Civicchioni took the opportunity to regulate his breathing as he passed the baton to the minister of finance. He also used the moment’s pause to wink at Vlad, who blushed in response, indicating that he had understood the message conveyed in the wink. Now Vlad suppressed a shy smile and concentrated fiercely on the blank piece of paper in front of him while Signor Feraguzzi cleared his throat to speak.
‘Esteemed president, gentlemen, colleagues. For the last twelve fiscal reporting periods, our export portfolio has remained constant at zero. When you take into consideration the marked depreciation of our currency and unprecedented inflation of almost all other economic measures, which is unsurprising given the consistently volatile backdrop against which we must compete, managing to hold our exports constant has been a sizeable challenge. However, we have set our sights on more aggressive growth and, in the grand tradition of our forefathers, we have our eye on the bigger prize. With this in mind, following detailed discourse with our American consultant and much high-level analysis, it is my estimation that, with a successful export contract in place, we should be able to realize an export income in excess of twenty million American dollars.’
Feraguzzi paused to allow a ripple of applause to complete its circuit. ‘There’s more,’ he continued. ‘Against a backdrop of considerable financial instability, our import portfolio has similarly remained constant at zero. However, it is our intention to continue with our policy of zero imports while simultaneously increasing our share of the export market, allowing us quickly to establish ourselves as a nation in control of one of the most impressive GDPs in the world!’ Feraguzzi stopped briefly to allow this ambitious statement to sink in.
‘But the good news does not stop here. I would now like to invite our American consultant into our meeting, with the permission of our esteemed president, to present to you his most recent findings.’
With that, Angelo jumped up and threw open the double doors to allow the American consultant to enter. The American’s readiness at the door suggested he had long been prepared to be called for. He strode in alone, yet managed to convey the air of a man with an entourage in his wake. Exuding calm and confidence in his pressed chinos and neatly ironed, monogrammed shirt, he brushed past the seated ministers. Without waiting for an invitation to join them, he took the position recently vacated by Angelo, forcing the chief of staff to retire to a chair in the corner to continue with his note-taking.
Before speaking Chuck Whylie swept a cool hand across his hair, in an unnecessary move to correct any stray locks. With a polite cough into a closed fist, to indicate that he was going to speak, he began his address.
‘Mr President, it is indeed an honour to join you once more. You know, sir, I have been coming to this fine country of yours for many years now and I do believe this is the twenty-fourth occasion on which I have addressed your government. Before I begin today I would like to reiterate that I am profoundly proud of our association and acutely proud of the work that we have been able to undertake together.’
Whylie nodded encouragingly while he allowed his message to sink in, a mannerism he deployed habitually to allow the foreigners an opportunity to assimilate his words. This impersonated – pleasingly, he thought – the rhythm and flow of a speech to the United Nations, with built-in delays for multilingual dissemination. In the small, tea-scented boardroom, the attendant audience were unsure of their collective purpose during these pauses, so allowed their minds to wander far enough afield to be returned to the room shocked and confused by the next burst of speech, thus reinforcing Whylie’s misapprehension that his interludes were necessary for the assembled company.
‘Of course I do not act alone. My partners back at Client Opted Inc., together with the not inconsiderable team of expert advisers that have taken your country on as a special project, are truly honoured that we have been able to work so closely with you. We think of this relationship not as one between two distinct nations on opposite sides of a great ocean, or as one between buyer and seller, contractee and contracted, employer and employee, biller and billed. No, indeed, we think of ourselves as partners, as equals, and we take our shared responsibility for the economic future of your country very seriously indeed.’
Another generous pause allowed enough time for Alix to imagine exposing the interloper as an assassin but not before he himself had taken a non-fatal bullet intended for his president.
‘You are, in fact, one of our top ten clients on a global basis.’ Chuck nodded, smiled, and took the small round of applause graciously. ‘And it is not without some sadness that I see this project beginning to draw to a close. But we understand, as you understand, that this separation is only possible because of our success. We never intended to leave until the job was well done, and I have an impressive set of figures in front of me that suggests the job is nearly done well.’
Nine expectant faces stared at their American consultant. Trained on his ruddy cheeks and suspiciously immaculate manicure were the tiredly interested eyes of Dottore Rossini, the smiling, aloof eyes of Vlad Lubicic, the ebullient, excited, shining orbs of Signor Pompili, the cautious, defensive slump of Signor Cellini, the alert businesslike scrutiny of Signor Feraguzzi and the barely concealed suspicion of Alix. Civicchioni was too personally involved in the project to maintain any impartiality and held himself back from interjecting. Instead, having borrowed a pen from Angelo, he focused on scribbling notes into his margins. ‘Partners! Top Ten!’ he scrawled, emphatically ticking and underlining the praise as it was dealt. Signor Lubicic and Professore Scota were now not looking intently at the American but instead stared jealously at the laptop that Whylie now prodded to life with a few stabs of his index finger.
