Joe looked around the workshop, particularly pleased at how he had kept it humming along. The hammering of metal and the screech of the grinders played a pleasing harmony for his ears and the smell of fresh enamel coming from the paint booth made him smile.
In his usual discreet way, after warning the staff not to mention Jennifer, he had taken care to hide her car at the back of the workshop so Peter wouldn't see it when he returned. Joe was pleased. His thoughtfulness was a kind action to protect Peter.
His smile became broader as he watched one of the female apprentices scurrying to collect a buffing machine to finalize a paint job. The second apprentice was working with a mechanic removing a radiator and had a smear of black grease across her youthful face.
The only admission of their femininity was the cap each wore to protect her hair.
His thoughts roamed back to when Peter and he had interviewed the girls and Peter had insisted on signing them up as new workers.
Ah, yes, Peter. How could he stop himself--destructing? The silly Bastardo! Shaking himself, Joe realized he mustn't greet Peter with "Che Cazzo fai?" (What the fuck are you doing?) He had slipped back into his native Italian and realized that would never do.
Slowly he walked into the office to ask Mark if there was any news about Peter.
Nights became days and days grew into weeks until late one Friday as the workshop was falling quiet after a day's noise, Joe heard a shout from the main doorway.
"Peter's back!"
One of the female apprentices, screeching her pleasure, rushed to hug him.
"Peter, we're all so glad to see you."
Joe just stood there with his arms folded, watching, his face beaming as Peter shook hands all round. He was aware that these warm handshakes expressed a depth of loyalty that Peter's workers could never express in words.
Belying his true feelings, casually he called out to Peter.
"Yes, about time the boss did some work instead of lazing around chasing good looking nurses up and down corridors."
Peter looked across at him and smiled. He knew that was all the sympathy he could expect from Joe who'd already turned away to lead him on a tour of inspection.
In his reliable way, Joe had repaired the truck from the attempted hijack, renewing his friendships with the Italians at the trucking company. There were only five trucks still awaiting delivery and then the contract - the miserable business - would be over.
Joe began pushing Peter harder.
"Three months until Christmas and we might get our bonus if the boss isn't Scrooge. One truck is to go off tonight. Are you fit enough to deliver it? You know what they say about falling off a horse - the sooner you get back in the saddle the sooner you lose your fear."
Peter just laughed.
"Wait until I get my welding gloves and my overalls. Then I'll leave. It's no problem. And thank you all for putting up with me while I've been - well -- away."
He paused and turned back.
"Oh, and yes, Joe I've got the hint. The Christmas Bonus will be really special as a gesture of my thanks."
Later, Peter called Joe upstairs.
"Joe, go and get your wife. The three of us will eat at the motel up the street before I head off into deepest, darkest Bathurst."
At the end of the day's trading, an icy hand seemed to grip Peter's heart. He remembered his last trip and Jennifer's visit to the hospital. Shrugging, he turned towards the setting sun and waited for Joe and Maria.
Eventually they arrived, with Joe looking very suave and continental in a black, open neck shirt with a black and red cravat and black jeans. Maria was a little well-rounded Italian woman whose welcome smile reflected her pleasure at seeing Peter. Her Italian accent was more pronounced than Joe's and her devotion to Joe shone through as they approached holding hands
Laughing and joking, with Maria between them, they walked up the street to the motel that Peter had heard was running a good, licensed Italian restaurant.
Maria ordered for them and the Italian rolled off her tongue in a never-ending stream. She seemed to know the chef when he rushed out to greet her as a long lost friend.
Joe didn't seem the least bit frazzled when the chef arrived at their table and lifted Maria from her seat to hug her warmly.
"He's another one of Maria's myriad relatives. She's got them everywhere,"
Peter laughed as the chef returned to the kitchen.
"I see you haven't lost your taste for the old country," Peter remarked when Maria started on her meal of Porcini Dusted Sea Scallops with Tomato Relish while he and Joe hoed into thick T-Bone steaks.
As Maria and Joe sipped their Cortese di Gavi, (a dry, white, sparkling wine from Piedmont) Peter suddenly realized that he'd been drinking tomato juice with a slice of lemon.
Paling, he put down his knife and fork and stared at the glass before him. His heart thumped as he remembered it had been Jennifer's drink that very first night with her. Almost unable to cope, he found that he couldn't speak for a few minutes while his two dinner companions prattled on, oblivious of his distress.
