Just Business (9 page)

Yet, she couldn't give up on it. She didn't want to be like her mother, the one who walked out. Even more so, she didn't want to be like her father, the one who fell apart. So it seemed the only course of action was to try to salvage the marriage. If he wouldn't talk to her, then maybe he would open up to a counsellor. But she knew deep down it wasn't going to be that easy. Getting Chris to go to counselling was one thing, getting him to participate was another matter entirely. But it was all she had: counselling. She couldn't think of any other way forward.

Her conscience told her she should call her mother and she got up from the couch with a sigh.

‘Hi, Mum, it's me. Did you call earlier?'

‘Yes. And I called yesterday – and the day before.' Her mother's tone was dry. ‘I was beginning to think you'd been abducted!'

‘You should have left a message,' Niamh told her.

‘I feel stupid talking to a machine,' was her response.

‘We've had some redundancies at work and I've been working late,' Niamh explained. ‘And Chris has some big court case that he's been buried in.'

‘I thought you'd call around over the weekend at least.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘I only live five minutes down the road, you know, not in Timbuktu!' There was a serious thread to her mother's flippancy. She was housebound with rheumatism and the only way she saw people was if they came to her.

‘I'm sorry,' Niamh said again. ‘I promise we'll do better … How's Tom?'

Tom was her stepfather, the man she loved and hated with all her heart. She loved him because he was kind and he had done his very best for them. She hated him because he had stolen her mother and, as a consequence, killed her father.

‘He's grand.'

‘And have you heard from Aisling?'

Aisling, her sister, was her best and only close friend. She was living in Ireland now, married. As young children they had bonded in their grief, their guilt shutting them off from others. Now her best friend was thousands of miles away and she hadn't seen her in over two years. Niamh missed her terribly. It was like part of herself was missing.

‘She phoned last week,' her mother said. ‘The baby's started to sleep a good stretch at night so they're all feeling better.'

‘Did she say if she'd bring the baby over to see us?' Niamh asked, aware that she was treading on dangerous ground. Aisling would have to come to them because it was unthinkable that they go to Ireland.

‘No. No, I don't think she'd be up to travelling for some time yet.'

Niamh then enquired after her half-brother, Aidan, and his twin boys. Aidan had become a father at the tender age of eighteen. But he and Lauren, his then girlfriend and now wife, were a solid unit, and with a lot of family support they'd become young but competent parents.

Once Niamh had a full account of everyone, they talked about Christmas dinner.

‘What do you want me to bring?' she asked.

‘I know how busy you are. It will be hard enough for you to bring yourself and Chris
on time
, not to talk about any food.'

This time her flippancy made Niamh laugh. ‘You're probably
right. But I can't come empty-handed. Can't you give me something easy?'

It took her mother a while to think. ‘Why don't you bring the bread?' she said eventually.

‘I should be able to manage that!'

Niamh promised to call around at the weekend, and hung up with all the usual mixed-up emotions that her mother made her feel.

Phil was missing Helen. The monthly financials were late and none of his staff seemed to know the process from start to end. He was feeling harried and under pressure when his secretary reminded him that he had a four-thirty meeting with Niamh Lynch and Lucinda Armstrong.

He made his way over to Niamh's office and found that Lucinda was already there. He took a seat and looked to his female colleagues to explain the reason for this inconveniently timed meeting. He liked to have a drink before catching his train home. He often left work before five so he could squeeze in the drink, admire the office girls and still be home on time. His wife had become very suspicious in the last few weeks and sometimes rang the office to check up on him if he was late. This meeting meant that he'd have to go straight to the train station. And after a hard day trying to figure out the monthly financials, that didn't make him happy.

Niamh and Lucinda began to speak simultaneously. Niamh
looked somewhat surprised before she gestured Lucinda to go ahead.

‘Phil, we've had a complaint … and it's rather sensitive in nature …'

‘That doesn't sound good.' The smile on Phil's florid face was uneasy. A large man, an ex-rugby player, in his youth he had been quite handsome but too much hard living had made his body and face sag prematurely. In a few more years he would be a clone of Malcolm Young, whose appearance also told a tale of excess.

‘It's Helen Barnes. She says you sexually harassed her.' Lucinda seemed almost apologetic.

‘That's ridiculous!' Phil's face quickly darkened. ‘How dare she say that!'

‘She described three separate incidents,' Niamh intervened. ‘The first was in your office. She says you touched her breasts …'

‘That's bullshit, she doesn't have any breasts!'

Niamh glared at him. ‘She claims to have witnesses to the other two incidents. She says you asked her out for a drink …'

Phil took a moment to consider the accusation. ‘That's true. It was late, I felt like a drink and I'm sure she did. I was just being thoughtful.' He relaxed a little into his seat; the cheap joke about Helen's breasts had made him feel better.

