Page 72 of A Home Among the Snow Gums
He gave the guy as reassuring a look as he could muster, then opened the lid of the top archive box on the removalist’s trolley and took a gander.Krauss—63 Dandaloo Street, Krauss—46–48 The Esplanade, Krauss—Last Will and Testament.Definitely the right boxes, so that was one step forward at least.
He put the lid down as two paramedics in the dark green uniform of the NSW Ambulance appeared at the door.
‘This the patient?’ said one.
‘Yep. He seems confused, and he couldn’t lift his arms.’
‘Come on then, mate. Let’s have a look at you. Can you tell me your name?’
‘Benjamin Dorley. I’m a lawyer. Love the law more than my wife. At least, that’s what Joan said when she left.’
‘Speech is fine,’ said the older paramedic. ‘A little rambling.’ He squatted so he was at eye level with Benjamin. ‘Face asymmetry. Let’s get your arms up, Mr Dorley. That’s right, up they come.’
The paramedic nodded at his colleague. ‘Two out of three stroke signs. Good call on your part, mate. Not everyone knows the signs.’
‘Seventeen years in the Navy. I’ve sat in on a lot of first aid refreshers.’
‘You called his family?’
‘Sorry, I don’t have those details.’
‘Let’s make sure we take his phone and ID with us. The hospital will get onto it,’ the younger paramedic said. The two of them had Dorley out the door and down the stairs with a minimum of fuss.
After they left, Tom stood for a moment in the quiet of the office. Beneath the clutter he could see that the room had once held more than a little charm. Deep-silled windows, panelled walls, a brass pot with an almost-dead ficus. He filled an old mug with water from a dispenser in the reception area and tipped it into the soil, then hunted around for the office keys, which he found still in the door.
Dorley had cared about this place once.
‘Look at you, Tom Krauss,’ he said to himself. ‘Being neighbourly and everything.’ He spent a minute looking through drawers to see if Dorley had his wife’s number written anywhere, but he just found the work experience kid’s. He debated calling, but school would be in session, and he didn’t want to alarm the boy.
Hi, Alex, Mr Dorley’s taken a leave of absence, so work experience won’t be happening anytime soon, he typed into a text message.This is Tom Krauss. I’ve got the office keys.He thought for a second. If you fancy making twenty bucks, there’s a stack of boxes loaded up on a trolley in his office that need to come to me at the Hanrahan Pub. Let me know and I can meet you here to unlock.
He fixed the sticky note he’d scribbled onto the opaque glass before starting a careful descent to the ground floor:Closed for Personal Reasons. Office keys can be collected from the Hanrahan Pub—ask for Tom.
Poor old bugger … wheeled out of his place of business by paramedics. Tom knew how that felt, although he hadn’t been wheeled so much as bundled on a gurney, dropped into a waiting high-speed vessel, and roared off over a nasty swell to the medical facility aboard a naval frigate.
But that was in his past. Lucky for him, he had stuff to look forward to. Now … why was that phrase ringing a bell?
He set off for the pub by way of the lake, and it came to him as The Billy Button Café came into sight.
Makes you feel lucky to be alive.
Marigold. She’d been talking about how lucky he was to have the Hanrahan Pub to restore, and he’d brushed her words off as just grandiose prattling. Maybe she wasn’t totally wrong.
Now he had her in his thoughts, he pulled out his phone and called her. ‘Marigold? It’s Tom. The pub’s not officially open but we’re test running the keg lines this week in the public bar. Pick a day that suits you and I’ll put the word out: it’s time for a meeting of the Ironbark Campdraft volunteers.’
CHAPTER
25
The Laird of Finchmore waited—alone, rugged and windswept—at the cliff’s edge. He could hear waves crashing on the rocky shore below, but the weather, no matter how bone chilling, how tempestuous, would not deter him now.
His kilt swirled about his burly thighs as he paced.
A yellow flicker lit the sea mist and his fists clenched. ‘At last,’ he growled. He pulled back the shroud which covered his own lantern and held it aloft. One long flash … two short … one long …
A muffled sound came from the corridor outside her treatment room, but Hannah was so focused on fumbling with the well-thumbed corner of her library book (thank you, Mrs Grundy!) to turn the page that she paid no attention. The thin paper flicked over and she carried on reading. It was naughty, true, to be reading fiction at work, but she’d done about six hours’ hard labour already and it was barely morning tea time. Besides, the cat due to have three teeth removed must have seen its travel crate come out of the cupboard at home and scarpered, because her ten o’clock was late.
He found the hidden path on the cliff face and hurtled down it. The oarsmen would struggle to beach the dory in this weather; he’d wade out to them if he had to. He’d wade to hell and back if he had to.