‘I would like, if I may, to give a brief résumé to contextualize our progress. More than a decade ago, when I first joined you, we were asked by the dear departed Sergio Senior to analyse your strengths and set forward a proposal that would allow you to compete in a global market. What foresight that man had! He understood immediately when Client Opted Inc. set out to explain that not only had you picked the low-hanging fruit but eaten it and forgotten to replant the pips! What we found here was, I’m going to have to admit now to you, disheartening at best.’
Vlad used this latest pause not to be disheartened but to revisit a walk he had taken the previous night with a young woman upon his arm. He sighed and smiled to himself, already imagining the next and the many walks beyond it. Whylie resumed talking and Vlad tumbled back to earth.
‘Even the untrained eye could recognize that your output was simply too negligible to take to the market, and what you did have was cut so fine between your various crops that we had to wonder whether there was anything worth saving. I, of course, was much too young to express it – hey, I was practically in short trousers – but, let’s face it, my boss and your previous president, they spoke the same language. You were nothing more than bit players. A bit of this and a bit of that.’
He stopped to allow his audience to catch up. Dottore Rossini used the break to do a mental walk-through of his hospital, wondering whether he might be able to call in for a quick ward-round between this meeting and his siesta. If the American consultant could just talk a little faster, with a touch more fluency, they would all get out of the Special Furthering of Agricultural Development Committee meeting sooner and achieve more in all of their respective roles, not just those of an agricultural nature. But the doctor had long worried about the American consultant’s mental health and knew he should set an example by being as patient and generous with him as he could.
Chuck Whylie, having punctuated one of his uncomfortably long silences with a round of nodding, returned to his soliloquy, having sufficiently damaged any momentum his talk might have gained. He took to his feet and banged his fist on the table to emphasize his point and elicit greater engagement from those whose eyes were politely trained on him. ‘The thing is, gentlemen, you simply had nothing substantial to take to the world stage with any credibil
ity at all. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m not going to stand here in front of you and knock the great effort you made. You had a …’ he sought the right word ‘… an interesting assortment of produce, some of which might have found a niche market, if anyone else had known what on earth it was!’ He laughed alone, so quickly continued: ‘It was then that we set about maximizing your potential. Together, our goal was to plant three thousand hectares of a single crop with commercial prospects. At that time, with a total landmass of 3672 hectares, you had just fourteen hundred given to tea plantation, yet that was the crop you recognized as your core strength, a national symbol no less! But your output was here,’ he stretched out his left hand, ‘and if we could establish a market with a USP that was going to really give us something to work with, the demand was going to be here.’ His right hand reached considerably higher. ‘And, boy, were those two numbers a long way apart.’
The American consultant rested the heels of both hands on the table in front of him and leaned forward, deliberately making eye contact with each of the assembled group. ‘I left you a challenge, if you remember, to set about converting the high land that was at that time little more than waste. And I know, for the sentimental among you, that that was a tough call. People get emotionally attached to the strangest things, a little bit of pasture here, an orchard or two there. But what was it really good for? Nothing!’
He shook his head sadly at the memory. ‘But, hey, guys, I’ve got to hand it to you! You know how to rise to a challenge. By the time I had next returned, not only had you substantially increased the size of your plantation, but had doubled the number of plants you were growing per hectare. What a great achievement that was! And I think, as we take this little jog around Memory Park, we should applaud that achievement.’ The assembled group were in collective mourning for the loss of their orchards so the American consultant clapped alone. ‘But none of us will ever forget that terrible realization when we analysed the results of the first significant year. We just had to face up to the facts. Your best, our best, just wasn’t good enough. With the greatest will in the world, we needed more. We knew there was a market for it, but we weren’t even going to get a nibble without a bulletproof strategy behind us.
‘So, phase two of the review saw more tough decisions as you set about converting the smallholdings of your nation and reclaiming land that was, frankly, in the wrong hands if you wanted to make your country count.
‘As they say, every little bit helps.’ Up on the screen popped a series of statistics, represented by a complex Argand diagram. Most of the assembled group were impressed, both by the clarity of the PowerPoint presentation and to see their work – their nation – featured so positively in a chart. The professor alone understood the methodology behind the diagram and tilted his head to try to interpret the mathematics. The numbers were seemingly nonsensical, expressed as they were by a vertical line of conjecture, but he nodded approval to hide what must surely be his own misinterpretation.
The American consultant, having built up his audience’s confidence with praise, dashed it with a slow shake of his head. ‘But you will recall that even those great efforts weren’t enough.’
One by one, the assembled men hung their heads in shame, including the president, whose eyes filled at the memory of his nation’s shortcomings.
The consultant broke his silence with a bark: ‘But did we give up? Did we give up on you and turn our backs on a floundering client? No way, siree. When our clients are struggling, we’re struggling. That’s in the small print, remember! That was when our very brightest guys got together and strategized you out of your predicament. You had the benefit of some of the best thinkers in our organization. Blue sky? Forget it. We’re talking about stratospheric thinkers. It was the best of the best, our alpha team, that came up with the final phase of Operation Acorn. It was then that we asked you to gather your men and prepare for the final assault.’
