removed his reading glasses and leant back in his black leather office chair. Tony Woodbridge was capable enough. The man knew how to argue a case. Unfortunately he was not averse to underhand shenanigans either.
‘Ronald, old chap,’ he said aloud, addressing Sarah’s father, ‘you should have kept your dick in your pants, old boy’. Frank wasn’t one for dramatics but he felt disturbed by James Macken. In his experience there was nothing worse than dealing with someone who was comparatively poor with a grudge, and it was clear by the Macken boy’s demands that he did begrudge the Gordons. His second concern of the day came via another telephone call that caused him to drop his blue enamelled Sheaffer ink pen on the office floor. Were it not for the knock on his door announcing his personal assistant, Rhonda, with Sarah Gordon in tow, he may well have added a little whisky to his morning coffee.
‘It’s nice to see you again, Frank.’
‘And you, my dear,’ he replied, composing himself as he cleaned his spectacles. The last time he’d seen Sarah was at Angus’s funeral. He adroitly summed up the situation, reading Mr Macken’s requests, wondering if the renowned Gordon temper would flare. ‘As you can see, he is now contesting the will and if he chooses to go to court, Mr Woodbridge will represent him and …’ Frank leant forward for emphasis, ‘he is very good’.
‘Damn it. You know he arrived at Wangallon two days ago?’ asked Sarah.
Frank linked his fingers together.
‘I can’t lose one acre of Wangallon, Frank.’
‘Hmm. What does Anthony say?’
Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘I’m having a few issues there. His idea is to develop Boxer’s Plains.’
‘Boxer’s Plains?’ Frank set about cleaning his spectacles again.
‘You know, increase productivity from a decreased holding. I don’t want Boxer’s ploughed up, Frank, it was the last block purchased by my great-grandfather and it’s prime grazing country.’
‘I agree.’ Frank studied Sarah’s tapping fingers. ‘I think you had better tell me everything.’
Sarah hadn’t really discussed life on Wangallon for quite a while. Even her telephone conversations with Shelley were sanitised versions of her daily life. She told Frank about the management issues, lack of teamwork and Anthony’s handling of the clearing project at Boxer’s Plains. ‘And I told him to stop doing anything else on the block.’
Poor Anthony, Frank thought, the lad did have the foresight to know an increase in productivity was warranted. Unfortunately his timing was lousy, his lack of courtesy towards Sarah troubling and his choice of block unbelievable. ‘Well there’s only two thousand acres ploughed so far, so not too much harm has been done but I agree the project has to stop immediately. The bank won’t lend the money at this point in time to pay for any land development, and –’
Sarah looked at him suspiciously. ‘How did you know how much country had been cultivated? Or that the bank won’t lend us the money to do it?’
Frank cleared his throat. ‘Secondly, there is lobbying going on from the environmentalists to bring in clearing legislation. We don’t need any negative publicity coming from that angle and I imagine Mr Woodbridge will do his utmost to paint you and Wangallon in a very poor light. If you decide to contest your grandfather’s will, he will make this private matter very public.’ And that, Frank decided, could place Wangallon’s and the Gordon’s reputation in jeopardy.
Sarah ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I have to do something.’
Frank wondered if Angus Gordon had done the right thing including Ronald’s illegimate son in his will. He and Sarah’s grandfather had spent long afternoons discussing his proposed instructions. Every argument produced a counterclaim and more than a bottle of Scotch had been consumed during their diatribe. In the end, however, Angus was not prepared to go to his deathbed without ensuring that the mistakes of the past were not repeated. It was a revelation to see his cantankerous old friend develop a sense of decency at the end of his life, especially considering the number of scrapes Frank only just managed to get Angus through over the years.
Frank cleared his throat. ‘You asked me how I knew about the clearing.’ He leant back in his chair, made a pyramid of his fingers. ‘Your grandfather set a number of mechanisms in place prior to his death. You know how obsessed he was with the property, with its continuation. He wanted to ensure its survival. To that end Wangallon’s yearly financials are forwarded to me; I,