desk. He was about to lower himself into the high-backed chair, and nearly toppled forward with surprise when he noticed Jack Beaumont and a woman seated on the sofa behind the door.
‘Afternoon, Renton. Hope you don’t mind us waiting for you? I thought you might have been back a little earlier.’
Renton Healey was outraged; this was his sanctum sanctorum. People weren’t permitted to enter it unannounced, without a reservation as it were. Janet would never eat again. ‘Not at all, Jack. Sorry to keep you. The meeting went longer than I expected. Still, we got what we wanted.’ He attempted a wry laugh. ‘Negotiation’s all about hanging in there, isn’t it?’
Jack nodded. ‘Certainly. And were you meeting with Global Re? Renewing the reinsurance contracts? I know they’re coming up soon.’
Renton was now more than furious at the violation of his corporate space, he was at security warning level five. All his antennae were rotating to pick up danger signals. Jack Beaumont wasn’t supposed to know about Global Re, the renegotiation of contracts, or anything else of note. Jack Beaumont was an insurance neophyte, an intellectually inferior used car salesman who was sent out to sell a message to the market and the media whenever Renton, and Mac, with the blessing of Sir Laurence, decided there was a message that needed selling. Nevertheless, he was, nominally, the CEO and he was, unfortunately, here. With someone.
‘No we’re not at that point yet. Still crunching numbers. Actuarial football-you know the game.’ He gestured to the woman on the sofa. ‘But I don’t think we’ve met, or am I mistaken?’
‘This is Louise; Louise, Renton Healey. Louise is one of my assistants. But I’d like to talk about Global Re for a moment. Reinsurance seems to have quite an impact on our P amp;L. By my calculations, we would have made a loss of fifty-four million last year rather than a profit of seventy-eight million if we hadn’t had the benefit of that Global Re contract. Am I right? I don’t quite have my head around it yet, but I want to understand it a lot better.’
Renton controlled his breathing as he eased down into the leather. So the man knew nothing. He wanted to understand things better. He would understand them better. ‘Of course, delighted to lead you through the labyrinth. Horribly complicated stuff, I’m afraid, but we’ll do our best. Let me get the file together and we’ll set up an appointment. Early next week okay for you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No. I’d like to do it now. I already have the file.’
He watched Renton’s face with deep satisfaction as, finally, the smug veneer was stripped away and fear spread over the squashed pumpkin. ‘Is that my file? Where did you get that? This is quite improper, taking people’s files.’
Jack raised his eyebrows. ‘Really? But it’s not your file, Renton, it’s the company’s. And as CEO, I can view any document I want whenever I want, wouldn’t you say?’
Renton appeared dazed as he looked around the room for help. He noticed Louise taking notes. Why was she taking notes? Red wine was no longer a factor in his addled brain. His ability to brush aside alcohol was legendary. He just needed to fix on a point, as if gaining balance on a rolling deck, and then outwit the lesser intellect.
‘Yes, of course, but I can’t have people removing files at will.
I’m responsible to APRA for the integrity of these documents and if you wanted something you should have come to me, through Janet.’
‘Janet gave me the file. And I assure you it’s completely safe. I’ve already copied it, so you can have the original back.’ Jack placed a thick folder on the desk. ‘But let’s move on, Renton. I want to ask you a few questions about some of this material.’
Renton Healey stared at the papers in Jack’s hands. They were covered with highlighter colours and post-it notes, signs of extensive, diligent reading. These two must have arrived the minute he left the building. There was a great deal of complex material in that file. Just how complex, Renton couldn’t remember. Was the side letter in there or in a separate file? He needed Janet. He would deal with her indiscretions another day.
‘I’d like to help, Jack, but I think I’m pretty booked up this afternoon.’ He commenced the standing-up process. ‘I’ll just check with Janet and see how soon I can give you the time this deserves.’
