The Everywhere Man

by Victoria Gordon

  Alix did not. Nor, she feared, did her exhausted brain totally comprehend the man’s words. He would be in Melbourne two days hence. He wanted to talk to her, to see some more of her work. More? He had a job proposition he thought might interest her — design work, engineering, and then he mentioned the firm for which he was business manager.

  After she hung up, Alix wandered the rest of the day in a daze of wonder and surprise. Jennings’ firm was a small one, but it had an impressive record for innovative, creative work. And he wanted to offer her a job? It was incredible!

  She had already decided to accept the job when Mr Jennings arrived in Melbourne and telephoned to confirm their personal meeting. Armed with a portfolio of her best work, along with what remained of the portfolio Bruce had raided, Alix arrived at Mr Jennings’ hotel room to find herself confronted by a stout, greying man whose merry, twinkling eyes and friendly smile immediately put her at ease.

  He had seen ... no, his boss had seen Alix’s designs in a competition some time earlier. It was one she hadn’t placed in, but apparently the boss had been impressed enough to remember her when an opening arose that suited her talents. Would she come to Bundaberg? ‘Yes.’ Emphatically, enthusiastically yes! The salary was more than agreeable, the type of work was what she had often dreamed of, and of course the timing was perfect, although she didn’t enlighten dear Mr Jennings about that.

  She had worked out her notice in a growing aura of happy anticipation, anticipation that heightened when Mr Jennings wrote to confirm the appointment, to advise that he had found her a place to live with appropriate consideration for Nick, and later with maps and directions and even a travel allowance.

  Alix paused on the outskirts of Bundaberg to consult Mr Jennings’ map yet again. She had already taken his advice by turning off at Childers on to what he had called the ‘Goodwood’ road, which brought her into the sugar city by way of Barolin Street, according to the neatly drawn chart. It got trickier once she was in town, but eventually Alix found the proper street and the proper house. For a moment she was awestruck.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Alix fell in love with the house at first glance, even knowing that she wouldn’t be living in the house itself. It was huge, standing high on stilts in the accredited Queensland ‘Colonial’ styling. A cunning architect or designer had been at work to restore this former mansion, however, blending modern materials with old-time styling to achieve the best of both periods.

  A broad veranda surrounded the structure, and some sections had been screened off to expand the usable space. Some of the windows were stained glass, but others had been fitted with expensive aluminium screening and modern catches to allow total ventilation without accompanying insect visitors.

  Underneath the spreading skirts of the house, space had been provided for at least two vehicles. Alix could see the rump of a Citroen CX in one stall, suggesting the owner didn’t want for cash, and beside the double driveway another narrow track led past the house itself into the darkened interior of a yard that must have sprawled over a full acre of land, perhaps more.

  It was there, Alix knew, that her own ‘home’ was located, a former gardener’s cottage converted by the owner to a private studio and now, apparently, superfluous to his needs. And best of all, according to Mr Jennings’ letter, there was a fully-fenced rear yard and proper kennels besides. What a boon for Nick, who had become used to having a yard to run in while Alix was at work each day.

  Cautioning the big dog to patience, Alix stepped from the vehicle and then paused on the footpath outside the house. Front door or back? she wondered, suddenly apprehensive about her approach. The decision was made for her when the front porch light burst into life, revealing a tiny, rather stout woman in her sixties scampering down the front staircase with almost fearsome haste.

  ‘You’ll be Miss McLean,’ the woman twittered breathlessly. ‘I’m Mrs Babcock and I’m so glad you’ve arrived safely. I was beginning to worry, what with the dark and all. Now you just take the car round that far track there, my dear, and you’ll find yourself right in the cottage carport. I’ll walk round and show you the way.’

  And she was gone, following her torch beam into the darkness beside the house before Alix could utter a single word. Smothering a wry grin, Alix returned to her car and carefully drove it in as directed, swerving round the corner of the house to find herself facing the grinning maw of a carport and small cottage almost smothered in the flame orange blossoms of Japanese honeysuckle. The huge climbing vine had been carefully manipulated so that it covered the side and roof of the carport and sprawled up over the high-sloped roof of the cottage as well, and the ground beside the cottage was a sea of fallen orange blossoms.

