Licence to Dream (4 page)

‘Better to wait till the doctor comes out.’

It seemed a long time until a man in a white coat came out of the rear area. The receptionist pointed Ben out to the doctor who beckoned him forward and led the way into a side room.

‘How is she?’ Ben asked.

There was silence then the doctor sighed and shook his head. ‘I’m afraid she didn’t make it, Mr Elless. She had massive chest injuries from the impact.’

His words didn’t make sense for a few moments and Ben frowned as he tried to sort through the information. Then it suddenly clicked and he felt anguish welling up in his chest.
Sandy was dead!
He’d lost her.

 
How could that be possible? It hurt so much, he could only wrap his arms round himself and rock.

‘Is there someone we can call for you?’

The doctor had to ask him twice before he remembered his mother’s phone number.

‘Can I see my wife?’

‘In a little while. We’re just tidying things up.’

‘Did the man who crashed into her survive?’

‘Yes.’

‘Was he drunk?’

‘The police are dealing with that.’

‘He was drunk, wasn’t he?’

‘I can’t tell you that, Mr Elless.’

When his mother came into the room, she held out her arms and Ben let himself sob. She understood how he was feeling as no one else ever would.

It was only her strength that got him through the next few days, and the funeral passed in a distant blur.

‘It will get better, Ben darling,’ she said to him several times. ‘I promise you it will.’

‘Not for Sandy, it won’t.’

* * * *

Grandpop had a two-year remission. He and Meriel had some wonderful outings together now she had a car. Then the cancer came back and he started to go rapidly downhill.

When he eventually died, her biggest comfort was that he had been more than ready to go.

He’d whispered to her from the hospital bed, ‘Don’t you grieve for me, lass. I’ve been selfish, I know, but I’m glad you stayed nearby till now. Afterwards, though, you go out and make something of your life. Get right away from here and follow that dream of yours. Keep it in focus and you’ll get there one day, I know you will.’

He didn’t say get away from your mother, but they both knew what he meant.

Meriel’s grief wasn’t as loud as her mother’s, but it was a loss so agonising she couldn’t see her way past it for a while.

* * * *

She applied to emigrate to Australia a few days after the funeral and was one of the lucky ones to be selected. It helped that she’d found herself a job in advance, because the senior partner of her firm knew someone in Western Australia and was prepared to give her a very warm recommendation.

‘You’ve an eye for anomalies in business accounts,’ he said. ‘That’s why I spoke up for you, though really you should do more studying and qualify as a forensic accountant.’

‘I don’t want to go down that path.’

He cocked his head on one side. ‘Still doing your painting?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Well, don’t let me down in Australia, now.’

‘I won’t, Mr Grimes.’

She waited until everything was arranged before announcing her plans to her mother. ‘I’m going to live in Australia, Mum. I’ve got a job there.’

‘I don’t think much of that for a joke.’

‘It isn’t a joke.’

‘Mmm?’

‘Mum, listen to me, will you! I’m going to work in Australia.’

Denise stared at her open-mouthed. ‘You can’t mean it!’

‘I do. I’ve always wanted to travel. You know that.’

‘But that’s not travelling; that’s emigrating!’

‘Yes. I like a sunny climate. You know how much I enjoyed Spain again last year. I applied to emigrate after Grandpop died.’

Denise burst into loud, noisy tears. ‘You can’t do it! I won’t let you! I’ll never see you again.’

Meriel sighed and tried not to get angry at the accusations that were soon flying across the table about ingratitude and selfishness.

Not long, she told herself. Just a couple more weeks.

* * * *

The plane landed in Western Australia on a hot day in November after a twenty-hour flight, by which time Meriel was heartily sick of being shut up in a big tin box.

She queued her way through Customs, smiling at the sniffer dog which checked everyone’s hand luggage. One woman was pulled out of the line and scolded for having an apple in her bag.

At the airport entrance there was a queue for taxis. As Meriel waited in the line of tired people, she lifted her face to the warmth, entranced by the clear blue sky and the brilliance of the light.

