‘I know you’ve indicated to Mac that you’re keen to sign on with us as CEO, which is welcome news, but you and I must conclude the matter between us. That is only right and proper in a publicly listed company, I’m sure you’ll agree.’ No pause was allowed for the agreement as Sir Laurence ploughed on. ‘The relationship between the chairman and the chief executive is a vital one in the success of any company. I’m sure you agree. And it must be clear that the CEO reports to the board through the chairman. That is clear. In this company, of course, we have a significant shareholder who is also a director and, in some ways, the founder or perhaps foster father of the business. This can raise certain complications. These are best left to me to solve as chairman, so that you may be free to manage the business side of things. I’m sure you understand. If any such matters arise, simply raise them with me and worry no more about them. That’s what I’m here for.’ An attempt at a thin smile flickered across the grey lips. ‘Now, as to your contract and its details, I understand you have a basic agreement with Mac. I will incorporate this into a formal document and execute it with you.’
Jack shifted uneasily in the chair that had looked comfortable but was designed for no more than looks. This meeting was the opposite of his discussions with Mac.
‘Don’t bother, Laurence.’ There was a slight flinch at the lack of the Sir. ‘I don’t need a contract, a handshake is fine. If we’re happy together, I’ll stay. If we’re not, you don’t want your shareholders having to pay me out.’
Laurence Treadmore’s mouth tightened as if he’d just eaten a particularly sour fruit. In a couple of sentences Jack had sneered at the three fundamental principles on which his life was based. The first was a love of money. The man appeared to be dismissive of the potential gain that might accrue to him. The second was a basic distrust of all persons except those who were bound to you by necessity. And the third was the absolute requirement to, and vicarious enjoyment of, drafting, honing and redrafting a legal document that would deprive the recipient of rights that he or she assumed to be self-evident, without this being evident. He coughed unnecessarily. ‘I’m afraid in corporate life these days it is common practice to document these matters. Indeed good corporate governance suggests we advise shareholders of the details. I’m sure you can understand that the description of a handshake’- the word was almost chewed as it emerged-’would not sit comfortably in an annual report.’
The meeting edged from topic to topic as the manicured finger ran down the embossed notepaper. Sir Laurence was contemptuous of all forms of modern technology, even the cell phone-the public use of which he regarded as a particularly invasive form of bad manners-so when Jack’s BlackBerry appeared from his pocket, buzzing and vibrating in an obscene display of uncivil interruption, their antipathy towards one another was complete.
‘I’m sorry, Laurence, I’ll have to dash. Didn’t realise we were going to be so long; thought it was just a quick hello. But I hear what you’re saying and, of course, I’m new to public company life. I’ll certainly think about it all.’
The farewell handshake sealed their pact, leaving one gently massaging an imaginary bruise and the other hoping to wash away the clamminess.
When Jack strode with relief into the sun and clean air of Sydney’s mildly polluted streets, it was Mac Biddulph’s name that flashed up in his message window. He didn’t return the call but went back to his office in the old Pyrmont warehouse and sat staring out at the incongruous collection of public amusements spattered over the former railway yards. He’d loaded goods trains there as a part-time job in the university holidays when he was nineteen and remembered the area as ugly but honest. Now it was full of shops selling sweaters that looked like Jackson Pollock’s worst nightmare or cute marine artefacts that had never seen a ship. Why was he even contemplating leaving the familiar, safe harbour of a business he liked, was successful in, and was handsomely remunerated for running with a modicum of effort? He looked around at his team of bright, attractive, talented, likeable young people working away happily in the huge space flooded with natural light and salt-filled air. He’d be crazy to leave. He’d ring Mac right now and tell him so.
The direct line rang on his desk. Only Louise and a couple of close friends had the number, but when he answered it was Mac’s voice on the line.
‘G’day, Jack. Hope I’m not bothering you sitting down there counting your money. How did you get on with my chairman? He can be a bit of an old woman sometimes.’
Jack cautiously began to express his reservations, but Mac broke in.