‘She also described another incident in your office … Malcolm walked in …'

Phil leaned out from the brief comfort the seat had offered. ‘Look, ladies, I didn't intend to embarrass her …'

Lucinda responded, her tone uncharacteristically compassionate. ‘In sexual harassment the intention of the alleged
harasser is not relevant. The fact is that your advances were obviously unwelcome.'

Phil realised his mistake. ‘Hey, don't take me literally. I'm reeling from all this – you haven't given me time to consider my response.'

‘I appreciate that,' Lucinda agreed. ‘Look, why don't you take a few days to think it over? We can meet again next week.'

Niamh was furious. They had barely asked him about the allegations and now Lucinda was granting him time to come up with lies to justify his behaviour.

‘Phil, I've taken minutes of this meeting. I'll send them to you later today for you to look over,' she said, her exasperation not far from revealing itself.

Phil left and Lucinda got up to follow him out.

‘Just a minute!' Niamh stopped her. ‘I can't help get the feeling that you're not impartial about this …'

‘Excuse me?'

‘When we met with Helen you were indifferent to the point of rudeness. Yet you were fawning all over Phil today.'

‘I'm sorry if you got that impression.' Lucinda sounded sincere. ‘I wasn't having a good day when we met Helen. To tell the truth, I'm struggling without a secretary and I've been short with everyone.'

‘Why did you give Phil more time just like that?' Niamh wasn't going to give up. ‘He either did it or he didn't – what's there for him to think about?'

‘We have to be fair. It's a huge accusation and a lot to land on someone in one go. Imagine how you would feel if you were told you were being accused of harassment. You've had no prior warning and, like all harassers, you believe you did nothing wrong. It would be an enormous shock and it's
unfair of us to expect a complete response straight away.'

Niamh had to admit that Lucinda's explanation made sense.

‘Look, Niamh,' the lawyer continued, her voice contrite, ‘I've been so busy that I've been rude to everyone, even Jack. Speaking of the little mite, it's his birthday today and I have to get home. I'll see you tomorrow, all right?'

There was nothing Niamh could say in the wake of such an eloquent apology. She couldn't even begin to figure Lucinda out – she seemed to change her mood at whim.

Lucinda did a quick check on the time as she hurried away. She had promised Jack she would be home early. He had been half asleep when she kissed him goodbye that morning. Her heart had ached because her child missed out on so much. He didn't realise it yet and Lucinda hoped that she and Marcus would have a normal life before he was old enough to know. She couldn't wait to get home to make a fuss of him now.

Jack's birthday party was just for the family – Jack and his mum and dad. They didn't know any of the children who lived in the neighbourhood, didn't
want
to know them. Jack longed for someone to play with but Rover Avenue was only going to be a temporary address. It was better to fade into the background as much as they could.

Lucinda was in the process of logging out when her fax machine started to creak with an incoming document. She picked it up. It was from Paul Jacobsen, a rebuttal to her previous letter. It was clear that they couldn't get any further without having a face-to-face meeting. It was time to talk, listen, negotiate and compromise. She stuck a Post-it on her computer screen to remind herself to arrange a meeting with Paul and Denis for next week.

She drove home, weaving from lane to lane, seeking the fastest moving traffic. She darted through amber lights when she should have stopped. She got to their house in the western suburbs by six-thirty and raced in the door to her beloved son.

Scott found a solicitor through the recommendation of a former colleague. Frances King was a tall sturdy redhead with a London accent. Large spectacles added more angles to her already gaunt face. The fact that she was reputedly one of the best in her field was not reflected in her modest fees.

Scott apologised for bringing Jenny along to their meeting but Frances wasn't at all bothered by an unsteady toddler exploring her office.

‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,' Scott said when they had finished making small talk about how cute Jenny was.

‘No problem.' She was matter-of-fact.

‘I don't want to sue HDD,' Scott replied, keeping a careful eye on Jenny's activities. ‘I would prefer to come to a mutual agreement, a settlement for what I think is a fair notice period.'

‘Okay, it's good that you're being reasonable,' she said approvingly. ‘Too many people come to me gunning for some court action.'

‘I don't want to end up in a courtroom over this.' Scott was firm, adding by way of explanation, ‘I separated from my wife earlier this year. Our respective lawyers have been sparring with letters over the last few months. Something tells me we're going to end up in an ugly courtroom brawl. I want this dispute with HDD to be resolved amicably.'

Frances glanced at Jenny who was absorbed in the pages of a law journal. ‘Custody issues?' she asked.

‘Far from,' he answered with a bitterness that surprised the lawyer. ‘My ex-wife would faint if she had to take custody. She never came around to the idea of motherhood and the so-called restrictions it brought to her life. Custody is the last thing she wants. It's assets. We're arguing about who gets what.'

‘So the last thing you need right now is to lose your source of income,' Frances commented, neatly returning to the relevant issue. Deviations yielded interesting background information but time was precious in her field. It was four in the afternoon and there were two more people she needed to see after Scott Morgan. She couldn't afford to take her eye off the clock.

