It was by a floor-to-ceiling plate glass window which in turn overlooked the road which Curtis had been strolling along, killing time. A bead of sweet trickled down his temple as he wondered, ‘Bloody hell, has he been watching me wandering about out there like a lost soul?’
To him Toni Russo was the epitome of style. Even today in what appeared to be his casual mode, he outshone Curtis’s business look. Toni was a ‘coat hanger’ a man made for clothes. Linen jacket, open necked denim shirt tucked into tailored Chinos. The hair, now collar length, featured a centre shade. He had become predominantly grey. His complexion, a trade mark of a well-travelled flier and a man at ease with himself.
As they settled down Toni opened proceedings. ‘Curtis, I must say, you are looking very well. I remember that on our first meeting,’ he stopped and smiled, while reaching over to pat Curtis on the shoulder, ‘that you had that fairy tale look of wonder about your face. But, at the same time you caught my attention. More so, as my presentation dug down into deep issues that day. And on several occasions thereafter, might I just add, you gave off signals of a young man hungry for career advancement, yes? Furthermore and whenever I could, I had a habit of checking up on you. Big brother stuff, eh? I have even replied to an occasional agency reference.’
Curtis, still in awe nodded. After a nervy pause he answered. ‘Yes, I suppose I was―hungry. But—’
Before he could say anything more, Toni spoke over him. ‘This, Curtis, is one of my treats when I come over here,’ he said pointing to the plate on the low table. ‘Scones. Back, over the water it’s either fruit or plain.’ With a gesture of an arm, he continued, ‘Well, I mean, look at this collection, a shear indulgence. Yes?’ With knife in hand as if it were a baton, he asked, ‘What’s your favourite, Curtis?’ he paused, then asked, ‘It is Curtis, or perhaps Curt these days?’ Returning to the food having hardly skipped a beat, he asked, ‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Oh, err. Curtis is grand, as is a coffee, thanks. The blueberry, as a matter of fact.’
‘No, it’s the cherry for me, every time. It really is my downfall. Butter, jam and cream, delicious. Developed a bit of a paunch, as you can no doubt see since our last time, eh? But a working man needs a small indulgence from time to time....What you say Curtis?’
Curtis had bought into Toni Russo’s tittle-tattle. He was however at a loss as to understand where it was all going. Nevertheless he kept the conversation alive by saying, ‘They’re full of butter, scones, you know. But yes, I agree. An indulgence, sure enough, even better warm.’ He paused. Curtis was in a conversation that he was not in control of. He said, ‘I’m sure your wife gives off something terrible when you get back home after a long trip. Especially when it’s from, as you’ve said, over indulging, over here.’
Off the back of that observation and with a growing confidence, he followed through with his most pressing question. Within himself he needed to move the conversation along to business; Jeez I haven’t driven this distance to discuss the merits of a flipin’ scone. ‘…And so, err…you’re over here quite a bit then?’
Toni didn’t bite. But Curtis was sure that he had picked up on his question. In a flash and in response, a reply danced across the low table just as Curtis had commenced the jamming of his scone.
‘No, there’s no Mrs. Russo I’m afraid, and yes Curtis, I do seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time over here these days.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to probe.’
‘No worries Curtis. Not dead, just divorced, a few years since. However, and unplanned, I’ve fallen in with some pleasurable company of late, so, we’ll see.’ With a sly grin he continued, ‘I may even be spending more time in this excellent part of the UK. Which, neatly, brings me around to disclosing the reason for inviting you down here on this fine Belfast morning, or has it turned afternoon? So, I’ll crack on if you don’t mind. I’ve a plane to catch this evening, and a few more calls yet to make.’ Leaning forward, he pointed to Curtis’s tie. ‘Yachtsman too?’
‘Hardly. I just messed about in sailboats on that lake back then. It became an escape from all the factory crap.’ Curtis had hardly finished his reply when Toni spoke. For the next three quarters of an hour he outlined his reasons for the invitation. As Curtis remained fixated he explained how he had found him again.
