‘I didn’t hear any rumours. It was my own conjecture.’
‘Oh.’ She swallowed hard. ‘Well, whatever the case. It’s not true.’
‘Of course not,’ he returned silkily. ‘Is that all?’
She tossed him a look of derision before nodding. ‘I guess so but –’
‘Then thanks for the meal.’
He walked back down the short hall and opened the door, leaving her standing awkwardly by the table, her mouth half agape. She shut it, her eyes sparkling with indignation.
‘Well, I’ll just get out of your hair then.’ She tossed her head.
‘Please do.’
Perhaps it was because he was still gripping that wretched list in his hand or because of the sexy way her hips swayed as she moved towards him, he couldn’t say, but when she reached the threshold again, God help him, he stalled her.
‘Ms Templeton.’
She turned around, standing on his doormat and looking up at him expectantly. ‘Yes, Mr Crawford?’
He cleared his throat, one hand gripping the doorknob. ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.’
‘Yes?’ she said again.
‘You are a very attractive woman.’ On these words, he slammed the door in her face and went back to the table. Grabbing a stray pen next to the tough bag he put a line through item one.
With a grim smile he looked up at the ceiling again. ‘Happy, dear?’
Mark arrived at work the next morning a man on a mission. A mission to forget the list his wife had sent him the night before, the list he hadn’t been able to throw out and which was now burning a hole in his pocket. He glared at his secretary as she handed him his thankfully white coffee and gave him a wide berth. He watched the faces of his men hastily turn away as he moved through the open-plan layout to his office at the back of the room. Hands busied themselves shuffling papers that didn’t need to be shuffled. The only person who didn’t look away was William Steward. The boy sat there staring at him as if he were a problem that needed to be fixed. He stopped by the twenty-something’s computer, returning his gaze over the top of the screen.
‘Can I assist you with something, William?’ he purred, just daring the little graduate to voice his concern. He could do with a punching bag this morning and a fresh-out-of-uni boy scout who thought he was going to change the world was just the sort of fly he needed to squash.
The boy finally lowered his eyes. ‘Nothing that can’t wait, sir.’
‘Oh be a sport, tell me now.’
‘I thought you might like to attend to your morning emails first, sir.’
Was he such a predictable bastard? Time to change that. ‘Not today. Today I’m sorting you out first.’
‘I’m glad, sir.’ William murmured.
His gaze swung to the bowed head, trying to work out whether the boy was making fun of him or not, but there didn’t seem to be any hostility in his body language. Boy Scout was always so gracious by nature, though of course it was usually the quiet ones you had to watch out for. He gritted his teeth. ‘Tell me your concern.’
‘I actually have several.’ William lifted his eyes. ‘It just seems to me like we need more hands on deck if we’re going to have the wharf ready for the shiploader when it gets here.’
‘Barking up this tree again, William.’
‘I’m not merely barking, sir.’ William folded his arms in a restful fashion that for some reason annoyed Mark no end. ‘I’ve actually compiled a list I’d like you –’
This touched a nerve. ‘What is it with you people and lists?!’
William blinked at this outburst and Mark felt himself colouring up at his uncharacteristic show of emotion. He reined himself in. ‘My apologies, go on.’ He waved his hand.
William pulled a conveniently printed document out of the drawer next to his hip. ‘I’ve written a list of things I need to do before the shiploader gets here and it’s massive. Clearly the job of two people, not one.’ He opened the document to the next page. ‘So I sort of split the task into two areas so that two people can progress independently of each other and it works quite well. Considering the fact that we were going to get Lena Todd over here and couldn’t, we should still try for someone else. If you’d just look over this list –’
‘Put it away. I’m not reading it,’ Mark snapped at him. He raised his voice to address the eavesdroppers on his left and right who were not so subtly listening in. ‘Nor will I read any other list of items any of you comes up with. I’m done with lists.’
‘But, sir –’ William began.
‘Get your hard hat and vest, William, we’re going out.’ He inclined his head. ‘You can show me.’
Surprise and also pleasure lit the boy’s face before Mark marched back past Ann’s desk, dumping his coffee in front of her. ‘I won’t be needing this.’
He proceeded to the door where he grabbed a hat and vest off the hooks. Shoving his arms through the fluoro high-visibility garment that did up with Velcro in the front, he was soon joined by William also kitted out in protective gear that included steel-capped boots on their feet.
‘Do you want me to drive, sir?’
‘No.’
There were only ten utes in the yard. Ann had all the keys on her desk. She was basically the community valet minus good customer service. If management staff needed to go out to the wharf they had to book a car in advance, or hope that one was available when they needed it. Mark was the exception to the rule. He had his own ute, which nobody drove but himself. He wasn’t about to change the rules, even if William was the leader of this little expedition.
They both hopped into this vehicle and took off down the roughly hewn road leading away from the white office dongas. Huge stockpiles of jet-black coal against an expanse of deep blue sea provided the backdrop to their ride. Massive bucket-wheel reclaimers like huge metal dinosaurs scooped the black fuel from the mounds and placed it on the conveyor system. Four thousand eight hundred tonnes per hour, all bound for the wharf where the giant cargo ships were waiting to receive it. Nothing was more humbling or more exalting than this sight. The fact that not only could humans move mountains but also that he, Mark Crawford, was instrumental in helping them do it made his chest puff out in satisfaction.