She was just as thrilled by the ride into the centre of Perth. For the last part of the journey they travelled along by the river and although she’d looked up the city on line when she applied to migrate and studied photos of it, the reality was far more impressive.

A typical city cluster of multi-storey buildings was set back from the river behind a wide strip of grass which softened the whole scene. The river widened at this point and the water sparkled in the sunlight as a ferry chugged across and yachts tacked to and fro. To one side of the city was a small hill which she knew from her research to be King’s Park. Buildings clung precariously to one side of the hill and a motorway – no, people called them freeways here – hummed with traffic below it.

The company which had offered her a job had booked her into a hotel, a modestly adequate place. Since she’d slept quite well on the journey, she only stayed there long enough to have a quick shower and put on a summer skirt and short-sleeved top. Then she spent two hours wandering round the city centre, feeling like a tourist, following the street map she’d picked up from reception.

At one stage she found herself in the street where she’d be working, so went to stare up at the tall building where Lee-Line International was situated. She disliked multi-storey office towers with their stale, canned air, but you couldn’t have everything. At least accepting this job had allowed her to move to a warmer country.

Now she was going to focus on her most important ambition of all, becoming an artist. Whatever it took, she’d do it.

Ben Elless went to work in Brisbane reluctantly. He preferred the days when he had to go out of the city to visit suppliers or to inspect gardens or developments for new clients.

It was two years today since he’d buried his wife and he still found it hard to settle back into business mode. Sometimes he fantasized about buying a piece of land and becoming a recluse – he’d been very tempted to do that after Sandy died. But the sheer satisfaction of creating beautiful gardens helped him cope.

He’d almost lost his small company after losing Sandy. Only the intervention of his wife’s uncle Rod had saved him from bankruptcy, but he still wasn’t sure he’d done that right thing in accepting that help, because one condition of the loan had been to find a job for Rod’s son Phil. Ben had never liked Sandy’s cousin – but he hated the idea of losing his business because it was one of the main things he had left of his wife.

Phil proved to be a good salesman, but he had no feel for landscaping or plants. He made Ben wince when he talked about ‘product’.

The business was going really well now, because Ben’s designs were proving popular. Well, he had long, quiet evenings to work on them and perfect them. But Phil said they could be making more money and that had led to several arguments. He wasn’t going to let Phil persuade him to cut corners, whatever difference that might make to the bottom line. There was no way Ben would short-change the clients by putting in inferior plants and materials. He and Phil had argued about that only yesterday.

He switched on the computer and began to work on a new garden design, soon losing himself in it, so that his secretary had to shake him to make him realise someone wanted him on the phone.

Christine gave him one of those motherly smiles that reminded him of his real mother and patted his shoulder.

When he’d finished the call, she came back into his office. ‘I need to know what you agreed with this new client. Just concentrate for a few minutes then I’ll let you play again.’

‘Yes, Mama!’

She pretended to slap his arm and left him to it. Thank goodness for her accounting skills, he thought. He wasn’t the world’s best with figures. Unfortunately she was retiring soon and he was wondering how he’d manage without her to keep him on track about the business side of affairs.

Garden design he could talk about; keeping accounts in order was definitely not his best skill. Sandy had done all that.

Phil gradually took over from Christine, promising to show her replacement what to do and keep an eye on that side of things.

That was such a relief. Ben loved the design and gardening side of things and knew he did them well. You couldn’t be good at everything.

* * * *

On the Monday following her arrival, Meriel started work. Her boss, John Repping, welcomed her formally into the West Australian branch of Lee-Line International, then handed her over to a young woman of her own age. ‘Rosanna will show you round the office and she’ll be able to tell you about – er – shopping and such.’

As soon as they were away from his office, Rosanna grinned. ‘John’s so stiff sometimes you wonder if he’s going to crack down the middle next time he tries to smile! He’s all right, though. Looks after his staff. How was the flight?’

‘I slept most of the time. There wasn’t much else to do. It’s a long time to sit still in a small seat.’

‘I’ve never been to Europe, but I’m going there on my honeymoon.’

‘Oh? Are you getting married soon?’

