He followed her
gaze. ‘I bought it,’ he said.
‘How could you?
It was sold to someone else.’
‘They changed their
mind.’
‘How did you know that?’
His response to her
rapid fire questions was slow and considered. ‘You gave me your sister’s card,
remember. I called her to see if she was interested in doing some work on
commission. It just so happened she was in the middle of cursing the previous
buyer after he’d pulled out of the sale, when she answered the phone. When I
discovered it was available, I made her an offer.’
‘When? When did you do
this? And how can I not know about it?’ Charlotte demanded.
‘A few weeks ago. I
don’t know how you don’t know about it, Charlotte. Perhaps you should ask your
sister. She handled the transaction and organised to have it dropped off to me
on the same day.’
Charlotte stared at the
painting some more, wondering just how she might broach that subject with Emily.
Then she glared at Craig for good measure and finally recovered her train of
thought.
‘Case in point about the
good taste. What is with that bloody design?’ she said, casting one final
sidelong glance at Emily’s painting.
Craig restored his
defences. ‘I can’t discuss the project with you, Charlotte,’ he told her.
‘That’s a shame, Craig,’
she said, her tone serious, her mind back on task. ‘Because I came here looking
for a compromise. If you and Keith would consider my proposal some more, you
would see you have nothing to lose.’
He opened his mouth to
reply but shut it again when a movement outside his office caught his attention.
Charlotte followed his gaze to catch Margie and another of Craig’s colleagues
hastily lay claim to the pretence of being busy. How long had they had an
audience?
The knowledge she was a
spectacle was enough to make her want to leave.
‘I’m getting together
with the Preservation Group this afternoon, ahead of tomorrow’s forum. I had
thought I might be trying to convince them we could get something out of this
proposal, but I guess that’s not the case after all. It could have been easy
for you, you know? But now it will be anything but.’
She left. As Craig
watched Margie take her arm in an overly familiar, almost conspiratorial way
and lead her to the lifts, he felt his blood heat. Damn Keith and his fucking
games.
Unfathomably,
their strongest resistor, their most difficult stakeholder, had, unsolicited,
offered them the path of least resistance. A cooperative community. And in
exchange for plans that were ridiculously similar and almost as good as the
originals. The ones he thought he'd submitted to the council.
Before Keith made
his move.
Two weeks earlier,
confident the designs he’d arranged for Margie to submit would be online, Craig
went to view them on the council’s website. To his horror he discovered the
plans weren't there, and in their place was a bland prefabricated ten-storey
apartment building that wouldn’t look out of place in the USSR.
Furious, he
accused Margie of fucking up and for the first time in their working history,
reduced her to tears. Eventually, when he finally gave her the opportunity, she
explained Keith had emailed her a package of designs later that same day, saying
they were the updated files. With no cause to question why Keith would do so,
she simply followed the boss’s instructions.
Subsequently,
Craig found himself barging into Keith’s office and unleashing his anger on
said boss. Keith puffed himself up in righteous indignation, harrumphed
somewhat about the bottom line and finally dared Craig to withdraw them. They
glared at each other like gunslingers; each well aware that if there was any
delay to the project the financier would back out. Particularly if it appeared
that delay was the result of internal squabbling.
Craig eventually
backed down, and accepted Keith’s designs as the ones submitted for approval. It
was a potential disaster for the company that could go a number of ways, but he
doubted approval, based on those designs, was one of them. It would get
declined, and the financiers would either extend their deadline or not.
Keith knew it, and
judging by the glint in his eye, he was banking on the latter. His opposition
to Craig’s division was becoming irrational.
‘You've got to see
reason about this bloody project,’ he told Keith as he stormed into his office
once more, immediately after Charlotte’s departure. ‘She just handed us an
opportunity to get this thing through council without any local resistance and
you walked out on her.'
‘
I’ve
got
to see reason?’ thundered Keith. ‘I’ll tell you what I
can
see. I can
see right bloody through you! How dare you bring that little miss in here to
tell me how I should run my bloody company? I’ve been in this business for
forty years – I think I know a thing or two about bloody development.’
‘Actually, Keith,
I don’t think you do. You're still stuck forty years in the past, investing in
projects that were bad ideas even then. The world has moved on. But you haven’t.
Even a bloody nobody off the street can see that. You should have listened to
her.' Not that Craig considered Charlotte a nobody, and she was apparently
trained, but Keith didn’t need to know that.
Keith blustered,
turning a brilliant shade of red. ‘This is very thin ice you're skating on, son.
The only reason you're part of this company is out of respect for your late
father and your dear grandmother. I've tolerated a great deal from you, but I
won’t for much longer. Keep your lip to yourself, young man. You might own part
of this company, but I can still sack your arse and buy you out. Now, get back
to proving to me why I shouldn’t!’
