Chapter 1: A Bottle of Grange Hermitage

“James, what are you still doing here? You have not forgotten that there is 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 remove that guy 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 situation was not 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 took the initiative to get things rolling.

Peter Hamill was my colleague in IBM, responsible for retail sales whilst I was the Large Account 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 organized, 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 our boss. I promise that 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 did not like the answer very much. He had 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 have been sitting there for hours staring at that screen. Do you believe that staring for another three or four hours will resolve the problem? Relax a bit, come to my party, talk up some girls and you might have a possibility to 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, which 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 of the windows; from my 21st-floor corner window I could see the tiny triangles of colorful sails of the sailboats getting back to the harbor, the sun shining brightly, and 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 was brought up by a strict and distant father, who had educated me to believe in ambition and that success was all that mattered. It did not help that my mother died when I was very young, my Grandmother let me visit her only on 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. 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 a 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.

“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 me saying so, you don’t have one!”

“Tony, truer words were never spoken, but you know how things are. Being new in the country and the company requires 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 see you on Monday.”

“Thanks, Tony. You might see me on the weekend working.”

“Mr. Winter, I have more common sense than this. For me, it will be the beach, some beers, a barbeque, and some pretty girls.”

I left the building and thought that Australians had a much easier outlook on life than I was used to. The people I had met working here were more open and more direct, and whilst they were (often) working hard, 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, late summer evening following a recent uncharacteristically cold spell, and my mood picked up a bit.

I had been very lucky when I arrived; a senior manager had been transferred to headquarters in the US. Since it was a normal least three years’ assignment, he wanted to let his apartment and had offered it to me. It was close to the company’s building, the center of the city, and the Opera House, and many good hotels and restaurants were not far. The rent was not 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 was always 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 was not possible, and 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. Making some luck investments, I now had a serious financial base.

The street was empty and walking under the afternoon sun, feeling the light breeze coming in from the sea, lifted my spirits. Standing before the elevator bank, I 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, holding the door for her and when she stepped out on 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 a fool, indeed. An opportunity appeared and I let it walk away. When would I learn?

I shrugged my shoulders and when the elevator stopped at the 14^th 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 styled 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 night! 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 had to travel suddenly on business. Well, even paying for two tickets was much better than not seeing Joan Sutherland.

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 six feet, 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.

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

I did not 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 neighbors from calling the police, but that was not my problem. I just wanted to pay my respects, staying a few minutes and then leave. My host looked at me when I entered, already a bit flushed and I hoped that the party was not already at an exaggerated pace.

“James, here you are. I started to believe that you would not come and was getting rather upset. Look around, the food’s there, the booze is on the other table and 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 girls standing in groups and gossiping - probably about the men who were standing on the other side of the room and looking at the girls. I thought ‘why not ‘and tasted the food, commercial and not very tasty, and some wine, even worse, obviously selected for the price and not for quality. That left the girls and I wondered what to do next. I had to stay another twenty minutes at least and I asked myself how I would survive this.

Suddenly Peter appeared again.

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

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

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

“No, James. She is from Brisbane and still rather young to be in this mess. Her mother asked me to look after her during this weekend, but somehow things got out of control. I believe that you are more her type than these people who will get me in trouble very soon. I would owe you big-time if you would make this effort. Talk to her, get her a drink, and I will allow you to go home early. Please.”

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

“James, she is not a girl. She is a young woman, intelligent, rather pretty, and in her last year at the Brisbane University.”

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 clustering about her?”

He hummed and hawed a bit and murmured something like how she was very reserved and introvert, and she preferred to be alone. He had promised her mother, however, that he would make certain that nothing would happen 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 favors for her mother?”

“She runs a company in Brisbane, and I have been trying to do business with her, but always unsuccessfully. I must admit she is 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 a remote corner of the house where a woman was sitting, staring at her laptop.

“Maureen, may I introduce James Winter? He is new in the country 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 dressed in some greyish skirt and 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 realized 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 traveled a bit, but I am certain that there are many more people, probably even in this room, who could be much more helpful.”

With that remark, she looked at her laptop again.

I had been dismissed before, but not in such a situation, and it hurt. After all, I was not ugly, dressed with care and quality clothes, had been educated by my grandmother to behave politely in my family’s tradition, and it had never been implied that I was dumb and boring. What was this girl thinking?