Charmingly Ruthless

Two who were not treated with dignity were the deputy chief reporter Tom Black and sub-editor Emily Hicks, the two notorious boozers of the office. Both were given a warning -- "be caught drinking again during work hours and you're out of here." The two reprobates lasted three days before old habits returned. Noticing both chairs empty at 2:30 Chase went over to the bar when she found them drinking.

"Don't bother coming back except to collect your things," she said.

The two journalists returned next afternoon by appointment with their lawyer, a tough looking woman who looked as if she chewed editor's for breakfast. But fifteen minutes later they were gone, never to return although threatening they would.

The sacked journalists related their experience to former colleagues who arrived for a drink after work.

The female lawyer had said unless her two clients were reinstated immediately and their legal costs paid by the newspaper, action would be taken against the company for wrongful dismissal. It was noted only one official warning had been issued, when three were required.

Chase claimed only one warning was required in the case of dereliction of duty. She was said to have handed the lawyer of two pages of figures and was told that those were the times over thirty working days when the duo had gone out together to the pub and the time they returned.

According to the sacked sub-editor, their lawyer demanded the timekeeper be identified to be questioned. Chase had calmly said that the request for reinstatement was refused and if Mrs Mack wanted the identity of the timekeeper and personal files of the two sacked workers she should take the proper steps and proceed through the Employment Court.

"The bitch then stood up and said, 'If that ends our meeting, I bid you good day'," said the sobbing sacked sub-editor. "Clive and I are finished in this city."

Finally, there was the near dismissal that gave many staffers a jolt. A junior reporter addressed Chase's PA -- an immigrant from India -- in a derogatory manner just as Chase entered the office.

"Sally, that is absolutely unacceptable behaviour. Please apologise to Ashima this instant."

There was a hush in the top half of the office within earshot of this confrontation.

"No, what I said is true."

"Apologise or walk, Sally."

"You can't do this, I'll contact our union office."

"Right, Sally. You have thirty minutes to do that. By the way, tell them that unless you apologise this matter will be referred officially to the Race Relations Office."

Sally was back in ten minutes and apologised to Chase, saying she'd lost it, that their family home had been burnt down by a gang of black... er... Indian citizens.

Chase then called a brief stop to work and made Sally apologise to the embarrassed Ashima in front of the entire office. She then made a short speech.

"I hand-picked Ashima to be at my side. If anyone of you cannot accept Ashima then you have a real problem as one of us must go, and I'm damn sure that person going out the door will not be Ashima or me. That is all, except I must say an excellent looking paper today, thank you team."

That evening Chase took Judith to dinner and talked to her about many things, including options for Judith developing her property.

CHAPTER 59

Property developer Cole Brighouse called on Lady Clinton-Jones for the third time in as many years simply because he was a speculative property developer and she had a spectacular property to redevelop.

"I'm sorry, Mr Brighouse but I have a visitor, you should have phoned for an appointment."

"We prefer face to face in my business when talking business," he said.

Chase put down her coffee cup, stood up and walked to the door knowing she should be back at the office.

"Excuse me, Judith -- but I must fly. It's been so nice catching up."

"Thank you for coming dear, do come again soon."

"You're the hot-shot newspaper lady, aren't you? Good morning, ma'am."

Not one to forget her manners, Judith said, "Chase, this is Mr Brighouse who works in the property business. Mr Brighouse, meet Chase Lewis, the new editor of the Evening News.

"Pleased to meet you Mrs Lewis, I'm Cole Brighouse."

"Good morning, Cole. Just Chase will suffice."

"I saw the beautiful photo of you in the paper when you were appointed, and thought a beauty queen's picture had been inserted by mistake."

"Really, Mr Brighouse."

"It's just my little way of revealing I have a wit Lady Clinton-Jones."

"Well, I'm not too sure of that."

Judith was ignored as the other two eyed up each other.

Cole gained the impression that the hotshot was rather impressed, and why shouldn't she be? He'd got his hair cut yesterday and put on his best suit to call on Lady Muck, and just look at what she had waiting for him, Miss Beauty herself.

