Thomas followed Mr Bagnoli through the cramped labyrinth at the back of the appliance store. Dust motes whirled in slats of light falling on mountains of cardboard boxes, discarded pallets and patches of concrete floor. Thomas hurried to help his boss heave the rear door open, letting in a fresh blast of morning sunlight in a roar of metal.
A truck reversed towards them, belching diesel fumes. It came to a standstill and the truck’s body shuddered as the engine died.
‘Biggest delivery I’ve taken yet,’ Mr Bagnoli was saying. ‘Now, I don’t want to blow your trumpet or anything, but credit’s due where it’s deserved, and you deserve some credit.’ Several of the store hands wandered out to help unload the cargo – a generous order of a new line of vacuum cleaners, along with dozens of the previous models.
‘We have a deal then, Mullet?’ Mr Bagnoli looked at him squarely.
‘We do, sir. Thank you.’
‘Good. You’ll represent us well at the national conference.’
In the corner of Thomas’s eye, he saw Watson emerge from the back door and look over at Thomas and Bagnoli. Thomas felt a burst of triumph.
‘The conference begins in Melbourne on Friday,’ Bagnoli was saying, ‘I’ll have Sophie book a flight for you.’ The man leaned in closer and winked. ‘You can have an early mark on Thursday so you can tend to the pretty new wife before you go, eh? Bet she’s keen for the patter of little feet.’