After leaving David, Sigrid drove back to the museum to pick up her granddaughter. The road along the river was relatively traffic-free. Moving towards the bridge, Sigrid turned right, then left into the gallery precinct. Isabella was already waiting in the area designated for buses and taxis.
‘Hi, Oma, that was good timing. I only just got out of the building,’ Isabella effervesced as she slipped into the passenger seat.
‘I’m glad it worked out so well, Isabella. Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘Yes. And not only what I was looking for, but so much more. It’s such an amazing place. I wish we could have a museum like that back in Gladstone. My friends would love it. It’s awesome. The Hidden Treasure exhibition is amazing.’
She opened a page in her sketchbook, ‘Look here. I’ve sketched the most beautiful belt from it. It’s gold. It is so intricate and delicate, just as I drew it. I’ve got so much material for an assignment on ancient Afghanistan. You know, it was once on the crossroads between the Silk Road and the nucleus of activities. Such as,’ she hesitated, then continued using her fingers to enumerate, ‘cultural, artistic and economic. It’s just so interesting, Oma. We could both see the exhibition for a second time. I don’t mind going again, in fact I’d love to.’
‘Well, it was on my list of things to do while you’re visiting. I just thought I should check first. Remember when I used to get tickets for the ballet before you and your mother came down?’ She continued in a lower tone and obviously peeved, ‘Then I found out that other plans had already been made.’
Missing the innuendo, Isabella chatted with fervency all the way home and Sigrid was quite happy to listen; it gave her a chance to change her disposition after her session of stimulating discourse with David.
The phone rang as they entered the cottage.
‘Do you want me to get it, Oma?’
‘Yes, please, you’re faster.’
Isabella spoke for a while before handing the phone to Sigrid, ‘Hi Mum, how’s it going?’ asked Katrina.
Sigrid had hardly answered when Katrina blurted out, ‘Guess what, Peter has this weekend off, so we’ve decided to come down and pick up Bella, if that’s ok with you?’
‘Of course, Trina, that will be lovely. You know I’ve always got a bed for my favourite people. Isabella and I will be ready for your visit. Won’t we, Isabella?’ she voiced over her left shoulder towards the direction of her granddaughter. Mother and daughter chatted for some time, sharing the latest news and events.
‘Well, I better hang up now, seeing that we’ll be together in a couple of days. Isabella must be starving and, so am I. Till Saturday afternoon darling, or whenever you get here.’
Grandmother and granddaughter sat down to a late lunch consisting of a cob of corn and salad.
‘I might go for a dip in half an hour. It’s warm enough now. What’ve you got planned for the afternoon, Oma?’
‘Well, I had my swim this morning. You know my routine of fifty laps, fifty scissor jumps, fifty hip rolls and fifty other things.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I think I might give Kylie a workout.’
‘Kylie? Ky-lie?’
‘Well, you see, I’ve got this gentleman friend Alistair. He absolutely adores Kylie Minogue. Mind you, he could be her granddad. But that doesn’t stop him from raving on about her. He claims to love her. Though obviously not enough to spend four hundred dollars to buy a ticket to see her perform at a live concert. At least I love Gerard Depardieu enough to spend twelve dollars fifty to buy a movie ticket or thirty-eight dollars for a DVD.’
‘Uhh, yuck, fat and big-nosed Depardieu,’ interjected Bella. ‘You still carry on about him?’
‘He wasn’t always like that, you know. He was very handsome in his younger years and he’s a great actor.’ Slightly piqued she pointed her nose up into the air, scantly shook her head from right to left and continued, ‘You only have to see him in Bertolucci’s film 1900.’ She paused briefly, ‘Anyway, Alistair happened to visit one day when the robotic vacuum cleaner was delivered. So, he helped me set it up and promised to come back to watch it work after it was fully charged. The next day we got it going, and it rushed ahead with full force. It just so happened that the ABC played an orchestral version of Kylie’s I Should Be So Lucky, which prompted Alistair to burst out, “Why don’t you just call it Kylie?” Well, why not, indeed? So, we named the vacuum Kylie.’
