Trilemma

by Jennifer Mortimer

  Sally looks at me with an expression I can’t fathom.

  “I’ve bought a house!” she says suddenly. “I wasn’t planning to, but as soon as I saw it I had to have it.”

  “Wow!” I raise my glass and clink it against hers. “Congratulations.”

  “It’s a beautiful house,” she says. “Sits on a hill facing west for the evening sun. White walls and windows everywhere and a big garden all around.”

  “It sounds like the house that John built.”

  She fiddles with her glass. “Actually, it is the house that John built.”

  “Oh. Does John know?”

  She scrapes at a mark with her fingernail. “Yes, he knows.”

  “Does he mind?”

  She puts down her glass and gets up to close the curtain before sitting back down. “Actually, I’ve asked him to live there with us.”

  I reach out and touch her arm. “Sal!”

  Sally’s face softens. “He is very happy. It’s like being with a different man.”

  I raise my glass and toast her again. I hope they will be happy. “No regrets losing your exciting single life?”

  “I’m forty-five,” she says. “Too old to keep playing doctors and nurses. And John has become a very good cook. Apparently we’re going to have pigs and sheep and a vegetable garden. He’s already talking about growing olive trees and hazelnuts and avocados. And he’ll drive Michael to and from school and take care of him while I’m at work.”

  “The magic Kiwi lifestyle.”

  “We’re going to be the real thing.”

  I think they will be happy.

  “I’m going to miss you all.”

  “Even Polly?”

  “Especially, Polly! I still remember how she scared Joe away.”

  Sally gets up to check on our meal and to call Michael in from the garden. Polly pants her way inside as well, following the scent of the precursor to leftover scraps into the kitchen.

  “Out. Out, damned dog!”

  “When do you finalize the purchase of the house?” I ask.

  “In two weeks’ time.”

  “Fast work!”

  “If you gotta go, you gotta go,” Sally replies. “Besides, my lease ends in March. So it was either buy now or wait another six months. What are your plans, Lin?”

  “I don’t know. After the launch, I’ll have a better idea what the future holds.”

  “Everything is still on target?”

  “Everything is on track to what the team and I expect, although not everything is going to be perfect on Day One. There hasn’t been enough time to test all the processes and to fully train the staff. We will have to hand hold every transaction for the first couple of months.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Our volumes are going to be low in the beginning, so we can fix anything that goes wrong.”

  “Then you should be fine.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? I’ve spent the day reviewing the business plans with my CFO. Everything is on target except for the network build, because the Board changed the plans to focus on the commercial areas instead of residential. That’s put our funding under pressure, but we’ll have enough to meet the Government’s provisos.”

  “Does the guy know his stuff?”

  “I think he’s more interested in finding what is wrong rather than what is right. Just another bastard looking out for number one.”

  I finish my glass and hold it out for Sally to fill up again.

  “But I’m probably just being paranoid.”

  Chapter 46

  The negative press articles start appearing two weeks before the official launch. The first is in the Computer pages and talks about a network failure and insufficient testing. The article refers to Hera’s system selection as having been “hasty, with poor due diligence” and the implementation as “cutting corners and definitely not by the book.” The article is written by one of the Old Boys of the technology press. He enjoys himself in the final paragraphs making slighting references to our imminent services being “nonexistent weapons of mass destruction” and several other banal anti-American jokes presumably targeted at me, the American chief executive, no longer referred to as a Kiwi.

  There is a nastiness in the Kiwi culture, I’ve noticed, that requires them to believe the worst of anyone they want to do badly by so they don’t feel so bad about it. I could wish they’d feel less guilt and in turn, do me less harm.

  People I know seem to look at me oddly, and my calls don’t get returned as promptly as they once did. Georgette didn’t meet my eyes in the last meeting, and Dr. Grey doesn’t return my calls at all. Maybe I am just being paranoid or maybe the bastards really are out to get me. I shrug it off and try to joke, but it hurts. It hurts.

  The final piece of nastiness is a caricature of me in the morning newspaper a week before the official launch date. I am shown with slanting eyes, wearing an Uncle Sam hat and a short skirt, with a whiplike cable in my hand. The balloon issuing from my mouth says, “Lie back and enjoy it!”

  Marion comes in while I sit at my desk looking at the clipping, wondering how to respond, or even whether to respond.

  “You’ve become a tall poppy, Lin,” she says. “I’m sorry, but it’s how New Zealand treats anyone who does things differently. They cut them down to size.”

  “Do we do anything about it?”

  “We launch a bloody good service bloody well,” says Ian from the doorway. “Don’t worry about it. Just the good ole Kiwi knocking machine.”

  “Any idea where they got their information? Some of it seems to come from inside the company.”

  Ian’s face is unsmiling. “It could be a disaffected staff member.”

  I look back at him without replying.

  Marion shakes her head. “There’s nothing more you can do, Lin. You should get away for the weekend. Why don’t you come with us to Napier? We’re doing that special Art Deco tour on Saturday, remember?”

  “Do come, boss! It’s our own private celebration for the launch,” says Ian.

  “I might need to be here to talk to the Board members before their meeting on Monday. I’m expecting a call from the chairman this afternoon. I’ll let you know after we’ve spoken.”

