Moana was standing outside her house which formed part of a cluster of ten or so on Maori land at the northern-most part of MacLeod’s Cove.
Dan was glad she was because, while you could see the cluster of houses from the main highway going north, he hadn’t actually visited the place since he was a boy when he’d had friends living there. And, without house numbers, he wouldn’t have known which one she lived in.
‘Cuz!’ exclaimed Moana, a tall woman dressed professionally on the top half, leggings on the bottom. It seemed odd to realise that they really were related. It was even odder that, after he’d embraced her, she pressed her nose to his for a moment in a hongi. Another thing he’d forgotten. He had a lot to catch up on.
‘Good to meet you,’ he said, sounding formal.
She laughed. ‘We’ve met before! Don’t you remember?’
He shot another glance at her and shook his head. ‘Sorry. I’ve been away a long time.’
She indicated he should precede her up the steps of the traditional wooden bungalow. ‘You’re all dressed up. Cool. You scrub up good. This is my “working from home” gear. Smart on the top for zoom meetings, and comfy on the bottom.’ She slapped her thighs and laughed — an irrepressible giggle which had him smiling back.
He entered a small house that had been completely transformed inside. Walls had been knocked down and the living space was open plan with a kitchen, dining table and living area. A professional area had been set up in the corner, complete with desk, computer screens and a back-drop of plants and tidy bookshelves, no doubt for the benefit of zoom meetings.
‘Coffee?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘Thanks. You’ve got a great place here.’ Through the window, the grasses and undulating meadows of Queen Elizabeth Park rippled pale gold. A stand of cabbage trees stood at the bottom of the garden framing the view.
When the coffee machine quietened, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘It’s home.’
He grunted, understanding completely.
‘Take a seat.’ She indicated the comfortable looking sofas set around a low coffee table.
She brought over the coffee, in pale green cups and saucers which matched the designer decor. It might be an old house in the middle of the countryside, but Moana had embraced the mid-century style and created a home which wouldn’t have been out of place in House and Garden magazine.
‘Thank you.’
He took a sip of his coffee as Moana retrieved an iPad from her desk. She tucked her legs under her and tapped at the tablet, before looking up at him with a warm smile. Despite all the comfort, style and informality, there was something in her eyes, the way she looked at him, which made him realise that she was the complete professional. And that you under-estimated Moana at your peril.
‘So,’ she said replacing her cup on the saucer and settling back among the cushions in all shades of cream and green. ‘You’re after a job.’
Dan didn’t think he’d ever felt this unsettled during a work meeting before. He guessed that meant he’d never wanted anything more.
‘Yes. But I’m after something different to what I did before.’
She nodded. ‘Tell me about it.’
And he did. He found it easy to talk to her about what had initially drawn him to his work, and how he’d enjoyed it at first. Then he went on to describe how slowly he saw a side to the political world in which he’d moved that he’d felt uncomfortable with at best, and, at worst had grown to hate. It had eaten away at him bit by bit, until he knew it was time to move away. He reflected that what he was saying related equally to his private life, but he wasn’t about to share those particulars with Moana.
He stopped suddenly, realising that he’d talked for longer, and revealed far more about his life, than he’d intended. Moana was clearly good at her job.
He huffed an awkward laugh. ‘Seems like I’ve used you as my therapist.’
She smiled and shrugged. ‘I consider I am a kind of therapist. After all my living depends on assessing people and placing them in the right job.’
‘And do you think you can find the right job for me?’
‘I think you have a lot of skills that can be re-directed.’ She tapped her finger against her lips for a few moments. ‘Wait a moment.’ She swiped through a few screens on her iPad, scanned the text thoughtfully and then looked up at him. A slow smile spread over her face. ‘How about working as a consultant — as you’re used to — except you’d be working for an independent policy consultancy?’
His heart beat more quickly, but he narrowed his eyes, determined not to get his excitement up. This could mean anything. ‘A consultancy working for who?’
‘The particular consultancy I’m thinking of works for the public interest. Its consultants are hired by non-government organisations, iwi, charities, any entity which advocates for the public interest.’
He found himself sitting forward, hands clasped. ‘Sounds interesting.’
‘The consultancy is extremely in demand but is also very choosy about who they hire. They want excellent communicators, people used to the complexities of politics, with the ability to grasp meaning from political documents and communicate those to their clients. But, most importantly, they’re after consultants with integrity, who put the public good over business. Does that sound like the kind of thing you’d be interested in?’ She said the last statement with a smile, as they both knew it was exactly what he’d described.