‘Ah, that’s sort of funny, Oma. Can I see how she works?’
‘Sure, but it’s a bit of an ordeal. You see, first, I’ve got to get rid of all the rugs. Otherwise, she gets entangled in the fringes. Then I’ve got to move the small tables. Otherwise, she gets caught in the legs. Then I’ve got to move the Berliner chair because the frame makes it difficult for her to move over and out. Then I’ve got to block off the bedroom and my study.’ She took a deep breath and added, ‘There are just too many obstacles that might entrap her.’
Not noticing Isabella’s disappearance, she continued animatedly, ‘I always start her in the bathroom where I lock her in after I moved the scales, laundry basket and rubbish bin off the floor. Then I put her to work in the kitchen, where I run a race with her and my dustpan with which I sweep the fluff and crumbs out of corners and crevices where Kylie can’t reach. So, you see…where, where are YOU?’
Turning towards the verandah, following Isabella and not missing a beat, ‘Anyway, it’s quite an ordeal. You may ask, why bother? Well, she does a good job, if only to get me motivated to move the furniture and start on a house clean. Otherwise, it might never get done.’
By now, Isabella was very sorry she had asked. Her desire to see Kylie in action had well and truly dissipated.
But Oma continued, ‘There is something funny I have to tell you. Last time Alistair was here, I couldn’t get Kylie to start. So, as soon as I let him through the door, I said, “Kylie has died.” “Oh no,” he said, seriously distressed. You know, of course, why he was distressed?’
‘Not really, nooo.’
‘He thought of Kylie Minogue. Poor chap. Anyway, when he found out that it was only robo-Kylie, he was obviously relieved and switched her on without any probs.’
‘What was the problem?’ Isabella inquired lamely.
‘Oh, there is an on and off button that needed to be switched on.’ Sigrid answered sheepishly.
‘Oh, Oma, you are funny. Well, a bit.’
Raising her eyes upwards, Sigrid responded, ‘Yes, I know, darling. A few friends have told me that I’m a bit funny.’
Bon vivant Rose lived in a penthouse apartment on the river at St Lucia and, amongst other things, divided her time between seeing her gentlemen friends Alan, Rupert, and Judge James. She met them respectively for lunch in the city on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. Not necessarily each week, but certainly on a regular basis.
How she fitted David in was a bit of a mystery, but fit him in she did, regularly on Tuesdays and Thursdays. David was her favourite, as he was privileged to see Rose twice a week. She was amusing, kept the conversation going and was popular. No doubt, her quick-witted sense of humour and her outspokenness about any topic at all had something to do with it. Widow of a renowned English surgeon, Australian-born Rose, who lived in England for many years, held on to a more British accent than the British. Whether, it was in dedication to a husband, dead for some years, or as a means of making a statement, was unclear. To emphasise a point, and disregarding the social etiquette to remember names, she would address those with whom she was currently engaged, as ‘sweetie this’ and ‘sweetie that.’ This characteristic, as well as fascinating episodes from her life, lived well, resonated in the ears of her entourage for many years.
Early Wednesday Rose sat on the enormous balcony of her penthouse, still enjoying the aftertaste of her coffee and croissant. The brown river glistened in the morning sun. The reflection of the trees in the park on the opposite side cast long-serrated shadows to the middle of the fast-flowing water. She observed a hive of activities in the parkland. There were joggers, people walking their dogs, mothers and some fathers pushing prams, and a few ‘oldies’ (who were usually younger than Rose) sitting on the benches reading a paper or a book. She was pleased to see this type of pastime. Rose did not favour the now usual human trait that she observed in cafés, restaurants, taxis or indeed anywhere at all, of people glued to their i-phones or umbilically attached to their tablets. She was determined never to have anything to do with this type of technology. She did not use the internet, did not do emails, or ‘sweetie forbid,’ did not use Facebook, Twitter, or Instagram, whatever they were.
Face to face contact was Rose’s preferred means of communication, and the telephone was, and would forever be, her second favoured modus operandi. And it did ring quite frequently. Rose was popular and, being generous, made her acquaintance even more attractive.
