#
Andy was late for the meeting with Sir Gerald. As he hurried down the corridor, he saw the door of the ideas incubator was open. He took a deep breath and went in.
"Ah, here he is, at last." Sir Gerald seemed jovial enough. "Oh, have you got hay fever, Andrew?"
"Sorry?"
"Your eyes look all red."
"Oh, yes, yes. It's an allergy."
Sir Gerald turned to a man sitting on the windowsill looking at the view.
"Christopher, this is Andrew Wu, our current CEO."
The man waved a languid Hi to Andy.
"Andrew," Sir Gerald said, "this is Christopher Hamilton of – now, Christopher, how do you actually say it, the exclamation mark thingy?"
"You don't," Chris said. "You just give 'Partners' a bit of oomph."
"All right, Christopher is with Partners."
"Spot on, Gerry," Chris said.
"And they run a private equity fund, based in Melbourne focusing on small and developing markets," Sir Gerald added. "That's right isn't it, Christopher?"
"Between you, me and the tax office, you'll probably find we're legally domiciled in the British Virgin Isles."
Everyone laughed and Chris finally came over and shook Andy's hand. Andy thought, We've got an internal counsel called Rob Hamilton, maybe I should ask if they're related. But he stops before he can make such a stupid suggestion. This man is clearly a player.
"So Andrew, what are you going to tell the board on Friday about your steps to improve shareholder value?" Sir Gerald said. He still sounded friendly.
Chris Hamilton seemed uninterested in what Andy had to say, and went back to looking out of the window, probably searching for landmarks, perhaps things to buy.
Sir Gerald nodded with encouragement as Andy explained the various measures he'd put in place, and Michael took notes.
"And there are, of course, the outsourcing initiatives I'll be asking the board to approve on Friday."
"Ah, yes, the outsourcing thingies," Sir Gerald said. "I think Michael has got some views on them."
Michael stopped writing and eyed Andy as though he was measuring him up before a fight, but said nothing.
"Christopher, why don't you come over here with us?" Sir Gerald said.
"Exactly what views do you have?" Andy asked Michael directly, but he still didn't answer.
"So what do you think about outsourcing, Christopher?" Sir Gerald said when Chris rejoined them.
"Outsourcing non-core functions is an unspoken market expectation." Chris smiled at Andy. It was bizarre, but this Hamilton guy had just given him the same patronising look Rob Hamilton had given him on occasions. Perhaps they were related after all. But there was no time for small talk now. He should have asked about it when it first occurred to him. Maybe things would have gone better.
"It's got to be done properly though. Get it wrong, and you can be left with little more than an empty shell, and, of course, the market will punish that. But get it right and, well, I think that's why you wanted to talk to us. And who knows, going forward, depending on how things pan out, we might consider outsourcing some of our own Pacific functions to the Defendable. We'll have to understand core competencies first." Chris meshed his fingers in a sudden dramatic gesture. "Where the synergies lie."
Andy couldn't agree more. Chris and he had probably read exactly the same papers. Then Chris added, "No offence, Andy, but if !Partners do buy into the Defendable consortium, we'd want to put our own man in – as CEO, I'm afraid."
"I think we could come up with a nice severance package to sweeten things – if it comes to that, of course," Sir Gerald said. "Perhaps, you'd like to have a bash at CEO yourself, Christopher. Oh, and it's 'the Dependable' by the way, just for the record."
Chris’s laugh is loud. "Never trust a man who can't tell the difference between an 'f' and a 'p'." And, the first man to do so in twenty years, he slapped Sir Gerald Leet on the back.
47
At El Maximo, their joints stiffening and bruises rising from the waterslide, Toni and Rob asked for Owen Huntly, and were ushered with new respect through the dining area to the door marked 'Private: wine cellar'. On the ill-lit spiral staircase, Rob cackled demonically and, vampiric, touched Toni's neck with two licked fingers. She screamed and slapped his hand.
At the bottom, a hundred candles flickered among the stacks of wine bottles, and at the head of a rough wooden table, theatrical, faintly satanic in the half-light sat Owen. He stood, his arms outstretched, and his appraising gaze fell on Toni. "I've messed you guys around," he said. "I want to make it up to you."
