Dee kept a steady pace, walking beyond the heavy machinery and out into the sorting yard. She shivered and wrapped her vest tight around her core. The day was cool and grey, a typical wintery mix.
Again, she was met with a busy and restless sight. Workers with strong, assured arms sorted the used paper on the belt. As the collection flashed past her, Dee recognised some labels—the brand of cereal she ate, her mother’s expensive brand of tea—and then there were the plentiful generic sheets of copy paper. It all seemed to be deemed the same grade, and thus made it into the same sorting bins. As Dee watched the process, she felt convinced that her workforce was not the problem. They were quick, confident and efficient. There was no one, not a sole person among them, who looked as though they were disinterested or lagging in any way. Her eyes roamed the yard, snagging on the sight of Travis and two others loading paper into the slurry.
She let her eyes rest there and wander over Travis’s fine figure, a luxury she couldn’t afford. It was inappropriate. Immensely enjoyable, but very inappropriate. Travis looked up and caught sight of her, though hopefully, he was none the wiser about her errant perving.
Dee felt the skin beneath her shirt heat up and hoped the burn didn’t creep its way up to her neck, or worse, her face. Who was she kidding? She’d be beet-red in a couple of seconds, and there was not a thing she could do about it. She swallowed, her eyes not heeding the commands sent by the common-sense section of her brain.
Travis, clearly not content with causing her to get all hot under the collar from a distance, began to walk towards her. He was like a model in a soft-drink commercial or an underwear ad come to life. His hands were cloaked in heavy-duty gloves, and as he walked, he wiped the sweat from his from his brow with a strong, inked forearm.
Dee wanted to scream, are you kidding me!
Somehow, she managed to straighten up, and by the time Travis stood a foot from her, she bore some semblance of a woman in control of herself.
‘Morning, boss.’
‘Good morning.’ Her reply was officious, and she sensed that her chin was jutting out, a mannerism she’d developed as a child when she defied her mother.
She knew she must seem like a stuck-up bitch, but acting that way towards Travis was a necessity. If she were to let him know the real her, she might turn into a giddy schoolgirl, and that wasn’t the persona she aimed to portray. She needed her staff to see her as smart, industrious and serious if she was to garner respect, in these early stages, at least. Later on, in a year or two, she might be able to show her real self. In the meantime, she couldn’t let anyone slip under her guard, particularly not her crush-worthy, insubordinate housemate.
‘You see what we’re all wearing?’ He raised an eyebrow and held up his arms, imploring her to behold the sight of his fluorescent-clad body.
Dee pursed her lips together. ‘You needn’t look so pleased about it. It’s regulation. The high-visibility shirts are a health and safety requirement. They were here on-site in the storage cupboard. You should’ve already been wearing them.’
Travis removed his gloves, purposefully, one finger at a time.
‘Well,’ he said, the slightest hint of a smirk toying with the corner of his mouth. ‘Since you reminded us of that, we’ve been wearing them.’
‘Congratulations,’ she said, her tone deadpan. ‘No, actually, I take that back. You shouldn’t be congratulated for following a basic requirement, one that’s in place to help ensure your safety. You’re the foreman. You should’ve known better.’
He tilted his head to the side, studying her, smirking some more. She wanted to smack that smirk right off his face … and then kiss it better.
She looked skyward, inwardly cursing herself for allowing these little thoughts to slide into her mind. A chill ran the length of her spine and she tried telling herself it was because of the weather.
‘Yes, that’s true,’ he said. ‘Maybe I should’ve known better and done better.’
She nodded, feeling vindicated.
‘But, you know,’ he added, ‘you could’ve gone about things in a better way too. Maybe pulled me into your office, spoken to me in private.’
For some reason, the words “pulled” and “private” sent another bone-deep shiver the length of her spine.
‘Maybe that might’ve been more professional. Not so combative.’ His voice was low and husky.
She bit the inside of her cheek and felt her body heat rise again. His words were causing her anger to build. It was like a repeat performance of yesterday—he was challenging her, trying to make her look stupid. At least today they had no audience, but still. Where did he get off?