Thanks to regular cosmetic procedures and touch-ups, her mask-like, but by no means displeasing face, exposed hardly any wrinkles. Her weekly visits to Cameron, who knew how to keep her well-groomed without altering too much of her basic chignon style, assisted in enhancing her attractiveness. Her silver hair had a hint of pink, purple, dark blue, metallic grey or even corn gold, depending on which of her gentlemen friends she cherished on a certain day of the week. For example, when meeting with Judge James, her hair was tinted in sophisticated grey to enhance the dusky pink of her Chanel suit. Reassured by this attire, she put forth her notion about ‘the intolerable situation of only summoning unemployed people for jury duty,’ a sentiment strongly repudiated by the Judge.
Apart from her regular luncheon engagements, Rose had a busy week ahead. She expected her daughter Alexandra to ring from London with the updated details of her planned trip to Brisbane. Not that it involved any work on Rose’s behalf, Alex was well organised and always stayed at The Chancellor, but nonetheless it would occupy her thoughts for a while. Since John’s death, Rose had returned to Australia, but Alex built a ‘wonderful’ career with a television studio in London and preferred to stay in the country of her birth.
Jo, the help who came five mornings a week, appeared on the balcony to remove the Villeroy and Boch china. ‘Is there anything else I can get you, Rose?’ she enquired.
‘Ah, yes, sweetie, would you mind calling me a taxi, please? To arrive in half an hour and to take me to Park Road in Milton. And just carry on with whatever you are doing now. Thanks, sweetie.’
Rose got up and walked along the mirrored corridor to her somewhat dated Sex-in-the-City-inspired walk-in wardrobe. How she had enjoyed that show, watching it with Fleur and the other girls while sipping a little Moet in her sumptuous living room. Yes, the series was a bit silly but enormously amusing, nonetheless. Her assessing glance registered the hanging suits. She decided that a trouser suit would be fitting for the occasion. Navy with a white shirt. You can never go wrong with a white shirt. This week the colour of her suit would complement her dark blue hair. She changed from her kimono into her chosen outfit, put on her navy platform heels, and picked up the same-coloured small Gucci clutch.
She stopped in front of her full-length mirror. Her right hand stroked her chignon approvingly. She powdered her nose and applied a pink-tinged lipstick. Notwithstanding that, in this age of cosmetic enhancements, a person’s age was not always easy to gauge; she felt inclined to consider herself in her early sixties. Thus, her figure was erect, her gait straight and her appearance exuded triple capital Cs–Classy, Cheeky, and Cheery. She approached her front door, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Jo,’ and left the penthouse.
Downstairs, the taxi was already waiting, and so it should. The ride to Park Road took less than five minutes and she felt pleased to be on time for once. Inside Apricity’s boardroom, most of the committee members were already seated, although a few were still busying themselves with coffee and biscuits. Rose positioned herself between Roger, the chairman and Eva, the secretary, and settled down as comfortably as she could in one of ‘those’ office chairs.
‘It is 10:00 am, and I declare the meeting open,’ Roger announced. Rose absented her mind from the mundane business of the minutes of the last meeting, the treasurer’s report, and correspondence. But when Roger raised the topic of fundraising, it sparked Rose’s interest.
‘The university’s research team at the hospital has worked very hard. Very hard indeed, facilitating a range of not only research projects but clinical trials. Imagine using immunotherapy to stop the melanoma metastasing. This project looks excitingly promising. It will fulfil their mission of zero deaths from that disease.’
‘Agreed. Quite so.’
Riding on the wave of general sanguinity, Roger continued, ‘It will, of that I am quite confident, save many lives in the future.’
‘Hear, hear.’
‘And that is why, as a supporting organisation, we should raise more funds to help continue with this, not only worthwhile but lifesaving research.’
‘Agreed. Indeed.’
‘I am very happy to host a fundraising event at my penthouse.’ Rose’s highly anticipated proposition was warmly received, and approved by the meeting, which Eva duly noted in the minutes. Rose knew how to throw a party; the committee was united in their appreciation of that. With Rose’s social connections, it was bound to be another profit-yielding event for that all-important research.
