The Girl in the Yellow Vest (9 page)

What now?

A muffled voice sounded through the wooden pane. ‘Mr Crawford, are you in there?’

For the love of God.

He strode down the short hall and yanked open the front door. Charlotte Templeton practically fell through the threshold as her hand, still in the knocking position, followed the disappearing door. On her other arm she was balancing a tray. His salmon, he presumed. He’d forgotten he’d ordered room service. Funny, the resort manager didn’t usually bring his tray around. Was she letting staff go now too?

‘Mr Crawford.’ She gaped at him and he realised belatedly that he was still semi-wet from his shower and wearing only a towel.

‘Your skin –’ She shook her head. ‘I mean
in
! You’re
in
!’

‘Of course I’m in,’ he growled.

‘It’s just that I was knocking awhile. Is everything okay?’

‘Peachy. What are you doing here? You aren’t normally the person who brings my dinner.’

He didn’t know why but for some reason he found this sudden and uncharacteristic change of operations unsettling and he hoped that she didn’t intend to make a habit of it. After work he liked to wind down and Ms Templeton always seemed to have the same effect on his nerves as a steel winch. He had no idea why except perhaps that she appeared to be the only one of his subordinates who wasn’t afraid of him. It didn’t help that her cool green eyes were currently roaming over his now hot skin as though she’d never seen a naked torso before.

Damn the woman!

She blinked, shaking her head again. ‘I thought it chest – I mean
best
– to bring you your dinner. After your comments about the steak, I wanted to make sure you knew that I personally oversaw the preparation of your salmon.’

‘Really?’ His mouth arched.

‘I was also feeling a little guilty about what happened earlier and wanted to assure you in person that this meal is cooked to pec . . . pecfection –’ She gasped. ‘Perfection. I meant
perfection
. I hope you’re hunky – I mean
hungry
!’

The woman shut her eyes and breathed deep. ‘Can I just put it on the table?’

He stepped back. ‘By all means, Ms Templeton.’

As she approached the table, too late he noticed the torn blue envelope on the floor and the brown tough bag sitting on the table. He hurried over just as she was pushing it all aside to lay the tray down. Two bits of paper scuttled to the floor.

He went to pick them up but she was before him. As his nerves twanged like a violin string, she straightened with a smile on her face, holding up her list and Kathryn’s. ‘I see you’ve been going over my items. Oh hang on, this one doesn’t look like mine –’

He snatched it off her, perhaps a little too sharply. ‘No, it’s a letter from my wife – a
private letter
.’

Her face turned a deep shade of red. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude.’ She looked down, dusting her hands as she backed away from the table. Then she stopped as something seemed to occur to her. His unwinding nerves tautened again.

‘What?’

Her eyes darted as though she were trying to figure out a tactful way to open the subject.

‘Oh for goodness’ sake,’ he demanded impatiently, ‘just say it; my dinner is getting cold.’

He wanted her out the door and on her way as quickly as possible.

She squared her shoulders, a determined expression on her face. ‘I
also
wanted to just make clear that those rumours you heard about this resort being in trouble –’

‘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 and 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.