Set Me Free (14 page)

‘Without
mediocrity, there can be no excellence,’ Charlotte mumbled under her breath.

‘Surely this means
it will be knocked back,’ Ben suggested, ignoring her mutterings.

‘I’m not sure,’
said Charlotte.

Emily pounced on
her. ‘What?  What is it? What are you up to?’

Clutching the
sketchbook tightly, Charlotte told them she had an idea.

‘I’ve been looking
at what else has been approved around this area and beginning to have doubts
about how solid our argument is. There have been plenty of older buildings
demolished to make way for new developments and most of them have made some
attempt to blend in with the surrounding buildings to retain the look of the
area. I don’t think
that
,’ she pointed to the plans, ‘will get approved,
but I think something will, eventually.'

She paused
momentarily before changing tack. ‘I think we’re in for a long wait with this
uncertainty hanging over our heads. And I've been thinking that perhaps if we
speed up the inevitable, we may actually come out on top.’

She set her
sketchbook down on the table and opened it.

‘Is that your lost
sketchbook?’ asked Emily.

‘No, this is new. I
picked it up at the airport this afternoon,’ Charlotte said, leaning back so
Emily and Ben could see what she’d been working on.

Leaning over Ben’s
shoulder and flicking through the pages, Emily whispered, ‘You’re so talented.'
A lump formed in her throat, and she felt the all too familiar pooling of
tears.

Ben flinched as a
strand of her hair fell upon his ear. ‘Sorry,’ she said, tucking it behind her
own ear and resting her hand on his shoulder.

Charlotte had been
sketching buildings, variations of a theme. ‘This is for here,’ Emily observed,
looking closely. The streetscape was distinctly Boundary Street.

‘It is,’ Charlotte
said.  

Ben looked up at
her, scowling slightly, suspicious. ‘Spill,’ he commanded.

‘I think if we
could get on the front foot we could get something out of it. It may take years
for the proposal to be dragged through the approvals process before it gets the
go ahead, but now it’s been flagged and looking at what else has happened
around here, it will go ahead. I have no doubt.'

Charlotte
continued. ‘Looking at all those places on Monday got me thinking about how I
would create a perfect space for us. And the more I thought about it, the more
I realised this development might actually be an opportunity. If we could work
with them, perhaps we could get them to build us a new space so we could stay. It’s
got to be a win-win for them. They get to build, and they get guaranteed
tenants.’

‘At twice the
rent, I imagine,’ grumbled Ben. ‘I don’t know, Charlotte,’ he added. ‘I like
our rustic little strip. I’m not sure I could handle something sterile and
new.’

‘I know what
you’re saying,’ she said. ‘But perhaps we could work that out in the design.’

Emily was flicking
through the sketches while they talked. She’d forgotten how brilliant her
sister was. The drawings were rough, but even in that state, were far superior
to the proposal on the council website. They showcased Charlotte’s unique
talent for bringing out the magnificence in the mundane, making something new
look old and rustic but glamorous. If Craig Carmichael truly meant what he said
at that community meeting about preserving the cultural heritage, he would do
well to take a look at these sketches.

‘These are
amazing, Charlotte,’ she said. ‘You should have never given it up. Here,’ she
said to Ben, ‘look at this.' She showed him Charlotte’s options for Bean
Drinkin’.

Ben took the book
from Emily and peered at them closely. He was clearly impressed. ‘I see what
you mean,’ he said. ‘Why did you give this up?’ he asked Charlotte.

‘The gallery of
course,’ she responded. ‘I never meant to give it up entirely but our gallery
just kind of took over.’

‘
Our
gallery?’ Emily asked, looking up at her sister.

‘Well, I know I
take care of running it, but I always think of it as ours,’ Charlotte said to
Emily. ‘You're the drawcard that gets people in. I just make sure the rent gets
paid and there’s a bit of variety every now and then. Without you, there’d be
no point to the gallery. Without you, I never would have set it up in the first
place.' She turned back to the sketchbook, her attention focused on trying to
win Ben over.

‘Really?  You only
opened this place because of me?’ Emily asked.

Charlotte didn’t
respond.