The committee settled for the fifth of October, enough time for publicity yet not too far away; conveniently close to the holiday season and yet sufficiently distant from the first Christmas engagements. With this strategy, they felt good attendance numbers and profits for the organisation would be assured. The meeting closed at 11:47 am, and the members proceeded to leave the building. Eva stopped Rose at the elevator, ‘Rose, would you like some help organising anything for the function?’
‘Sure. If you want to look after the invitations and name tags, I would appreciate that. As far as catering is concerned, once you have definite numbers, just let me know. I shall get my caterer Hugo to whip up something. As you know, sweetie, he is absolutely wonderful. Takes care of everything, simply everything: canapés, mains, desserts, drinks, waiting staff; the lot. I only employ him. He never lets me down. If you want to know a secret, Eva, he is the reason my functions are so successful. Got to fly now. Ciao, sweetie. We’ll keep in touch.’
Rose floated out of the lift, down the stairs of the building and across the road to her, not normally scheduled, luncheon with David in Café de Paris. David was already seated. He stood the moment Rose swept through the swinging doors.
David enjoyed Rose’s panache. It reminded him a little of his youth in Calcutta, white-gloved ladies with white sun umbrellas, delicately embroidered, drinking gin with lime from long glasses and, like Rose—utterly stylish.
‘Good afternoon, Rose. You are looking as splendid as ever.’
‘Oh, thank you, David. I do like your bow tie, the paisley pattern is ever so refreshing. What shall we eat? I am dying for a drink, sweetie.’
‘The bottle of Moet should be here any moment. I know how you love it.’
‘Guess what, sweetie? I am having a fundraising event for Apricity on Saturday, the fifth of October. You’ll be there, darling?’
‘Saturday? The fifth? Well, I don’t believe that I am doing anything, but I’ll check my social calendar,’ he replied with the slightest touch of sarcasm. They often played their little games, Rose being the social butterfly and David, the inveterate hermit.
‘Monsieur, your bottle of Moet et Chandon, si’l vous plait.’
‘Yes, fine, thanks. Start pouring, please,’ David beamed.
‘Cheers, sweetie.’ Rose took a long sip out of the champagne flute. ‘I shall never tire of these bubbles. I feel like Madame Bollinger. I shall drink this nectar when I’m happy, when I’m sad, when I’m alone, and when I’m not. I’ll drink it when I’m hungry and when I’m not and I never drink it unless I’m thirsty. And this, sweetie, I happen to be all the time. Cheers.’
‘Oh, Rose, you are incorrigible, but I love you, dear. Cheers.’
The two perused the menu and ordered garlic bread and a light salad. David visited Rose usually in her apartment, but this was one of those occasions when they met for lunch at a restaurant. During the last six months, it
occurred a few times after Rose’s meetings at Apricity. The building accommodating this charity was right in the middle of the restaurant precinct of Park Road, very convenient and most conducive to Rose’s habit of restaurant lunching.
Cheers. Sweetie.
Discussing the latest news, it was Rose who now filled in David with what was happening in the world, as he seemed preoccupied with his belles-lettres. Yet, Rose too had a keen understanding of literature. Indeed, they initially met at one of his former U3A classes. But today, it was the Prime Minister’s sacking, that had Rose all fired up.
‘Love her or hate her, sweetie, it is abominable what the media and her party did to her. She never had a chance. Even though she held the numbers initially, thrashed out one policy after another through the House, and created a world sensation with her speech on misogyny. The constant nasty personal attacks and white-anting did not cease until the moment they succeeded with her removal as PM. It makes me want to go back to England, sweetie.’
‘Yes, I did follow some of that on the ABC News, but why go back to England? It’s the same there as it is here. In fact, if you think about it, it’s the same all over the world,’ David replied. ‘And I do agree, what they did was detestable. But people are not silly. You know. They are aware of what is happening.’
‘Alright, sweetie. Have it your way. Anyway, we’ll find out soon enough. The election is just a few weeks away.’
