘Your name – Niamh – where does it come from? What does it mean?'

‘It's Irish. It means “brightness”.'

She crossed, her pace brisk as she headed back towards the office. She didn't look around to see if he was still there, despite the fact she was very tempted.

Niamh woke on the couch, her head sore with a vague hangover.

Chris was peering down at her. ‘Hey, you had me worried! What are you doing on the couch?'

Niamh tried to remember. When she got in last night she had indulged herself in another beer to complement the ones she'd had in Forbes. She had spent a few hours sitting on the couch, looking at her life from a critical distance. She was the classic product of a broken home, confident at work yet hopelessly insecure in relationships. She was as much to blame as Chris for the way things were. She argued with him, but she didn't talk to him or share what was deep inside her. Her desire to have a different marriage to her parents had probably made her expectations of him too high from the start. A few more beers and she had a plan. She was going to be a hundred per cent honest with him, put all her issues on the table. He could do the same. If they couldn't work it out together, they could get counselling.
It didn't have to be impossible to save a marriage. Happy with her plan, she settled down on the couch to have one of the best sleeps she'd had in weeks.

Chris was waiting for an answer. ‘I went out after work,' she said. ‘I had a few beers, and a few more when I got home. I must have dozed off …'

Chris glanced at the empty cans on the floor and grinned. ‘You obviously need to get out more. It might stop you from going off the rails like this when you do.'

Niamh sat up, her curls flattened, her eyes sticky with yesterday's mascara. She
had
gone off the rails. She had been flirting with Scott Morgan. She had
kissed
him; it didn't matter that it was in jest. And she had felt weak at the knees when he held her hand on the way out of the pub. It all made her realise how dead things were with Chris. That's what had sparked the beers and the strategy session on the couch when she got home.

‘You know, that's exactly what I was thinking.
We
need to get out more, spend more time together.'

She went upstairs to have a shower. When she came down he was gone. There was a fresh cup of coffee and a note on the benchtop.

Try not to go off the rails today.

She felt a surge of optimism. A cup of coffee and a note. Small gestures, but significant given the way things were.

Manly to the city was a forty-minute run using the bus lane, her one and only vice. She was quite ashamed that she was one of those impatient drivers who would rather pay a fine than be stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic. She was even more ashamed that she felt a sense of glee whizzing past the cars in the other lane. She promised herself that when she was caught, she would
pay the fine and be firm in the face of future temptation. But she hadn't been caught yet.

She was approaching the bridge when her phone rang. She inserted the earpiece of her hands-free kit. The call was from Helen.

‘Hello, Helen. How are you?'

‘I'm angry … I'm embarrassed … And I'm still shocked.'

Niamh liked and respected Helen. She had already berated Jessica for taking sides before the full facts were known but she knew Helen wasn't a liar.

‘Do you want to come in and talk about it?'

‘Yes. Is this afternoon okay?'

‘Should be,' Niamh replied. ‘I just need to line Lucinda up.'

Helen was slow to respond. ‘Is that necessary?'

Niamh heard the hesitation. ‘I'm afraid it is,' she said sympathetically. ‘I know it's hard to talk about these things, but at least we're all women – you can get through it.'

‘Okay,' Helen agreed, but she still sounded very reluctant.

Scott groaned when he heard Jenny stirring at 5.00 am.

Go back to sleep … please … please … just another hour …

He hadn't slept very well. He had been thinking about her all night. Niamh.

He'd seen her the minute he walked into the pub. He stopped dead and Brett ran into his back.

‘What's wrong, mate?'

‘My ex-boss is here.'

‘Where?'

‘She's the blonde one, over there.'

They stood for a few moments watching her. Unruly curls framed her dimpled face.

‘She looks too young to be your boss.'

‘Looks can be deceiving.'

Brett's eyes moved to the tall dark woman. ‘Who is she talking to?'

‘That's Lucinda Armstrong, legal counsel.'

Brett was already starting to feel conspicuous without a beer in his hand. ‘What do you want to do? Go somewhere else?'

‘No, I've nothing to be ashamed of,' Scott decided. ‘Come on, I'll introduce you to them.'