She gave him little more than a quick nod. ‘There’ll be no need for combative conversations, so long as people follow the rules.’
She turned on her heel and click-clacked her way through the factory towards her office. As she walked, she sucked in deep, steadying breaths and gallantly tried to slow the pounding of her heart. She gave all the workers she passed a watery, vacant smile, and the whole time, she couldn’t help thinking about how hard she was working to keep her guard up, to ensure her true self was unreachable to these people. Yet, in less than twenty-four hours, Travis, the arsehole, had again managed to get under her skin.
7
Vince stood by the photocopier, his wide forehead lined with wrinkles, brow furrowed with intense concentration. He looked up, giving Dee a brief glance before returning his attention to the photocopier.
‘This thing is a piece of junk,’ he said.
‘They all are,’ Dee responded. She’d long ago developed a love-hate relationship with photocopiers.
‘Why is that, Ms Lovelace?’ Vince’s frustration gave way to a smile. ‘Why is every photocopier on the planet a mutinous heap of crap?’
Dee shrugged. ‘For some things, being a piece of crap is their reason for existing. Like, showbag toys, cheap vacuum cleaners, most second-hand cars … power-hungry foremen,’ she added under her breath.
Vince chuckled. ‘You and young Travis not getting along?’
Dee scoffed. ‘The man is impossible to get along with. I’ve met snakes, actual snakes, that are friendlier than him.’
‘You’ve met snakes?’
Dee winced. ‘Well, not literally, but I’ve encountered more than my share of arseholes, and Travis is hovering somewhere around the top of that list, just above the guy who pooed in the urinal at the restaurant I managed a few years back.’
Vince pounded at the photocopier’s keyboard with his thick, heavy fingers. ‘Travis isn’t that bad. I know what you’re saying, though. He has that whole bad boy thing going on, what with the tatts and everything, but he works as hard as anyone else here. Besides, the women of Mason seem to think he’s some sort of Adonis.’
Dee’s eyebrows lifted. She wanted to argue with Vince’s appraisal, but the fact was, she couldn’t. The women of Mason Valley were, clearly, very observant. Dee could imagine that Travis had his legion of fans. He had the looks and that swagger. He probably would’ve been “the guy” at high school, that one special breed of human, the kid all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be.
Dee knew the type. Her best friend had been unlucky enough to date “the guy” in high school and that hadn’t been a story with a happy ending. Invariably, Dee had come to note, the guys and girls who are “so cool” in high school turn out to be not so fantastic adults. Dee could see it a mile off. Travis was a looker—a really arrogant, annoying, disrespectful looker—who most likely had little to endear him to the world other than his adorable daughter.
The image of Travis sitting on the sofa reading to Annie flashed through Dee’s mind and her conscience warred with it and pushed it aside. One moment of story reading on a sofa does not make a decent human make. Besides, Dee had little more to go on besides how she’d been treated by Travis, and so far, all signs pointed to jerk.
Vince pumped his fist in the air as his document slid out of the copier in
to the waiting tray. He snatched it up in a flash, looking as though he half-expected the photocopier to renege on the deal and stick out its tongue to slurp the paper back up.
‘Listen,’ Vince said, turning to face her, ‘I don’t know much about how …’ He paused to clear his throat. ‘I don’t know how hot’—he added air quotes for effect—‘Travis is, but I do know he’s a good worker, and he has the respect of everyone out there, so be careful you don’t get him offside. It may not be in your best interests.’
Dee nodded. She couldn’t argue with that logic.
‘Vince,’ she said, making a point of marking the change of subject with the tone of her voice, ‘I want to talk to you about some changes I’d like to make.’
Vince’s head shot up and a look of concern flashed over his face, but it was gone in an instant and he replaced it with an expression that signified his undivided attention.
‘I’d like you to help me set up our desks in the front office, in the reception area.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘A number of reasons. I think the lobby area looks and feels uninviting. It feels stale and a little nineties.’