Several weeks later, Rose and David sat on her balcony. She sipped on her flute of bubbly. The setting sun filtered through the foliage and buildings across the ink-black river. Two CityCat ferries passed in opposite directions, each leaving a white foamy trail. Some of the clouds in the sky had a purple-bluish tinge around the edges, a forerunner of the rising moon.
‘Another Scotch, sweetie?’
‘I’ll get it dear,’ David replied as he got up to make his way into the kitchen.
He returned, ‘Life’s jolly good, dear,’ and settled into the deck chair while raising his glass, ‘Cheers.’
‘Cheers, and yes, it’s pretty good, though I must admit organising the fundraiser has kept me on my toes more than I had planned. And it isn’t over yet!’
‘Can I be of any assistance?’
‘No. Thanks, sweetie. It’s all under control. Hugo’s staff will serve cocktails on arrival and then a continuous array of finger foods, wine, beer, champers. Later there’ll be petit fours with coffee. Numbers are really good. A few people have enquired if they can bring family members. Sigrid is having her daughter and son-in-law stay overnight. You know my attitude, sweetie. The more, the merrier. And it’s all for such a good cause.’
‘Yes, it is. I must admit I do like catching up with most of them. I don’t really get around that much anymore and, as you know, I have given up on having people over for meals. Just a drink with nibbles now and then is all I desire.’
‘That reminds me, Jo left a platter of olives, cheeses, bikkies, nuts and dates in the fridge. Would you mind getting it, sweetie? I’ve got napkins on the table here.’
David got up and did as he was told. He did not really mind. In fact, he quite enjoyed being bossed around by Rose. ‘That looks delicious and very appetizing. You’ve got a gem in Jo.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Rose replied. But don’t put the platter straight onto the table. There’s a place mat for it to sit on.
‘Here’s to tomorrow evening, my dear. Success, fine wine, delicious food, interesting friends and a lot of money for your Apricity.’
‘I’ll definitely drink to that, sweetie!’ After a moment of silence, Rose continued, ‘Now that the election is over, people will be more generous with their donations tomorrow. It’s peculiar really, as if the outcome would affect their spending that much. People will still have their Moet, their Audi and their holiday unit down the coast. They’ll go on their overseas vacations and send their children to private schools.’
‘No, not everybody, you know. Not all are as fortunate as you, dear.’
‘I know, sweetie, but you get the gist. What really changes for the ordinary citizen?’
‘Quite a lot. Ignoring climate change, lack of more investment in renewable energy, leniency towards coal seam gas mining and slower broadband are issues that will eventually affect everyone. If not in this life, then in the lives of those who come after. Not to mention a fairer treatment of indigenous people, people with disabilities and asylum seekers.’
‘Yes, yes, you are quite right, of course. But are you so sure that if the others had remained in power, they would have done everything they had promised in the last months before the election? Why didn’t they fix at least some of the issues, like the health debacle, for example, when hospital staff did not receive their pay for months on end, and others were paid double? They were in power long enough and had sufficient time to fix it.’
Rose was on a roll but paused to have another sip, giving David the chance to interject, ‘Of course, you know, that was a state issue.’
Swallowing, Rose continued, ‘Yes, yes, alright, sweetie. Have it your way. But through my other charity work, I have heard of terrible decisions made by young and inexperienced doctors who work in the admissions section of the general hospital. A decision such as sending a mentally unstable young girl with an extremely high blood alcohol level home by taxi – why? Because of a lack of beds. My friend told me that when this girl got home, she jumped off the roof of her apartment block. She’s now a paraplegic. Imagine if she had died. Wouldn’t the coroner have questioned the doctor’s decision? Now we taxpayers must foot the bill for that unfortunate lass. What she needed was a bed, compassion, supervision, and counselling, not a taxi home. In that state, I ask?’
‘That is indeed most unfortunate, Rose. And I agree it was a bad decision, and you wonder how these things slip through the system. But the issue is quite complex, dear. A hasty decision or an oversight can result in a mishap. Especially when allegiances are tied to Uncle Sam to such an extent that institutions like our universities, for example, have changed their whole terminology and degree structure to comply with a computer program designed for the American market. And, regarding the state’s new computerised hospital payroll system, it did have some glitches. Who knows, was it even designed for the Australian hospital system? That does happen.’