  ‘Here, let me help you, dear.’ Mrs Babcock was beside Alix as the car halted, reaching out with a tangible friendliness that Alix couldn’t ignore.

  The woman’s birdlike voice and strong North Queensland accent made her difficult to follow as she chattered on a mile a minute, but the steady flow of conversation relieved Alix of saying anything at all, since Mrs Babcock seemed to be one of those people who answer their own questions.

  The only time she paused was when Nick emerged from the rear of the station wagon, bounding through the open gate to begin a thorough inspection of the yard. Head lowered as he sniffed at the ground, his tail flickering like a demented metronome as he trotted curiously around, he totally ignored both women.

  ‘Oh, isn’t he a beauty?’ Mrs Babcock enthused. ‘Oh, my, Anna’s going to love him … my very word!’

  Who ‘Anna’ might be, she gave no indication, swiftly changing the topic as she chattered on about Alix’s trip, and the strain of long-distance driving, and how Alix must be just exhausted. Just keeping up with her was strain enough in Alix’s admitted tiredness, but the woman was so honestly good-natured and concerned that Ahx merely followed her in silence as she produced a key to open the small cottage.

  It faced into the yard and the lushness of the subtropical growth that surrounded the yard in a protective mantle of huge ferns, massive, spreading Poinciana trees, native eucalypts and brightly flowering shrubs Alix didn’t recognise. It was a small cottage, but from the moment the door opened she knew it was perfect.

  The screened front door opened into a small and yet spacious lounge-room-cum-kitchen-cum-dining-room, where one highlight was a mountain of sandwiches and an enormous bowl of fresh fruits.

  ‘I was sure you’d need something, and probably be far too tired to worry about cooking,’ said Mrs Babcock. ‘Now you just organise your luggage and have a wee wash while I put the tea on ... unless you’d prefer coffee ... there’s milk in the fridge, anyway, and sugar in this bowl here. And here in this cupboard there’s some fresh bread and some strawberry jam and marmalade, because of course, arriving on a Saturday night like this it could be difficult to get things tomorrow.’

  Alix lugged her suitcases into the cottage’s single bedroom, once again surprised at the space of it. And at finding the bed already made up with crisp white sheets and a fluffy comforter. Even a hot water bottle! Goodness, she thought, I haven’t seen a hot water bottle since I was ten years old.

  ‘I wasn’t sure if you’d be bringing your own bedding or not, and we’ve plenty to spare in any event,’ said Mrs Babcock from the doorway. ‘Come now and have some hot tea and something to eat. My goodness, child, you look totally exhausted! Well, I won’t stay, only long enough to be sure you eat something and drink your tea. Not healthy to bed down on an empty stomach, not after all that driving ...’

  It went on and on, making Alix feel more and more like the only chick of a broody hen. Closing her eyes, she leaned back and sipped the tea, not listening, yet calmed by the chatter.

  Momentarily refreshed, she forced herself to eat some of Mrs Babcock’s sandwiches, aware she wasn’t doing justice to the preparations but simply too tired to be really hungry. And when the older woman finally paused to draw breath, Alix finally managed to express gratitu
de for all her work.

  ‘I really can’t thank you enough,’ she said honestly. The house revealed careful attention, and obviously Mrs Babcock had spent a great deal of time cleaning and dusting and making it pleasant for Alix’s arrival.

  ‘Nothing to it,’ came the reply. ‘I always think first impressions are important, and there could be nothing worse than to end a marathon drive like you’ve had to be faced with a cleaning job, or nothing fresh to eat, or ...’

  ‘Or not being able to sleep through worry, which is one problem you’ve certainly saved me, Mrs Babcock,’ Alix interrupted gently. ‘In fact I’m going to have trouble not falling asleep right here in this chair.’

  ‘Well, you certainly can’t do that,’ was the reply. ‘Now off with you to bed and I’ll just take a minute to do these dishes so you don’t have to face them in the morning. You’ll be wanting the dog in with you, I’m sure, and don’t worry, I’ll put him in as I leave. Now off with you — and no arguments!’

