Just Business (6 page)

Helen finished to a silence. As Niamh was trying to get it all down on paper, Lucinda was picking holes.

‘Why didn't you make a complaint straight away?' the lawyer asked.

‘Look, I know that seems odd,' Helen sounded a little breathless, ‘but his implied threat, when he said I was too sensitive to be in management, clouded my thinking. I didn't want to risk my job without giving the situation due consideration.'

Lucinda didn't stop to acknowledge the response, ploughing ahead with another question. ‘Has it occurred to you that it may be possible that these
incidents
had nothing to do with your retrenchment? Phil had to cut back like all the other executives and may have legitimately decided that the finance department didn't need both you and him.'

Helen raised her chin and looked Lucinda in the eye. ‘I have a very busy job – he will never be able to cope without me. Wait and see, he'll be in here asking Niamh to recruit a replacement finance manager before the week is out.'

Niamh was about to say that Phil could ask all he liked. Without Scott as recruitment manager, all hiring had been decentralised back into the field and Phil would have to sort out his own mess.

However, Lucinda's reply was first past the line. ‘I'm sure Phil understands that he can't rehire someone else to do the job,' she said in a patronising tone.

Helen gave her a scathing look. ‘You give him too much
credit. The man is an idiot. He doesn't understand the first thing about running a finance department. Let's face it, there's no way he would have got the role if he wasn't Malcolm's mate.'

Helen left soon afterwards. Lucinda lingered on. Niamh was busy reviewing her notes to see if they were decipherable when she heard the lawyer say, ‘This is all a waste of time, isn't it?'

Niamh glanced up from her notes with a frown. ‘You think she's lying?'

‘Not necessarily lying, but quite possibly exaggerating. Modern women should know how to handle unwelcome advances. I'd be very rich by now if I'd sued every male colleague who came on to me.'

Niamh looked at her in shock. How much callousness was there underneath the glamorous exterior? ‘I'm surprised at you, Lucinda. How can you,
a woman
, make such a biased statement?'

Lucinda got to her feet, unconcerned by Niamh's disapproval. ‘I'm calling it as it is.'

She was gone before Niamh could vocalise a furious response. Niamh realised then that no amount of drinks after work would make Lucinda and her connect.

The rest of the week slipped by with Niamh playing a waiting game: waiting for Denis's lawyer to send his letter, waiting for Scott's lawyer to do the same, waiting for the right opportunity to talk to Phil about Helen.

‘Busy day?' Niamh asked when Chris came in from work on the following Monday.

‘Yeah. There's a big case coming up in January and a hell of a lot of work to do between now and then.' He loosened his tie and opened the top buttons of his shirt.

She intercepted him with a deliberate kiss on the lips. There was a smell of beer on his breath and Lucinda's smug smile flashed into her head.

‘Did you go for a drink after work?' Her question was carefully casual but she was inevitably bestowed with a sharp look.

‘I had a beer at the office. I presume you don't have a problem with that.'

‘Of course not. Here,' she handed him a bottle of red wine. ‘Open that, will you?'

‘What's the occasion?'

‘We shouldn't need an occasion to share a bottle of wine,' she replied, taking a casserole dish from the oven and serving its contents onto two waiting plates.

They sat at the table, facing each other.

‘Cheers!' she said, raising her glass.

He echoed her but his voice lacked enthusiasm. They ate without speaking. He was hungry, digging in. She chased her food around the plate.

‘Chris, we need to talk …' she said, splitting the silence apart.

He frowned. ‘What do you want to talk about?'

‘Us.'

‘What about us?'

He wasn't going to make it easy and Niamh summoned up the energy to persevere. ‘We seem to be stuck in a rut where we argue rather than talk, we don't go out socially, we don't make love …'

‘Anything else you want to add?' he asked sarcastically.

She jumped in at the deep end. ‘And we haven't even tried for a baby.'

He pushed his plate away as if suddenly turned off by the food. ‘Are you interested in what
I
think at all?'

‘Yes, of course I am,' she said earnestly. ‘That's why I started this discussion. I want us to talk,
really
talk.'

His expression was harsh, his voice even more so. ‘I think you're caught up in this dream you have of the
ideal family life.
It's a life where people don't have the pressures of real jobs, they have lots and lots of babies, and they live happily ever after on
fresh air. You have no appreciation for what you and I have in the
real
world – our careers, our house –'

She interrupted him. ‘A career and house are material things. They come after relationships, love …'

‘Those are your values, Niamh, not mine.'

