Geoffrey Cousins - The Butcherbird

Jack rubbed his chin. ‘Yes, on reflection I think you’re right, Laurence. We really can’t say more than that. I’ll have it released right away.’

Sir Laurence reached out a hand for the return of the paper. ‘It was issued at nine this morning, under my signature. While you were running gauntlets, I contacted the other directors. It is a matter for the board not the executives. Mac is one of our number.’

Again Jack felt he was somehow at fault, when he should have felt righteous. He’d wanted to appear before a press conference and make reassuring noises. He was good at that. He wanted to stroll the factory floor and embrace the workers. He was good at that. Suddenly he was cut off at the knees by a man he’d assumed was a weak second fiddle playing Mac’s tune. How was he going to spend his day now?

The prim voice interrupted his reverie. ‘I’ve called a board meeting for ten o’clock today. Your notice of this is on your desk. Most directors are able to attend, although I’ve been unable to contact Mac. Since the meeting will commence shortly, we may continue this discussion in the meanwhile. I should inform you that the subject of my instruction to you to investigate the matters referred to earlier, and your response, is a major item on the agenda. I trust your response to the board will be more forthcoming and detailed than the one provided to me.’

Finally Jack heard danger ringing in the forest of words.

A board meeting called suddenly? A discussion of his failure to follow up on instructions? How was he to answer any specific questions on material he’d obtained about reinsurance contracts, Mac’s private company or any related matter without revealing their whole case-just when he thought they’d finally nailed it? He desperately needed to speak to Hedley Stimson; waiting till Sunday night was no longer an option.

He looked up from the table at Laurence Treadmore. ‘I’m sorry, Laurence, I can’t continue the discussion at the moment. I have to make a call.’

He stood and started to walk to the door but the waspish voice stung him. ‘You will not leave this room.’ Sir Laurence’s legendary self-control was close to cracking as the words were spat out. ‘I instruct you, as your chairman, to resume your seat and answer my questions.’ Jack remained standing. ‘If you ignore an instruction from me, legally given, as chairman, relating to serious matters concerning your responsibilities as CEO, you will be in breach of your contract. Do you understand?’

Jack smiled. Now it was starting. Now the phoney war was over and the bombs would fall where they may. God help the innocent.

‘The contract I never wanted? Yes, I understand, Laurence.’ He opened the door. ‘I’ll see you at ten o’clock.’

He listened to the ringing tone repeat itself as he gazed out at the squared-off shapes of the buildings surrounding his office. It was a view of angular, heavy lines; of drones, like him, sitting in boxes staring across alleys at other drones sitting in boxes. It was no view at all. He placed the phone back in the cradle as the voice came on the answering machine: ‘Hedley Stimson is unavailable. Please leave a message.’ This was the number he’d been told never to call, but the churning in his gut told him it was now or never. And not even a clerk or a secretary answered at the old lawyer’s chambers-just his own gruff voice. Jack heard a noise and swung round in his chair to see his secretary standing in the doorway. ‘Is there someone I can call for you, Mr Beaumont? Are there any other calls you’d like to make?’

This was just what he needed, this busybody inserting her pedantic presence where it wasn’t needed. Why he hadn’t insisted on bringing his own PA from his old business instead of listening to Sir Laurence carry on about corporate governance, he’d never know. ‘Thank you, no, Beryl, I make my own calls, as I think I’ve told you more than once.’

She smoothed her already immaculate skirt. ‘Of course, Mr Beaumont, I do know that. But you seem extremely busy this morning and with the board meeting in a few minutes, I thought I might be of assistance.’

Jack breathed deeply. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, but I do have to make a call now. Would you mind shutting the door?’

He pushed up Hedley Stimson’s number on his cell phone screen and was about to dial it on the desk handset, when a chill fell around him, as if the air-conditioning had suddenly dropped a gust of cold air on the desk. He replaced the handset and pushed the dial on the cell phone instead, about to make another call that he had been told never to make.

This time it was a real voice, not a recorded one, but a soft, nervous voice. ‘Yes?’ No hello, just that one, almost frightened word.

‘Is that Mrs Stimson? It’s Jack Beaumont. I’m terribly sorry to call you at home.’

She sounded almost relieved. ‘Yes, it’s me. It’s all right, Mr Beaumont.’

There was pain in the voice, that was it, not fear. Somehow he wished he was alongside her again, in his car, on a lounge perhaps, where he could reach out and hold her arm. ‘Is Hedley there? May I speak to him?’

There was no answer, but he could hear her breathing. ‘He’s here, but he won’t speak to anyone. He’s more angry than I’ve ever seen him.’

‘Could you give him a message for me? Or should I try his office later?’

‘He won’t be back at his office. Just come tonight, Mr Beaumont. To the workshop. I’ll tell him you’re coming.’ There was a long silence. ‘We all read the newspapers, Jack, even silly old ladies like me can read.’

She hung up before he could tell her she was- something else. And the door to his office opened with the words, ‘It’s ten o’clock, Mr Beaumont.’

They were all seated in their customary places when Jack entered the boardroom, except for one empty chair; the chair that was always Mac’s, vacant or occupied. No one spoke as Jack took his place alongside Sir Laurence, who didn’t turn to acknowledge his arrival. The horseshoe table was completely bare, denuded of the usual clutter of board papers, notepads and coffee cups. The speakerphone from which Mac’s voice had so often echoed was also eerily absent. Only a thin white file lay in front of the chairman’s place. As Jack glanced down, he could see his own name on the cover.

Finally, the voice came. ‘It is well past the hour. As the CEO is now present, I believe we can commence. Thank you all for coming at short notice. We have, of course, no papers for this meeting. There are only two items, related items, on the agenda. The first is the alleged ASIC investigation of one of our directors, possibly relating to this company. We’ve no direct knowledge of this and, as far as I am aware, the company has received no written or verbal advice from ASIC. Perhaps the CEO can advise the board if that is correct?’

Jack was stunned. Of course, it was the first thing he should have checked, but he’d been making other calls. ‘No report has reached me of any contact from ASIC, Chairman.’

Sir Laurence sighed, very softly. ‘No report has reached you? The question was more what inquiries you have made to ascertain whether any communication has been received from ASIC, or indeed from the insurance regulator, regarding these matters. A response to that specific question would be appreciated by the board.’

Jack tried to catch the eye of each of the directors around the table, but all eyes were down. He barely knew these people, he realised. He’d made little or no effort to become close to or understand any of them, just regarded them as appendages of Sir Laurence, or captives of Mac. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t had time to check directly, this morning, Chairman. I’ll follow up on it right after the meeting.’