‘Don’t you worry about Laurence Treadmore. Known him for years. He may be a bit pedantic at times, but he crosses all the tees and dots every other letter. That’s what you want in a chairman. As far as running the business goes, you talk to me. We speak the same language.’
‘I’m not sure, Mac. Laurence says I report to him. I’m sure he’s an excellent chairman, don’t get me wrong, but I was a bit uncomfortable with the discussion.’
Mac chuckled. ‘Everyone’s a bit uncomfortable with Laurence. Part of his charm. Don’t give it a thought. He’s good on detail and harmless on everything else and owes a fair chunk of his good fortune to me. You and I stay in tune and I promise you there’s no problem. Now the good news is I’ve been chatting off the record to a few fund managers we know intimately and your appointment’s going to be well received. You’re a growth story, just like I said. And the analysts who cover insurance all know the whole financial services market. So they checked you out with the banks. And who loves Jack? So we’ll probably see a kick in the share price. It’s always nice to know your value.’
Jack was stunned. ‘But we agreed there’d be no announcements or public discussion until I finally committed.’
‘My friend, you’ve got a bit to learn about the market. This is not an announcement or a public discussion, it’s just Mac having a little chat with a few people who treat us well because we treat them well. No decision’s been communicated, just flying a kite. But they’re going to love you, Jack, that’s the main thing.’
She was the only woman he’d ever loved, he was certain of that.
He looked across the table at her now and there she was staring straight into his eyes, as she had the first time they met. It was at a party in the surf club at Bondi when he’d just graduated as an architect and was pondering the shape of life, usually with a beer in each hand. He’d seen her around the university campus but they’d never spoken. She came towards him, holding his gaze. ‘So you’re Jack-the-lad? Do you like that name? Or does it embarrass you just a bit? Do you lie awake on hot summer nights thinking How can I live up to this? You can tell me the truth, everyone does.’
In truth, he hated his nickname, but he tried to banter with her as he did with any woman, to hold the high ground and keep her off balance, but she was too nimble and slipped away from any thrust, so he seemed to find himself on the defensive, teetering between enjoyment of the contest and discomfort at the result. And then she was leaving as suddenly as she’d arrived. ‘I’ll see you in about five years, Mr Jack-the-lad. It’s a little too early in the cellaring for me. But we’ll talk again. I did enjoy your spontaneous sense of enthusiasm.’ She turned away with that wonderful warm but slightly quizzical smile and disappeared into the crowd.
He saw her often after that, at parties or friends’ flats, and asked her out a couple of times, but she never came. It was about five years later, maybe a little more, that they’d started to work together and, not long after that, to make love and to love.
She’d never directly approached his colourful reputation but once, when he was reminiscing about his father, about how he loved Jack’s mother but couldn’t resist wandering, she’d interrupted his relaxed flow.
‘How did your mother survive?’ He’d paused and examined her carefully. ‘I think either she never really knew for sure, or chose to ignore it.’
She’d laughed, a humourless laugh. ‘Women know, Jack, they know even when they don’t know for sure. Did they argue?’
‘Not that I remember. He was sweet and loving to her, it seemed to me. It was only later, much later, that I learned he was famous for being sweet and loving to a few other women as well.’
She’d let it go at that until a few months later when, unexpectedly and unrelated to their earlier conversation, she said, ‘I can understand your mother ignoring your father’s affairs-up to a point. But there must have been a boundary beyond which the relationship would break; there’d have to be. Self-respect isn’t infinitely flexible.’
When, after a couple of years, he’d asked her to marry him, she’d said, ‘Yes. I can’t think of anyone else I’d care to live with or have children with or make love to, anymore, and I don’t want to die alone, an old spinster wearing a knobbly cardigan while an obese cat eats my meals-on-wheels dinner, so I guess it’ll have to be you.’
And she’d watched his shocked face with amusement before reaching one hand to his mouth and letting a finger caress the line of his top lip. ‘Besides, you’re the sexiest man alive, a moderately good provider and will never
