‘Subbies?’
‘Subcontractors.’
‘Right, of course. Maybe you could have mentioned that when I asked you to schedule the meeting?’ She was starting to wonder about this man. Was he being deliberately obtuse? She sighed. ‘Why don’t you take me on a tour. We can push the meeting back half an hour.’
Warwick went into the office and returned with a high-vis vest (yellow, unfortunately) and a hard hat. Issy put them on, reluctantly—the hat would flatten her hair terribly—and followed him through a gate in the makeshift fence.
Over the course of the next twenty minutes, she got a status update from Warwick. The restaurant spaces were all leased, with fit-outs currently underway. The luxury apartments were a few weeks behind schedule, and the outdoor theatre and entertainment space was delayed even further. Reading between the lines, it was clear that the previous project manager was utterly useless. The fact that every worker on site disappeared for a full hour between twelve and one was just the tip of that iceberg of incompetence. They were probably at the pub!
As they made their way back to the office, a nauseous feeling took hold in her stomach. How on earth was she meant to fix this mess and meet the launch deadline? It was less than a month away, and Christmas was between now and then! Did her father know the extent of the mismanagement? She inhaled deeply, wondering if there was flexibility to push the launch back. It would be the most sensible decision, given the state of things.
Although, on second thoughts, her father was not one to admit defeat easily. If she suggested moving the launch back, he would think she was making excuses before she even got started. She huffed audibly.
Warwick turned around, eyebrows raised. ‘What?’
‘Nothing, sorry,’ she mumbled, pulling at the strap of her hard hat, which was rubbing on her neck.
The situation was lose-lose. If shedidn’ttell her father how bad things were down here, he would blame her for it when the project was delivered late. But if shedidtell him, he’d accuse her of shying away from a challenge.
She thought of her therapist. ‘You’re catastrophising again,’ she would say, before telling Issy to refocus on the positives in the situation. Whatwerethe positives of the situation? At least her father trusted her enough to send her down here. That was a good sign. He’d given her a real challenge to handle, all on her own. He must believe she was capable of handling it. That was something.
As they reached the site office, a white Prius pulled up at the boom gate.
‘Ah good, that’s Cathy,’ Warwick said.
‘Cathy?’ Issy bristled as an arm emerged and punched in a code. ‘Cathy Stone?’ Surely he wasn’t talking about her father’s long-term personal assistant.Formerpersonal assistant.
Warwick nodded as the gate opened and the car rolled into the space next to her own.
‘Didn’t she retire?’ Issy asked. After thirty-plus years as Malcolm’s assistant, he’d gently suggested it was time for her to move on and given her a very generous bonus on the way out the door. There had even been a dinner at the new Neil Perry restaurant in Double Bay to send her off. Issy had sent her apologies.
The door opened and Cathy appeared, wearing a clingy wrap dress in one of the garish patterns she’d been inexplicably fond of since the mid-nineties. She’d aged since Issy had seen her last, but her grey hair was still styled into a bob so sharp the corners looked hazardous.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ Cathy said.
Issy stiffened at the term of endearment. Two words. That was all it took for this woman to make her feel like a child. ‘Cathy! What a lovely surprise!’
Issy’s phone beeped.
It was her father:From what I hear you’ve got your work cut out for you. I’ve sent Cathy down to help.
She shook her head in disbelief, then looked up at Cathy. ‘You’re just in time for our first site meeting. Would you mind taking minutes?’
Cathy gave her a curt nod.
‘Okay, everyone, gather round please,’ Issy called out.
A group of workers standing in a circle by the office glanced in her direction, then continued their conversation. The stop-go girl kept scrolling on her phone, ignoring her completely. Maybe she couldn’t hear over the sound of a passing bobcat.
‘Excuse me!’ Issy made her voice louder this time. ‘I need everyone to come together for a quick meeting.’
Again, nothing happened.
Warwick walked out of the office pulling up his pants and used his thumb and forefinger to whistle. It was the ear-splitting sound more commonly used to call a dog. Faces snapped to attention. The bobcat stopped in its tracks. Even the stop-go girl looked over, putting her phone in her pocket.
‘Get your arses here now!’
Issy straightened her hard hat as the workers crowded around. She didn’t approve of the language but at least it was effective. By the time everyone was assembled, roughly thirty sweaty, grimy men stood in a loose huddle. The only other women were the stop-go girl (Whatwasthe official term?) and Cathy, who stood by her side, holding an iPad.