They drove in silence with the windows up to keep the dust out. But once the wheels turned onto the jetty, Mark wound his down, drinking in the salty sea air and the rush of coal as the conveyor hummed next to them.
Funny how this was the only place he was calm.
Free of all the grief in his life, the anger that bubbled in his brain, the pain of living without Kathryn. He forgot that here. Some people listened to classical music; others thought the sound of birds was soothing. Not him. It was the grunt of heavy machinery, the smell of dirt and the buzz of a running conveyor that gave him peace.
‘Nice day,’ William commented.
He’d also wound down his window and rested an elbow on the sill, wind blowing on his hatless head. He’d taken his hard hat off and was holding it on his lap. Mark looked over at him at first in annoyance.
How dare he speak while I’m thinking?
Then the selfishness of this thought jolted his gaze back to the narrow concrete road, all three and a half kilometres of it jutting out to sea. Begrudgingly he decided to break the silence.
‘Is this your first big project, William?’ he asked.
The boy, who had to be at least fifteen years younger than him, turned in surprise that was also wary.
I guess I’m not usually prone to small talk. Mark gave a bitter laugh. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not a trap. I’m merely curious.’
‘Well, yes, sir. As you know, two years ago I was still in uni. Eight months ago, I was still in Perth. I’m just loving seeing all our hard work on paper come to life.’
‘And what do you think of Queensland?’
‘Frankly, sir, it’s beautiful. I’m glad I came.’
Mark’s mouth twisted. Ah, so full of hope a
nd promise – a bit like he was when he first met Kathryn. Like a freshly iced skating rink, before any blades were given the chance to cut their way across it.
‘What’s your speciality, William?’
‘Structural.’
‘Mine too.’
‘Really, sir?’
‘Yes, back in the day, before I was site manager and construction manager and then project manager, I was . . . well . . . I was you.’ He wrinkled his nose as though smelling a rather unpleasant aroma. He glanced back at William again. ‘Well, a type of you. Perhaps a little more competent and a little less . . . what’s the word I’m looking for?’
‘Diplomatic, sir?’
It was his turn to shoot William a look of surprise. He gave a bark of laughter before acknowledging the hit. ‘Exactly.’
The jetty ended. They had reached a T-junction. The top section of the T, more commonly known as the wharf, was over a kilometre in length. It was built to berth and load three massive cargo ships. Two shiploader cranes at least ten storeys in height sat on the wharf and giant booms transferred the coal from the conveyor into the bellies of docked ships.
Barnes Inc was there to build the fourth berth to accommodate yet another ship. This included installing a third giant shiploader crane to load it. Mark drove to the start of the Barnes Inc operation. It was a mess of little cranes and pieces of uninstalled steel sitting on a partially painted concrete deck that was many, many metres above water. There was a very poorly constructed guardrail made out of scaffolding tubing. To fall off the edge and into the water could kill a man. From this height, hitting the water would be like hitting rock.
As if to echo the thought, they put their hats on before they got out of the vehicle.
‘So, William, show me what you want to tackle first.’ Mark surveyed the lay of the land, trying not to notice as some of his men quickly stopped chatting and focused completely on their jobs as though being nice to one another would incur his censure.
Would it? Am I such a miserable bastard?
As they walked past the donga toilets and lattice of scaffolding hanging precariously over the edge, William began to talk about the job ahead. He was actually taking care of two areas, one on land and one on the wharf. On land they were building a new driver tower – basically a multistorey steel and concrete structure that would house the conveyor drive motors for the new section of the wharf. Out at sea, he was constructing an access stairwell. The conveyors climbed to five metres above the deck so there needed to be a way to reach them.
When he began to speak, Mark realised two things:
a. The boy was smart. Extremely smart. Smarter than any other graduate he’d had the pleasure to meet. Probably smarter than he had been when he was the kid’s age. He had an eye for detail and a skill for finding the simplest way to work through a problem. This little engineer was going to go far.
b. The kid was right. There was more work here than could feasibly be done by just one engineer. He needed help.
The second point Mark had known all along. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. The thing was, he didn’t want another graduate under foot. They generally needed more guidance than the output they provided. He could easily get one of the older guys to lend this kid a hand. That way the work would get done quickly and efficiently and without any of the usual mistakes first-timers make. But, damn it, he found himself liking Will.
Perhaps it was because the boy reminded him of himself or who he used to be before he’d realised that life didn’t always hand you second chances – or even that you were likely to need one. He liked the boy’s passion and the fact that he had a plan. Not just an engineering plan either . . .
He knew that look. Seen it in the mirror in years long gone.
The boy had it bad.
And so what? Was that such a terrible thing?
It is if she bloody messes up your job. He hasn’t thought this through well enough.
He shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants as he gazed out to sea. Involuntarily, his fingers grasped ‘the list’. The list he now knew off by heart.
Item 2. Do someone a favour.
‘William.’
‘S-sorry, sir?’ William blinked and Mark realised he’d just interrupted him mid-sentence.