Maria stared at him as he tried to cover his true feelings by laughing.
"It's okay for you two drunkards to get stuck into the wine but this boy is driving tonight!" He saw Joe staring at him and he winked before sculling his glass of juice and rejoining the conversation.
With an aching heart, he tried to be cheerful and to hide his inner feelings from Maria.
Her motherly pat on his hand showed that she knew of his inner turmoil.
The meal ended and knowing he had a few hours driving he paid the bill and stood to leave.
As they returned to the workshop, they laughed and discussed the weather almost as though they wanted to stay clear of any topic that could possibly include Jennifer.
Peter took Joe and Maria into the workshop office where they waited around, filling in time while he went off to put on his overalls and gloves and to find his jacket. He returned with some papers in his hand.
"You two behave while I'm away. There's a suite arranged at The Majestic on the Quay which has world famous Italian Cuisine. As well I have booked you for a seaplane flight and lunch on Sunday." Enjoying the stunned look on their faces, he threw the booking on the table. "Enjoy your second or is it your 22nd honeymoon. Maria, tell me if he plays up. I'll see you Monday Joe, if you can remember where work is. All charges are on me."
He chuckled at the unbelieving looks on their faces as they turned to look at each other. His generosity had stunned them.
"But don't send the company bankrupt!" he included as a parting shot.
Ignoring their embarrassed thanks, he marched off surprised at the change in the weather. Rain lashed down out of leaden skies and he pulled his coat tighter about him as the unseasonable, freezing wind whipped about him.
Within an hour, Peter was back on the merry-go-round - the relentless succession of pick-ups and deliveries, the drive to Bathurst and the train trip home. The grumbling engine dragged him up the mountains with the headlamps stabbing into the fog and mist.
It seemed only hours before he was back on Monday ready to deliver the next truck.
He had delivered truck two and then truck three with little difficulty, he thought. Yet it was only as he hauled himself up into the cab of truck four that Peter realized he was again relying on those same damn tablets from an earlier trip with Susie. Clad in his usual garb of worker's thick overalls and welding gloves, he settled into the seat and started the engine.
He remembered that it was Friday and he should be with Ted and Bob. Shuddering, he realized that he couldn't be with them - too many memories there for him. Peter shook his mind free of such thoughts and began to concentrate on the trip. Trying to remember exactly when he had last been to bed, he realized he ached too much to bother.
His throat was dry and his eyeballs felt seared as he stared into the fog that came rolling down the road from the mountains to swallow his lights. Rain smashed against the windscreen and the wipers sang an endless lullaby as the truck crawled through the traffic. Drivers hurrying home speared past, ignoring the darkness, the danger and the water.
Visibility became worse and the rain continued to lash down. Carefully he began the long haul up the eastern escarpment, past the restaurant where he and Jennifer had dined all those months ago at the beginning of that wonderful weekend. Still the truck crawled onwards with Peter's hands and feet dancing a constant tattoo - brake, accelerator and clutch until his legs ached.
He felt hungry but refused to stop. No, there were still too many memories. Mount Tomah loomed into view. Stretching his right leg, he winced at the remembered pain of that trip which so easily could have cost him his life.
His thoughts centered on Jennifer. Why have I punished myself? I tried to win Jennifer and lost. That ending was so final. Yet, his mind pressured him to go on. Jennifer's departure for Melbourne - I just have to grin and bear it. Ah, well, life goes on. He allowed his thoughts to wander freely.
Shaking his head, he forced himself to concentrate as the fog became a thick white wall replacing the rain and the engine growled its distaste at his efforts to crawl cautiously around the mountainside.
Even his police friends must have found it miserable and he gave them a friendly blast on the air-horns as he edged past.
Behind him, two lights intensified from mere candles in the fog to penetrating searchlights, scorching their message into the mirrors and burning his tired eyes.
"Bloody car driver," Peter muttered under his breath as a little green Mini flashed past.
"Jennifer!" Peter's shriek was unheard. "Slow down, there are dangerous curves ahead."
The red taillights disappeared around the bend into the fog, but then, even over the loud complaints of the engine, Peter heard the scream of tortured metal and the crash of the impact.
"Please, God, noooooo!"