‘That's right. I would have never left my previous role if I'd known this was coming. Security means everything to me – I remember making that clear to Niamh at the interview.'

‘Who is Niamh?'

‘The HR director, my ex-boss.'

‘Oh, the bitch who retrenched you without a second thought,' Frances remarked, beginning to type notes on her dated Pentium. The sole purpose of her aggression was to obtain an unguarded reaction from her new client.

‘Hold on a second,' Scott jumped in. ‘She's not a bitch. She didn't know anything about my personal circumstances – and the restructure certainly wasn't at her instigation.'

‘Whose idea was it?' the red-haired lawyer fired the question without a split second of thought and Scott got a glimpse of what Frances King must be like in the courtroom.

‘Japan – the restructure was ordered by the owners in Japan. The CEO had to get rid of ten per cent of the staff in Australia. I was one of the last in so my role was examined straight away. They decided that they could decentralise recruitment and manage without me.'

‘You sound sympathetic,' Frances challenged, looking up at him from under her glasses. Her fingers still moved on the keyboard, taking notes.

‘In one way I am,' he confessed. ‘I understand why my role had to go. All the IT companies are finding it tough with the downturn in the economy. I just think that someone should have known this was coming and should have prevented me from being hired in the first place.'

‘That's a very good point.' Frances nodded just as there was a thud. Jenny was the culprit, a textbook the victim.

Scott picked her up before she could cause further damage. She squirmed in his arms, desperate to get back to the fun the bookshelf offered. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Don't be,' Frances smiled. ‘Now, where were we? Yes, now, how many months' termination pay did you get?'

‘Two – well, almost. Eight weeks.'

‘That's not bad.' She looked at him. The enormous glasses had slid downwards to rest on the tip of her nose. She used her index finger to slide them back up. ‘Why do you think you deserve more than that?'

‘In the IT industry it's common practice to pay senior managers six to twelve months' termination, cognisant of the time it will take them to find a comparable role in the marketplace.'

Jenny wriggled down off his knee. She thought about her next move for a moment before deciding to crawl under the lawyer's desk.

Frances gave the little girl at her feet a benevolent smile before she said, ‘Japanese companies are traditionally conservative, tight with the purse strings. They've paid you two months, you're looking for six. The difference could be eaten up in legal
fees very quickly. I'll send them a letter, but do you think they'll come to the party?'

‘Yeah,' Scott replied, his thoughts on the phone call he had received the night he was retrenched. ‘I have an insider who assures me they'll come to the party.'

Sharon came into Niamh's office at ten-thirty the next morning. She hovered at the doorway, her red face contorted with guilt and longing. ‘Are you going for a coffee?'

There was a thriving coffee shop on the ground floor of the building and Niamh usually made a daily midmorning contribution to their profits.

‘Yes, just about to go down there now. Do you want something?'

As usual, it wasn't a simple question.

Sharon bit her lip. ‘I've been really good all week … but since I woke this morning, it's all I can think about … I can't concentrate … Can't do any work …'

‘Well, we can't have that,' Niamh grinned.

‘It's not funny,' Sharon wailed. ‘This is a
real
addiction … I go crazy with wanting …'

‘Well, at least it's just chocolate and not anything hardcore!' Niamh stood up behind her desk. ‘What's it to be?'

‘A muffin.'

‘Pure chocolate or just chocolate chip?'

‘Pure chocolate,' Sharon sighed resignedly. ‘In for a penny, in for a pound.'

Niamh got her purse and used the coffee link, the fire stairwell, as her means of exit. The alley was deserted but George Street was in full throttle. HDD had a great location, halfway between Martin Place and The Rocks. The central business
district had its own distinctive buzz: powerful stilettos, striding suits, mobile phones, sunglasses, a few aimless tourists.

The coffee shop had added mince pies and fruitcake to its selection and Niamh toyed with the idea of substituting Sharon's muffin for something more seasonal. She decided against it. Sharon was quite regimented about her binges and wouldn't like to be surprised. Anyway, chocolate was her definite favourite.

Niamh had just placed her order when she noticed Willem Boelhoers further up the counter. He was holding a mineral water.

‘Hello, Willem, how are you?' she asked with a friendly smile to banish any residual embarrassment after their last meeting.

‘I'm okay,' he responded flatly, handing the assistant cash.

‘Taking any holidays over Christmas?'

‘No. AIZ Bank is coming up for contract renewal and I'm heavily involved in that.'

Willem seemed to be waiting for her and when Niamh's cappuccino was ready, she nodded in the direction of the only free table outside. ‘Would you like to join me?'

‘Thank you.'

They sat down. Willem was deathly pale; the fingers wrapped around the mineral water seemed to have a tremor. All in all, he didn't look healthy.

‘I want you to know that my door is always open and you can talk to me at any time,' Niamh said gently.

Willem looked at her, the eyes behind the silver-framed glasses as anxious as the last time they spoke. ‘Thank you, Mrs Lynch.'