Julian laughs loudly, shaking his head. “I don’t think you’ve got much option. They’re here. They expect to be spoken to. That’s how we keep the dialogue open. That’s how we manage the articles.”
“You don’t seem to be doing a great job,” Ben says evenly. “Friends are sending me articles every other day. The narrative seems to be getting worse, not better.” He pauses. “And surely that’s the communications director’s problem.”
Julian’s lips snap shut, clearly pissed at being called out again. Ben stares him down for a moment before moving to stand beside me.
I step away.
He stiffens.
What does he expect? This is work. Before the door opened, we were us; now we’re business partners. Julian’s eyes narrow, and he looks between Ben and me, but doesn’t comment.
The door opens again. The rest of the board and the shareholders walk in.
Five men. Smart suits. Big egos.
“Good morning,” Edwin, our finance director, says. “Another busy day ahead.”
“Interesting day,” someone mutters.
Everyone nods, but the mood is solemn. The discourse is tiring for everyone. Shareholders are getting nervous, and with Edwin in charge of the finances, he’s the edgiest of them all.
“So,” Julian says, turning to me, “Antonia, do you want to update everyone on the progress of the retreat?”
I give a short summary of the build, the next few weeks’ schedule, and confirm the opening is planned for June. They nod along. Every so often, one of them glances out the window at whoever’s shouting the loudest.
“The gap in funding has now been covered,” I add. “We’ve secured outside investment from Chase, Chase and Waite Law Associates in Canary Wharf.”
The men exchange looks.
Ben steps forward.
“I spoke to Harrison Waite directly,” he says. “He’s backing the project.”
A few eyebrows lift around the room. Ben shrugs slightly. No one asks any questions to my relief.
I catch my reflection in one of the windows. Rain patters against the glass. My eyes are heavy. My complexion worn. Not the composed, unshakeable woman I pride myself on being.
Then I see Ben. Tall with dark hair and perfectly pressed shirt. Even the cut of his jaw bone is edged perfectly. I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.
I straighten my spine, then step forward so I’m shoulder to shoulder with Julian. One by one, I meet each man’s eyes.
“Shall we?” I say, taking control.
They fall into line behind me. I open the door and step out into the chaos. The chants swell immediately.
“Antonia! Antonia!” someone shouts above the noise. “Do you have any comment on the latest patient to come forward and allege you personally blocked medical care?”
I look straight at him. He’s small, weedy, wearing a tracksuit and a baseball cap.
“Every decision made at Opengate is made with empathy, understanding, and knowledge. No one is denied care who is eligible for it.”
I stare back at the protesters, banners raised high, hatred burning bright.
“Thank you all for coming,” I say. “I’m glad you accepted our invitation to visit today and take part in this site meeting.”
I glance at Julian, who looks nervous.
“I understand we have differences in opinion,” I continue, “but I would love for you to join us on our walk around.”