The revelation
floored Emily, making her feel like a self-absorbed brat. How had she not known
that was how Charlotte saw things?  When Charlotte had decided to follow her
and Geoff to Queensland and open a gallery, Emily had been slightly surprised,
but it wasn’t entirely removed from the world of design she was entrenched in
at university. Art and architecture often went hand-in-hand. Her decision had
made some semblance of sense at the time. Dropping out of a degree she loved at
the end of her third year had seemed rash, but Emily had put it down to
Charlotte changing her mind about what she really wanted to be when she grew up.
And at the time, Charlotte had confirmed as much under questioning.

Somehow in amongst
all of it, Emily never picked up on the fact that Charlotte was actually
opening the gallery for her. The guilt she'd been working hard to suppress was
pushing through, so she shoved it back down with anger. Apparently Charlotte
didn’t think she could succeed on her own merits.

She was mothering
her, just as she’d always done, filling in the gap left by Diane.

‘And you still
think of it as ours?’ Emily asked, her tone sharp enough to capture Charlotte’s
attention.

She looked up. ‘Of
course I see it that way,’ she answered. ‘Don’t you?  Where would you exhibit
if it wasn’t here?’

She knew it was
unintentional, but Charlotte’s suggestion she couldn’t get a gig anywhere else
smarted.

Ben was no longer
looking at the sketches. Instead, he was watching her through veiled eyes;
clearly reading more into this exchange than her sister. Charlotte was wholly
focused on the argument she was putting forward about the development,
determined to secure his agreement. She had no idea she'd just pissed Emily off.

Irate and feeling
exposed beneath Ben’s scrutiny, Emily decided to retreat.

‘I should get back
to it,’ she said, attempting to be casual. ‘I’ll leave you two to sort out the
future of Boundary Street.’

‘They’re going to
organise another community forum soon,’ Charlotte said to Ben. ‘I’m thinking of
trying to get them to change their design before then. What do you think?’

As Emily pulled
the curtain closed behind her, sealing herself in the privacy of her new
studio, she tried very hard not to begrudge the woman who’d given it to her.

‘Please
come this way, Ms Evans.’

Charlotte followed
the hostile receptionist into a large conference room on the sixteenth floor of
the building that accommodated Morgan Carmichael’s CBD offices. The room had a
spectacular view over the river and out to the bay. A curtain of summer smog
hung over the suburbs, but it did nothing to diminish the magnificence of the
vista. Charlotte turned her back on it. There was no way she would get through
this meeting gazing out the window. She had to stay focused, and a view like
that was there for daydreaming.

She was left alone
to wait and ward off a nervous breakdown. Where the hell did she find the
courage to do this?  Putting herself out there wasn’t necessarily out of
character, but there was a lot at stake here today.  

Her meeting was
with Keith Morgan, but given he was the project director, she expected she'd
also see Craig. It did nothing for her nerves. Almost a fortnight had passed
since she’d last seen him, but the memory of that encounter replayed in her
dreams every night, haunting and taunting her. Try as she might, she couldn’t
get him out of her head.

She took a seat
and began fidgeting with her papers, rearranging them again and again to keep
herself occupied. It was important to look like she knew what she was doing. She
didn’t, but she did know what she was talking about. She’d even gone to the
effort of buying a suit for the occasion. A very conservative, grey and starchy
online bargain, which wasn’t helping her relax.

Five clammy
minutes later, Craig Carmichael followed Keith Morgan into the room. Her
attention bypassed the older man and was instantly arrested by Craig. Her chest
tightened at the sight of him. Unlike hers, his suit was expensive, probably
tailor made, judging by the way he wore it. A suit reminiscent of the one she’d
wrestled him out of several weeks ago.  

The surly one
thrust his hand at Charlotte. ‘Keith Morgan,’ he barked.

‘Charlotte Evans.' She
eased herself smoothly and gracefully out of her chair and accepted his hand
across the table. From experience, she knew that charming men of his vintage
could be readily achieved by overt displays of femininity. It always worked
when trying to get middle-aged, middle-class husbands to invest in art at their
wife’s suggestion.

In character, she batted
her eyelids at his colleague. ‘Craig,’ she observed, and offered a smile she
hoped was serene, but she kept her hand away from him, because touching him
would be her undoing. He looked her up and down, raised a bemused eyebrow and
then assembled a poker face.

‘What can we do
for you, miss?’ Keith hastened, making sure the ‘miss’ was sufficiently
condescending. He dropped himself into a chair and gruffly gestured she and
Craig should do the same.