Cole had given the photo more than a passing glance, attracted by his lively expression, the peachy colour of her skin and was there anything else? Oh of course, he had to be upfront of about this, heh-heh-heh. Yes, there was the matter of her breasts, and they too had looked impressive. With Lady Muck's eyes boring into him he hadn't really been able to get a proper look at them as he didn't want to get off-side with her -- not with a multi-million development scheduled in his mind for her plum property.

"Look, are you going back to the city centre Chase? If so could you kindly give me a lift? I walked here for my constitutional."

"Of course, but I must go now. This was just a courtesy call on Lady Clinton-Jones to ensure she remembers who I am when it comes to doing something with this fantastic site of hers."

The two women exchanged glances; they had just completed their second in-depth conversation about that very topic.

As Chase went through the gates and slotted the black Mercedes neatly into a gap in the procession of vehicles heading into the city she saw a green 4WD Toyota parked opposite with sign writing on the driver's door -- Cole Brighouse's SUNSET DEVELOPMENTS. She smiled.

"And what do you want from me Cole?"

That brought a grin to his face but his tongue focused on business.

"May I ask if you have influence on Lady Clinton-Jones?"

"It would be presumptuous of me to make any such sort of claim."

"May I take that as a contorted way of saying yes?"

"You are devious; you may think as you wish."

"And you, Chase, appear to be a tough nut to crack."

It was time for Cole to change hats. "I'm running for the mayoralty, but I guess you knew that."

"Yes."

"Couldn't you be a little bit more enthusiastic than that?"

"Why?"

"Well, I'll be good for the city that is being strangled by that three-term incumbent."

"Careful what you say; I've played golf with him and over a drink found him to be a very nice man, and people in my office speak highly of him."

"They would, Mayor Alum is known for dishing out free drinks to journalists."

"I didn't know that?"

Cole looked at Chase in surprise. "God, a woman with dry humour -- that's almost a first for me."

Chase asked where Cole wanted to be dropped off, and he said the Bell Street taxi rank.

"I thought as much. It was a very short walk, wasn't it?"

Cole gave Chase a strange look, not aware that she'd seen his vehicle parked and yet he couldn't twig to what she was on about. He decided to talk about something else. "Are you married?"

"I shall answer if the question has relevance."

"I was going to invite you out and we can chat about my election prospects and what support I can expect from your newspaper."

"But you are married."

"Yes, I am. But I'm a big boy, my wife is comfortable about me going out with other women so long as it's business."

"I am estranged."

"Does that mean what I think it means?"

"You'll have to ask yourself that Cole."

"Chase, I like you and I specially like that sharp tongue of yours. You are quite hilarious. Now where were we?"

"We're about to double-park at the taxi rank."

Cole got out, laughing.

"So this is where were we?" You're a scream. Oh -- Thursday at the Walton Club in the foyer at 1:00. I'll have to sign you in?"

"That will be fine, Cole, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"Accepting that Mayor Alum had already befriended me and I have been talking election strategy to with him; so you must not discuss anything with me that you don't wish to risk ending up in the enemy's camp."

"Great Scott! Aren't editors supposed to be neutral?"

"You've been reading correspondents to the editor. Of course not, but fair -- yes."

"Then why would you want to lunch with me?"

"Because you asked and because as a mayoral candidate you are entitled to sound me out on things. I am willing to pass on information that is not confidential or been created in my mind for the benefit of the incumbent who has sought my advice."

"Fair enough, Chase, but I'd also like you in my camp giving me advice."

"A good try -- a roguish try, in fact, Cole, but that I cannot do and you will understand. The natural restraint I face arising from my own choice is called a conflict of interest. It would be dishonourable of me to do otherwise."

"What if I were to complain to your company chairman or the Press Council?"

"You are free to do that, Cole. Here I have both numbers in my diary."

"No, Chase. That won't be necessary. That was a question floated out of curiosity to elicit some sort of reply, not a threat. I will not proceed down either of those paths. You've indicated that other than your direct personal involvement, I shall be treated fairly and that's good enough for me. Lunch on Thursday then?"

"Good-bye, Cole. Oh, by the way, please don't pressure Lady Clinton-Jones unkindly. She's more likely to react best if treated like a lady, that's lady with a lower-case 'L'.