Scott remembered finding Niamh attractive when she first interviewed him: her halo of blonde curls, coffee-coloured eyes, cute freckles and lovely accent. When he worked with her he saw the confidence and intelligence that had got her to director level at a relatively young age. But last night a new chemistry had started to ignite between them and the professional distance had fallen away. He had seen her giggle, tilt her head backwards as she drank from the beer bottle, show a quirky sense of humour. He had seen her fun side and when it was added to the qualities he already admired, it was hard to stop thinking about her. However, there was one big problem with Niamh Lynch. She was married. To a lawyer.

‘Da-da! Da-da! Da-da!'

Scott groaned again and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His daughter was ready to start the day and it didn't matter how he felt about it. ‘I'm coming,' he called out to her.

Jenny was standing up in her cot, rattling the side, wanting out. She gave a huge welcoming smile when she saw him come through the door. He lifted her clear of the cot and hugged her close, kissing her head.

‘Mik!' she said.

‘Did you say “milk”?' he asked.

‘Mik!'

She got another hug for her new word and they went to get her milk.

He and Jenny had carved a life for themselves without Ann, her mother. They didn't have much of a routine, he gave her too many biscuits and he dressed her in whatever was close to hand. It was Deb who usually pointed out these shortcomings in his parenting. Deb admitted she knew little of the practicalities of caring for a child but claimed she had a ‘woman's eye for detail'. She took it upon herself to substitute for some of Scott's shortcomings and the child thrived despite her mother's continued absence from her life.

Jenny made up for yesterday's rebellious behaviour by being particularly angelic. She ate all her breakfast and played on her own while Scott updated his résumé on the computer. When that was done, he logged into
Seek
to see what jobs were out there. His search had only three hits, all contract positions. He did an online application for two of them.

‘All right, Jen,' he said when he had finished, ‘work's all done and it's time to have some fun. Want to go to visit Auntie Deb?'

His sister worked from home and would be delighted to see her beloved niece midweek. As he drove down to Manly, Scott's thoughts went back to Niamh. He realised now that he had done most of the talking and she hadn't revealed much about herself. He wanted to know more about her: where she lived, why her family had emigrated from Ireland, if she was happy with her lawyer husband. He realised that he was unlikely to ever know the answers. He'd probably never see her again.

He rang the bell of Deb's two-bedroom unit in Manly and
she buzzed him in. Her apartment was three floors up and she was waiting for him at the door, a frosty look on her face.

‘I heard you had a good time last night,' she accused, whipping her niece from his arms to give her a possessive cuddle. Jenny wriggled free and toddled off to find something to destroy.

‘Yeah, I needed those beers. I'm feeling more optimistic today. I've already updated my résumé and applied for –'

Deb cut him off midstream. ‘Why have you dressed Jenny in these terrible clothes?' she asked sourly.

‘Purple and pink go together –'

‘No, they don't. She looks like an orphan.'

He shrugged; his daughter was happy, that was all that mattered. ‘Want a cup of coffee?' he asked, going into the kitchen. His sister was a lousy hostess. If you wanted coffee, you had to make it yourself.

‘No,' she answered shortly, keeping a careful eye on her niece as the little girl sized up the TV unit.

‘What's put you in such wonderful humour this morning?' he shouted from the kitchen as he filled the kettle.

‘You fooling around with married women,' was her terse reply.

Scott laughed. ‘Brett's been telling tales.'

‘She's your ex-boss too,' Deb continued, as if that added insult to injury.

‘Nothing happened,' Scott told her. ‘In fact, we were playing a joke on Brett. He's so gullible we couldn't resist. In fact, you are
both
so gullible you make a perfect couple.'

‘What do you mean?' Deb was outraged enough to come to the kitchen door.

‘I mean you should stop pushing me into the arms of every woman in sight. I'm perfectly capable of finding myself a
partner … when the time's right. Just because I fucked up once doesn't mean I'll do it again.'

Deb was about to come back with an indignant reply when there was a crash. Jenny had pulled the DVD player off its shelf. The wiring saved it from hitting the floor and it dangled precariously in midair until Deb came to its rescue.