They stared at each other. Niamh broke the stare by taking a long drink of her wine. She used the time out to counsel herself to stay calm, keep an open mind.

She put down the glass and said, ‘I know we're very different, Chris. I just don't want to be so different that we end up with nothing at all in common.'

There was any number of responses that he could have given to meet her halfway. But all he did was get up to stack the half-empty plates and put them on the counter.

‘Don't walk off on me, Chris!'

He was unrelenting. ‘Look, I've got work that I have to do tonight – I have a conciliation meeting in the morning. But regardless of that, I've nothing else to contribute to this “talk”. Maybe if you think about what I've said then we could try again some other time.'

She stayed at the table, topping up her glass of wine. He wanted her to think about what he had said. To think about careers and houses and how important they were. He wasn't prepared to talk about their relationship or why they didn't make love any more. Part of her felt like throwing her hands up in defeat and walking away. But another part of her, a bigger part, said that if she gave up that easily she would be no better than her mother.

Niamh woke, dawn shrouding the bedroom in grey. Chris was already up and she could hear the hum of the shower from the
ensuite. He didn't see her problem, didn't want to talk. How could she get past that? Counselling? Would he agree to go? When should she broach it with him? The last thing she needed was for him to walk off like he did last night. She had to get him to stay around long enough to listen.

Chris was finished in the shower. The silence coming from the ensuite indicated that he was drying himself. Next he would turn on the taps at the basin and shave. Then he would come out, naked.

The door opened, the light from the ensuite momentarily illuminating him. His hair was wet; stray drops glistened at the base of his neck. His body was tall and broad enough to carry the recent thickening around his waist. But she didn't feel anything looking at his nakedness.

‘Are you having breakfast?' she asked.

‘No, going straight to the office.'

‘Are you finished in the bathroom?'

‘Yes.'

She got out of bed and stepped under the gush of the shower. The water was warm and sensual and made her feel even more conflicted. Why hadn't she felt something, a stirring, anything but deadness, when she'd looked at him?

He was gone by the time she came downstairs. She skipped breakfast too and made good time in the bus lane. The freeway leading up to the bridge was the only slow part of the journey and she was able to look across at the harbour as she waited in the queue for the toll. There were only a few wisps of cloud to blot the perfect blue sky. But there was a strong breeze; the ferries had to ride up and down on white surf as they made their jagged way to Circular Quay.

Willem Boelhoers was waiting outside her office. Willem
was the head engineer; he reported to Bruce. He had an undernourished-academic look about him.

‘Hello, Willem. How are you settling in?' she asked. Willem was a new hire – Scott had recruited him last month.

‘I must talk to you … it's urgent,' Willem responded with an inflection in his voice. His English was accented; as far as Niamh knew he was originally from Holland. However, today beneath the accent there seemed to be a thread of panic.

Niamh shot a questioning look at Sharon. ‘What does my diary look like this morning?'

‘I've explained to Willem that you're very busy,' Sharon shrugged. ‘He said it can't wait.'

Willem nodded fervently. ‘Yes, it is imperative that we speak immediately.'

‘Okay,' Niamh said as she unlocked her door. ‘Come in.'

She hung up her jacket and took her laptop from its case. ‘How can I help you, Willem?'

He sat, perching on the very edge of the chair. His movements seemed to be heavy. Niamh's curiosity was starting to kick in; his behaviour was a little odd to say the least.

‘No, I'm here to help you,' he responded, his eyes intense behind silver-framed glasses.

‘How?' she queried, watching him closely. His face was drawn with a permanent tiredness. She guessed he was a bad sleeper.

He looked over both shoulders, as if he expected someone to have crept up behind him. ‘There's a conspiracy,' he whispered when he was satisfied that the coast was clear.

Niamh's first instinct was to laugh – there was something sadly comical about the way he was behaving.

‘A conspiracy?' She couldn't suppress a smile.

‘It's not a joke,' he admonished when he saw the smile. ‘There are bad things happening in this company.'

‘What are you trying to say, Willem?' she said becoming serious, recognising that he was distressed.

‘They're after the money – they're making big plans to blackmail the company –'

‘Who?'

‘I don't know.'

Niamh allowed a considerable pause before she said, ‘You have to help me out here, Willem. You're saying there's a conspiracy – but you don't know what or who. Where did you get your information from?'