"I hear you loud and clear Chase. Thank you."

Cole remained standing in the roadway watching the back car drive off; initially the vehicle was close enough for him to see Chase looking back at him in the rear vision mirror.

God, thought Cole, rubbing his neck If Leah saw him out with that woman she'd cut his throat.

Cole Brighouse (53) was the youngest son of Walton City's biggest building contractor and after leaving high school joined his three brothers in the business. Alleging he got all of the work the other four males of the family didn't want to do he relocated in Auckland, worked on building sites and then found himself working as right-hand man for a property developer with one leg.

The man had been sitting behind a desk when he talked to Cole about the position and didn't rise to greet him, leaving Cole with the impression that he was a rude bugger. That was confirmed when the first question was barked out: "What sort of name is Cole."

"Very much the sort of name Baron is," Cole said defiantly to Baron Crabb. "And Crabb."

"Can you arm wrestle, you cheeky bugger?"

Cole almost had the bastard but Baron found an extra ounce of strength and pinned down Cole's arm.

"You almost had me there son. There're not many that have ever done that -- only two in fact. If I find that you know building you'll have the job."

An hour later Cole had the job.

"Let's go out an find a beer -- pass me my crutches, son." That was when Cole found a one-legged man in his late sixties had outwrestled him.

Six years later Cole returned to Walton. He'd been back twice earlier -- for his father's funeral and then his mother's. He'd returned because he felt homesick -- perhaps a female would call it a nesting feeling. Cole's brothers invited him to rejoin them, but he thought nothing would change with the pecking order, so went off on his own, building houses but was not in competition with his brothers' business as that was totally commercial and industrial.

Five years on Cole sold out of his company and purchased a fancy American truck. Full of hope and determination he'd also purchased a Stetson and changed his occupation to that of property developer. It was a tough going but as he became more expert at grinding people down to conform to his requirements he began ending up with more money than he was spending and thrived on the risks and setbacks that people on the sideline are unaware that haunt property developers, day and night.

When established and confident he'd survive in the business, Cole married a local girl Leah and ultimately prospered. Then in a sudden burst of optimism that Leah called 'an insane thought triggered by being all day out in the sun without his hat on', Cole decided to run for the mayoralty.

The taxi driver was foreign, able only to speak a little English though perhaps being a qualified dentist or schoolteacher in his former country but now being held back in his career because of failure to have his qualifications accepted, not helped by inability to speak English fluently, Cole was left to his own thoughts. Greedily his mind fixed on one person -- Chase.

Cole licked his lips mentally, thinking of her body, though what he'd glimpsed wasn't much, and her facial beauty though above average was not right up there with his Leah's. Cole worked in a dirty business in more ways than one, so that had sharpened his interest in the opposite direction -- looking at art, magnificent scenery and of course looking at pretty women, especially shapely ones. Despite what people might think, smiled Cole, his sexcapades since his marriage were virtually nil.

This newspaper woman fascinated him for one other reason than body beautiful -- her apparent integrity. Chase had a foot in Alum's political camp, but she need not have told him that. She could have befriended him and burrowed in like a worm, trying to uncover electioneering stuff for the benefit of Mansfield Alum. Christ, what a name! Cole was not used to that, not even from Leah in his experience women are, well, more comfortable at keeping the shutters partly down when it came to disclosure.

Then accepting the invitation to lunch and looking at him - a bulky man well over six feet with a wide sunburned face and brown probing eyes -- Chase must have thought he had sex written all over him, especially in finding he was one of those dubious individuals calling themselves a property developer. He'd given himself almost no chance of having his invitation accepted and was wondering what else could he do to get alongside her where she said yes, and then named her condition which evaporated like morning mist as she explained herself. That confused him because he understood woman were supposed to be complicated -- look at Lady Muck, look at Leah. But this one was not, at least on the surface.

Yeah, Chase was a smooth working model though no doubt under the hood she'd be more complicated than he expected right now, but why worry about that? His goal was to get Chase onside with him, not on his side, as that was now unlikely with her snout in Alum's re-election trough.

Sitting in his 4XD before driving off, Cole made a call to one of his sources of finance.