Helen knocked on Niamh's door at precisely three o'clock. There was no sign of Lucinda and they discussed the weather as they waited. The temperature outside was nudging forty degrees and the slice of indigo sky visible from the window indicated that the heat would soon dissolve into another electrical storm.

Helen's face was flushed and it could have been due to the heat or an anger that was simmering beneath her calm exterior. It was obvious she was good at her job just by looking at her. Her whole aura was that of competence and she had always interacted well with Niamh and the other executives when setting the budgets and monitoring performance. By contrast, Phil wasn't hands-on and didn't get involved in the detail. Or, considering the allegations Helen was making, maybe he was indeed hands-on but in all the wrong ways.

Lucinda arrived, her expression impatient. She sat down and crossed her legs, giving Helen nothing more than a sideways glance. She made no apology for being late.

‘Right, let's begin.' Niamh took the floor. In many ways it suited her that Lucinda wasn't in a participative mood. Helen would find it easier to have one person asking questions rather than two. ‘Helen, first of all I want to assure you that we are taking your allegations against Phil very seriously and we will conduct a thorough investigation. The first stage is an interview
with you. This will be followed by an interview with Phil …' Niamh paused and Helen nodded her acceptance of the outlined process. There was no reaction from Lucinda. ‘Depending on the outcome of those meetings, it may be necessary to hold further clarifying meetings before we consider the evidence and reach a conclusion. All meetings will be minuted.'

Helen nodded again, looking from Niamh to Lucinda as she said, ‘Do you want me to start now?'

‘Yes, please.'

‘My complaint doesn't relate to just one incident … There were three occasions where Phil … made advances.' Helen's flush deepened; she looked profoundly embarrassed. ‘He touched my breasts … in his office …'

‘Did you say anything to indicate that his behaviour was unwelcome?'

‘I was so shocked I didn't react at all,' Helen admitted with a self-conscious shrug. ‘I wasn't sure if it was an accident or not. He was walking past me – there seemed to be plenty of room – but it happened so quickly …'

‘When was that?'

‘September – shortly after he started.'

‘Any witnesses?'

‘No. Just my word against his.'

‘And the next incident?'

‘Happened in October. He came back inebriated from a long business lunch. It was about six in the evening and most people had gone home. He came and sat on my desk, asked if I would go for a drink with him somewhere quiet, where we could get to know each other better. I said no. He said he knew that I liked him and I should stop wasting time with the chase. I told him he was mistaken about my opinion of him.'

Niamh scribbled furiously; she was no good at shorthand. She could have asked Sharon to take the minutes but she was sensitive to how Helen would feel about yet another person being present.

‘Witnesses?'

‘Donna, the accounts clerk.' Helen looked relieved that this time she could answer in the affirmative. ‘She was also working late, but he didn't notice her at her desk. She heard everything.'

Niamh was caught up in her note-taking when she heard Lucinda ask rather indifferently, ‘What about the last incident?'

‘Last week. Again, I was working late.' Helen's tone was wry now. ‘We had a budgeting package that was due to be sent to Japan that night and I had to go into Phil's office to get the go-ahead. He must have seen me coming and was waiting to pounce. As I approached his desk, he stood up suddenly and I was trapped between him and the filing cabinet. He put his hand on my hip and quite deliberately slid it upwards to my breasts, looking me directly in the eye. Then Malcolm walked in. He made some disapproving comment about ‘a time and place'. I told him that Phil was harassing me and that I would be lodging a formal complaint.'

‘What did Malcolm do?' Lucinda asked. Finally, there was a shred of interest in her voice.

‘Oh, you know Malcolm,' Helen was sarcastic. ‘The gravity of the situation was lost on him. I'm sure he found my threat a bit unpleasant but thought it was nothing that Phil couldn't handle. He said something like “Lay off her” to Phil and went on his merry way. When Malcolm had gone, Phil turned on me. He said there was no need for all the fuss – I was far too
sensitive to be in a management position …' Helen paused and the other two women waited for the final chapter of her story. ‘I told him he could go to hell. His wife was going to be a lot more sensitive than me and the fuss hadn't even started. But he got the last word by making me redundant.'