Chapter 1: A Felicitous Encounter and a Bottle of Grange Hermitage

“James, what are you still doing here - looking like you’re going to pull another all-nighter? Did you forget that you’re expected at a party at my house in two hours?”

I looked up from my computer screen where I was trying to find a way around a complicated personnel problem. Should I move one of the guys on my team from his position, and if yes, where to? I was a bit upset because a glimmer of an idea had just appeared and now it was gone. The current situation wasn’t very comfortable for the company: last year’s sales had been disappointing, the sales quota had just been missed, the annual Regional Sales Convention in Bali had only a few representatives from IBM Australia, and everyone, from HQ to the last salesman, was thoroughly pissed off. It was early into the new year and the company urgently needed a success story to pick itself up. I knew that it was much more a management problem than anything else - there were more than enough prospects out there to improve the situation rapidly, but nobody had taken the initiative to get things rolling.

Peter Hamill was my colleague, responsible for retail sales at IBM Australia whilst I was the Large Account Marketing Manager, having recently arrived from New York. I was responsible for selling big mainframe computers, and most things in this country were still new to me; especially certain attitudes displayed with enthusiasm by my Australian coworkers. These were rather upsetting for my organised German mind. I remembered, however, that I had agreed during the week to go to the party; unfortunately for Peter, I had completely forgotten my promise.

“Peter, can I beg off? I’m late resolving this problem and need to prepare a presentation for Monday morning for Frank. I promise I’ll join you next time.”

Peter was leaning against the door frame; a tall, blond, and typical laid-back Australian surfer type. He was competent but seemed to have many other interests in his life besides his career, principally his dedication to wines. He didn’t much like my answer very much. He’d already changed from his formal business suit to casual Friday afternoon attire, with a light blue shirt, grey trousers, and a cashmere pullover draped around his shoulders.

“James, come on, you’ve been sitting there for hours staring at that screen. Do you believe that staring at it for another three or four hours will resolve the problem? Relax a bit, come to my party, chat up some girls and you might possibly find an alternative to the black hole you’re in.”

I had to agree with Peter - at this moment there was absolutely nothing on my mind, that even remotely looked like a way out of this quandary. I could sit there for hours getting more and more upset or go off on a completely different track, to loosen up and start new. Considering the funk I was slowly entering, Peter’s suggestion seemed much more appealing. I glanced out the windows; from my 21st-floor corner window I could see the colourful triangles on the sailboats getting back to the harbor, the sun shining brightly. If they could spend the afternoon forgetting the world, why should I spend my time thinking about the company? There was a personal limitation, though. I had been brought up by a strict and distant father, who had educated me to believe in hard work and ambition and that success was all that mattered. It didn’t help that my mother died when I was very young, my grandmother let me visit her only on school holidays, and I had to follow my father when he moved from command to command in the German army. I had succeeded, but the price had been high - friends and even love had been a distant priority. Australia, however, was slowly changing me.

I thought back over the last week; it had been my anniversary and all I got was lunch with Peter - though the wine he selected was superb.

“OK,” I said. “Two hours at your house. Anything I should or could bring?”

“Just yourself, and please be in a better mood!”

Peter left and I cleaned my desk, shut off the computer, locked my door, and left. It seemed that no one was left on this floor - after all, on Friday night, everybody just vanished as soon as the magic moment of four o’clock arrived. Only the reception area still had people sitting at the counter and chatting.

The receptionist had also changed from his normal grey suit and a colourful tie to light brown slacks and a yellow shirt. I was still surprised about the flexible attitudes of my colleagues - an IBM employee in a yellow shirt? A bright yellow shirt? What was the world coming to? But he was smiling and relaxed.

“Good evening, Mr. Winter. Late as usual?”

“Tony, work never stops, and if you want to be successful, you just have to give everything, and often a bit more.”

“Mr. Winter, just remember that you have to live to have a life, and pardon my saying so, but you don’t have one!”

“Tony, truer words were never spoken, but you know how things are. Being new in the country and business requiring an extra effort, but I just hope that things will slow down soon.”

Tony looked at me with a smile.

“Well, Mr. Winter, I wish you a good evening and a good weekend, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Thanks, Tony. If you’re on the desk, you might see me on the weekend, working.”