  “Tell Scott I want to see him,” I tell Helen.

  After a moment, she sticks her head around the door. “He says he can’t make it today.” She looks embarrassed. “Apparently, he has some figures he has to pull together for the chairman.”

  “Tell him he can come now or he can come in two minutes. There are no other choices.”

  “Lin!” he says, and smiling, collapses into the chair across from me. “You’re in a panic.”

  I freeze, angry that he is outfacing me. But I sit down and pull the chair close and lean my arms on the desk.

  “I am concerned about these leaks,” I say, and watch his face carefully.

  His face doesn’t move. “Dreadful, isn’t it?”

  “Do you have any thoughts about who might be responsible?” I ask.

  He gives his ready smile and stares me straight in the eye. “None whatsoever.”

  I hold his gaze. He stares straight back, unblinking. “Not you then, Scott?”

  Peake laughs and rises. “Of course I haven’t spoken to the media, Lin. Now, if you’ve finished insulting me, I’ve got work to do.”

  Tom sits at the table fiddling with a pen while I talk about the rumors. No, it isn’t good for Hera, he says, his eyes sliding to mine and then away.

  “Any idea who may have talked to the media?” I ask, watching his face closely.

  He looks down at the pen in his hand. “No,” he says, “I have no idea.”

  The printout of the article sits on the table between us, in silent witness. I put the printout back inside my folder and wait for him to complain that I’ve unfairly accused him, but he stands and says, “Will that be all?”

  When he has gone, I glance up at my painting. I haven’t been
back to Ngatirua since we left abruptly at Christmas. But it has helped just to know that my family is there, a haven away from all this crap.

  I watch the grass growing in the paddocks and the trees waving in the wind at the top of the cliff. Although the painting doesn’t show it, just beyond the trees Vivienne’s beautiful house sits amongst the rosebushes and the summer flowers. The pool would be sparkling in the sunshine, cool and refreshing to dive into. Down the hill I can picture Alison’s kind face and welcoming smile, and I can imagine Wal’s laugh as he hands me a glass of wine. Max would walk in from feeding the dogs, and Jess would be in the corner working on something pretty and precious.

  The telephone shrills, and I am returned to reality. Hobb has seen the articles, he tells me, and the Board has already held a telephone conference to discuss the situation.

  “The Board is concerned our services have been jeopardized by your compromises,” he says.

  “Our services will work very well,” I reply. “It’s likely there’ll be some teething problems, but nothing that can’t be quickly fixed.”

  “We’re not happy about there being any issues at all.”

  “The telephone and data services have been well tested, and we know they will perform reliably. We are confident we can address any issues with the support systems and processes without any negative impact.”

  “We don’t like what the papers are saying.”

  “The team and I are expecting a very successful launch next week,” I assure him. “That should stop further bad publicity.”

  He pauses as if to find the right words. “In light of the publicity, we are considering delaying the launch.”

  “What! Delay the launch! You’re not serious. There is no reason to delay, all our systems are go. All the work we’ve put in to reach this date that you’ve told us is critical to the survival of the business—”

  “We have other options that don’t require us to hit the launch date.”

  After all the pressure that we must be part of the consortium, and to be part of the consortium we have to make this date, he’s suddenly suggesting the date is no longer critical? Unless they have negotiated a delay with the Government? In which case, why didn’t they tell me?

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll brief you after the Board meeting on Monday. In the meantime, I want you to prepare to halt the launch.”

  “Is that a directive from the Board?”

  I cannot believe he has a mandate for such a major decision without the Board voting on it.

  There is a brief silence on the other end of the line.

  “Not yet,” he replies, coolly. “We’ll vote on Monday. Oh, and we’ve decided that Mark, Pita, and I will front the press conference. We appreciate your input, Lin, but we think, in light of the negative publicity, you should keep your head down for a while. Out of the limelight.”

  I disconnect the call and sit at my desk clenching the telephone receiver as if it were some bastard’s balls.

  Robert doesn’t answer my calls until the next day.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Who’s screwing whom?”

  “The Board is debating the future strategy for Hera, and we haven’t been able to reach an agreement yet,” he says. “Shall we say there are some opposing views, and I don’t yet know which way the votes will fall. Talk to me Monday night. I should know by then what’s going to happen.”

  “Hobb implied it didn’t matter if we don’t launch by the first of March. Has the Government given us more time or what?”

  “Launch the service as agreed, Lin! You hear me? Do not accept any directive from anyone to halt the launch. That would limit the options to the one Hobb is pursuing.”

  “What option is that, Robert?”

  And Robert tells me what Ozcom wants to do.

  Chapter 47

  Prepare to halt the launch, says the chairman of the Board. Don’t accept any directive to halt the launch, says the director I owe my job to. The one whose support I should be able to count on.

  I shiver and rub my arms to warm myself up. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

  When my cell phone vibrates against the surface of the table, I start in surprise and look down as if it is a snake about to strike before pressing the answer button and putting the phone to my ear.

  “This is Lin.”

  “Hiya,” he says. “How are things?”

  “Like a shower of maggots.”

  “That bad?”