  The stern command came with a broad, motherly smile, and Alix decided it would be easier to obey than to argue her own responsibilities about dishes and things. Struggling out of her chair, she beat a hasty retreat to the bedroom and started looking for the nightgown she had packed.

  She was in the small, well-appointed bathroom, staring at the shower and debating if she had the energy to use it, when Mrs Babcock trilled, ‘I’m going now, dear. Key’s on the table and here’s your fine big dog.’ Then a liver- coloured nose thrust open the door and nudged itself into Alix’s palm as Nick began to wuffle-wuffle-wulffle for attention.

  ‘Get out of here, you great sook,’ Alix snorted at him, ‘Can’t a girl even take a shower in private?’

  Rejected, he turned away to sprawl out beside the bed, and Alix summoned the energy to get into the shower and at least get clean before she slept. And once beneath the steaming caress of the shower, she felt her healthy young body sloughing off its fatigue with the travel dust; humming softly to herself as she forced shampoo through her long hair, she felt fresher than she had at any time since leaving Melbourne.

  It was an absolutely super little cottage, she thought, roaming casually through the tidy rooms in her housecoat as she ran a brush through her hair. Of course it couldn’t compare with her parents’ house, which she had left in the hands of a rental agent, but for her present needs, it was ideal. No room for entertaining, of course, but then she would hardly be doing much of that, at least not for the moment.

  How could she ... not knowing anyone? The only person she had met thus far, apart from dear Mrs Babcock, was hardly the type she would be thinking of entertaining here at home. Arrogant fellow! But handsome, in a rough-hewn sort of fashion, she couldn’t deny that.

  Perhaps it was just as well that she wouldn’t be likely to meet him again. He was just a bit too … masculine ... and certainly he wouldn’t be as easily controllable as Bruce. But then what had controlling Bruce ever got her? Alix shuddered at memories best forgotten, and as the gentle monotony of brushing her hair eased back her tiredness, she retired to her new bedroom and lay back in the darkness.

  Her small travel alarm clock seemed to be lying to her; it couldn’t possibly be only eight-thirty, she thought. So she checked her watch against the alarm, found that both of’ them agreed, and a moment later she was drifting towards sleep. Her final conscious thoughts were not, for once, of Bruce and his deceit, but of a nameless man with green-fire eyes and coffee-coloured hair.

  Almost ten hours later she was nudged into wakefulness by Nick, who demanded to be allowed outside to greet the rising sun, and Alix threw on her housecoat and joined him, revelling in the feel of the chilly dew upon her bare feet as she stepped out into the enormous yard for her first daylight look at the place.

  It quickly became obvious that Nick had done his share of exploring the night before. He paid a brief visit to the bottom of the garden, then danced back to tug at Alix’s hem, pulling her gently towards the corner of the big house and the kennels that had been constructed there.

  Curious at his insistence; she ignored the chill of the damp ground and followed him, almost shrieking with delighted surprise as she saw the lone occupant of the four-kennel complex.

  ‘Oh, you little beauty!’ she exclaimed, kneeling to reach through the wire as the excited GSP bitch danced to the front of the run and sat trembling with excitement as she crooned her wuffle-wuffle-wuffle of greeting. Slightly smaller than Nick, but obviously in prime condition, the bitch was solid liver in colour except for a tiny splash of ticking on her forehead, and her coat gleamed with obvious conditioning. Her half-docked tail quivered, in constant motion, as her eyes flickered from Alix to Nick and back again.

  Alix spent several minutes squatting at the door of the run, talking softly to the liver bitch, but when Nick began to loudly whinge his desire to get closer to the other dog, Alix decided it was time to go. She wasn’t about to start off her residency here with bad feelings by disturbing somebody else’s dog, and by the look of the bitch she was a valued possession whose owner might take a dim view of Alix disrupting the bitch’s routine.

  ‘Besides, you’ll have to be thinking of other things, at least today,’ she told her disappointed companion. ‘Now come and have breakfast and start thinking about work for a change.’

  The dog wolfed down his own meal as Alix prepared a quick breakfast of toast and eggs and tea, then he sat obediently by the door as she collected everything they would need.

