Now sharing...
Now Sharing...
A few blogs ago I shared with my readers an extract from the Prologue of my upcoming sixth novel "Green Expectations". I hope you enjoyed it.
I'm now sharing Chapter 1. Here goes:
In downtown Auckland, the six directors of Jackson-Halberd (NZ) Ltd were sitting round an oval table in the office boardroom discussing whether or not to postpone an announcement of the company’s land purchase from the Estate of David Mathews. The company’s managing-director, John Baron, had just made his oral recommendation.
“I’m inclined to agree with John,” the newest member of the board said. He put down the pen he had been fiddling with and laced his fingers together. “We can’t log Mathews Bush before we get resource consents from the local authorities, so let’s at least wait ‘til our application’s ready.” He shifted his attention from the Board Chair to his colleagues, “I think the longer it is before the tree-huggers catch wind of it, the better. Like John said, it’ll just make things harder for the company if there’s a furore.”
Ed Somerville, the oldest in the group, broke the momentary silence with his rasping voice, “Kow-towing to a bunch of greenies isn’t my idea of how to do business.” He glowered round the table. “I just want to see us cut through all the red tape and bullshit, get in there, and start taking logs out.”
The Chair reined him in, “We all knew what would be involved if we got into indigenous forestry here in New Zealand, Ed. You can’t just clear-fell, burn and re-afforest in exotics anymore.” He glanced at the other members, “Does anybody else have an opinion on this agenda item?”
Another member took the opportunity, “Our opponents will just have more time to dig up the dirt if we make a premature announcement.” He shifted uncomfortably. “We all know our joint ventures in South America aren’t squeaky-green and I reckon the native forest protection lobby here will suss it out pretty fast once they find out we’re going to log Maungakaramea…”
“That name had better be kept round the table,” the Chair cautioned sharply. “No point in reminding the Maoris it was their forest once. We need to be careful how we present this.”
“Now we’re worrying about bloody Maoris,” Ed snorted from the other end of the boardroom table. “I said Mathews Bush was a rash investment for the company when John brought the idea to the board in the first place... The whole thing is full of fishhooks, the pinko government and its goddamned logging restrictions not the least of them.” He paused for a wheezing breath. “Now – on top of likely opposition from the greenies – you raise the spectre of Maoris dragging us back to bloody 1840.”
John Baron tried to control his dislike as he glanced at the scrawny figure of the much older man. On Ed Somerville’s balding head, wisps of overly long white hair grew between patches of mottled skin. Strangers seeing him in the street could be excused if they took him for a withered superannuitant but he was actually among the wealthiest top hundred or so business people in the country. Though reclusive, he ruthlessly exploited opportunities to add to his fortune and was even rumoured to play dirty tricks if he did not get his way.
John backed up the Chair, “We identified likely problems right at the start, Ed.”
Ed snorted again, “Then by now you should be able to guarantee that the Maoris and greenies won’t be causing us any trouble. The shareholders elect us to make money, not have assets sit idle because we let freeloaders hold up our operations.”
“Let’s stick to the issue and not go over old business, Ed,” the Chair said.
Ed’s watery eyes had steel in them. He made a noise like a disgruntled draught horse and retorted, “This will be old business, still costing us money, five years from now.” Having said it, he sat back and appeared to withdraw from the discussion.
“I accept John’s advice on the matter,” Mary Evans, the one woman on the board, spoke up, “but I’d like to hear a little more about his intended timetable for the project.”
“John?” the Chair invited.
Baron made eye contact round the group. “As you know, the agreement to purchase Mathews Bush doesn’t become unconditional until we have resource consents from the local authorities. On top of that we have to get a forest management plan approved by the Secretary of Forests, so nothing’s going to happen on the ground before next year. Then there’s the issue of whether or not we should wait until we’ve sewn up a purchase of the Mathews’ farmland. So far, the board’s only given it approval in principle.”
Ed used John’s pause to interject, “It’s afforestation of the Mathews’ farm we should have concentrated on in the first place.”
“Either way, Ed,” John said with self-restraint, “it was the indigenous forest block that came up for sale, not the farm. Most of us agreed it would be a leg in the door with the Mathews family when the time was right.”
The Chair beat Ed to speak, “Is that it, John? We need to move on.” He looked meaningfully at the agenda in front of him.
John nodded. The Chair glanced at the other members of the board then put the motion to keep the purchase confidential for the time being. After unanimous approval, he turned to the company secretary, “The matter of going ahead with negotiating a purchase of the Mathews’ farmland should be included on the agenda for full discussion at the next meeting.”
