Heart of the Outback (15 page)

“We go by first names here. Les and Francey, right?” he grinned at her.

Instantly charmed by his countrified manner and genuine smile, Francey’s grin widened. She agreed with a nod of her head. “Even CJ?”

He nodded. “Even CJ.”

They moved towards the cane lounge chairs and sat down.

“You had a good trip up?”

“Wonderful. Long of course, but I saw so much.” She gave him a droll look. “I’m a confirmed city person — never seen the country at all, well, not beyond Dubbo. It’s been a revelation.”

The television hadn’t done her justice, Les decided as he studied her, noting that she used her hands, her eyes and body language to emphasise points. Very Mediterranean. An observer of people, one of his and Richard’s overseas trip destinations had been Italy. They’d taken in the usual tourist things, and he had really enjoyed watching the vivacity of the Italians. They loved to laugh and talk, and to engage in lively fights too. The two-dimensional magazine picture hadn’t captured Francey Spinetti’s personality he realised, but then how could a camera lens do that? She was quite lovely. As he admitted that his gaze dropped to her hands. No rings. No attachments? Perhaps.

“You should drive back via the coast. There’s some spectacular coastlines between here and Sydney.”

“I intend to.” Ambrose’s CEO was easy to talk to, she decided. Though his tone was cultured he espoused no airs and graces and seemed a down to earth type of man. The thought struck her that he was rather like the Mt Isa policeman, Sergeant Parrish. She pulled herself up short. What had made her think about
him
? Determinedly she pushed him to the back of her mind.

“I suppose your workload has increased since the favourable publicity of the award.”

Francey gave a mock groan. “Doubled. As soon as I get some firm ideas on what Mr Ambrose, I mean, CJ wants, I’ll have to head back to Sydney.”

“Really? I think CJ expects you to stay a while. At least a week.”

She gasped, and her eyebrows shot upwards. “I couldn’t possibly.” She remembered the effort it had taken to cajole Aden into giving her two weeks holiday, a
working
holiday she’d reminded him. What would Aden think if she took more time than she had planned? That she was indulging in a real outback holiday. “I’m sure it won’t take that long, Les. I have commitments …”

Les stroked his jaw reflectively. He hoped she would change her mind. “Architects from the two other firms stayed on to get the feel of the place. CJ even set up an office for them. We’ve a spare room that’s used for office supplies, that sort of thing. I brought in the necessary draughtsman’s tools and a computer and fitted it out so they could do their preliminary work there. I’m sure he’ll expect you to do the same as the others have.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t like to …” Francey murmured. CJ’s expectations of her were quite unexpected. She didn’t want to offend “the man with the golden touch” but she knew Aden wouldn’t be pleased, at all.

“No need to decide now. But be warned, Francey, CJ can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be.”

“And just what can I be persuasive about?”

Francey turned towards the voice, unaware that she was holding her breath. As CJ Ambrose emerged from the same hallway Les had, she rose to meet him.

There were some men who could emit a defined presence, a kind of charismatic force field that radiated invisibly around them. CJ Ambrose was
such a man. And what a weapon it must be during negotiations, Francey thought. He could almost dominate his subjects by the force of his will. She noted that physically he wasn’t overly tall, nor overly attractive, but something from within gave him an aura. That and his eyes. He had the brightest, most piercing blue eyes she had ever seen. They seemed as though they’d be able to spear their quarry and hold them enthralled … or perhaps hold them in fear.

“Mr Ambrose,” Francey held out her hand to him, “It’s an honour to meet you.”

CJ instantly admired her easy grace. “Don’t know about honour, Francey.” He shot an amused glance at Les, “Some of my competition don’t think it’s much of an honour — but that’s often because they’re on the losing end of a business deal.”

Trying to contain her awe, she smiled nervously. “Well, I hope I won’t fall into that category, Mr Ambrose.”

“Don’t see why you should. And call me CJ, everyone does.”

She didn’t feel comfortable calling such an enigma by his first name, but neither did she want to offend. “If you insist.” He smiled at her and he didn’t look quite so intimidating. She rather hoped CJ Ambrose smiled a lot.

After a moment’s silence he said, “I do, Francey Spinetti, I do.”

Shellie and another woman bustled in. “What time would you like lunch, CJ?”