She faltered, sat,
and then recovered. Perhaps he was level-headed in the face of feminine charm. Was
it too late to change tact?  No, she could do both: feminine and professional.  

‘Thank you for
meeting with me, Keith,’ Charlotte oozed, with renewed determination. ‘As you
know, I am the spokesperson for the Boundary Street Preservation Group. You
would also know our group is developing a formal objection to your development
proposal for the site at 165 Boundary Street in West End.’

The Boundary
Street Preservation Group had only been formed in the last week, and its
membership to date consisted of her and Ben. Charlotte had every intention of
drawing in some additional members. Judging by the interest before, during and
after the first community meeting there would be no shortage of candidates. But
for now, the ‘group’ was nothing more than a useful title to get her past
Keith’s gatekeepers.  

‘You don’t have a
chance, lovey.’

Charlotte bristled
and shifted in her seat.

‘On the contrary,
Keith
,
my legal advice suggests we do.' It was a blatant lie.

Keith snorted, but
Charlotte pressed on. ‘I’ve come here today to discuss the possibility of a
compromise, which I think is in your interest. I can save you a lot of time and
money if you're willing to consider my proposal.’

Craig was still
silent and intensely unsettling as he watched her. What was he thinking?  Was
she screwing this up?  One thing for sure was she wasn’t going to be receiving
any back up from him.

‘Go on then,’
huffed Keith. Okay, maybe not screwing up. First hurdle surpassed.

‘The key issue for
the local community is the preservation of the cultural heritage of the
neighbourhood. I am sure I don’t need to tell you the cultural diversity in the
area is extensive and unique. What you're proposing is a threat to that and we
have grounds to object to the current proposal on its failure to blend in with
the existing streetscape.’

‘You have grounds
to object, love. That doesn’t mean you can stop it.’

Taking a deep,
patient breath, Charlotte pressed on. ‘I believe we could, Keith. The building
you're currently proposing to develop will not compliment the neighbouring
buildings. It makes no attempt to acknowledge its surroundings and could be
simply picked up and located anywhere. Not only does this mean you will
continue to be met with local resistance to your development, you may even
struggle to lease the building if it is considered an eyesore.’

As Keith growled
under his breath, Charlotte pressed on. ‘The group I represent is not
anti-growth. We can see there's value in certain development. As traders on
Boundary Street, we recognise we have the opportunity to benefit from a project
like this. All we ask is that you reconsider your current proposal and consult
with us on the plans for the site, as you claimed you would at the community
forum. I believe with a redesign, this development would actually be perceived
in a very different light by the group I represent, and the local community in
general.'

Keith glared
suspiciously at Craig, who almost indistinguishably shook his head. Charlotte
briefly pondered what the exchange meant, but she had no time to pause. This
was the hardest bit – where she bared her soul.

‘I have some
examples of designs you might consider as alternatives.' She laid her drawings
out before them. Craig leaned forward and began moving them around the table to
get a better look. Keith continued to lean back in his chair, barely giving
them a cursory glance.

Charlotte
swallowed and continued. ‘These are examples of a smaller-scale mixed-use
development. You can see the ground level retains a retail function and the
upper levels are for private accommodation. This is good contemporary design
for inner urban areas, and it blends well with the surrounding streetscape. It’s
much less confronting than your current proposal, from a both a community and
an aesthetic perspective.’

It was impossible
not to read Craig’s face now. He was gazing at her with wonder. ‘Did you do
these?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Did you put her up
to this?’ Keith growled at Craig.

‘No, I didn’t.' There
was a warning in Craig’s tone. Charlotte looked between them furtively. There
was definitely an avenue here for her to exploit, but she was unable to
identify what it was. What was going on?

Keith growled at
her. ‘Well, thank you for your time miss, but this is nothing new. These
options have been considered and weren't pursued. Perhaps your time would be
better spent looking for somewhere to relocate your little gallery, rather than
trying to tell me how to run my business.'

And with that
Keith stood up and walked out of the conference room.

Charlotte stared
after him. Did he really just walk out on her?  She looked at Craig, who was
also watching Keith disappear. Trying very hard not to panic, she began
gathering up her drawings.

Was that it?  How
could it have gone so wrong so quickly?  It was such an obvious win-win
solution. Why wouldn’t he want to consider this further?  She'd spent hours
perfecting the designs and the pitch. It was a good idea. How could he be so
dismissive?  She wondered if Craig could see she was fighting back tears.