  Nick’s water bowl, a flask of fresh, cool water, his collar and lead, registration papers, her own documentation as his handler, immunisation certificates, and finally the map Mr Jennings had sent her showing how to reach the grounds where today’s trials were being held by the Bundaberg Obedience Dog Club.

  It had been exceptionally kind of Mr Jennings, Alix thought. Not only had he arranged this super little cottage for her, but, knowing her interest in dog obedience work, he had also sent her a copy of the local club’s monthly newsletter in time for her to enter the trial.

  She double-checked her list, then hurriedly slipped into a new forest-green track suit and gathered her long hair into a flowing chestnut ponytail.

  ‘Right ... we’re off," she said gaily, and the big dog leaped erect to wait trembling at the door. He needed no urging to get him into the station wagon; Nick knew perfectly well that track suits and training gear meant a pleasurable day’s outing.

  Alix knew she was leaving far too early, since the trial wasn’t scheduled to begin until ten, which meant she should arrive by nine-thirty. She wanted the extra time to give Nick a really good run, in hopes that he’d wear off some of the excess energy he had collected during the long, two-day drive from Melbourne.

  And besides, it was such a truly beautiful morning. No matter that to native Queenslanders it was the middle of winter; for Alix it was like a return to springtime after the blustery, rainy weather of Melbourne.

  She found her way downtown without difficulty, marvelling at the scarcity of traffic, and decided there would be time to check out Mr Jennings’ third map and find the place she would be going to work. Five minutes later she was m the Bunda Industrial Estate at the western edge of the city, looking at the tidy engineering complex where she would be reporting for duty next morning

  Very nice, she thought. Serviceable, but neatly constructed and, at least from the outside, it looked like the type of place where the workers took a certain amount of pride in their surroundings and their work.

  ‘Tomorrow will tell the tale, anyway,’ she muttered aloud, turning to retrace her route into the city area and across the high Burnett River traffic bridge to North Bundaberg. Mr Jennings drew a good map; she found herself at the Musgrave Pony Club grounds and the obedience dog club just before nine o’clock.

  ‘Okay, dog ... time for a thorough workout,’ she told the grinning GSP Nick required no further coaxing; he bounced out of the station wagon and began an immediate, pacing inspection of the trial grounds a
nd the open scrub country around them.

  The next person to arrive was the lady president of the Bundaberg club, and the honorary veterinarian was right behind her. Alix introduced herself, arranged the final competition details, and had Nick vetted before any of the other dogs had even arrived.

  Organised at last, she took Nick into the paddock behind the trial grounds and began a serious training session.

  His earlier run had burned off sufficient energy to make him reasonably biddable, but Alix found he was still a bit too easily distracted for her liking. He did his heeling exercises and retrieving excellently, and she expected no problems there, but as usual he turned a deaf ear to her commands to drop on recall.

  He could do it. Indeed, he had done it perfectly during the last two trials where he had gained qualification in the open division. Only one more qualification and he could add the ‘CDX’ Companion Dog Excellence title to his list of show and obedience awards. But somehow Alix sensed that today he was going to be difficult, and she resolved to put him through the exercise over and over until, with luck, he would do it by rote when the proper moment arrived.

  Ignoring the babble of new arrivals and the jeers and instructions between workers setting up the trial rings, she worked Nick back and forth, using both hand signals and voice commands. ‘Come ... drop!’ Again and again and again.

  ‘I’d give it a rest, if I were you. You’ll have him bored with the whole thing by the time he competes.’

  The voice from behind her startled Alix so badly she spun too quickly on the dewy grass and slipped quite off balance. But strong hands caught her even as her own, involuntarily, grasped at the Harris tweed jacket before her. Then she looked up to meet startling green eyes, eyes like green fire, or green ice ... and she recoiled abruptly.

  ‘Don’t panic,’ he said with a wicked little grin. ‘I’m not planning to collect my rain check yet. It’s a bit ... public?’

  ‘I should certainly hope so,’ Alix retorted, inwardly wishing Nick would chase over and bite this intrusive stranger on the leg. Not that he would, of course. Oh no. Instead the traitorous animal trotted over to sit politely and wait to be noticed.