Page 12 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
The door to the office which housed, according to gilt lettering on its plaque, the country legal practice of BENJAMINDORLEYBA/LLB(HONS) was propped ajar with a box of photocopy paper when Tom made his way up the stairs on Friday morning. A harassed young man sat behind a desk telling someone at the other end of the phone that if he knew what acaveat emptorwas, he’d be able to help, but as it was, he’d have to take a message for Mr Dorley and, yes, he knew he’d already taken half-a-dozen messages, but Mr Dorley was busy with a court matter and was out of the office.
Tom nodded a greeting, then gave the office a look-over. Files were piled everywhere, and the door to Benjamin’s inner sanctum was ajar, revealing more chaos within: coffee cups; archive boxes; phone charging cords tangled and stuck like cold spaghetti. But where were the fresh flowers on the windowsill? Where was Mrs Dorley, of the red beehive hair, who ruled the reception desk like she was the reincarnation of Margaret Thatcher? What was with the overflowing bins and the sweaty look of desperation on the young man?
‘Sorry about that,’ said the young man, getting to his feet. ‘If you’re here to see Mr Dorley, he’s not in.’
‘So I see. I haven’t met you here before. Are you new?’
‘Um, yeah. I’m Alex. You’re not going to ask me anything hard, I hope, because I don’t know anything.’
Tom couldn’t help smiling. ‘Nothing hard, I promise. Where’s his wife?’
A flush of red ran from the tight collar of Alex’s shirt all the way up to his ears. ‘She left.’
Tom had plenty of experience drilling info out of fresh naval recruits, so he dropped a little heft into his tone. ‘Left work? Left Hanrahan?’ He paused. ‘Left her husband?’
‘All of the above. Hey, do you know Mr Dorley? Because he hasn’t come into work even though he said he’d be here at eight o’clock, and all these people are calling and I’m running out of things to say.’
‘I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. Ben looks after my father’s real estate interests. I came to ask him what the hold-up is with a job he’s doing for us.’ Though Tom guessed he had his answer: the bloke had dropped his bundle.
‘Um, I could take a message?’
‘Yeah, that’s not working. I’ve left messages and he hasn’t returned them, which is why I’m here. You know where he keeps keys? He’ll have the set for the Hanrahan Pub that I need to borrow.’ Now Tom thought about it, if Dorley really had lost the plot, then taking on finding a publican for the town pub would make a doddle of a special project for him. With bonus points, too, because it wouldn’t involve bumping into Hannah Cody or raising the contentious issue of Ironbark’s campdraft with Bruno.
The young man perked up. ‘Where the keys live is something I do know. Mr Dorley showed me them on my first day.’
‘When did you start here?’ A heavy leather binder was on the desk. Its pages held the tiny print of—Tom squinted and tipped his head so he could read the header—the Family Law Act of 1975. He ran his finger across the thin cream paper and was reminded of the hours he’d spent in the law library back when he was an undergraduate.
He’d liked the study. He’d liked reading the cases and working out why the judges had found some arguments favourable and others not. It had all seemed so very fair and objective—the polar opposite, in fact, of the way arguments had been conducted around the Krauss kitchen table.
‘Um, I just started work experience here. I’m a senior over at Hanrahan High School—at least, I will be, when the term starts next week. Mum reckons working here will be, like, resumé building or something. You know, for a uni scholarship.’
‘Right.’ No wonder the kid looked freaked out about the boss being a no-show. Tom held out his hand. ‘Tom Krauss. I went to Hanrahan High myself once upon a time.’ Felt about a hundred years ago.
‘Alex. Oh, I already said that, didn’t I?’
‘Hoping to be a lawyer one day, are you?’
‘Maybe. Dunno. Mum’s keen on the lawyer thing, but maybe I could be a guitarist in a band. I haven’t decided.’
Tom had been undecided himself through school, but when he left home, barefoot and clueless, with three hundred and twenty bucks, one condom (aged) and a driver’s licence in his wallet, the Royal Australian Navy officer’s entry program had seemed like a lifesaver and law was the degree he got into. Not that he’d done much desk work in the Navy once he’d completed his law degree and basic training at HMAS Creswell; he was offered a role in naval intelligence and he’d leapt at it, which brought to an end his involvement with military administrative law and contracts for armament and bulk provisions and drydock maintenance.
That was back when he could leap, of course.
‘Want me to dig out the keys for you?’ said Alex.
‘Sure. You let Benjamin know I’ve got them when he turns up.’
‘What if he doesn’t turn up? What if he’s had a car crash on the way to work? What if I’ll be here all day on my own and I should have done something, but didn’t?’
Wow. If the law (or the guitar) didn’t work out for this kid, he could give drama a whirl. ‘I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe you could put a sign on the door and go check on him.’
‘But I can’t drive and Mum’s not picking me up until five and then I’ve got footy practice.’
Tom resigned himself. ‘You know where he lives, mate? I can check on him. If his wife’s done a runner, he’s probably sitting around feeling sorry for himself.’
‘I don’t know his address.’
Of course he didn’t. ‘I’ll find out. Now, can you hunt up the keys for the Hanrahan Pub for me? I’ll check on your boss and you can maybe answer calls and …’ What would keep the kid busy for the day? ‘Tidy up a little.’