Rosanna grinned. ‘Not for a while. I haven’t met the lucky fellow yet. But a girl has to plan. Are you single – or did you come out here with a guy?’

‘I came here on my own.’

‘Don’t you like guys?’

‘In moderation.’

Rosanna rolled her eyes. ‘Moderation is for after you’re married, not before.’

It was Rosanna who helped Meriel to find a small villa to rent. She also went shopping with her after work to assemble the essentials for survival. To her, this meant cooking utensils, sheets and towels, while Meriel’s thoughts ran more in the direction of art supplies and a good easel.

On the Saturday, Rosanna turned up at the hotel with one of her many relatives and an open-backed van called a ute, to help Meriel move her suitcases and parcels into the new flat. The relative also produced a bottle of champagne and the three of them solemnly christened the flat, drinking it out of three coffee mugs, because Meriel hadn’t got round to buying wine glasses yet.

Gino would have stayed longer if Meriel had given him any encouragement. He kept giving her admiring glances. But she wanted to be alone to settle in, so Rosanna winked and took her cousin away with a cheery, ‘See you on Monday!’

Meriel took a chair out into the tiny shaded courtyard at the rear and sipped the last of her champagne. A parrot flew on to a branch of the one tree and stared down at her solemnly. There wasn’t a single cloud in the blue sky. Then another parrot landed with a shriek and shortly afterwards the two of them flew off together.

‘I made it!’ She raised her glass in a silent toast to her new country.

* * * *

‘Do you fancy going out for lunch today, for a change?’ Rosanna asked two weeks later.

‘Sorry. I have to register and buy some stuff.’

‘For what?’

‘For my art classes. I’ve enrolled at the Technical and Further Education college for a certificate course.’ She explained about her obsession.

Rosanna shrugged. ‘I hope being artistic won’t stop you coming out for a drink sometimes.’

‘Of course not.’

‘And who knows, you may meet a guy at the classes.’

‘I keep telling you, I don’t want to meet anyone. I want to train properly as an artist.’

‘You’ve sure chosen a roundabout path. Me, I did enough studying when I was training to become an accountant. That’s it, now. No more courses, unless they’re short and sweet. But be warned: I’m not letting you turn into a nun.’

Meriel chuckled and gave her a hug, already feeling she’d made a good friend in Rosanna. ‘OK. I promise not to turn into a nun. I’m so glad I met you.’

‘Me too. They’re a stuffy bunch here, aren’t they? I was glad when you joined us.’

‘Shh! Someone might hear you.’

Rosanna shrugged.

Within the month, Meriel was absorbed in her studies and was happier than she’d been for years.

She was even finding her new job more interesting than her old one. It still amazed her sometimes what a flair she had for analysing figures. But they were only a means to an end. They were not, definitely not, her whole life. And even less were they her future.

Mr Repping took her into his office after she’d been there a couple of months, and after much clearing of the throat, managed to say that he was pleased with her work.

That felt good, too. If she did something, she wanted to do it well, whatever it was. She was like Grandpop in that.

* * * *

Ben smiled at the owner of the block of flats, who had just approved his design. ‘I’m going to enjoy this job. And I think you’re going to find it lifts the tone of the whole place.’

The man nodded, not nearly as enthusiastic as Ben. ‘As long as you deliver the goods, that’s all I care about. The rental industry is very competitive and your cousin has persuaded us that we’ll get a better occupancy percentage if we can offer what other blocks of flats don’t. Just keep that area easy-care and don’t go over budget.’

‘Can do.’

When the customer had left, Ben wandered across to Phil’s office. ‘What did he mean, you
persuaded
him?’

Phil rolled his eyes. ‘Just what he said. I went out and looked for a target property and when I found it, I homed in on the owners.’

‘I thought they approached us, because of those adverts.’

‘Look, what’s this all leading? Was I wrong to get us that contract? No? Right then, that’s settled. I’ve an appointment at five, another useful lead, so I have to go now.’

‘It’s just – I don’t like the thought of over-persuading someone to use our services. And how do you know making a garden will raise the letting percentage?’