“Half an hour.” A movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. “What is it, Lisa? I said I
didn’t want to be disturbed for the next hour or two,” CJ asked the woman standing at Shellie’s side.

Francey almost winced at his tone. He was used to giving orders and having them implicitly obeyed. As well, a stab of sympathy raced through her for the woman named Shellie. In his presence CJ’s sister appeared to shrink in stature and show signs of agitation, though she tried valiantly to disguise the fact. Could it be that CJ Ambrose was a tyrant in his home? If one judged by Shellie’s reactions it was possible. But, she silently avowed, he’d get short shrift if he tried that tone with her, no matter how awesome his reputation. She abhorred rudeness and bad tempers, from anyone — even multimillionaires! Her mother had taught her not to have a bar of such behaviour and she wouldn’t, project or no project.

“Lisa Dupre, meet Francey Spinetti. Francey’s the architect from Sydney. Lisa’s my private secretary,” CJ told Francey. “Her office is just down the hallway, the first door on the left. If you need anything, she’ll procure it for you. Anything,” his blue eyes suddenly twinkled, “within reason, that is.”

Lisa Dupre acknowledged Francey with a smile. “Hello.” And then she became all business and turned towards her boss. “CJ, Fielding’s on the line. I thought you’d want to speak to him.”

CJ grunted. “Okay, put the call through to here, will you?”

As Lisa left to switch the call through, Shellie spoke to Francey. “If you’ll give me your car keys I’ll have someone put your bags in your room and drive your car around the back where there’s shade.”

Francey appreciated the woman’s thoughtfulness and she handed over her keys. “Thank you.” Out of the corner of her eye she saw CJ pick up the phone receiver and moved away to afford him some privacy by pretending to study the painting by Tom Roberts.

Les gravitated towards it too. “Every room in the house has paintings, oils, pencil sketches and watercolours,” he informed her. “Brenda had a passion for Australian art. CJ reckons the house is a mini art gallery — the huge insurance premium he pays proves it.”

“I look forward to seeing them,” she said honestly.

“It’ll be my pleasure. After lunch CJ usually takes a nap and that’s the hottest time of day outside so I thought I’d give you some leisure time so you can unpack. We’ll do the grand tour of the place about four o’clock if that’s okay with you?”

“Sounds good. But I would like to sit with you and CJ to discuss your needs for the convention centre as soon as possible.”

“Of course, not today though. CJ’s awfully busy and he just wants you to get settled in. I’ve scheduled a morning session tomorrow to talk about the new complex, after you’ve got the lay of the land, so to speak. This afternoon wear something casual and wear sturdy walking shoes, if you have them.”

At pains to fit in with the different lifestyle and someone else’s timetable Francey agreed with a nod of her head.

“What do you mean? Dammit, Fielding, I told you what to do.” CJ’s voice, dripping with annoyance, boomed across the spacious room. “I’m
paying you good money. Top money. I don’t want to hear this shit. You’d bloody well better keep your end up or there’ll be consequences.”

“Someone’s getting a good chewing out,” Francey said quietly to Les, trying to hide her discomfort. She didn’t enjoy eavesdropping on other people’s business but as they were all in the one room it was impossible not to.

CJ paused mid-sentence, only half-listening to Fielding’s excuses. His gaze was locked on the young architect, watching her talk animatedly about the painting she and Les were studying. His gaze narrowed as he saw the attention Les was giving her. If Francey Spinetti was half as smart as she was lovely to look at, the next few days could be mighty interesting.

Something Fielding said snapped him back to the crisis at hand. Jesus, that Cooktown land deal had been a foregone conclusion. He had the council in his pocket, the seller wanted the deal and as far as he was concerned, no damned bunch of greenies was going to spoil it. If he had to bring in the heavies, well … “You’ve got twenty-four hours to get it under control, Fielding. If you can’t I’ll send in some people who will. You know what that will do to the tourist business, don’t you?”

That sounded suspiciously like a threat, Francey thought as she heard CJ’s words. She had read about CJ’s bully-boy tactics. Queensland journalists reported that at times he acted as if he was above the law — and he had got away with it. She recalled one article, something about a private road inland to the coast, to one of his properties, being built with local council labour and funds. Probably the man was a
law unto himself, with so much wealth at his disposal. Wealth and power. She was wise enough to know they were a dangerous combination.