"Hi, buddy. What's you're doing?"

"Completing a survey of an aircraft."

"How the fuck you managed to learn that sort of stuff is beyond me. Look, I think I'm close to pulling off the biggest coup of my life -- perhaps a six to eight mil job."

"Oh-oh."

"Yes, I know, eight million bucks is big time for me. Can you free up some of your bucks for me if the concept appeals?"

"If it appeals to me and my advisers, yes."

"Good boy. And there's something else -- you've got the knowledge and the public profile to help market this baby. Would you take over the marketing of it on a percentage of net sales?"

The answer was a gruff no.

"Gross sales then?"

"Yeah, I'd look at that."

"Good man. See you at the pub on Friday night Pearson. Bye"

Cole did not have much music in him, but he drove off whistling 'Whistle While Your Work', a big grin on his face. He was ready to rock Walton.

* * *

Judith was having late lunch in a Japanese restaurant with Harold, it being her turn to choose where to eat and to pay the bill, which had become their established arrangement at her instance, despite her Scottish heritage.

"So, you think you've got a 'Yes' board do you Harold?" Judith was referring to the telephone link-up almost a week earlier with other directors who'd totally accepted Harold's proposal for engineering the exit from the company of disgraced general manager Frank Keys.

"You're referring to the telephone link-up I presume?"

Judith, dressed in Black Watch tartan, nodded.

"Then you better be prepared to jump into a lifeboat, as financial woes are not the only thing on the horizon."

"Oh?"

"Look Judith, this is only my suspicion but I believe that Lighthouse has only stuck with us this time because of our new appointee and what she has in mind, which seems to fit their thinking."

"Well, she had made no secret of her intentions, has she?"

"Yes, quite right but the truth is she's a little too radical for most of us and now what do we find: Lighthouse has pushed to get it's conservative director replaced with this hard-ass woman and another appointee who's her yes ma'am."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"It will split the board, Judith -- the conservatives versus the progressives."

"Yes, no doubt a problem for you. Then again it may benefit the company -- we can thrash out a new direction or a bolstering of the old with due consideration."

"Hmmm."

"The hot seat no longer so comfortable for you darling?"

"That's not funny Judith."

"It wasn't meant to be."

"Yes, perhaps the company needs a new chairman."

"Christ no, Harold. For goodness sake, someone has to keep the anchor down or we'll risk holding a stripped carcass. We need radical thinking but tempered with prudent thinking, and you've got heaps of the latter. We need you, Harold."

"That's nice of you to say that my dear. And now I must remind you that this menacing bitch from Wellington probably wants your seat before she moves to get mine. She's ambitious."

As their plates were cleared away Judith smiled and said, "Don't worry. Although I wasn't brought up in the slums of Glasgow, our middle class neighbourhood was a competitive place for children and I had to learn to be a street fighter."

"You!" exclaimed Harold in astonishment.

"Yes, Harold. The silver spoon was not popped into my mouth until much later in life. But that's enough of that, bring the bitch on!"

"Steady on, Judith -- I have a rather treasured image of you in my mind."

Judith looked at the legal warhorse fondly. In his late thirties he'd become the most feared defence lawyer in the local Courts and he sent the pigeons fleeing when he vented his fury to launch damning indictments against his client's accusers in the Supreme Court in Auckland as it was called in those days. In his late forties he became managing partners of his law firm and virtually abandoned Court work, but not altogether -- there were still old clients to favour. He seemed to be a lamb these days but Judith was confident that if it came time for a fight, the old warhorse would shed his lethargy and trundle out to battle, nostrils flaring.

"What are you sniggering about?"

"I don't snigger, Harold. I giggle. I just had an image of a rejuvenated warhorse in mind."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"Oh never mind. Let me tell you my news."

Judith announced that she had decided, in consultation with Pru and especially Chase, to sell her two-acre waterfront property for redevelopment. As part of the deal she'd have the choice of two apartments, one for herself and one for Pru, but if Pru didn't want hers she could sell it, hopefully to Chase.

"That sounds an excellent idea -- as you will recall my idea was to flick it off to the highest bidder or preferably, for you to build and sell a number of luxury homes. Who'll do the development?"