‘You’re right there.’
‘Yes, and I also think if we’re going to be working collaboratively, we shouldn’t have a wall between us.’
He nodded.
‘If someone, anyone, potential customers, suppliers or even the couriers come in here, I want the area out the front to reflect the area out the back. I want it to feel busy and productive and vibrant. At the moment it feels like the ghost of offices past.’
‘I know what you’re getting at,’ he replied.
‘The other thing I really want is a good quality camera. I want to take some pictures. Do you know anyone who owns one?’
Vince brightened. ‘As a matter of fact, I do. I own one. I’ll bring it in tomorrow.’
‘Good,’ Dee said. ‘Thank you. Now, shall we get started?’
A few hours later, both Dee’s and Vince’s offices had been stripped of their essentials and the front office looked more like their place of work. Dee decided to work at the old reception desk, but they’d moved out her computer, her phone and her filing cabinet, and Vince’s desk ran adjacent to hers. Dee had gleefully pulled the stupid “motivational” prints from the walls.
On her to-do list for the afternoon was hiring a graphic designer to come up with a company logo for Olsen Paper. She could then get a decent sign made, update the website and refresh the business cards. She wanted the operation to reflect the professional image that was synonymous with the Olsen name. All of these things would serve to make her feel more positive about her new role, but they paled in comparison to her real challenge—to get the cost of distribution down. Way down.
When they were done with the front office, Dee implored Vince to stand back and take a look with her.
‘It actually looks pretty good,’ Vince said, sounding genuinely surprised.
‘Much better,’ Dee paired her response with a swift nod. ‘Now, let me buy you lunch.’
Vince looked at her with wide, bright, puppy-dog eyes. ‘Really? Yes, I mean, no. Let me buy you lunch.’
Dee smiled, but she held firm. ‘No. It’s my shout. I insist.’
The last thing she needed was for Vince to get the wrong idea. He was cute enough, but she was already fending off feelings of attraction towards one colleague.
Vince’s face twisted into an uncomfortable-looking frown. ‘I insist,’ he said. ‘Consider it a welcome-to-the-paradise-that-is-Mason-Valley lunch.’ He held his arms aloft as if to implore her to consider the magnificence of her new hometown.
Dee laughed. ‘Fine, but next time it’s my shout. No arguments.’
‘You have my word,’ he promised.
Vince drove them in his car—a stylish, late-model sports coupé—that, to Dee’s untrained eye, looked to be worth a lot of money. Dee knew very little about cars, but she was pretty sure the one he was driving was an Audi.
Dee had imagined them rolling up to Tammy’s Tops Tucker and ordering themselves a couple of fried dim sims. But rather than heading into town, Vince took a road that led away from the centre of Mason Valley. In mere moments, the industrial, unloved outskirts of the town gave way to picturesque but rugged looking hills—a range of large mounds dotted by scrub. The hills either side of the car stretched on and on, and although Dee felt they might seem inviting on a warm summer’s day—ah la Maria doing her whirling dervish act in The Sound of Music—on this day, in the middle of a deep, grey winter, they looked cold, almost forbidding, and perhaps not out of place in a Brontë novel.
There were houses dotted here and there, too. Some looked to be embedded in the hills, some appeared to be hanging on for dear life. Dee took in the scene with curiosity, but not with anything close to joy. The landscape was different and unique, but it didn’t beckon to her in the way her little hometown near the ski fields did. This was a setting that said look if you like, but stay the fuck out.
Around the next bend, her opinion fell away like slow-cooked meat from a bone. She was met with a sight so surreal that if she weren’t such a lucid, sound-of-mind person, she might have thought herself to be imagining things. Who could blame her if she was? It’d been a tough few days.
On the hill to the left, set up high and right in the middle, was a beautiful, symmetrical bluestone house. It was solid and mighty, and it, too, wouldn’t be out of place in a Brontë novel. Huge and imposing, it looked as though it should belong to the National Trust. But, unlike the National Trust buildings she’d visited, this place was not surrounded by lush, ornamental gardens, only the bland sweeping hill itself and the little bit of scrub that came with it.
