Free Grand Slam by Kathryn Ledson Page B

the explosion?’
    â€˜Uh-huh.’
    â€˜Do we know if that’s even possible?’
    Marcus shrugged. ‘I love the name “Sharon” for a cyclone, don’t you?’
    I went back to my desk. My phone was ringing and before I could get to it, Charlotte picked it up. ‘Media and investor relations, Charlotte Johnson speaking.’ I snatched the phone off her. It was the
Herald Sun
.
    â€˜No news yet. Something to do with the cyclone. We’re investigating . . . you’re first on my list when we get something . . . no, skeleton staff only . . .’
    I spent the next hour on the phone with the media. I hung up from a call with the
West Australian
and watched my phone, waiting for it to ring again. The other two members of our team were taking calls from investors and the public. Rosalind would talk to the share-registry people; JD and the chairman would handle the super VIPs, the major shareholders. My phone was silent.
    I turned to Charlotte. She’d lined up the pens, paperclips, stapler, sticky-tape dispenser, post-it notes, etc. in neat, orderly rows. The paperclips especially were impressive. Little soldiers. Hmm. Useful. As I stood my jacket swished across the desk, disturbing the line of paperclips.
    â€˜Sorry.’
    Charlotte stared at her destroyed artwork.
    â€˜Have you read any of the manual?’
    She looked up at me.
    â€˜Okay, well, why don’t you put that away for now. You can watch how we handle a crisis.’
    I explained to Charlotte what I knew about the explosion, adding that this wasn’t normal, in case she worried about regular blasts and panic around the office. I sent her home at 5 p.m. and started my day’s work. Mum called my mobile at five forty-five.
    â€˜I’m just dishing up.’
    â€˜Dinner? It’s not even six o’clock.’
    â€˜Are you nearly home?’
    â€˜Mum, no, I won’t . . . it’s been a terrible day at work. I’ll be here for ages yet.’
    â€˜Well, what time? Just so I know.’
    â€˜Mum, please.’
    She huffed into the phone.
    I drew in a deep breath. ‘Just . . . please don’t allow for me at meal times. I can take care of myself.’
    We hung up, hopefully still friends. Taking care of myself would mean McDonald’s drive-thru and I’d prefer Mum’s cooking, but I needed her to back off.
    At six o’clock, John Degraves, most of the company execs, a scattering of minions and the entire media and investor relations department met in the boardroom to watch the news. The explosion was top story. JD had been given a few seconds of airtime where he said the company was investigating the explosion, however ‘all evidence points to a terrible accident quite beyond Dega Oil’s control’. What evidence? Because of the cyclone, no-one had been able to get out to the rig to investigate.
    They’d interviewed Martin McGann, CEO of Australia’s second biggest company, Mintin Mining. He also happened to be JD’s archenemy and father of the very nasty Shane. Mr McGann despised John Degraves, for lots of reasons. JD had a bigger company, bigger house, better-looking wife, children who weren’t in jail. JD had won the major sponsorship for the tennis, when Mintin Mining had wanted it.
    Martin was telling the journalist that this was ‘clearly a cover-up’. That responsibility and fault lay firmly with Dega Oil, and that ‘cyclones do not cause explosions on oil rigs that are maintained to industry standards’. He’d added a brief laugh, as though the very idea of an explosion-causing cyclone was ludicrous.
    But he had a point. How could a cyclone cause an explosion on an oil rig?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
    It was after ten o’clock when I packed up my desk. Marcus had left at nine. Rosalind was still there, probably waiting for everyone to disappear so she could hang upside-down