  “The bloody Board!”

  “Emmy and Cheryl both say hi.”

  “And those news stories are continuing. After all my hard work, I bet I’ll be known for this crap in the media, not for getting Hera to the launch date against all odds.”

  “What can you do?”

  “Nothing. There’s nothing I can do now that will make a difference.”

  “Cheryl’s met a nice accountant,” he tells me. “Who has a couple of kids.”

  “Bloody accountants!”

  “Who do you think is talking to the media? Is it this Peake guy?”

  “I asked him whether he knew anything about the leaks to the media and he didn’t bat an eyelid. I asked straight up if it was him and he laughed. Laughed! Said of course he hadn’t talked to the media.”

  “Bummer. Anyway, shall I book tickets for next weekend? Or the one after?”

  “Peake would stab me in the back in an instant if he thought he could get away with it.”

  “Shall I come this weekend, Lin? Moral support?”

  “No, no, I’m fine. We’ll leave it until later on, after the launch, as we agreed.”

  “Okay.” He clears his throat. “Well, look after yourself.”

  “I will, bye now!” I turn off my phone.

  I stand by the window and gaze out. Gray today. Clouds hang threateningly over the city as if about to snuff out the life of the ants scurrying below. The pane of glass against which my forehead leans is cold and hard. Eventually, I turn away and sit at my desk.

  My cell phone is starting to look battered, the white frame has scratches on one side, and the screen is smeared from whatever it was I grabbed as a snack for breakfast an hour ago. I wipe it on my sleeve and turn it on. iPhones are so easy to use. Anything you need pops up in the screenload of icons. Contacts are halfway down on the right-hand side. I scroll through Alison and a couple of others and barely think at all before I reach the Hs.

  “Ben,” I say when he answers, “I’ve changed my mind. Can you come this weekend? Please? I could do with that moral support.”

  I scroll to the next name. “Tom?”

  In the end the decision was clear.

  Late that night the doorbell rings, and when I go downstairs, Ben is there. I hug as much of him as I can reach and breathe in his healthy noncorporate male smell.

  He reaches his arms around me and pulls me against his chest before holding my shoulders and looking down at me, smiling.

  “I wanted to come up, but the door code wouldn’t work.”

  “We’ve changed the combination.”

  Our lovemaking is nice, fast but nice. I curl against his back with my arm over his side, my hand encased in his. But I can’t lie still. The anger in me rises and I twist and turn and face the wall while Ben’s breaths slow and he starts to snore gently. I watch the moonlight sneak in through the curtain and pray for sleep because I can’t stand my head being so full of argument and regrets and, yes, rage.

  But in the morning the sun shines through the gap in the curtain, and when Ben pulls the fabric aside, the light blazes forth and bathes the room. I can feel the heat against my bare arms. In the copper beech below my window a bird twitters, and another tweets back in response, and then more join in until I can hear a whole symphony playing out in the yard.

  From the kitchen comes the sound of the coffee grinder, and Ben brings me coffee in my favorite orange-and-black bone china mug and climbs back into bed.

  As we lie together sharing the pap
er, the heaviness that has weighed me down for weeks starts to lift. After two long months alone, Ben is here, and, with Ben, I can face whatever happens next.

  Ben is looking at me with a question in his eyes.

  “Let’s get out of town,” I say. I would like to be out of reach of the chairman, just in case he tries to give me a directive I don’t want to obey.

  Ben is happy to go up to Ngatirua, he replies. Wal has promised to take him fishing next time he comes.

  “My friends at work want me to go to some event in Hawke’s Bay this afternoon. Do you want to come?”

  “Nah, you go with your mates, do some bonding. I’ll go fishing with Wal.”

  “I didn’t know you liked fishing.”

  “What’s not to like? You sit around for a few hours telling yarns, scratching your belly, sculling a few tinnies, there’s a couple of frantic battles, you only have a dumb fish to fight so you win, and you get to cook it and eat it for supper. Sounds like my kind of sport.”

  Marion is happy I’m going to join them, and we arrange to meet at the fishing port on the north side of Napier Hill.

  Alison, too, is happy we’re coming to stay.

  “Lin! It will be lovely to see you! Viv and I thought you’d deserted us!”

  “I’m sorry, Ali, work has been so hectic—”

  “And we’ll see dear Ben again too! I’ll call Viv. What time will you get here, Lin?”

  “The bus will drop me off at the turnoff at around eight o’clock.”

  “I’ll get someone to pick you up.”

  “No,” I say. “I’ll walk up the hill to the farm. I love to walk.”

  So we throw a few things in the car and drive up to Hawke’s Bay once more. This time it almost feels like I’m going home.

  As we near the zigzag hill, Ben starts whistling “Country Road, Take Me Home,” and I add my voice to the melody, remembering most of the words.

  There isn’t time to stop to see my sisters so we don’t take the turnoff to Ngatirua, we keep driving north, past the fruitgrowing town of Hastings, and on up the bay of Napier, a pretty little town that got flattened by an earthquake in the thirties and was rebuilt during the Art Deco era. Today’s special event combines touring the Art Deco buildings with the art and wineries of the Hawkes Bay region.