“Mr. Winter, I have more common sense than that. For me, it’ll be the beach, some beers, a barbie, and some pretty girls.”

I left the building and reminded myself that Australians had a much easier outlook on life than I was used to. The people I’d met working here were more open and more direct, and whilst they were (occasionally) hard-working, they also seemed to enjoy their free time with much more enthusiasm. It was difficult for me to keep up with them, at least privately.

I turned left and walked for about five minutes to my apartment. It was a pleasant walk, the afternoon sun was shining with a few clouds visible, drifting from left to right, a warm late summer evening following a recent uncharacteristically cold spell. My mood picked up a bit.

I’d been very lucky when I arrived; a senior manager had just been transferred to headquarters in the US. Since it was a standard assignment, expected to last at least three years, he wanted to let his apartment and had offered it to me. It was close to the company’s building, the centre of the city, and the Opera House, and there were many good hotels and restaurants not far away. The rent wasn’t cheap, but I could easily afford it.

When I joined IBM in Germany, I heard in a lunch conversation about the IBM Suggestion Program - one could submit a suggestion about any improvement in procedures or manufacturing process, and if the suggestion was accepted and implemented, one would receive 10% of the first year’s savings. Since I always had been curious about anything, I looked around and submitted some small procedure changes, and almost all were accepted. The savings were not so great, but the idea fascinated me. In another lunch conversation, somebody from the accounting department complained about the expensive water bill that the plant and the admin building were paying every month. I checked the information and submitted a suggestion to drill on the empty land around the plant and see whether there was water available. After some discussions - first it was absurd, then it wasn’t possible, but finally, they tried it. It was a success, and after two years I got a very reasonable high seven figures payment - and the attention of senior management. As a result of some smart investments, I now had a serious financial base.

The street was empty and walking in the afternoon sun, feeling the light breeze coming in from the sea, lifted my spirits. I entered the lobby of the apartment building, greeted the doorman, and, standing before the elevator bank, pressed the 14th-floor button.

There was some noise behind me, and another tenant hurried into the lobby. I had seen her before; a pretty woman, well dressed and always polite. I smiled at her and held the door. When she stepped out at the 11th floor, she turned back to me and gave me a brilliant smile in return. I tried one of my rare smiles, but when I found the courage to say something, she had already turned away. I told myself that I was indeed a fool. An opportunity had appeared, and I let it walk away. When would I learn?

I shrugged my shoulders and when the elevator stopped at the 14th floor, I entered my apartment. It was big for a single man, with everything one could wish for, two en suite bedrooms, a large sitting room, a separate dining room, and a small balcony with a good view over the city towards the Harbour Bridge. The owner had selected low, modern, Scandinavian furniture that I found pleasing.

There was mail - some bills, two tickets, and some publicity trash. I looked at the tickets and was surprised - they were for the next day at the Sydney Opera, and the performance was ‘Norma’ with Joan Sutherland. I had completely forgotten that I had put my name on a long waiting list and, since miracles still happen, there they were. Two tickets for the evening performance! Expensive, but since I adored operas and Joan Sutherland even more, nothing better could have happened. I stopped - two tickets? Then I remembered that one was for my colleague who suddenly had had to travel on business. Well, even paying for two tickets was much better than not seeing Joan Sutherland. I might try Peter.

I looked at my watch and changed into my casual attire: black trousers, a white shirt, a smart light blue cashmere pullover and some comfortable black loafers. I looked at myself in the mirror: tall, a bit over one hundred eighty-five centimeters, blond hair with some grey strands already visible, slender, but strong from my martial art classes - acceptable, I thought. I decided that I would stay at the party for half an hour, invent some excuses and go out for a late dinner. There were enough good restaurants that I could always find one I enjoyed. Perhaps Luigi?

I went back to the elevator - would the pretty lady appear again? No luck, so all that was left for me was to go downstairs, get my Porsche, and drive to Peter’s house on the other side of Sydney.

I couldn’t find a parking place close to the house and ended up two blocks away. The noise that greeted me when I arrived at the house was disturbing - loud voices and loud music. I wondered how Peter managed to keep his neighbours from calling the police, but that wasn’t my problem. I just wanted to pay my respects, stay a few minutes and leave. My host looked at me anxiously when I entered. He was a bit flushed, and I hoped that the party wasn’t already out of control.