‘It had been,’ he explained, ‘as a result of another of my visits here when I caught an Ulster Television news interview concerning the demise of the Cardinali engineering premises.’ He went on to tell Curtis how impressed he had been by the way he had handled himself on air. Delving further back into time he also brought up those bad old days at the doomed English plant. He told Curtis that he had already sussed him out as a potential leader. Then, with a change of tone, he apologised for the way that Curtis had been shifted from floor to floor, or as he termed it. ‘From pillar to post around the plant... some of the postings were not too pleasurable I guess?’
As Curtis attempted to respond, Toni quietly raised his hand. Curtis sloped back into his tub chair while biting another piece of scone.
‘Those Red-Fred adventures for example? You passed that one with flying colours. Let me tell you, that by sticking to your guns and delivering that disciplinary note I doubt that our people would have ever got control of the plant. Well, actually, truth be told, they never got close to control. Worse, overheads continued to rise to the point of no return. That’s when I started to distance myself too.’
He stopped, combed his fingers through his hair then took up the pace again, ‘I was really shocked when I learnt of your incident in the park that night. Things should never get to that level. But then again, none of us were aware of Redpath’s underworld activities. You became a bigger man than the rest of them.’
Toni reached over and patted Curtis’s forearm before continuing. ‘And, in truth your assault that night was a catalyst which definitely moderated shop floor politics. What a shame that the senior managers and my fellow directors hadn’t the balls to utilise the lead that you presented them with. You’re a martyr young man, a martyr!’ Smiling, Toni sat back, his cherry scone all but demolished.
Curtis took the opportunity to reopen the conversation, ‘I’m not sure about a martyr, but I did have the satisfaction of witnessing him being hand-cuffed and put into a police car.’
‘Maybe I should have stayed, weathered whatever storms arose over there?’
‘No, Curtis, no. Staying there would have been wrong for you, believe me.’ Toni paused, breathed in, ‘Over the years I sort of lost track of you.’ Before Curtis could say anything, he continued, ‘Being thrust into the public eye can be a stressful experience, never mind having to deal with the destruction and obvious intimidation that had befallen you. You’re a good lad Curtis. This is why,’ he inserted a theatrical pause while looking into Curtis’s very being, ‘I want you to join my team for a project we’re developing over here.’ Toni handed over a thick lever arch file.
‘Bedtime reading young man. Take a few weeks, there’s a lot in there to get your head around. Look over it and dive into it. There are names and contact numbers in the file and I want you to start reaching out to my other team members. Finance and planning and whoever you need to, so that you can get a good handle on the project. Yes? Good! Don’t say anything now and we will meet again. You need a bit of time to get your head around it all.’ They agreed that they would meet again in six weeks’ time, not at the Europa, but at the business address which was written in bold type on an inside page of the black ring binder.
Outside the dramatic hotel entrance a somewhat shell-shocked Curtis Cardinali stood routed. He glanced across the busy road towards the Crown Bar. Again thoughts of a calming spirit reared up. He finally dismissed it and said to himself, ‘Na hit the road son, you’ve a long drive ahead of you. Phew, what a day. Think I’d much prefer to celebrate with my wife, as opposed to being that lonely guy at the end of a bar.’
Chapter 22 : Phoenix
First impressions didn’t exactly excite or inspire. In fact as a start to a day that was meant to hold promise, it was a definite disappointment. Curtis had parked up his aged Cavalier estate car some distance back from the gates of a sprawling and visually tired industrial estate. It was on the southern outskirts of Belfast, near to Lisburn. He slid his seat back from the steering column. Twisting around, he recovered the ring-binder from the back seat.
He rechecked the address. All of the buildings in front of him featured the same faded two-tone blue metal cladding. He queried whether he was even at the correct location. This was followed by an all too familiar session of self-berating as he reminded himself that he really should have scoped out the address directly after the original Russo meeting.
He stepped out of his car. He studied the sizeable hoarding on which a plan of the site was displayed together with the tenants’ names and addresses. Finally, roughly half-way down the double column he found his target address.