Lunch turned out to be surprisingly pleasant. Served in a glassed-in conservatory with a terracotta tiled floor and situated next to the kitchen, the furniture was casual, the emphasis on comfort rather than style. Francey loved the room because of the plants. In the air-conditioned atmosphere, with a green shade cloth covering the glass roof, vines and palms and a variety of ferns grew in wild abundance.

“I call this the jungle room,” CJ told her, watching Francey’s gaze move admiringly around the room. “My late wife holidayed on Norfolk Island once and was invited to Colleen McCullough’s for dinner. She came back in raptures over some marvellous room where plants grew everywhere, like a mini rainforest. Insisted we had to have one so I built this for her.”

“It’s lovely.”

“Shellie doesn’t think so,” Les quipped. “She says it’s hard work keeping the plants watered and picking up the dead leaves.”

“Yes, I suppose there’s that,” Francey agreed. “Still, one has an illusion, a feeling of …” she sought the right words, “tranquillity and coolness.”

“It’s a good place to come at the height of summer. When it’s forty degrees plus outside and there’s a wind storm blowing red dust everywhere,” said Lisa Dupre, who’d joined them for lunch.

“Do you live at Murrundi, Lisa?” Francey asked as she forked the Caesar salad around her plate.

“No. In the Isa. My husband works at the mine. We’ve a small property just off the highway. Pierre is keen to go into business for himself but —”

“The money at the mine’s just too good to give up, isn’t it?” Les put in succinctly, for Francey’s benefit. “It’s hard to get out even though the work’s dirty and sometimes dangerous. Some say it’s the money that keeps most of the miners there.”

“I’ve offered to set Pierre up, Lisa. Whenever he’s ready,” CJ added.

Lisa smiled at her boss. “Thanks, CJ. But you know Pierre, he’s a proud man. Wants to do it on his own.”

CJ shrugged. “Well, it’s up to him.” He turned to Francey and speared her with his incredible, penetrating eyes. “And what about you, Francey? Would you object to a helping hand up the career ladder?”

She thought for a moment. “It depends on whether there were strings attached. Usually there are, which could be related to professional loyalty or business sweeteners later on. Few people actually throw money at you in architecture, the coercion often comes by way of favours, commissions, projects, that sort of thing.” She looked CJ squarely in the eyes. “For me it’s important to achieve success on my own — without inducements. That way I won’t owe anyone anything.”

“A person with integrity. How refreshing,” CJ softened the sarcasm with a smile. “In all my years of dealing with people I’ve found that everyone has their price. And, interestingly, it isn’t always money. Often it’s something more subtle, like success, ego stroking,
public acclaim, being put on a pedestal. When I find their weakness, what they want, I give it to them in exchange for what I want.” His gaze flicked across to Les and his grin widened. “The system works well, doesn’t it, Les?”

“Hasn’t failed us yet.”

Francey felt a chill run down her back at CJ’s frankness and wondered if he would search out her dream,
her
price. Did she have one? She hoped not. But … everyone had faults and idiosyncrasies, she knew she wasn’t immune. Bryan had been an emotional weakness of sorts. Carlo said her weakness was her desire for a career — to be the best at her chosen field, and that it would most likely spoil her chance for happiness. But her dear Papà had a one-track mind. In his language marriage equalled happiness and fulfilment.

“So, that’s the secret of your success, CJ?” Francey said lightly.

“Part of it. Damned hard work and having a nose, sensing what’s going to work and what isn’t, is the rest of the equation. I’ve been lucky in that regard.” He waited a moment then added, “Everyone has their price.”

Francey’s eyebrows lifted. “Not everyone.”

CJ Ambrose loved a challenge. He tapped the top of the table for attention. “All right, Francey Spinetti, let’s say for the sake of the exercise that a benefactor came along and offered to set you up in your own architectural firm. He’d carry all the costs — rent, staff, equipment — until you got established and were making a profit. What would you say to that?”

“I’d say tempting, very tempting but…” and she slowly shook her head.

CJ’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. “You’d knock back such a deal?”

Francey’s expression turned contemplative. “I’d have problems with it.”

“Why?” Les queried as he rested his elbows on the table. She was something, this young architect. It had been years since he’d seen someone display such honesty and lack of awe for CJ’s wealth. Naive perhaps but, by jove, he liked it.