“James, here you are. I started to believe that you wouldn’t come, and I was getting rather upset. Look around, the food’s over there, the booze is on the other table and there are lots of girls around. Take your pick!”

l looked around and it was as Peter had said. It was a big room with lots of food and booze, and some very pretty women standing in groups and gossiping - probably about the men who were standing on the other side of the room looking at the women. In a corner, a young girl dressed in grungy black clothes was in an easy chair, looking at her laptop. I couldn’t understand how she could read anything in that noise Perhaps she was just waiting to leave? Well, that was her problem.

I thought about Peter’s invitation, thought ‘why not’ and tasted the food, - commercial and not very tasty - and some wine, - even worse. They were obviously selected for the price and not for quality. Looking at the two groups, I couldn’t see myself entering either of them and wondered what to do next. I had to stay at least another twenty minutes and I asked myself how I would survive it.

Suddenly Peter appeared again.

“James, please help me out. I have the daughter of a potential business customer here and she doesn’t seem to be enjoying the party. Can you use some of your continental charms and entertain her a bit? I’d be eternally grateful.”

I wondered where this was coming from and, somewhat doubtful, asked why she needed entertaining in this noisy crowd.

“Why is she alone? Any problems? Why me?”

“No, James. She’s from Brisbane and still rather young to be in this mess. Her mother asked me to look after her this weekend, while she’s in town attending a seminar. You’re more her type than these other people who will get me in trouble very soon. I’d owe you big-time if you’d make this effort for me. Talk to her, get her a drink, and I’ll let you go home early. Please.”

“You want me to babysit a girl? Are you crazy?”

“James, she’s not a girl. She is a young woman, intelligent, rather pretty, and she’s a graduate student at The University of Queensland.”

I just looked at him.

“Pray tell, why do I have to babysit her? If she is what you say, where are the young men who should be clustering about her?”

He hummed and hawed a bit and murmured something like how she was very reserved and introverted, and she preferred to be alone. He had promised her mother, however, that he would make certain that nothing happened to her, not now and not during the weekend.

“Peter, are you telling me that you expect me to look after the young lady the whole weekend? Are you out of your mind? I have things to do and showing her the lights of the big city - which I must say I do not know well - is not on my agenda for the next few days.”

He looked at me, trying to come up with some arguments. In the end, he reminded me that he had helped me to settle in, arranged the apartment and the car, and that I should be eager to get him out of the hole. What could I do?

“Peter, let’s agree that I do this tonight, but forget the weekend and we are even for whatever you have done for me during the last months, OK? And by the way - why do you have to do favours for her mother?”

“She runs a company in Brisbane, and I’ve been trying to do business with her, but always unsuccessfully. I must admit she’s too smart for me, and her daughter is in the same league.”

“Are you telling me that you are afraid of a woman? You out of all people I know here?”

He tried to change the ‘afraid’ to ‘respect’, but I did sense that he was not very eager to contradict me.

“OK, my soon-to-be ex-friend. Lead me to the slaughter.”

He took me to the remote corner of the house where the girl was still sitting, staring at her laptop.

“Maureen, may I introduce James Winter? He’s new in Australia and I wondered whether you could tell him a bit about our country. He’s a workaholic and it’s a miracle that he appeared tonight - after some pressure, I admit. James, this is Maureen Monahan. James, get the lady some wine while I look after my other guests.”

With that introduction he turned and ran away.

Maureen looked up at me and seemed absolutely puzzled. She had long, thick, and lustrous red hair curling to her shoulders, a very pretty face with some freckles, and was dressed in dark greyish jeans and a black pullover. She turned and looked for the rapidly disappearing Peter and then turned back to me, gazing at me for a short while. That was the moment I realised that she had the most wonderful eyes I had ever seen in my life. Huge green eyes with a sparkle of blue and grey, and I had to get myself under control not to stare at her.

“Mr. Winter, I don’t really know what I can tell you about Australia. I’ve travelled a bit, but I am certain that there are many more people, probably even in this room, who could be much more helpful.”