‘Well, sweetie, then they shouldn’t have released the payroll program until they were sure that it worked to perfection.’
‘Yes, I can’t argue with that. Still, you’ve got to look at the overall picture and sometimes you must take the good with the bad and hope that the good outweighs the bad. It is unfortunate for those people who get caught when efficiency has slipped between the cracks. I agree, it should not have happened. The new system should have run parallel to the old, in case of malfunctioning. It should only have been released upon certainty that it worked one hundred percent.’
Both sipped on their respective drinks. By now it was quite dark except for the lights in the apartments and their flickering silhouettes in the moving river. This setting inspired Rose’s pondering about her life in London with her husband John and their frequent trips to Florence.
How I savoured the view from the villa in the Tuscan hills over the winding Arno. The Ponte Vecchio in front of the other bridges. The marvels in the Uffizi, with my favourites: Raphael’s ‘Madonna of the Goldfinch’ and Botticelli’s ‘Primavera.’ John’s tongue-in-cheek persiflage about the Botticelli depicting a bunch of vestal virgins who celebrated the fruit of their forbidden love. Haha, how they were concerned about the evident consequences of being impregnated. He was so amusing with his humorous commentary how each female found herself in this predicament. This, of course, always involved members of the Medici family and the clergy.
How I miss John’s droll thoughts and his companionship. We did have some jolly good years together. But he died far too early. That wretched melanoma took him quite by surprise, really, and then it was simply too late. It had spread throughout his body. If only awareness and today’s research had been around then.
She paused for another long sip of bubbles.
At least he didn’t suffer too much. Towards the end, Alexandra hardly left his side. She was a great comfort to me in the days that followed. But she has her journalistic career at the TV station in England and I don’t see her too often really. And now she’s had to cancel her trip. At any rate, while we’re separated by distance, at least we ring each other regularly. Indeed, I might phone her tonight.
As she considered this possibility, David stood up. ‘Rose, dear, I think I might head off now. Thanks for a pleasant evening and I shall see you tomorrow.’
‘I’ll see you to the door, sweetie.’ They bade each other farewell. David walked the short distance to his house. Rose poured herself another bubbly, nestled down on the couch, forgot about Alex, and switched-on Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries. She watched with glee the glamorous lady detective’s fight against crime in 1929 Melbourne.
Back in Gladstone, Peter called down the staircase, ‘Are we all packed and ready to go?’
‘Yep, I’ve got my overnighter ready. What’s that box in the corner here?’ Katrina shouted up the stairs.
‘Ah, it’s a surprise for Max. I thought he’d like a genuine vintage Brownie Six-20 for his birthday next month. I got it off the net, saves me posting it to him. Tom can hide it till then.’
Checking her fringe in the mirror, she queried, ‘Max? Brownie? What twenty?’
‘Max. My nephew.’ He raised his arms. ‘Brownie is an old make of camera. One of the first ones. Back in the day some people developed their own films. In fact, kids did too. If they were faultless and aesthetically pleasing, they got a brownie point.’ He burst out laughing.
‘Get it?’
‘What? Ugh, not another dad joke, and Isabella isn’t even here.’
Sighing he continued, ‘Oh, anyway, you heard of Leenie Reifensteel, or whatever her name was. The German filmmaker. She was right into it.’
‘Oh, no need to tell me. I know all about old photographs. Ever since I can remember, Mother has that sepia photo of her and my uncle, whom I’ve never met. He developed it himself. You’ve seen it many times.’
‘Yeah, sure. That’s what got me interested in the first place. Anyway, it’s a bit of an “in” thing at the mo. Boys of Max’s age like that sort of thing.’
‘Isn’t Max too old for that at fourteen? He’s into computer games and the latest tech gizmos.’
‘I don’t think so. Of course, he’s into computers as well, that goes without saying. But he seemed interested in having an original Brownie the last time I saw him.’