Mary Evans preceded John Baron into his office. John looked younger than his forty-seven years. His dark hair had streaked at the temples but the greying process had petered out there. Six feet tall, with a strong build and large head, he cut an impressive figure whether on the site of a logging operation or in an office in the city.
The centrepiece of his spacious room at Jackson-Halberd was an imposing wooden desk, its natural glow brought out by reflected sunlight from a picture frame and other chrome objects on its top. To the right of the desk, a black and white photo on the wall showed Baron as a young forester. He was carrying a rifle and posed on a mountain slope with a dead trophy deer sprawled at his feet. On the opposite wall, sharing a recess with a liquor cabinet, there was a scene from a logging operation, a yellow Sikorsky helicopter hovering in the foreground.
John went over to the cabinet, mixed two drinks, served his fellow board member, and then sat behind his desk. He looked at Mary without saying anything, giving her the chance to sip her drink.
She returned a sociable smile. “How’s Leslie these days?”
“Finding it hard to let go of the apron strings. She’s in-between children growing up and the arrival of grandchildren.”
Mary reflected, “Now the twins are virtually adults she’s missing the opportunity to share your world more. She should take time out to get involved in non-family interests.”
“The twins have always been more important to her than a career or hobbies… Maybe we complement each other better the way it is.”
“I never thought of you as the type of man who liked his meals on the table when he got home.”
Baron hid his feelings and moved the conversation to business, “I wanted to talk to you about the Maori issue, Mary. I thought you could help if you had the time.”
“I can find the time, John,” she drawled, “but Ed isn’t going to approve, whatever we do.”
“Ed’s rather hard to take most of the time but that doesn’t diminish the contribution you can make.”
“With my Maori connections.”
“Mary, I’d sooner not ask for your help if you think I’m taking advantage of you.”
“What is it you want me to do exactly?”
He outlined his strategy. Then, after she left his office, he paused for a moment to reflect on the board meeting. Chillingly, it occurred to him that if the Mathews project failed his reputation would be irreparably damaged. That bastard Somerville would make sure of it.
He began to worry that his job, and even his career, might be in jeopardy. It was not a good feeling.
A few blogs ago I shared with my readers an extract from the Prologue of my upcoming sixth novel "Green Expectations". I hope you enjoyed it.
I'm now sharing Chapter 1. Here goes:
In downtown Auckland, the six directors of Jackson-Halberd (NZ) Ltd were sitting round an oval table in the office boardroom discussing whether or not to postpone an announcement of the company’s land purchase from the Estate of David Mathews. The company’s managing-director, John Baron, had just made his oral recommendation.
“I’m inclined to agree with John,” the newest member of the board said. He put down the pen he had been fiddling with and laced his fingers together. “We can’t log Mathews Bush before we get resource consents from the local authorities, so let’s at least wait ‘til our application’s ready.” He shifted his attention from the Board Chair to his colleagues, “I think the longer it is before the tree-huggers catch wind of it, the better. Like John said, it’ll just make things harder for the company if there’s a furore.”
Ed Somerville, the oldest in the group, broke the momentary silence with his rasping voice, “Kow-towing to a bunch of greenies isn’t my idea of how to do business.” He glowered round the table. “I just want to see us cut through all the red tape and bullshit, get in there, and start taking logs out.”
The Chair reined him in, “We all knew what would be involved if we got into indigenous forestry here in New Zealand, Ed. You can’t just clear-fell, burn and re-afforest in exotics anymore.” He glanced at the other members, “Does anybody else have an opinion on this agenda item?”
Another member took the opportunity, “Our opponents will just have more time to dig up the dirt if we make a premature announcement.” He shifted uncomfortably. “We all know our joint ventures in South America aren’t squeaky-green and I reckon the native forest protection lobby here will suss it out pretty fast once they find out we’re going to log Maungakaramea…”
“That name had better be kept round the table,” the Chair cautioned sharply. “No point in reminding the Maoris it was their forest once. We need to be careful how we present this.”
“Now we’re worrying about bloody Maoris,” Ed snorted from the other end of the boardroom table. “I said Mathews Bush was a rash investment for the company when John brought the idea to the board in the first place... The whole thing is full of fishhooks, the pinko government and its goddamned logging restrictions not the least of them.” He paused for a wheezing breath. “Now – on top of likely opposition from the greenies – you raise the spectre of Maoris dragging us back to bloody 1840.”
