Breakfast on the Way to Brisbane

by Ken Blowers

CHAPTER 4

  THIS COULD BE NO DREAM

  'Hi! What can I do for you, darl?'

  This was hardly the reception that Linda expected, when she entered the real estate office of Watson & Son.

  Who does this cheeky young man think he is, or I am for that matter? she thought. Her face was beginning to colour with embarrassment and displeasure. She decided immediately that the best course of action was to ignore his rudeness. 'Is Mr Watson in, please?' she asked.

  'Old Mr Watson's been dead for years. His son, who's about ninety, ain’t looking too good either!' he laughed. 'I don't think hard work agrees with 'em!' he continued. 'That's why they leave all that business stuff to me.' Then, catching a reflection of himself in the window glass, he straightened his tie, hoping to look a bit more serious. Then he asked: 'Will I do?'

  'Well, I suppose so, if there's no man here,' she replied, hoping to cut him down to size and at the same time demonstrate her displeasure with his off-beat sense of humour. A pity that was necessary, she thought. Rather a nice boy really, apart from his ill manner.

  'What sort of pad are you after, love? Just for you, is it? I hope it is.'

  'Yes, actually. Just for me. Not that it's any of your business. I'm looking for a small unit, one a bit closer in towards Brisbane, if that's not too much trouble for you?'

  'Oh, yeah... right. Cool,' he said. Then after running his eye over the window display, he asked 'How about this one?' He snatched a card from the display and as he passed it to her, he hung on to it just that little bit longer than was absolutely necessary, as if anxious to steal a furtive moment of intimacy.

  Grasping the card firmly she took a quick step back from the counter, forcing him to let go. Then she turned away from him, ostensibly moving towards the light streaming in through the window to better read the card and the photograph attached. 'Hmmm..., not bad,' she said. 'How much is it?'

  'Depends...'

  'On what?'

  'On whether your luck's in, darl.'

  'What does that mean, then?' she queried - more amused than annoyed.

  'Whether I can cut you a deal. A special like. Yeah, I might just do that. I think I’m warming to you, you know. So, come on why not let me take you to have a dekko at it, right now! We'll work something out to suit your budget later, when we get back. Come on, let's go!' he said, quickly flipping the ‘Open’ sign on the door over to read ‘Closed’, in excited anticipation. 'You don't mind an old BMW do you?'

  ‘BMW’?' No, no, an old BMW sounds just fine to me,' she said, while thinking to herself: Maybe this young boy's got a bit of class after all! She was the first to step outside and instinctively turned towards the car park, which she knew was at the rear of the building.

  'Oh, no. No, not that way, babe!' he called after her. She turned back to see him throw a leg astride what looked to be a very old and battered, BMW motorbike! It was the one she had seen earlier as she approached the office. One she had dismissed as so clapped out it was likely to be abandoned.

  'Here,' he said, thrusting a dented and scratched old safety helmet, into her hands. 'Put this on.'

  'But...'

  'Ohhh... no buts, darl,' he reprimanded her. 'It's the law, you know. Besides, I wouldn't want to see your pretty face get hurt, no way!' Her hesitation, her reluctance, puzzled him. Then, with a flash of inspiration, he said:

  'Of course, we haven't been introduced, have we? My name's Peter, Peter Pushy. What's yours?'

  'Now why doesn’t that surprise me?' she laughed. 'I'm Linda, Linda Straight.' She couldn't help feeling more than a little self-conscious about mounting the bike in her rather short skirt. But after he gave her his best, disarming, smile, and throwing caution to the wind, she climbed aboard and gingerly put her arms around his waist as he revved the engine wildly.

  'Ok! Now hold tight, darl,' he called, as he suddenly let in the clutch. The bike shot forward: tyres screaming, engine roaring, as they charged up the road, leaving a large swirl of dust and smoke behind!

  It was only a relatively short journey to view the unit, but a memorable one, nonetheless. She arrived with her hair a complete mess, her skirt up around her waist and her stomach at least two kilometres behind!

  'Not much of a garden, I'm afraid,' he said, apologetically, as he pushed open the wrought-iron gate to the small block of units.

  'Oh? A low maintenance garden, I would have thought, surely? That's what real estate people say, isn't it?'