‘We’ve got a deal,
remember? And I plan to see my end of the bargain through. You can try and
sabotage the project all you like, mate. There are many more avenues I can
explore. I’m not giving up on this.' Craig turned on his heel and stalked out.
Halfway back to
his office, Mark Andrews popped out from behind a partition.
‘I was about to go
and grab a coffee. Do you need one?’ he asked.
‘Depends if the
price is more than just the $3.50 the barista charges,’ Craig answered. Although
he considered Mark a friend, Craig’s nerves were frayed, and he was short with
him. ‘What is it that you want to know?’
Mark chuckled. ‘Not
much gets by you, Craig.' He got to the point. ‘The woman in your office. Margie
says she has something to do with the Boundary Street development. Is that
right?’
‘She’s one of the
tenants leasing the current building.’
Mark’s ‘oh’ was
long and wary. He was well aware of Craig’s dilemma. He’d seen the designs too.
‘You’re going to
need my help, buddy,’ said Mark. ‘Come on, it’s my shout.’
Not for the first
time, Craig was grateful Mark was so sharp. And on his side. Relieved to have
some support, and support of Mark’s calibre, he followed his favourite spin
doctor out of the office.
His tension
diffused. If there was a way to convince the financiers to extend the deadline,
Mark would be able to find it. And if there was a way to placate the locals through
the now convoluted and drawn out approvals process, Mark would figure that out
too.
The
community centre was quiet and empty; a stark contrast to the unruly crowd that
had confronted him last time he was there. Craig waited patiently in a circle
of faded plastic chairs as a stream of local agitators gradually arrived, one
by one. For activists, they were a placid bunch. Their greetings were murmured
and uncertain, and they looked at each other with open curiosity.
When Charlotte
arrived, blowing into the room like a breath of fresh air, long paisley skirt
swirling around her legs, she counted the dozen heads. Then spinning to close
the door, she presented him with those hips.
He stared, and she
turned around and caught him.
‘Ahem. Thank you
for coming.' Craig addressed the gathering as Charlotte took the vacant chair
opposite him. Her neighbour, Ben, was beside her. He didn’t recognise anyone
else.
The gathering was
Mark’s idea. ‘You’ve got to cancel that community meeting,’ was the first thing
he said when they sat down yesterday with their coffees. ‘You’ve got nowhere to
go with those designs. There’s no wiggle room,’ he said. It was better to
just
tweak their game plan, play it through and do some token consultation
to minimise the messages coming their way. A ‘workshop’ would do the trick.
Thankfully,
Charlotte had offered them a ready-made audience with her Boundary Street
Preservation Group. A phone call to her gallery that afternoon had locked it
in, and here they were. Mark, meanwhile, was working his magic on the
financiers, to get them to extend their deadline.
‘It might help if
we begin by introducing ourselves,’ Craig said to the group before him. ‘I’m
sure you all know each other, but it would be helpful if I knew your names as
well.’
He asked them to
go around the room and introduce themselves, starting with the dreadlocked man
on his left. As they reeled off their names and their interest in the project,
the seeds of suspicion planted in Craig’s mind took root. Individually, they
seemed more interested in each other’s personal backgrounds than they should be.
If they all knew each other, if they were members of a group, why were they so
curious about each other? When it came to Charlotte’s turn, she was flushing
furiously.
‘Charlotte Evans,’
she said. ‘Owner of the Evans Gallery, as you know, and Chair of this group.' A
few members of said group nodded their head enthusiastically. One member looked
suspiciously like a penny had just dropped.
As the remainder
of the group reeled off their names, Craig considered his next move. Should he
expose this farce now, or give them the airtime? He opted for the latter. He
wanted to see how it would play out.
‘Thanks,
everyone,’ he said when the introductions had come full circle. ‘I should begin
by explaining the reasoning behind the change of plans. As you all know, we did
have a public forum scheduled for this evening. However, after further
consideration, we have decided on a different approach. As any of you who
attended the last forum will know, community meetings like that can end up just
being about providing information and expressing opinions. They don’t give you
the chance to talk things through, to weigh up different ideas and consider new
approaches. So instead of a forum, Morgan Carmichael thought it would be better
to hold a workshop. And the Boundary Street Preservation Group was the obvious
choice for participants.’
One of the group
looked up, his brow puzzled. Craig could have laughed.
Instead, he
continued. ‘A workshop lets us throw ideas back and forth. It helps us see
things differently and allows us to understand different perspectives. Now, to
get things started, I want to start with a little activity to get our creative
juices flowing.’
He asked them to
stand up and organise themselves into a line according to where they were born,
with those born nearest to their current location at one end, and those born
furthest away at the other. It achieved all he wanted and more. The discomfort
lifted, and they were laughing. It also proved without a doubt that the group
of people gathered in the community centre that night were virtual strangers. Where
did Charlotte get this crew?
He glanced at her
to find her twisting her hands, chatting to the member who had no idea who she
was. Introducing herself, more like it. Was that sweat on her forehead?