Rob stared beyond his host as he eyed the aged bottles, stacked like saintly corpses in their catacombs. He shook Owen's hand and says, "Let me advise you, redemption is possible but it won't come cheap."
Toni was not, however, for sale. When Owen, rather than shake her hand, held it to his lips and lingered as he kissed, she vowed this would not be a pushover.
Rob started the bidding. "Do you know something; I've always wanted to drink a bottle of wine from the year I was born."
"When was that?" Owen said.
"1926," Rob said with a straight face. "All right, 1968."
"Jesus. At that age, it'll have to be French, if that's OK?"
"I don't think we should bear grudges."
The wine tasted opulent even to Toni's unaccustomed palette. She relaxed and savoured the velvety liquid. But she became wary when she noticed how Owen raised his glass to his lips, yet returned it to the table hardly touched. Meanwhile, Rob half emptied his goblet with each gulp, and refilled it straight away.
A handsome young man and pretty girl in black and crisp white arrived to serve bread and saucers of olive oil. They said nothing and went about their duties with exaggerated deference. Toni detected something nasty and proprietary in the way Owen watched them: contemptuous of the boy's ponytail, lecherous of the girl's butt. She became warier still.
They were into the main course already, and Rob was obviously avoiding the issue of Artemis. He gave Toni a disapproving look when she said, "So, Owen, what can you tell us about the Artemis Washburn policy?"
"Artemis was a dear friend of mine." Owen flashed them a conspiratorial smile.
"You mean mistress," Toni said.
"A gentleman never tells. As I was saying, she was a dear, dear friend of mine. I did her some favours and she thought it would be a good thing to take out a nice fat policy to do me a favour."
"So she didn't need it?" Toni said.
"Of course she didn't need it – you've been out to her place, haven't you?" A flash of anger flared in his eyes but extinguished immediately. Owen smiled and added, "Look, gorgeous, you tell me, do you think she needed it?"
Over the last three days Rob had taught Toni plenty about the business she worked in, so she now had a good idea of the dodgy ways Owen had made his money. With Rob sedated by Owen's generosity, she was determined to do the job Andy Wu would have expected of his internal counsel. "Company policy says you must perform a proper analysis and only sell according to the customer's needs," she said.
"What can I say?" Owen extended his open palms and turned to her colleague who was back among the stacks of bottles. "Hey, Rob, will you please call her off. She looks like a poodle but she's biting my arse like a pit bull." Owen turned back to Toni and engaged her with an expression he must have thought was irresistibly boyish.
"Artemis wanted to buy something from me. Am I supposed to tell her she can't have it? Is that what they do on your planet?" He stabbed a ball of gnocchi with his fork.
Toni met his look. "The type of policy you sold her gave you maximum commission, of course."
"I told you, she wanted to do me a favour."
Toni waited to see if Rob would come to her assistance, but he didn't. "OK. Let's forget about commissions. Do you think she might have committed suicide?"
"No way, Artemis was very content." Owen leant back in his chair and smiled broadly.
<
br /> "And how about Dr Washburn, could he have killed her?" Toni said.
Owen's smile faded. "Look, I can't stand the old bugger. But no way, no one in their right mind could think that Morgan Washburn would have the balls to do that."
"What about the property development?"
Owen threw his hands wide. "What property development for Christ's sake?"
"Orion Park – fifty luxury lifestyle units on the Washburn estate. Rob saw the plans at the library." Toni hoped the mention of his name would bring him to her aid, but he was too busy among the wine racks.
"It was an idea, that's all, something I was helping Artemis with."
"Did you have an interest in the development?"
"I earned some fees for advice." He coughed. "Some compensation. Look. I don't know if it would ever have come to anything, but Washburn has put the kibosh on it now anyway. Silly old bugger is going to turn the whole estate into a bloody bird sanctuary."
"So that's it, then, isn't it?" Toni said, battling to contain her excitement. "If Dr Washburn was totally against the development, the only way for him to stop it would be to kill Artemis." Owen rolled his eyes. Toni turned towards the noise of bottles being assayed. "Rob, will you please come over here?"
