Speak to the Man Called Hope. Lawrence Hall

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      Speak to the Man Called Hope

      He blinks twice. In an instant the momentary lapse of his surrounds leaves a vacuum of awareness. He asks himself, ‘where am I?’ Where is he indeed?

      The low winter sun shines through the emptiness of the leafless tree shedding light and a little warmth on the side of his face. His layers of clothes shield the coldness of the morning as he clasps the steaming café latte.

      Let the story of Ro Chai uncover a mystery of intrigue in his otherwise unobtrusive life in finance and try to discover the world city as it unfolds in this tale of romance, murder and conceit. Where is Ro Chai?

      See if you can identify which world city Ro Chai is in.

      Visit: www.whereisrochai.com

      Acknowledgement

      To Laurie Burke, my Year 12 English teacher, who taught me how to describe what its like to eat a meat pie. Thank you.

      Chapter 1 Time for a change

      Buongiorno! How are you? A sombre face but pleasant morning voice greets early morning visitors. The Roman barista’s length of eye contact varies by each customer. It’s the early morning coffee call and Michelangelo’s has just opened for business. The sandstone tiles announce all visitors, its hard stone exterior identifies the softest of sole wearers. He looks around at the simple but appropriately fitted room and identifies the morning papers already laying available for reading on top of the wine barrel. The tables are small, brown and square with four chairs although they are only suited to two people hence the popularity of the tables against the wall. Bottles of Italian wine line the walls and are separated by photos of the pantheon, the foro italico, the colloseo and the trevi fountain, all at night. They are a time passed. No doubt they are valuable memories to Giovanni, the store owner, from his days gone by in Italy. Another wall hangs drawings of Leonardo da Vinci completing the identity of the cosy café.

      He meanders to the counter, not enveloped by anything particular, there is no waft of cooked food in the air, it is too early. The smooth aroma of roasted beans massaged through the grinder poses a familiar and refreshing enough scent to draw the mind away to greener pastures. Marcelo is playing with the stereo, their latest addition to the ambience at Michelangelo’s albeit only for the early morning venturer. The tone shifts from Italian music for an audience of five to a humming thrawl of keen coffee drinkers and their mid-morning work discussions. Foreign music sometimes feels more exotic and uplifting and provides a loud but tolerable background to a coffee and paper. ‘Have you seen the score?’ asks Marcelo in his roman accented English. Marcelo enjoys his futbol. Roma used to be a great team and in his mind still is. He misses his youth days singing in the stalls of the stadio olympico with one hundred or so of his closest friends of which he knew all their names. He is a tall figure, imposing with his bald head, sharp brown eyes and blonde beard. He leans often and his stance though casual probably reflects the long hours standing at the coffee machine. His t-shirt frequently has a striped colour print and rarely with brands, words or symbols emblazoned upon it. His once dark blue jeans washed and worn for years, or for look, are clean. The empty cabinet beckons the plethora of pastries to be crafted by Giovanni shortly. The donuts, like arancini balls rather than rings of dough are called bombolini although yesterday Marcelo advised Ro its pronounced bombolino not bombolini – only because Ro buys one and not many. These have become a regular indulgence as part of the morning coffee. He knows he shouldn’t be eating them but they are irresistible and he feels a sense of obligation sitting in the café so long and just buying a coffee. Soon the coffee bean aroma will be complimented by the decadent smell of baking pastry.

      He hasn’t seen the score, but Arsenal very rarely beats Barca, even at the Emirates stadium. No doubt the return leg at the Camp Nou will be an even more difficult affair to swallow. Marcelo is critical of Roma not making the Champions League. He feels the new manager is warranted in trying new younger blood, but the results have not been forthcoming and clearly Roma supporters have high expectations. The funds are handed across and Ro takes his usual seat on the other side of the counter, in front of the coffee machine, virtually in the corner; it’s a great view of the café, observing the visitors and listening to the conversations on the four person tables. ‘Flat white and one bombolino, bello.’ Marcelo whispers, his eyes drawn away by the ringing bell announcing a young female entrant to the café. She arrives at this time every day. One would know she is a regular by the quality of her Italian. It has improved immensely, thanks to Marcelo, and so has her attention to her dress sense. Make-up, heels, more formal attire; a promotion perhaps, surely not the presence of Marcelo is the reason for the change. Daniela orders her skinny soy cap and proceeds to the outside table for a quick hit of nicotine.

      He reaches for his pen, the instrument that may change his destiny forever, or so it feels. Normally he scans through the financial newspaper looking for interesting stories to read on the markets. These days everything one needs to know flicks across tablet screens appended to an electronic ticker tape so the paper is read more for its in-depth news and reports on the goings on in the world of finance. Today he has a meeting with the General Manager of strategy to discuss major changes in the business he runs and which the GM will soon take control. Ro runs a small stockbroking business at a major high street bank called Mason Thompson. He has the benefit of being responsible for a very small business with the luxury and support of a major high street bank behind him. He has spent the last 3 months responding to his vendor being taken over by a competitor high street bank, Wilson Jamieson and dealing with the conflicts associated with this circumstance. Notwithstanding, the strategy guys, led by the gun GM recruited from New York by the bank’s CEO, are keen to change the stockbroking business substantially. Ro needs to provide some insight into the stockbroking industry, the major changes occurring and the opportunities for his business in light of the group’s change in strategic direction or risk losing his job. No mean feat. Time to make some notes.

      Ro makes the long walk from one side of the building to the office of the CEO at the other end. This is generally where the GM sits when he is in town. It’s an interesting building in a new part of town. Over the years the appeal of the waterfront nested aside the CBD is too great. The docks are too valuable to remain in demise to a time of old cargo ships, decaying goods sheds, heavy handed wharf unions and cranes deteriorating and rusted from the wear and tear of larger and larger cargo containers. A new area further up the river toward the expanse of the bay has become the new destination of modernised equipment dedicated to mimicking the efficiency of places like Singapore. The cranes are much larger, most of them are driven by remote control, are more mobile and able to handle bigger, heavier containers. A dedicated train line and new trucking facility have been built to accommodate significantly increased throughput from the super-container ships. The old area was razed to make way for new commercial, retail and residential development. It is an exciting concept for the city’s residents and creates opportunities aplenty. Mason Thompson was one of the anchor tenants in the area. They built an exciting new building with only 8 floors as opposed to the traditional skyscraper and a much more open plan working space inside. The building is multi-coloured and square, rapidly acquiring a nickname of the Rubik’s cube. The open space with large atrium in the middle creates an openness designed to encourage imaginative and creative thinking. Ro arrives at reception and is greeted by a warm smile from Ros, the executive assistant to the CEO, Franc. She is past her prime but still visually attractive, sleek and slender and whilst the cream she uses daily has slowed the ageing process her face still reflects the toll two divorces have taken on her life. ‘You must be Ro’, she commences. ‘Welcome. You are first to the meeting. If you head down the corridor to the second room on the right I can fix you something to drink. Would you like a coffee or a pot of tea?’, she continues. ‘Coffee would be wonderful, thanks Ros’ Ro responds excitedly. Not even a minute goes by when the view over the harbour is disrupted by a three-way conversation entering the room. It’s the deposit product team. They are heavily ensconced in discussion on changes to product design СКАЧАТЬ