‘That place up there is incredible,’ she mused. She’d said the words aloud, but she wasn’t really speaking to Vince.
‘It is. Been in the same family for years.’
‘Lucky family,’ Dee said quietly.
She felt Vince staring at her, but when she turned to look at him, his eyes swung back to the road, the ghost of a smirk lingering on his face.
‘They are,’ he said, eyes still straight ahead.
Not long after they’d passed the big, beautiful house, Vince turned onto a road that took them down into a valley. Dee felt as though she were entering the centre of the earth. Well, maybe not that dramatic, but it seemed as if the Audi was moving through a safe and secret place.
Vince lifted his hand from the wheel and pointed to a spot further along the road, a place where a peach-coloured sign swung from a wooden fence. ‘Up here is where they make the best slow-cooked beef cheek you’ll ever taste.’
Dee squinted as she tried to make out the name on the sign. The Hill Above it read in swirly turquoise font.
‘Nice,’ she said.
‘They sell a decent red wine too, if you’re interested.’
Of course Dee was interested—there was nothing quite like the pairing of beef and red wine—but she knew she’d have to decline. It was a work lunch and there was still plenty that needed to be done back at the office.
Also, this work lunch was beginning to feel more and more like a date, and she didn’t want that. She liked Vince, but she didn’t want him thinking there was a chance she was interested. Vince wasn’t her type. Well, that sentiment wasn’t entirely true, as the ten years of man-drought pointed to the fact that she didn’t really have a type. But if she did, it wouldn’t be a workmate.
‘I’ll give the alcohol a miss. The beef sounds great, though.’
Vince steered his sports car up the bumpy drive that lead to The Hill Above. Dee was surprised when they reached the car park. It was bustling, particularly for a Tuesday lunchtime.
‘It’s so busy,’ Dee said.
She got out of the car and felt the wild wind swirling, filling her hair and her ears. It was a cold day; she should’ve been working at pulling her jacket closer, shielding herself from the wildness of the day, but instead, she lifted her arms
and allowed the wind to billow around her, to caress her skin and stir her blood.
Dee had always loved the wind. With the wind came change, and change was what she craved. If she were to be totally honest with herself, that was what the move to manage a factory was all about. She might have stayed in Blaxland Falls for years longer. She’d been happy running the lodge and living in her little cottage in the main town, but being happy wasn’t enough for Dee. Pushing herself, throwing caution to the wind to see what to world had to offer, that was what she truly craved.
Dee filled her lungs with the cold, clean air and took in the sight of the building—a modern, angular version of a large barn, with glass doors that ran the length of either side and exposed the sweeping view of the hills all around. As she took in the endlessness of the view, she could see why the owner had chosen the name of the place. It really was the hill above.
Vince led her towards the restaurant, and through the thick windows, she could see a mix of contented diners. Warmth coated her as she walked inside, and she turned to shut the heavy sliding door, sealing the restaurant from the wind.
A slender middle-aged waitress greeted them and Vince requested a spot by the fire.
‘You sure you don’t want a glass of red?’ he said once they were seated and the waitress asked for their drinks order.
‘I’m sure. I’ll just have a sparkling water,’ she said, smiling up at the waitress.
Vince, perhaps out of agreement or respect for her thoughts on alcohol during a work lunch, ordered the same. ‘And I think we both want the slow-cooked beef cheek,’ he added. ‘Or did you want to look at the menu?’
‘No, no,’ Dee held up her hands. ‘I’m all about the beef.’
The waitress laughed. ‘It really is good.’
She wandered off, leaving Dee and Vince alone, and a special brand of awkwardness ensued. Dee had known Vince for a little more than a day, and even though they’d had quite a few conversations in that time, they had never sat directly opposite one another. There was something about the intensity of that positioning that made Dee feel a little uneasy.
Winter in Mason Valley Page 5