Heart of the Outback (31 page)

“I see that you two believe in burning the midnight oil. Some international crisis?” Francey said, pointing at the paperwork.

CJ put his empty coffee cup down and shook his head. “The opposite. I’ve got a fifty-five per cent interest in a small company called North West Abattoirs near Cloncurry and they’re in financial trouble. It’s been running in the red for two years now. Les thinks we should sell my share for whatever we can get, and frankly, I don’t see that I have another choice.”

Francey hid her surprise that he was speaking of his business interests so openly with her until she remembered that he had done it before, on several occasions, but more in passing conversation than serious discussion. She recalled the town of Cloncurry; she’d stopped there for lunch and a walk on her way to Mt Isa. A picture of a pleasant country
town, typically Australian, danced before her open eyes. A town whose life blood, she suspected, depended to some extent on the abattoir plant. Despite her tiredness she was curious and sat on the sofa beside Les. “Why isn’t it making a profit?”

Les allowed himself a few seconds to savour the aroma of her perfume and her closeness … their thighs were almost touching on the sofa. A growing feeling of frustration took hold of him until, with difficulty, he brought it under control. “Competition,” he informed her. “A Japanese firm has opened a state-of-the-art abattoir at Normanton and sells meat direct to the Japanese market. Our plant is sixty-five years old. We need to upgrade but I can’t see that it’s worth the effort or the financial cost.”

Francey thought again about the small town and the people who lived there. “If you made the effort could North West compete in the market place?”

“Of course. There’s a the rail link planned for Mt Isa and Cloncurry, and we’ve an established domestic market. The Japanese mob have to freight some of their product to Karumba for live export overseas.”

“How many jobs are involved?” she asked.

“Over a hundred, not including some seasonal positions. It’s a tough decision for the staff but most of them would get a fair redundancy payout.”

“What good will that be if they can’t find another job? I’m sure you realise that even a hundred people out of work could drastically affect the economy of a small town,” she argued passionately.

“We know, but there doesn’t appear to be another choice,” CJ said. “I can’t continue to pour money in without getting a return, my accountant in
Brisbane’s told me that several times. It’s just not good business.”

“But what about the old Aussie saying, give a bloke — or in this case a battling Aussie company — a fair go? Australia can’t keep selling off its own or soon there won’t be anything left.” She looked speculatively at CJ. The man had millions, he could probably afford to prop the abattoir up indefinitely, if he chose to. But she knew his reputation as a hard businessman and a good profit margin was undoubtedly of paramount importance to him. Still, a certain appeal glistened in her eyes as she said, “Surely there must be something you can do.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he admitted. “I’ve held the controlling interest in North West for twelve years. The Murrundi stock go there for slaughtering. I believe it’s still a viable business if …”

“If what?”

“I just can’t justify the outlay of more than half a million dollars to refit, not with the profit and loss statement being what it is. We need to alter the labour structure too.” Suddenly he had an idea. He smiled across at her. “Tell you what, how about Les gives you the file to go through. Maybe,” he glanced at Les, seeking his agreement, “you can find something we’ve missed. A way to keep the company going.”

“I’m not a businesswoman,” she said with a shake of her head. But even as she said so she knew that she would find something. The thought of so many people, their families, the business folk in the town, suddenly having their livelihood cut off and with no other way of replacing it, was causing her to go into a mild depression on their behalf.

“That’s a good idea,” Les agreed. “However, we can’t put off the decision for too long. Thirty-six hours at the most.”

“Why?”

“We’ve got a prospective buyer.”

“If North West’s doing so badly, why does someone want to buy it?”

CJ answered. “Les thinks the buyer represents other interests. Possibly the Japanese company. They’ll absorb the competition and then close the place down.”

Francey hated the idea of that happening. Not the fact that the Japanese were making what was probably an astute business move, she just didn’t want to see people and families out of work. Too much of it was happening all over Australia. “Okay,” she accepted the challenge. “I’ll look over the paperwork.” She flashed them both a wide smile, “I can’t imagine I’ll find something you two professionals have missed though.”