Apparently not,
because when he finally spoke, his voice had a cold edge. ‘These are good
designs, Charlotte,’ he said, although it sounded like it pissed him off. Watching
her gather her things, he added in a dry tone, ‘There’s a lot more to you,
isn’t there?  Where did you learn to draw like that?’

‘Your boss is a
dinosaur,’ she snapped, ignoring the compliment, for what it was worth, and the
question that followed. ‘He’s going to regret not taking this seriously. I
can’t believe what you're proposing to develop. It’s hideous.' She paused her
paper shuffling and glared at him for emphasis. ‘I thought you believed
standards of excellence should be upheld, that mediocrity was a blight on our
society. That second-rate building is an obscenity.' Gone was the gracious
charmer, the seductive saleswoman.

‘We were talking
about films as far as I recall,’ he said slowly. His gaze remained locked with
hers. She couldn’t look away.

The tension slowly
began to ease. After a pause, he asked after her leg.

‘It’s healing,’
she answered, not offering any detail, trying not to recall him bandaging her. The
fight in her faded altogether, leaving her feeling exposed.

‘I have something
for you,’ he said, standing up.

‘What?’ she asked
nervously, draping her tote bag over her shoulder.

‘It’s in my
office. Follow me.’

Charlotte followed
him reluctantly through the maze of Morgan Carmichael cubicles, arousing the
curiosity of more than a few staff as she went. She had a sneaking suspicion he
had something she'd given up for lost, and it made her even more anxious. Had
he looked?

She hated feeling
this insecure and uncertain, constantly second-guessing herself. He’d said the
designs she’d just presented were good. That meant a lot. She needed her work
to be valued, and for some ridiculous reason, Craig’s opinion was important. Probably
just because he worked in the industry. If he had looked, did he think her
rough sketches of his Art Deco apartment block were good, or did he think they
were crap?

Urgh.
Charlotte almost groaned aloud.
Stop
brain, stop!
 

When they reached
his office, Craig introduced her to his assistant. Margie gave her a
surprisingly warm and genuine smile. The random act of compassion in an
otherwise hostile environment almost made her tear up.

Pleasantries out
of the way, Craig strode into his office and opened a drawer beneath his rather
large mahogany desk. His office was exactly as she'd imagined it. Expansive, polished
and orderly, yet seemingly much more lived in than his apartment.  

‘Here,’ he said, passing
her sketchbook.

‘Did you look through
this?’ she asked, accepting it.

‘Would I have been as
surprised by your secret talent as I was today if I had?’

Charlotte considered
him, the furrow of her brow deepening as she did. Answering a question with a
question was a sure way to avoid answering a question. Had he found the
sketches so abysmal that he was taken aback when he saw her designs today?

Stop brain, stop!

‘Charlotte, I did not
look through your sketchbook.'

She nodded, muted with
gratitude.

‘You obviously know what
you're talking about when it comes to urban design. How is it that you know so
much?’ he asked.

Charlotte answered him
without thinking. ‘I did three years of an undergrad architecture degree.’

Craig considered her a
moment before sitting on the edge of his desk, stretching his long legs out in
front of him and crossing his ankles. ‘Why did you stop?  You’ve got obvious
talent.’

As vulnerable as she
was, if he softened her with any more compliments like that, she’d pool.  

‘I moved up here and
opened the gallery,’ she replied. Somehow he’d turned the conversation personal.
He knew that about her, but he didn’t know what it had cost her. She was giving
him the back story she’d so far managed to keep to herself; the chapter that
harboured a few regrets.

‘So anyway, now you
know, I’ve studied architecture. That’s what else there is to me. But tell me,
what else is there to you?  How can a man with such obvious good taste have
submitted a design like that?’

‘You think I have good
taste?'

Was he flustered or just
being annoying?
 

‘You clearly have good
taste,’ Charlotte huffed. ‘You dress well, your apartment is stylish, and your
office is slick.'

For emphasis, she
gestured widely. The movement had her taking it all in, noticing things she
hadn’t when she’d first walked in. She started.

‘Where did you get
that?’ she asked, staring at the painting mounted on the wall directly across
from his desk. It was her favourite piece from Emily’s last exhibition. The one
with the bicycle and the wildflowers. The one that reminded her life was what
you made of it.