‘Janet won’t be back for a while. She’s helping me out with an urgent project, hope you don’t mind. I asked her to clear your diary for this afternoon, so we’re in good shape. Let’s get going, shall we?’
When they were together later that night, the times were old, but new also. They were all knitted together again. They’d made love as soon as the kids were asleep and they were now propped up in bed with papers strewn about and wine on the bedside table.
‘How did we do, lover boy?’ Jack was bemused. She never asked questions like that. ‘Very beautiful, my love, as always.’
She snorted. ‘Not the sex, you idiot. I’m talking about the old team, on the job. Did we get the goods or not?’
He laughed and picked up her notebook, filled with pages of immaculate script. ‘I doubt Hedley Stimson has ever seen a court reporter produce as accurate a record. It was wonderful watching Renton’s face as you took all that down. Now and again he was so caught off guard by some of my questions he had to take his eyes away, but most of the time they were fixed on your flying pen. How many times did he ask for your surname? Was it two or three?’
‘Only two, I think, but no doubt he’s scouring the records of every Louise among your thousands of employees as we speak. I wonder how many there are.’
He looked at her with deep affection. There would have been no meeting without her, he knew that. He would have been planning another picnic or figuring out how to fit three spa baths and a sauna into one apartment. Had he only taken the job in the first place to impress her? Maybe. Louise and a few friends. Now he needed to impress himself.
‘Did we do the business, lover boy? Will they all hang by the neck until dead, that’s what I want to know? They’ll need a strong rope for Mr Healey, that’s for sure.’
Jack selected a page from the litter on the bed. ‘I think this is it. The smoking gun. It’s just a one-page letter written in completely obtuse language, but I reckon it’s the one. Renton nearly threw up his lunch when I referred to it and he’d hate to part with that. What was his response again?’
She took the notebook and flipped to another page. ‘I don’t recall seeing that letter before. It’s not addressed to me. The addressee is no longer with the company. Its meaning is not immediately clear. Its terms may not have been implemented. He handled it like a poisonous spider.’
‘Exactly. Only Hedley Stimson can confirm if it’s the missing piece, but I think we’ve got them.’
She wrapped herself around him and buried her hands deep into his hair. ‘You were unrelenting and ruthless in your pursuit. I didn’t know you understood all that complex jargon. Very sexy in an odd way. The thinking warrior is quite a turn-on.’ She scratched his scalp and his eyes closed as they always did. ‘What will you do when they’re all pinned on the wall? Will you try to clean up the whole company or go back to property and lead a quiet life? Or just make love to me and live off our fat?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I actually like the insurance business and I want to make sure our policyholders don’t suffer. The shareholders will, for a while anyway, because the share price will take a big hit when all this comes out. So I’d have to stay and hold the company together for some time. But let’s not count our chickens.’
She bounced up and down on the bed like a child. ‘I want to count them. Can’t you go and see old Hedley tomorrow? I want to come.’
He laughed and put a hand on her shoulder to stop the bouncing. ‘I’ll go on Sunday, as we agreed, and I’ll go alone. I’d love for you to meet him one day when it’s all out in the open.
I don’t think it’ll be long. But we’ll wait till Sunday.’ chapter thirteen
The knocking started Mac on a long journey. He was floating over the rocky outcrops of the Kimberley, drifting above the lapis lazuli of coral reefs, darkened here and there by the black shapes of Spanish mackerel or queen fish or barramundi closer to the shore, and then, suddenly, was staring down at the white sails of the Opera House, a train snaking its way over the Harbour Bridge, a massive container vessel squeezing beneath the span. His was the deep sleep of physical contentment and mental peace. Knocking, whatever its origin, couldn’t disturb it. Besides, there could be no such knocking here. The only way to reach Bonny’s penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor was via the concierge, who would buzz. And he wouldn’t buzz, ever, before seven-thirty. Mac pulled himself back to consciousness and looked at the bedside clock through half-closed lids. Six a.m.