This was too much
fun.
‘Okay, thanks
everyone. Let’s take our seats again.’
He continued after
they had settled. ‘Now I want to talk about what makes a neighbourhood a
community. What are the important things that make us value where we live, work
or play?’
Unsurprisingly,
they were taken aback. It wasn’t what they were anticipating. Charlotte gave
him the evil eye.
‘Okay,’ said
Craig, to fill in the silence. ‘What about playgrounds? We all want a place
for the kids to play don’t we? What else?’
‘Parks,’ someone
offered.
‘Trees.’
‘A community
centre.’
The list grew, and
Charlotte and Ben watched on in silence. The rest of the group were chortling
and enjoying themselves.
While they were
relaxed, it was a good time to make his play.
‘Okay. That’s a
great list. So, let’s move on. I’d like to know a bit about this group. How did
you come together? How long have you been together?’
Charlotte was
quick to speak this time. ‘I don’t see how that matters, Craig. You already
know we are here because we have a common interest in protecting Boundary
Street. How about we start talking about how we are going to do that?’
As she was
speaking, Ben loosely draped his arm around the back of her chair. Craig
growled. Aloud apparently, because the dreadlocked guy started and stared.
‘Of course,
Charlotte,’ he said, reclaiming his composure. ‘We’ll get to that. But if this
group represents the community, its history helps me to understand the history
of the community, and its interests.’
Charlotte opened
her mouth again, but a woman who’d identified herself as the local librarian
cut her off.
‘Oh, we’ve only
just formed,’ she announced. ‘This is our first meeting.’
Craig coughed as
Charlotte rolled her eyes in despair and sank into her chair. Ben was torn
between amusement and solidarity.
‘Is that right?’
Craig couldn’t resist. Charlotte glared at him, and he flashed her a roguish
grin, which caused Ben’s amusement to win out. He lowered his head to hide his
smirk. Charlotte kicked him in the shin.
The group nodded
their consensus. So much for yesterday’s veiled threat that they were to
formulate their battle strategy that afternoon.
The question for
Craig now was, did he throw Charlotte under the bus?
‘I’m not sure I
believe you're interested in our history or the history of the local area at
all, Craig,’ Charlotte said. ‘I think perhaps this whole process might be a
farce to make everyone feel like they've been consulted. I don’t think you've
any intention of taking on board what we have to say.’
Under the bus it
was then.
‘If you really
believed that, Charlotte, you wouldn’t have been in my office yesterday,
offering me an alternative design for the site in question. You sought a
meeting with us, which means you must have thought we would listen.’
‘What?’ said
Dreadlocks.
‘What’s going on?’
‘What is he
talking about?’
Charlotte’s eyes
flashed fire. Ben stiffened, and he switched back to serious. It was on.
Charlotte cleared
her throat and addressed the group. ‘Craig is talking about a meeting I had
with Morgan Carmichael yesterday. I did seek it out because I wanted to test
them. And yes, part of that was offering them an alternative design; one that
is infinitely superior and offers a far better outcome for everyone affected. But
Morgan Carmichael aren’t interested in better outcomes. They're only interested
in making money.’
‘You wanted us to
take your design on board. You were supportive of the development. You were
ready to sell these people out.’
‘And that’s
exactly what I wanted you to think. I was
testing
you, Craig, to see if
you really believed all that crap you said at the community meeting. And now I
have proof that you don’t. Not only did you chicken out of the community
meeting, you’ve come here trying to side-track us with team-building activities.
It’s bullshit, Craig. And we’re not buying it.’
Well, that cut
both ways. He didn’t believe for a second that she was testing him yesterday,
but what was he to do? Accuse her of lying and have the whole meeting descend
into a school-yard slanging match. That would never work in his favour.
Ooh, she was good.
The group was shifting fast in their seats, turning on him. She’d have them
walking out again in a minute. And for the first time in a long time, he
couldn’t see his way out. Craig Carmichael, who excelled at crowd control,
didn’t know what to do with a dozen passive hippies.
If only he could
phone a friend; he could use Mark right now. This woman kept throwing him off
his game.
‘I’m sorry you
feel that way, Charlotte,’ he said. ‘However, I am very experienced at running
these workshops and the team-building activities you're referring to are an
important part of getting people to work well together. But let’s put it to the
group shall we? How about a show of hands? Who is happy to proceed?'
Was
that too fast?
‘How about an
alternative?’ said Charlotte, confidently. ‘I haven’t seen you take any notes
tonight, Craig. How about we end this farce and send you a list of our
interests
?
That way you will have a written record of them. Now let’s see that show of
hands. Who wants to wrap this up?’
Nine out of the
thirteen raised their hands. Yep, too fast, too soon.
Damn, she did it
again.
It was Charlotte’s
turn to smirk.
He glared at her,
thinking how much he’d like to wipe it off her lovely face.