CHAPTER TEN
A meteorologist would describe the atmosphere during most Floor meetings as balmy with a risk of sudden thunderstorms. Those present usually engaged in endless debates about what flowers to put in the reception area, what coffee pods to buy for the kitchen, what paintings to hang on the walls and so forth. However, every so often, for no apparent reason, old grudges were dug up and nasty words exchanged. I'd been to a few where barristers almost came to blows.
I tried to avoid them. However, I had to attend the meeting that Friday because the proposed renovations would cost me a lot of money. When I walked into Derek Hoogland's room, most of my colleagues were already present, many looking tense and clutching red folders. The conditions seemed ripe for a thunderstorm.
All chairs were taken, so I leaned against a bookshelf, beside a reproduction Ancien Regime standing clock. Wayne Newhouse stood opposite, in front of the window. Would he honour his vow to stay out of the fray? His nervous toe-tapping - like a boxer waiting for the bell - suggested otherwise.
Hoogland stood beside his desk talking to a birdlike woman in her mid-thirties. Nearby, a fat barrister, sitting on a delicate antique chair, shifted his weight and made Hoogland wince. Our Head of Chambers clapped his hands together. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we'd better get this meeting underway. We obviously have a quorum. The only item on the agenda is the proposed Floor renovation. The committee believes the fit-out is very tired and needs an upgrade. Everybody should have the plans and quotes from three builders. If not, I've got a few spare copies here … No? As you can see, the builders each think the work will cost about $1 million. If we proceed, a levy will be imposed on all members.
"Now, this is Barbara Ferguson, who specialises in designing commercial fit-outs. She did my room and, I think you'll agree, did a very impressive job. I will get her to explain the proposed design."
He stepped back and Barbara Ferguson stepped forward. She was a tense looking woman with a tennis tan and pony-tail. She explained that the present fit-out was too heavy, dark and decorative. The modern trend was for workplaces to have light colours that make them airy and functional; the public areas were supposed to look joyful and accessible, with a "wow" factor. "I have tried to incorporate those principles into my design. Thank you."
The news that she designed Hoogland's room did not enhance my respect for her. Hoogland rose from behind his desk and spoke confidently, as if a yes vote was already in the bag, which it probably was. "Thank you, Barbara. Now, the big question is whether we proceed with the proposed plan and, if so, which quote to accept. Does anyone want to say anything?"
I expected that, after his dovish comments, Wayne would at least hesitate before joining the fray. Nope. He took a half-step forward. "I think that, out of courtesy to Ms Ferguson, she should be asked to wait outside while we discuss this matter."
Hoogland frowned. "I don't think that is necessary."
"I do."
"Why?"
"It will encourage a frank exchange of views."
After a long pause, Hoogland frowned and looked at the fit-out designer. "Barbara, will you please wait outside."
Looking mystified, she nodded and departed.
Hoogland glanced around. "Does anyone have anything to say?"
I expected Wayne to lead the charge. However, he said nothing while several Floor members spoke in support of the proposal. Most were junior barristers with seats on the Hoogland gravy train. A few queried whether the work could be done more cheaply. Hoogland assured them the committee had done everything possible to get the lowest price.
I almost giggled. The idea that a committee of barristers could extract a good price from builders - who regard barristers as natural prey - was laughable. At most, the committee persuaded the builders to take off the most outrageous layer of profit.
However, Hoogland didn't have it all his own way. Several present, mostly criminal law barristers, questioned whether the renovations were really necessary. Hoogland looked annoyed and kept biting his lip.
I was one of the most junior members of the Floor and didn't want to rock the boat for no good reason. I would keep quiet and vote against the proposal at the end.
I kept an eye on Wayne, who stood with his arms akimbo and toe-tapping frenetically. Eventually, he uncrossed his arms, pushed away from the wall and gave Hoogland the stare that made even hard-nosed judges tremble. "In my opinion, the present fit-out looks fantastic. It's good for at least another ten years. These renovations won't add a red cent to my income. My solicitors and clients won't give a damn. In fact, they'll probably think I'm overcharging them to pay for it."
Hoogland's scowl came from the deepest region of his soul. "I'm sure your solicitors and clients don't care what the Floor looks like. But most of us have solicitors and clients who do. When they turn up to see a barrister, they expect the Floor to look smart and elegant, not like a funeral parlour."
Wayne's cheeks went radioactive. "Rubbish. I can't believe you and the rest of the committee have wasted so much time and energy on this bullshit. Don't you have better things to do, like look after your clients? There's nothing wrong with the present fit-out. But you want to spend over $1 million on a whim. Jesus, the only thing 'wow' about your proposal is the price."
Someone behind me muttered: "The stink is on."
Hoogland squeezed his eyes together. "How dare you. The committee has worked very hard on this for the benefit of the Floor."
"Bullshit. This is for your benefit, not mine. You're just wasting my time and money."
To my surprise, Bert Olsen, who had looked asleep because he probably was, rose to his feet. "Gentlemen, please keep this civil."
Heads shot around. Though the sun had set on Bert's career, he still had a big reputation. Indeed, he would be our Head of Chambers if he had the slightest interest in Floor politics and administration.
He hitched up his pinstripe trousers. "There's obviously a major disagreement over the renovations. We've always been a harmonious Floor and need to get this right. I think the committee should consult with members who have objections and get their feedback. Maybe some can be accommodated and savings can be found."
Hoogland looked like flames were about to shoot from his ears. "That is not possible. The design is an organic whole. You can't just snip off bits and pieces. That will ruin the whole concept. If the Floor has no confidence in what I've done, I will resign."
Wayne said, calmly: "Do you need a pen and paper?"
Bert raised his hands: "Gentlemen, gentlemen, please control yourselves. We don't need this conflict. These renovations are supposed to make everyone happy, not unhappy. Let's stand over this meeting and see what compromises can be found."
Hoogland said: "There can be no compromises."
"Let's try anyway."
Bert was the only person on the Floor with the authority to make the warring parties back down. While many barristers voiced their support for his proposal, Wayne stood like a boxer between rounds. He even flexed his shoulders to stay limber. Soon, he'd start jogging on the spot.
Thomas Blackett, a silver-thatched commercial silk, notorious for settling rather than fighting cases, stepped forward. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Bert is right: this isn't helpful. Let's put this on the back-burner and look for some common ground."
Hoogland seemed to be gnawing an invisible bone. But he saw the writing on the wall and nodded. "Alright, the committee will get more feedback."
"Good."
"This meeting is adjourned," he snarled.
As everyone slouched out, someone behind me muttered: "Jesus, I didn't join the Bar to argue about fuckin' furniture."
I trailed after Wayne, who headed back to his room, whistling merrily. Once there, he flopped into the chair behind his desk, looking satiated. He looked at me. "Well, that felt good. I wish I could scream at Hoogland every day."
"You said you weren't going to cause trouble - you were getting too old for strife."
He feigned surprise. "Did
I say that?"
"Yes."
A smile and shrug. "Well, I couldn't help myself. Something about him drives me totally nuts. Someone had to stand up to him." He frowned. "I was hoping you'd back me up. What happened?"
"I didn't get a chance. Bert stepped in before I could. Anyway, all I would have done was diminish your glory."
He smiled. "Mmm, that's true, very true. Boy, I can't wait for the rematch."
"You mean, you won't compromise?"
"Of course not. The man is a menace to the human race. Someone has got to stop him."
I was about to laugh when I realised he was probably serious.