“Good girl,” said CJ and grinned. He was inordinately pleased with himself for no logical reason. He too doubted she would come up with any kind of escape plan, but that she wanted to try — even though it was out of her field of expertise — impressed him.

“Well, I’m for bed. Goodnight gentlemen.”

“Goodnight,” Les echoed. “I’ll drop the file into your office in the morning.”

CJ sat at his desk staring at Francey’s neat handwriting, several pages of it. Within twenty-four hours she had come up with a plan for North West Abattoirs which just might work.

She’d related their problem to something she had read years ago in a newspaper about a fruit processing company being in financial trouble and threatening closure. The unions hadn’t been pleased but the workers had gone ahead and invested all their savings in the company and become shareholders, and therefore were very keen to keep the company solvent. There was no reason why the employees at North West couldn’t do the same. She doubted whether they’d come up with more than a hundred thousand dollars but that would give them enough equity to borrow the remaining amount necessary to refit the plant.

She had suggested too that all workers agree to a ten per cent pay cut until the company broke even again, and, on a rotation basis, each employee would work half a day gratis. That would cut the labour costs and pull them into the black quicker.

Damned innovative, he reckoned, though he doubted that the unions would think so. Chuckling under his breath he reached for the phone to ring Les. His CEO would be impressed and what’s more, if he could swing it and she agreed, Les could fly her down to North West so she could present the proposal to them in person.

Yes, Francy Spinetti was coming along just fine. The woman had more business acumen than she realised. He grinned to himself. She was surprising him all the time.

Francey had made the cubbyhole office she worked in her own during her time at Murrundi. Working on the preliminary design for the Cooktown project she
had several enlarged photos of the site plus an aerial view pinned up on one wall where she could easily see it. There were rolls and rolls of prepared drawings standing upright in a corner and a conglomeration of other materials, computer, books, files and vinyl folders, all neatly marked, spread over the tiny desk.

She hummed as she worked on a detailed section of the plan: the foyer and mezzanine floor, and was thrilled because she had just learned that Meredith had given birth to a baby boy, Mitchell Adam. Mother and baby were doing well, according to Brett, who’d been so excited he’d hardly been able to get the words out. Perhaps, if CJ agreed, she’d take some time off and go down to Sydney to visit her … and her family, of course.

Mamma and Papà were getting used to her not being around and she’d even bravely broached the possibility of settling in Mt Isa. She’d also hinted that she’d met someone. Her father had plied her with questions as usual, and yes, she’d said it was serious and he had been delighted about that but not too thrilled about the possibility of her being so far away from them permanently. Oh well, it was hard, no, impossible to please everyone.

Looking up and out the window, to get the kink out of her neck, she could partially see the progress of the mini conference centre. The ground level cement slab had been poured, the steel strengthened vertical columns which would hold the first floor level had been bricked and the formwork for the first level was almost complete. She shook her head, silently marvelling at how quickly the construction
was going ahead. The local council had rubber-stamped the project, just as CJ had said they would. Pierre had organised a crack team of sub-contractors and the project was ahead of schedule thanks to him. Pierre knew his stuff, which was a great relief. She could trust him and knew that if there were problems he would come directly to her.

Her gaze moved to the swimming pool and the garden in the foreground. Spring was evident in the new sprouting of leaves on many of the perennials, the jasmine which trailed around one of the side verandahs was in full bloom and its heady scent permeated the air once one stepped beyond the homestead.

“How’s it going?” CJ’s gruff voice asked from the doorway.

“Come see.”

She showed him what she’d been doing and the pile of finished drawings. “Another week should see it done.”

“Great. Right on time. I’ll be meeting the Yakismoto consortium in Cooktown in two weeks to finalise details. I’d like you to sit in on it, maybe answer any questions from the design point of view.”

“Of course.”

“I was just going over to the building site. Want to stretch your legs for twenty minutes?”

“Sure.” Francey slid off her stool and picked up the hard hat sitting on the corner of the desk.