Thereafter the building in question was easily enough located; one of the largest units, it appeared to be vacant. It was certainly devoid of any industry. Unlike its neighbours this one seemed particularly unloved. Sectarian graffiti added ‘colour’ to an otherwise drab industrial facade. The perimeter fence had been breached in a number of places and roller shutter doors had been abused too. An elderly forklift truck which was missing a wheel had, it seemed to him, been abandoned in front of one of the damaged doors. Perhaps, Curtis figured, it acted as a temporary security device. Was there something valuable within, he pondered. A couple of windows at the front of the building had fallen foul of the local vandals. Some letters of signage which had been removed or fallen from the building lay dumped in a partly filled skip, they confirmed that this had been the residence of the now defunct, County Mouldings Limited (C.M.L). He knew, from the material in his ring binder, that it had been purchased from the liquation team by Toni Russo and his partners. he wondered what he had hoped for. Shiny bright modern offices? A fully working factory?
‘Oh shit. What have I agreed to?’ After some further contemplation he slotted the gear-stick into first and commenced a crawling circumnavigation of the site. All too soon, he wished he hadn’t...
A methodical survey failed to engender a much needed flicker of positivity. Weathered storage bins of raw material dumped around the base of two tall silver silos, stacks of what appeared to be faulty product and pallets of redundant machinery together with skips of builder’s waste. If this is the exterior...?
The more he scanned, the more detritus filled his windscreen. It acted it seemed to him in that disturbed moment, like a TV, screening a B-listed horror movie. He came to a slow halt and rested his head on the steering wheel. Then with a deep sigh he slowly straightened himself. ‘Oh boy.’ In something of a daze he concluded that the CML site was nothing short of derelict.
By the time he had arrived back at the front entrance his state of negativity could not be corrected by the smiling Toni Russo. With a laugh and an enthusiastic hand-shake the man himself said, ‘Ah, Curtis my boy, I could read you like a book. You just had to check it all out for yourself first. Yes, yes I know – it’s not pretty. Come on, come in. Let me show you those positives that you’re craving. Let me lift you out of that ditch of disappointment, and mend those shattered dreams.’
Curtis hid the scowl he felt. What have I been suckered into? It had been sold to Curtis as an opportunity for advancement. His mind was submerging. Jumping ship now seemed like a more sensible route for advancement. Hesitating he thought further, deeper; I’ve yet to actually sign on the dotted line so, let’s just see what waits around the corner. Holding a tight lipped facade he followed obediently, still observing, still doubting, still waiting and still wanting to be convinced.
His own due diligence on Toni Russo should have rung alarm bells. Everything can of course be read two ways, but in the worst light, Russo and his partners could be taken as no more than asset strippers. At best however, they were investors in the turning around of failed businesses. On stepping through a side door they emerged onto a deserted shop floor. They were greeted with an overture of silence. It was eerie and very surprising. Where once crate after crate of product spilled onto pallets, now there was stillness, but the regimented lines of idle machinery was gleaming. The place was spotless. In that instant Curtis had got it, or at least enough to hold his curiosity.
He knew the history of the plant and the reasons for its failure. He remained privately suspicious as to the real reason why he had been the guy chosen to get production back up and running. Yes, during his time in England, and indeed in Derry, he had acquired a great knowledge of manufacturing and especially of injection moulding machinery presses. But managing a full scale production department would be a challenge. Yet he couldn’t fail to think that his Cardinali pendulum was beginning its swing towards the positive.
A scenario or two had already crossed his mind on how to get the whole shebang up and into a viable operation. As the factory tour continued, many of Curtis’s doubts continued to dissipate. As something of a diversion, he enjoyed a private chuckle as he observed the day’s dress code; him in a sober suit and tie, Toni and his team in boiler suits. Toni, he noticed, continued to look cool, the rest of them, not so. With his tie unknotted, rolled up and stuffed into a pocket Curtis’s industrious mind continued to whirl as the director of sales development joined the tour.
‘Curtis, hi there. Gerald Fox. At last a face to a name.’