‘I heard it … I heard voices.' He sounded unsure of himself.

‘Where did you hear the voices?' she asked gently.

‘In my office.'

Willem's office was around the corner from the executive area.

‘When did this happen?'

‘The voices?' He seemed confused for a few moments, then said, ‘Sometimes there's nothing. Other times I hear them a few times a day.'

Niamh was looking at him perplexed when Sharon knocked on the door.

‘Sorry, Niamh, Willem's sister is here.'

‘Willem's sister?' Niamh wondered if she was stuck in some strange dream. Nothing had made much sense since she had got to work.

A petite lady, with the same shade of light brown hair as Willem, followed Sharon into the room. ‘I'm very sorry, Mrs Lynch. I'm Regina, Willem's sister. He forgot to take his medication last night.'

‘He did?'

Willem hung his head.

‘Yes, Willem is ill – he has schizophrenia. It's extremely important that he take his medication. Sometimes he works late and he forgets – he doesn't do it deliberately, his mind gets preoccupied with work and he forgets the Zyprexa – so I always check in the morning. I count the pills left in the pack, every morning …'

It was becoming clearer at last. ‘Willem was telling me about a conspiracy …'

‘It's all in his mind,' Regina explained. ‘He gets paranoid when he forgets his drugs. He rants and raves about conspiracies and spies and secret agents bugging his phone.' She paused to give Willem a withering look. ‘You can't afford to forget your medication. You'll lose your job if you aren't careful. You should apologise to Mrs Lynch for wasting her time.'

‘I apologise, I'm truly very sorry.' Willem looked at her earnestly. ‘However, it doesn't change what I came to tell you. There are bad things –'

‘Willem!'

The Dutchman jumped to his feet when he heard the warning in his sister's voice.

Regina had one final thing to say. ‘Don't worry, Mrs Lynch. The illness is under control. Willem understands it, the family understands it – the professionals say that having an insight into the illness is half the battle – and once he takes those two Zyprexa, there's no problem at all.'

The brother and sister left. Niamh and Sharon were left looking at each other, speechless.

The events of the rest of the day were dull by comparison. After a monotonous round of meetings and phone calls, the letter from Denis's lawyer arrived on Niamh's fax machine. The waiting was over: it was game on.

Niamh could see that a copy of the fax had also been sent to Lucinda and she tried her extension. It was busy. She called Bruce instead.

‘Hi, Bruce. Welcome back. Have a nice holiday?'

Bruce grunted something in reply. He didn't believe in the niceties of telephone etiquette. But everyone cut him slack. Especially Niamh. He reminded her of her dad – a man broken by divorce. Only difference was that Bruce was using cigarettes to kill himself.

‘Just a few updates. We have a lawsuit in your unit – Denis Greene.'

She heard him mutter a swearword under his breath and she smiled. Bruce was of the old school: he would never swear in front of a lady.

‘It's quite an unusual situation,' she continued. ‘He's not looking for money. He wants to be offered an alternative role in the company.'

‘That's not going to happen,' Bruce barked. ‘I was glad to see the back of him. He was abrupt and rude to our customers, provocative with his colleagues, and insolent to management. In summary, he was and is a troublemaker.'

Rude. Provocative. Insolent. Niamh wouldn't want him back either. But she was duty-bound to make Bruce think about it longer and deeper.

‘Lucinda says this is an untested legal area. If we end up in court we could lose and it would cost us a lot of money. It might be easier all round if we took him back. Are you sure there's no
other job that he can do in your business? Maybe a role that isn't client-facing?'

‘There's nothing,' he replied, his voice clipped. ‘His skills are quite specific and they aren't transferable without intensive retraining. Regardless, I would rather take my chances in court than have him back.'

‘Right. That's officially on the record. Now, Bruce, there's just one more thing.'

‘What?'

‘Willem Boelhoers.'

‘What about him?'

‘How's he going in the job?' Niamh thought it best to ask that question first. It was important to get an unbiased opinion.

‘Good. The customers seem to like him. That's everything when you're an engineer. The customers are already cranky that their equipment is faulty – you need to be able to calm them, keep them buying from us – and keep them paying for maintenance.'

‘It's great he's doing so well.' Niamh paused. ‘Did you know he has schizophrenia?'

Silence.

‘No.'

More silence. Bruce digested the news.

‘That puts a different light on things,' he said slowly. ‘I'm not sure I want a schizo facing our customers. I don't know what he's capable of doing – or saying.'