Alix’s sharp intake of breath could be heard around the table. The word ‘assault’ hung painfully in the air and the American consultant grasped it with both hands. Conscious of the power it had granted him, he wrestled metaphor from it with unbridled enthusiasm.
‘From general to foot soldier, you rallied the troops, assembled at the front line and formed the ranks to make the final push. That great effort, the final full-scale attack, allowed momentum to gather. The conversion of gardens and domestic curtilage to full-scale crop production allowed us to break through that final frontier. Together, the effort made on behalf of your people has provided the additional land we needed and I am now delighted to announce that you have met your quota and, with some eighty-eight million tea plants now producing the finest Vallerosan tea, we have enough to sustain a viable export market.’
The most indiscernible of pauses was followed by hearty spontaneous applause and Sergio breathed a huge sigh of relief, as he mopped the sweat from his brow. Throughout the preamble he had been dreading a further postponement of good news and the timing of this delivery was perfect for the week’s campaign plans. Without a note to rely upon, he leaped to his feet and delivered a heartfelt oration.
‘Gentlemen, ministers, advisers, our American consultant. It is on occasions like this that I am able to remind myself of our duty as governors. We are here not simply to uphold law and order but to mould the country for the future. This is a living example of the beauty of Elective Dictatorship – Continuity for Sustainability! – and a perfect instance of the practicality of a government with longevity. We are not merely parliamentary officials, we are custodians! Caretakers of a land that, properly nurtured, we can pass on to our successors with pride. We are responsible not just for creating a legend but delivering that legend, and actually harvesting its crops! My predecessor, my father, instituted a change in policy and that was a brave, bold move, one that has taken more than a decade to implement. It has been implemented now, not without considerable sacrifice and hardship. A weaker leadership might have abandoned the policy much sooner, but because we have been entrusted with the safekeeping of this nation for such a long time, we are able to see through these changes for a much brighter future. A government that is not hampered by the ever-changing direction of new leaders and the policy U-turns that are inevitable as adversaries take to the stage, pulling the country’s people from left to right and back again. We are able to stick to our guns and make a real difference. I’m proud to be part of that change, proud to be part of such a defining moment of our history.
‘Now, honoured guest, would you care to join us in a cup of our finest?’ He raised an empty cup in mock salute. In a synchronized movement, the assembled group swirled the dregs in theirs and brought them to their lips, showing their respect not just to their leader but to the many men and women who had sacrificed their own small plots to meet the targets set by their visitor. The American consultant smiled blankly until he realized he was supposed to join them in their tea-sipping ceremony. He shrugged and twiddled a pencil. The men around him were expecting something more. He shrugged once more, by way of an apology.
‘Guys, guys. I’m from the United States of America, don’t forget that! Tea might be the most popular drink in most nations, and it’s that global potential we’re tapping into here, but I’ve got to tell you, in the great US of A, tea is just not that important. In fact, it trails behind soft drinks, milk, beer and coffee.’ He let this fact sink in and, noting the assembled ministers’ look of disbelief, added for emphasis, ‘Actually, eighty per cent of the tea drunk in the US of A is served cold. I can’t imagine that tea as you know it would feature in any ranking of preferred beverages.’
Enzo Civicchioni visibly paled and there was a low growl of disgust from the commandant. The rest of the men were trying to redefine that strange country, which appeared to be devoid of any good taste or culture. ‘I’ll drink your health at the bar later. Don’t take it personally, guys. I’m just not a tea man.’ With that, he closed his laptop decisively and shuffled his belonging
s into a neat pile.
CHAPTER 7
In Which the President Has Doubt
Sergio was meeting in his private chambers with the man formally known as Signor Angelo Bianconi, chief of staff to the president, but more comfortably known by Sergio as Angelo, good friend and occasional drinking partner. A decade the president’s senior, he could easily be mistaken for the younger of the two. Lean, lanky and with an unruly fringe that refused to conform, his habitual lack of tie and jacket, and his blatant disregard for the hierarchical procedures that governed both Parliament and the country, Angelo’s languid nature belied his seniority within the cabinet. He had known Sergio all his life and had been there to share the milestones, from the woefully early death of Sergio’s mother, to the first breathtaking bicycle ride down the north-west run, from his ascendancy to president upon the sudden death of Sergio Senior, to his first non-elective election. As such, Angelo was the only cabinet member who really had the president’s ear. He was confidant, special adviser, chess adversary, bridge partner and, in all but name, the president’s deputy. He leaned forward, paper and pen at the ready, as Sergio paced backwards and forwards.
‘A few thoughts from that session, Angelo. Vlad – find out whom he’s fallen for. If she’s remotely suitable, let’s make sure her father finds out. That will hasten a marriage. And Cellini. He’s making me nervous. Check his bank account, and make sure there’s nothing to worry us. Too much or too little, either way I want to know. If we can rule out bad debt or blackmail, we can begin to work out what’s making him sweat. A speech. I need a good speech on this agricultural policy. I felt I was really on to something earlier. Was there anything there we can work on?’
The Museum of Things Left Behind Page 5