‘Yes good to meet you too, and in the flesh, so to speak.’
Further on into the tour he found an opportunity to ask, ‘Tell me Gerald, when will I receive your forward forecast, you know, that we discussed a couple of weeks ago, remember? If I’m to get started here I really need some numbers to work around.’
A smirking reply followed, ‘All in good time matey. Have patience my son. As you’ve no doubt noticed, there are a number of things still to happen around here.’ It had been a reply conveniently out of Russo’s earshot. It wasn’t the reply that Curtis had expected. In an instant his mind went into overdrive. Oh shit, here we go again; another ‘us and them’ scenario. The habitual sales ‘v’ production remains alive and I fear, not too far under the surface too.
If Curtis had been totally honest with himself, it had been that encounter with Fox – immediately nick-named Foxie – that became the catalyst, which fuelled nay, glued him into yet another challenge.
After the tour and further formal introductions Curtis was whisked away for a private session with the personnel people. Whether wise or indeed unwise, Curtis Cardinali did sign on the dotted line, but only after a number of contract modifications were agreed.
His day therefore ended on a much higher note than the disappointing start . His next challenge was the long dreary drive back to the northwest and the announcement to Jac of the next stage of his career... It had just turned 4 p.m. ‘Well, at least I’ll get a head start on the city traffic.’
While it would be back to the ‘day job’ come Monday, for this day an obligatory celebratory meal headed up his personal agenda. His weekend thereafter would centre round the writing of his resignation letter while preparing himself for negotiations with his current employer; agreeing for example, a congruent notice period.
He was well aware of the likely options: gardening leave for the duration, work the duration, or be immediately ‘let go’. He hoped for the latter, although the gardening option would allow him the time to get fully up to speed with the finer details of the CML project. Not unexpectedly the official terms for his notice period read: ‘...work a month’s notice’.
Sadly for him, he would not be allowed to simply slip away from his current employment. He was to work his four weeks, throughout which he received the farewell wishes and obligatory wise-cracks from his colleagues together with the proceeds of a collection, which he hadn’t seen coming. Then a conveniently placed head-of-department presented him with his leaving gift. An even bigger
surprise!
Curtis’s reply, his leaving speech, was a bit of a slow starter. Ironically, it came to life when he choked-up while recalling how everyone had rallied round him and Jacqueline following the loss of their wee side-line to the paramilitary’s fire-bombing. Thereafter, a few beers became a few beers more before his partner was summoned for taxi duty.
Chapter 23 : New Brooms
What a difference a day – thirty days – makes. This was the first thought to occur to Curtis as he parked in that same lay-by to overlook what was – as indeed the new signage re-affirmed, the re-risen County Mouldings (NI) Limited. Its facade now featured modern architectural cladding: It also featured the revitalised company logo and colour scheme of yellow letters on a dark grey background.
With renewed haste – it was seven fifty exactly on a crisp Monday morning – and with a hint of impatience he had slotted his new Ford Cortina directly into an allotted space. Briefcase grasped in one hand, several files tucked underarm a deftly swing of a hip persuaded the rear door of his gleaming company car to close. Strutting through the freshly painted entrance he thought to himself, Curtis this is it, the first step towards the rest of your life – don’t mess it up son.
‘Good morning Mister Cardinali, Sir.’ A voice boomed down from above. ‘Come up and meet some of the other early birds on this fine new morning.’ As Curtis mounted the staircase two steps at a time, Toni continued with his welcome, ‘I’m sure you’re gasping for a coffee, no scones I’m afraid. No issues on the drive down? Car performed okay?’
With a deep breath he entered what would become the board room. But immediately a crisis enveloped him. Scanning the scant gathering he realised that he’d got the dress code wrong again. He was in Polo shirt and jeans. They were in suits. After a few nods and hand-shakes and tittle-tattle he high-tailed it down onto the not so silent shop floor for an eight o’clock briefing with his newly appointed team leaders. Following that meeting it was back upstairs for the nine o’clock session.
A Letter to a Lucky Man Page 16