As they walked down the back verandah steps CJ threaded Francey’s arm proprietorially through his own. She smiled. Of late, CJ showed signs of being quite possessive of her. He often sought her out to
ask questions, not only about business, but about her past, her parents, what she’d done as a child. It was as if he was extraordinarily curious about such things. His attention was sweet and surprising because she hadn’t expected him to be interested in her on a personal level, but then she put it down to his nature; he was voraciously inquisitive about everything.

At the site, they peered at the ground level where brickies were working on the kitchen and staff accommodation rooms. “There’s so much to think of in building this, building anything, I guess. Didn’t realise, up until now,” CJ stated.

“You’re right. It’s critical not to forget anything important otherwise it can cost a fortune to rectify.”

“Francey.” One of the workers came up to her. Bill Davis was the master plumber sub-contracted to the site. His team had been working for days, putting in trenches, pipes and preliminary plumbing.

“Hi, Bill, got a problem?”

“Maybe. I don’t think enough allowance has been made for floodwater run off.”

“Flooding!” Francey’s blue-green eyes glanced around the homestead and the stockyards. “Here?”

“It’s been known to happen,” CJ put in. “I know we’re a good way from the creek but at times, when the plains flood down from the Leichhardt River, the water can come up to the stockyards.”

“What do you suggest Bill?”

“It’s gonna add to the cost, but twice as much piping and a larger diameter runoff pipe downhill and away from the swimming pool area could stop water from seeping into the homestead’s recreation area.”

“Could we put in holding tanks? You know, those cement tanks I see all over the place,” Francey suggested. “The tanks, together with pumps, could then be used for watering either the gardens or stock.”

“That might work,” Bill agreed, nodding. “We could dig in three or four tanks on the downhill slope and divert run off pipes into them.”

“What do you think, CJ?”

“Sounds good. One has to plan for all sorts of contingencies out here,” he said to Francey. “We haven’t seen a flood for eight or nine years, so according to Murphy’s Law, we could expect one in the next three to four years.”

She looked at Bill. “Want me to amend your drawings?”

Bill shook his head. “I’ll rough the changes in and you can initial them. That’d save time.”

“Have you seen Pierre around, Bill?” CJ asked.

“He’s up top helping the guys put down the formwork for the next slab.”

Francey led the way up the ladder to the formwork level. A mass of timber and steel lengths wired and fixed into place showed the overall floor size of the building. Plumbing connections and electrical wiring conduits stuck out like strange apparitions and at least nine men scrambled over various points, working on the formwork. Francey spied Pierre down the other end manoeuvring a plank into position. Waving to him, and with CJ following, she began to move along a series of boards that zigzagged across the top for the men to walk on.

Almost in slow motion, it happened …

Pierre, standing on the edge of the formwork, overbalanced and lost his footing. In a split second Francey saw him, arms and legs akimbo, toppling over the side of the formwork and the protective railing, his hands scrabbling in mid-air to find something solid to grab onto. Then, above the regular site noises came an awful thud as he hit the ground.

“Oh, God!” she half screamed and turning around by-passed CJ on the way back to the ladder. By the time she and CJ got to where Pierre lay they saw that he’d fallen across a stack of timber. Half-a-dozen men, strangely silent, surrounded Pierre, while one knelt beside him, tentatively checking him over.

“Looks like his leg’s broken,” one said. Which was obvious from the unnatural positioning of the limb.

Senses on full alert, heart beating overtime, Francey stared at a prostrate Pierre Dupre. He had been knocked unconscious by the fall and there could be a skull fracture. “Someone go tell Lisa and call an ambulance.”

“Wouldn’t it be quicker to get Les to helicopter him to the hospital?” CJ queried.

Francey had done first-aid training and she verbalised her doubts. “CJ, he’s unconscious so we can’t tell if he has internal injuries. Moving him could be fatal.”

CJ nodded gravely. “You’re right.” He barked an order at one man. “On the double, over to the homestead. Let them know what’s happened. We want an ambulance and a doctor here in twenty minutes.”