Chapter 3

When I got home, I lugged that box of books into the "study." It looked as though there were still several empty shelves, so I designated one, unpacked and then tried to sort them so that all the volumes that belonged together were together ... and in the right order. That done, I realized that I was going to have to look things up. I just couldn't remember the order for, say, Cook, Vancouver and Tasman. I was still thinking when Weena arrived.

"Hey! How'd it all go?"

"Pretty well, I think. Let's have a glass of something before dinner and talk."

"Sure. I've got dirt for you, too. Let me get into real clothes."

Weena ran upstairs and I went to fetch two glasses and a bottle. I wondered briefly whether I was becoming a lush – wine at lunch and before dinner – but decided not yet. There was a bottle of something I'd never heard of in the door. I read the label. A Yalumba. Well, we'd see. I opened the bottle and took it and the two glasses into the sitting room.

The label said "Viognier," but it was meaningless to me. I'm sure I'm the dummy of the family where wine's concerned.

"What's that?" Weena asked as she reappeared.

"It says Yalumba Viognier."

"Oh, good. I wanted to try it."

"Means nothing to me."

"Well, let's taste it."

So I poured a bit into each glass. It was a really pretty yellow colour. We clinked and sipped.

"That's nice," I said.

"Really good."

"Tell me."

"Well, Yalumba is supposed to be the oldest vineyard in Australia. Over 150 years old. It's a bit northeast of Adelaide. And viognier is a grape type from the Rhone. I think. That's all I know."

I filled both glasses. "Good enough for me. All I know is red, rose and white; fizzy and still; sweet or dry. This is white, still and mostly dry. Or slightly sweet."

"It's also a little oaky."

"Oaky?"

"Never mind. Anyway, about today, you go first."

"Well, I went in and called the fellow in Wembley. His name's Charles. He suggested meeting for lunch at a place called Matilda Bay – been there?"

"No. Too dear for me."

"Anyway, he's a nice guy. Interested in water management. He and his wife live just north of here – in Trigg. His wife's four or five months pregnant. He says Watkins is a pain, but he'll put a word in his ear. I thought we might invite them for a barbie. We had a great wine from the Margaret River – Amberley Chenin Blanc. I put the bill on the Bureau's tab – conference, after all. Then I met with Des – the guy who was suggested as an assistant. You'll mother him to death when you meet him. He's not tall, has thick eyeglasses, and is quite timid. I've got some of his undergraduate stuff to read, but I think he'll do. Then I came home."

"Hmmm. Well, they want to move me at the Royal. I can't tell whether it's up or off to the side."

"Have you been a bad girl?"

"Not really. But I may have been too assertive." I refilled her glass. "I did tell a paediatric nurse that if she couldn't work faster, the newborn would turn into a geriatric patient." I snorted. "But she deserved it. Stupid cow."

[In the event there's someone from Perth reading this, I know the Royal Perth doesn't 'do' obstetrics or paediatrics, but I have my auctorial reasons.]

"Okay. My turn. Are you unhappy at Royal Perth?"

"Hunh?"

"You're the one who got things straight yesterday for me. Something's got you snappy. So, I'm asking. Is it the job? Is there something you're holding back? C'mon. That's what married means."

Weena got teary. "You mean it?"

"Of course."

"It's so big. The Royal. I knew everyone in Laverton. Everyone. I don't even know all the physicians on my floor! It's like being downtown. The job's fine. But so many people. More than in Adelaide, it seems."

"Perth is bigger than Adelaide."

"Really? I thought it was me." She sniffled. "And I'm late. Maybe that's it."

"Maybe. But stress can do that, too. Think about the job. There are other jobs. And maybe you just don't want to work." I bent over and kissed the top of her head. "I love you so much. You need to be busy. Maybe the Royal's not right. We don't need the money. Think about it."

"You're so good to me."

I kissed her again. "Yeah. And so hungry."

Weena laughed. "You did it again!"

"Steak?"

"Okay."

We went to an informal place, then went home for exercise

The phone rang as we walked in the door. It was Charlie. He wanted to know if they could come a week earlier – on the twentieth or twenty-first. He'd called the consulate and gotten an appointment for the Monday, 24 January, at 10:30. I said I was sure it was fine and that we'd pick them up from the airport. We only chatted a bit and got off the phone.

When I got upstairs and told Weena, she became frenzied. "That's less than two weeks! How will I get everything ready? Oh, we've got to plan! How long will they stay?"

I told her I hadn't asked and got a "Men!" Then I said, "I guess that's got you out of your funk?" and patted her on the bottom.