John Baron tried to control his dislike as he glanced at the scrawny figure of the much older man. On Ed Somerville’s balding head, wisps of overly long white hair grew between patches of mottled skin. Strangers seeing him in the street could be excused if they took him for a withered superannuitant but he was actually among the wealthiest top hundred or so business people in the country. Though reclusive, he ruthlessly exploited opportunities to add to his fortune and was even rumoured to play dirty tricks if he did not get his way.
John backed up the Chair, “We identified likely problems right at the start, Ed.”
Ed snorted again, “Then by now you should be able to guarantee that the Maoris and greenies won’t be causing us any trouble. The shareholders elect us to make money, not have assets sit idle because we let freeloaders hold up our operations.”
“Let’s stick to the issue and not go over old business, Ed,” the Chair said.
Ed’s watery eyes had steel in them. He made a noise like a disgruntled draught horse and retorted, “This will be old business, still costing us money, five years from now.” Having said it, he sat back and appeared to withdraw from the discussion.
“I accept John’s advice on the matter,” Mary Evans, the one woman on the board, spoke up, “but I’d like to hear a little more about his intended timetable for the project.”
“John?” the Chair invited.
Baron made eye contact round the group. “As you know, the agreement to purchase Mathews Bush doesn’t become unconditional until we have resource consents from the local authorities. On top of that we have to get a forest management plan approved by the Secretary of Forests, so nothing’s going to happen on the ground before next year. Then there’s the issue of whether or not we should wait until we’ve sewn up a purchase of the Mathews’ farmland. So far, the board’s only given it approval in principle.”
Ed used John’s pause to interject, “It’s afforestation of the Mathews’ farm we should have concentrated on in the first place.”
“Either way, Ed,” John said with self-restraint, “it was the indigenous forest block that came up for sale, not the farm. Most of us agreed it would be a leg in the door with the Mathews family when the time was right.”
The Chair beat Ed to speak, “Is that it, John? We need to move on.” He looked meaningfully at the agenda in front of him.
John nodded. The Chair glanced at the other members of the board then put the motion to keep the purchase confidential for the time being. After unanimous approval, he turned to the company secretary, “The matter of going ahead with negotiating a purchase of the Mathews’ farmland should be included on the agenda for full discussion at the next meeting.”
Mary Evans preceded John Baron into his office. John looked younger than his forty-seven years. His dark hair had streaked at the temples but the greying process had petered out there. Six feet tall, with a strong build and large head, he cut an impressive figure whether on the site of a logging operation or in an office in the city.
The centrepiece of his spacious room at Jackson-Halberd was an imposing wooden desk, its natural glow brought out by reflected sunlight from a picture frame and other chrome objects on its top. To the right of the desk, a black and white photo on the wall showed Baron as a young forester. He was carrying a rifle and posed on a mountain slope with a dead trophy deer sprawled at his feet. On the opposite wall, sharing a recess with a liquor cabinet, there was a scene from a logging operation, a yellow Sikorsky helicopter hovering in the foreground.
John went over to the cabinet, mixed two drinks, served his fellow board member, and then sat behind his desk. He looked at Mary without saying anything, giving her the chance to sip her drink.
She returned a sociable smile. “How’s Leslie these days?”
“Finding it hard to let go of the apron strings. She’s in-between children growing up and the arrival of grandchildren.”
Mary reflected, “Now the twins are virtually adults she’s missing the opportunity to share your world more. She should take time out to get involved in non-family interests.”
“The twins have always been more important to her than a career or hobbies… Maybe we complement each other better the way it is.”
“I never thought of you as the type of man who liked his meals on the table when he got home.”
Baron hid his feelings and moved the conversation to business, “I wanted to talk to you about the Maori issue, Mary. I thought you could help if you had the time.”
“I can find the time, John,” she drawled, “but Ed isn’t going to approve, whatever we do.”
“Ed’s rather hard to take most of the time but that doesn’t diminish the contribution you can make.”
“With my Maori connections.”
“Mary, I’d sooner not ask for your help if you think I’m taking advantage of you.”
“What is it you want me to do exactly?”
He outlined his strategy. Then, after she left his office, he paused for a moment to reflect on the board meeting. Chillingly, it occurred to him that if the Mathews project failed his reputation would be irreparably damaged. That bastard Somerville would make sure of it.
He began to worry that his job, and even his career, might be in jeopardy. It was not a good feeling.
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