Peter came down the stairs, picked up the box for his nephew and packed the car for their journey to Brisbane. They swung themselves into their Toyota Sahara Land Cruiser, released the roller door and drove off. Small droplets of water covered the grass, and steam rose from the landscape as the first rays of sunshine made contact.
‘I must admit I like early mornings, not that I see them that often,’ Katrina said with a yawn.
‘Enjoy. It’s quite a novelty for you. Not like somebody else, who’s out at the crack of dawn, slaving to bring home the bacon.’
‘Oh, my poor babe. I so appreciate what you’re doing. If you’re a real good boy, I’ll give you a massage next time I think of it.’
‘Story of my life—next time I think of it.’
Peter grunted and switched on the radio. Katrina settled back into her seat. In no time at all, Peter could hear her rhythmic breathing. There was hardly any traffic on the road. Peter enjoyed the vastness of the scenery with its rolling hills bordering onto the olive-green mountains in the distance. Dotted throughout was a white farmhouse or homestead usually on top of a hill.
Intermittently, he’d drive through a tiny township and before realising, saw, ‘Thank you for visiting Booyal. Have a safe journey.’ Didn’t know I’d been there. Hmm, must be time for breakfast. Katrina was still sound asleep. He decided to stop at Hervey Bay for a bite, nothing too heavy. He should be able to make it in an hour.
Driving along the highway provided a pleasant break from Peter’s professional routine. Working in Health and Safety for the alumina refinery meant that he had to be always on alert, especially now they were tying Stage Two into the operational refinery with an anticipated hydrate output of more than double its capacity. The safety of his crew was always on his mind. He dreaded the possibility of having to face a family member with the devastating news of a fatal accident.
Having this weekend away was a rare luxury. He also knew that a long-term career with his company helped build a secure future for his family—a topic needing further discussions. Katrina still believed their stay up in Gladstone was for a limited period. Peter knew only too well that the money he earned there could not easily be achieved in Brisbane, and he wanted to make the most of it for now and beyond. If Isabella started university, she could settle in with her grandmother. They got on well enough. And Katrina, well, if she really wanted, could get a job. She has plenty of friends in Gladstone, and Brisbane is not that far away. Katrina could even go on a trip to Germany with Bella in a few years. But first, it was Bella’s turn with her school trip.
‘Uh, are we there yet?’ Katrina yawned.
‘I’m fast, and amazing, but give me a break. We’re almost halfway. I’m also starving,’ Peter answered.
‘Ok, ok, just kidding anyway. Actually, where are we? I wouldn’t mind having a bite either. Let’s eat something healthy like avocado and a poached egg on yummy sour dough.’
‘Your choice, we can either turn off here to go to Hervey Bay or continue onto Maryborough.’
‘Well, it’s still early enough. Why not go to Hervey Bay and enjoy the early-morning sun on the water.’ After a pause, Katrina added, ‘I might find the earrings to match my pearl ring. That’s if the shop is already open.’
‘Ok, Hervey’s it is for something healthy.’ Peter turned off at Torbanlea. Half an hour later, he parked the car in the street parallel to the ocean. As they got out, Katrina stretched and arched her back, ‘Isn’t the water beautiful?’
‘Sure is, babe.’
All the way to the horizon, light danced amidst the pale blue ocean, and towards shore, the waves rolled in smoothly onto the yellow-brown sand. The slender grey-green casuarinas edged the beach, their branches moving gently and elegantly in the wind.
Peter and Katrina chose a café opposite the water and sat down. The tablecloths were blindingly white in the sunlight. After a quick perusal of the menu, Peter ordered coffees and ‘Hervey’s Special’ consisting of bacon, sausages, tomatoes, mushrooms and two fried eggs. Katrina ordered Eggs Benedict.
‘So much for a healthy brekkie, eh?’
‘Don’t feel guilty, Kato. It’s not that often that we hit the long road to Brissy. We deserve a little treat every now and then.’
‘Smooth talker, you,’ Katrina grinned and with cappuccino froth all over her upper lip, gave him a smack of a kiss.
Katrina did not find the matching earrings for her pearl ring, but she and Peter arrived at her mother’s place in Kenmore in the early afternoon.