  'Yeah, yeah, you could say that. Sorry about the bare white-washed walls and the rusty old iron gate.'

  'No, no, a secluded sun-trap garden,' she taunted him. 'You don't get many of those. They're a much sought after feature today.'

  ‘Yeah, you’re right!’ he replied.

  They went inside. 'The kitchen's a bit on the small side,' he said apologetically.

  'Small? Oh, no. Surely it’s more like, compact... and intimate, even?'

  'Look, Linda,' he pleaded. 'I know we seem to have got off on the wrong foot somehow.'

  'We?' she came back at him strongly. 'What do you mean,“We got off on the wrong foot?” It's you. You’re the one that's been rude, crude and damn right cheeky!'

  Peter stepped forward, grabbed her by the wrists and pulled her in close. 'Now listen, just let me explain something.' Linda tried to pull away, but only as a half-hearted gesture. There was something warm and comforting, about being held firmly yet oh, so gently, in his grip. She was, in truth, enjoying every minute of it.

  'I think I'd better tell you something’ he said. My uncle, he died..., yesterday.'

  'Oh, Peter! I’m sorry. I'm so sorry. Sudden, was it?'

  'He'd been sick, for a bit. Well, quite a while really. He'd been managing the real estate agency for the Watson family for many years and recently, when he got too sick to work, he turned to me for help and asked me to keep the business going. There's nobody else in the family who could do it. That is, not available like, if you know what I mean?’

  Linda nodded in agreement and said ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, his death upset me, a lot. But I’ve been trying to keep this place going for a couple of weeks now, as he went down. You know, out of respect. He was a great man. My favourite uncle!’

  ‘Oh, that’s wonderful of you. It must have been hard.’

  ‘Yes, it hasn’t been easy, that’s true. I’m not much good at it, but maybe you'll accept it as an explanation for my unprofessional and unacceptable behaviour. Now I know it's a pretty poor excuse...’

  'Oh, you poor darling,' she exclaimed, staring at his handsome, suntanned face and his bright blue eyes, simply begging for forgiveness. She buried her face into his shoulder to hide a little tear. He let go of her wrists, put his arms around her waist and held her close, very close. Neither was in a hurry, but eventually, as they parted,

  Peter said: 'You may just have noticed, I don't know a great deal about real estate.'

  'Well, yes. I did think that might possibly be the case,' she said, with a warm smile returning to light up her face.

  'But you, you seem to know a bit about it?'

  'I was brought up in a real estate family. My father and two of my brothers have agencies in Melbourne.'

  'Wow! No wonder you think I'm such a dill.'

  'Oh, no!’ she hurried to reassure him. 'Just a bit, inexperienced maybe. But I think it's wonderful of you to drop everything like that to help out your dear old uncle, in spite of your lack of training.'

  'The truth is, I wasn't doing too well at Griffith Uni. I got in with the wrong crowd from the start. You know - caught up in too much of the sun, surf and other distractions. It's as if I really needed something like this to happen, to make me wake up to myself; to help me get a life!'

  He moved closer, and took her by the hand. 'You know, I'm really sorry we got off to such a bad start, but I'm not in the least bit sorry we met.' He looked deep into her hazel eyes. 'Do y
ou, can you..., possibly understand what I'm trying to say?'

  Linda wanted to speak but couldn't. She instinctively closed her eyes, waiting, hoping for his lips to seal hers and they did! With all the fire and passion that is reserved for the young alone. It wasn't her first kiss, but it was her first kiss of love: wonderful, thrilling, unique. Her heart was a-fire, etching a memory that would last for years, maybe forever!

  'And... what...' she gasped between kisses, 'will... you... do now?'

  'My uncle has left me money, I know that much, ‘cause he told me he would. So I guess I could buy the agency, if I wanted to. Or, I could go back, to the sun and the surf.’

  'Peter!’ She pushed herself free. 'Forget the sun and the surf – for now, at least. The agency's a marvellous opportunity. You can't pass that up! It could be the very making of you.'

  'You mean,' he said, pulling her in close again, 'we could make a go of it?'

  'We?'

  He didn't answer, but his eyes told her all she wanted to know. He cradled her closely, tightly, in his arms. She closed her eyes and waited, waited once more for his lips to tell her what she wanted; what she needed to know…, that this could be no dream.