Rob wandered back to the table swinging a dusty bottle of wine. His lips moved as he practised pronouncing its French name. He sat and presented the bottle to Owen for opening. Rob looked at Toni and said, "Even if Dr Washburn did do his wife in – bearing in mind he was in Nelson that night and the police don't suspect him – that's got nothing to do with us. The death benefit was payable to her estate not to him directly."
"Dr Washburn still benefits," Toni said, protesting as much against Rob's patronising tone as his argument.
"It's up to the trustee of Artemis's estate to question whether or not Washburn is disqualified from inheriting."
Rob was lecturing her in front of Owen, and that hurt Toni her to the core.
"But he's the trustee of the estate too," she said, hearing herself the whine in her voice.
Rob shrugged and failed to hold in a belch as he said, "Whatever."
It was then that Toni understood she really was an idiot in Rob’s eyes when he added, "It's none of the Dependable's business. We'd have to pay to the estate whether he killed her or not. From what your cute detective told you, we might have something on non-disclosure of the use of non-prescription drugs, but I don't really think we want to go there. We don't have a specific exclusion, and prior use would be all but impossible to prove. Nah, if there's no hope of showing suicide, we'll just have to pay up and shut up."
Toni wanted to protest but didn't. The feeling that she and Rob had become equals over the last few days – never mind the attraction – were obviously an illusion. Rob had made the decision without her, and it was the easy one – that left everything intact except what was fair.
"Where does that leave me, then?" Owen said.
"Oh, I think you'll probably survive to fight another day," Rob said. "All the same, I'd keep a low profile with Andy Wu if I were you."
Owen stood and slapped Rob on the back. "Good on you. A wise man once said, 'Every man has his price'." He took the bottle Rob had chosen, and said, "Shall we open another one to breathe while we see to this one, my learned colleague?"
"Absolutely." Obviously blind to her anger, Rob turned to Toni, and said, "So, when were you born, Toni?"
"1984. I told you before, but you weren't listening."
"Anything that young won't present any problems for me," Owen said and gave her a wink, for God's sake.
The waiter and waitress returned to clear away the main course. Toni was grateful for a desert menu to hide her fury behind.
"Tell me something," Rob asked Owen, "what does the 'R' stand for in Owen R Huntly?" His speech was already slurred.
"Ryan. It was my mum's family name."
"'O. Ryan Huntly'. Sounds like 'Orion Hunter', if you say it fast enough. That's what Artemis called you, wasn't it?" Rob said.
"Yes, she did. How did you know that, you sneaky bugger?"
"Orion, out hunting in the forests of Arcadia, came across the goddess Artemis bathing in a lake."
"It was her hot tub, actually," Owen said.
"A bit bizarre but obvious really," Rob said. "I've been trying to think of their names all day. They just came to me now."
"I had a painting done."
Toni's ears pricked up: was that a choke in Owen's voice? No, it must be a salesman's trick. He coughed and added, "For her, of the story."
"Oh right," Rob said. "I think I spotted that up at Arcadia this morning."
Owen gestured to a corner of the cellar. "Well, it's over there now. I'm going to have the restaurant done up to show it off properly."
"Can I have a look?" Rob said.
"Sure." Owen led the way. "A bit of an art lover too, are you?"
"Well, I know what I like."
Rob's arm was around his new best mate's shoulder. Vintage French wine sloshed in their Vikings' goblets as they took turns at ripping at the layers of bubble wrap, revealing through shreds, the torrid cartoon beneath.
"What do you think?" Owen stood back, indicating that art of this nature needed to be stood back from. Rob swayed as he examined the painting. Toni was glad she was well away from all the glistening buttocks, breasts and manhood.
"I wouldn't say it's hyperbolic, more hyper bollocks," Rob said with a straight face but Owen obviously wasn't listening. "The artist must have had a pretty vivid imagination."
"Unfortunately, they had to crop a certain thing to fit it into the picture," Owen said and looked around to check whether Toni had caught the joke. But he would have only glimpsed her silhouette clutching Rob's phone as she escaped through the cellar door.