The Butcherbird by Geoffrey Cousins Read Free Book Online Page A

beige-on-beige office. Sir Laurence rose briefly then resumed his seat behind the desk, eschewing the relaxed offering of the sofa and lounge chair by the coffee table. Indeed no coffee was served. He sat with suit jacket fully buttoned while Jack, tieless, immediately removed his blazer and slumped casually into an easy chair.
    ‘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