‘Never mind about that.’ He waved an impatient hand. ‘You know that girlfriend of yours? I’ve changed my mind. Get her over here, will you?’
William’s face lit up like a bulb. ‘Of course, sir. But, er . . . she’s not my girlfriend, sir.’
‘Whatever. She’s in. It looks like you’ve got a lot of work to do. You better go sort out the schedule with the supervisor. I trust you’ll be able to get a ride back with someone else?’
William nodded eagerly. ‘Of course, sir.’
He had been turning away but at this response he spun back. ‘And, William,’ he purred.
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Stop calling me “sir” in that irritating fashion of yours. Apart from being entirely unnecessary, I’m not your bloody schoolmaster.’
‘No, s– Er . . . what should I call you then?’
A ghost of a smile lifted the corners of Mark’s mouth as he walked away, throwing casually over his shoulder: ‘Why not call me Caesar, like everybody else?’
It all seemed like great news, until reality dawned. I’ve quit my job. There’s no safety net. If this doesn’t work out, I’ll be left with nothing.
‘Not nothing precisely,’ Will told her over the phone. ‘You got a free trip to Queensland at the very least.’
‘Yes, but doesn’t it seem just a little drastic to you?’ She chewed on her lower lip. ‘I mean, I could quit my job and just stay in Perth to find another one.’
‘Where’s the fun in that?’
‘True,’ she acknowledged. ‘But it would be a lot less risky.’
‘Have a little faith, Em.’ Will chuckled. ‘You’re a good engineer. You just need to give yourself a chance.’
‘Easy for you to say, Mr God’s Gift to Construction,’ she snorted. ‘Is there anything I can study, read or memorise to prepare? Perhaps some paper on wharves or piling at sea? What’s the name of the geotech professor who wrote that book on deep foundations?’
Will laughed. ‘Whoa, Em, relax. You’re not going to need that. This will be a learn-as-you-go experience.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that.’
‘Don’t worry. You’ve already got one big advantage over everyone else here.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re not insane.’
Her brow wrinkled. ‘Will, don’t joke about this.’
‘No, I’m serious! I think it’s the whole FIFO syndrome. Being stuck in isolation and worked like a dog for long periods of time tends to bring out the crazies.’
‘Oh-kay,’ she drawled. ‘That doesn’t exactly make me feel a whole lot better.’
‘Trust me. It will when you get here. Are you all packed?’
‘Mostly.’ She paused, her fingers flexing around the cordless. ‘I went round to our – I mean Trent’s – house yesterday and picked up the last of my things.’ She lowered her voice. ‘He had a girl there.’
‘Why are you whispering?’
‘Sorry.’ She screwed up her nose as she realised she had been. ‘You probably know all this already.’ Then she closed her eyes and prayed that he didn’t. He soon rewarded her.
‘Actually, I had no idea he was seeing someone new.’
‘Oh, okay.’ Her eyes flew open and she brightened. ‘So it’s probably not serious then.’
‘Do you care?’ he asked carefully.
She recognised the sympathetic tone in his voice and hardened her own. ‘No.’
Only I do! Very, very much.
She could hardly confide that in Trent’s best friend though, even if he was her best friend too. Emily had lost a lot in the last few weeks but luckily the one thing she still had was her pride.
‘I mean,’ she said wit
h deliberate airiness, ‘I wish him all the best. I certainly wouldn’t hold back if I met someone new that I took a fancy to.’
She could almost hear Will’s grin on the other end of the phone. ‘Would you like me to tell him that?’
‘Would you?’ she whispered.
He laughed. ‘Oh for goodness’ sake, Em. Forget about Trent and focus on you. The world is your playground.’
That brought a smile to her face and she wondered absentmindedly how Will always knew exactly what to say to make her feel better. Here she was, standing on the brink of a fantastic opportunity – why did Trent rate a mention?
‘Thanks, Will. You’re absolutely right. It’s time for a change. A big change.’
‘Definitely. You were with Trent for five long years and –’
‘Long?’ she repeated, surprised at his choice of words. ‘I didn’t think they were long per se. I mean, they seemed to go by in a flash for me. One minute we were the next couple picked for marriage, then we were –’
‘Long, short, what’s the difference?’ Will interrupted with a short, self-conscious laugh.
‘Actually –’
‘The point is, it’s over now. And you can do whatever you like.’
‘Whatever I like . . .’ She pronounced the words slowly and succinctly before her voice gave out.
‘Exactly.’
That was the other great thing about Will: he loved to give advice but he never tried to tell her what to do. Trent had always been very clear on his position. When she’d been living through it, she had always thought he was being helpful or protective. She had never thought anything of simply following his lead.
Now standing at this fork in the road, with all her freedom back in her pocket, she realised how much of herself she had lost in that relationship. Her head jerked up as clarity hit her like a stream of light.
I really can do anything I like. Anything at all. I’m not tied to anyone or any place.
‘You’re awfully silent,’ said Will.
‘Am I?’ she muttered. ‘I’m thinking.’
‘About what?’
‘About who I am and what I want out of life.’
The Girl in the Yellow Vest Page 7