THE FIRST DAY
The Harbour
From above, looking down on Sydney Harbour, it is an exceptional morning. There is a light breeze that has set white horses dancing on the surface of the harbour but not enough to muddy the breathtakingly deep blue to a dull green. Several ferries have already crisscrossed from north to south before one particular ferry makes its appearance at the Taronga Zoo wharf this October morning in the year 1937. Horns are hooting, waves splashing and as the last passenger boards the ferry, a lion roars. A picture postcard Sydney.
Inside the ferry, the splashing sound subsides. The ferry leaves the wharf and the chugging of the ferry settles into a steady rhythm. Above this sound can be heard high heels on deck. Inside the ferry a young man, looking awkward in his crushed, old fashioned suit, slams a window shut. He takes out a gilt-edged card and looks at it with a confused expression. After a minute he puts the card in his pocket and gazes at the houses through the ferry window. Their existence seems to trouble him; particularly how close they are to the water’s edge.
Observing the awkwardness is Roger Maguire. The last thing he needs in his present state of mind is awkwardness. And tension. He’ll break the ice, he decides. It always seems to be him breaking the ice but what the hell.
“How about we introduce ourselves? Roger Maguire and you are?”
“John Summers. I’m pleased to meet you. It’s very quiet, isn’t it?” The young man pulls at his collar as he speaks.
“Yes. Just the two of us.”
“No. Three,” John pauses. “There’s a young woman on deck.”
“Is there?” Roger says, feeling a smile plaster his face.
“Yes,” John says, stammering as he asks, “But where is everybody else?”
There is the sound of high heels clinking down a steel ramp. Then both men notice pale green shoes, long legs, a floral dress, slim waist and finally an arresting if not beautiful face that exclaims suddenly, “Damn.”
Roger tells her, “Watch your step.”
“Is there just the three of us?” the young woman asks, looking at both the men as she negotiates the last step into the main seating area and noticing they couldn’t be more different – the younger man nervous, the older man urbane.
“It appears so. I’m Roger. This is John.”
“I’m Vere. This is the 10 a.m. from Taronga Zoo Wharf, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but it’s normally a lot busier than this,” John comments, sounding a little more confident.
“I missed us setting off. Didn’t even see our captain. Been in the head”, Roger explains. “Hectic night at the Trocadero.”
Vere grimaces but then remarks, “Half your luck. It feels like ages since I’ve been dancing.” She pauses, studying both men. “You must have overdone it,” Vere tells Roger.
“Just a tad.”
“I’ve never been to the Trocadero,” John says.
“Perhaps not your thing,” Vere tells him and softens the comment with a smile.
“No, I love dancing but I have never heard of the place.”
“Not heard of the Troc? Where have you been hiding?” Roger asks.
Vere cuts in all business. “Anyway, what does your invitation say? I seem to have left mine at home. On the mantelpiece, I’m pretty sure.”
“Now where did I put mine?” Roger pats his pockets. “No joy.”
“I have mine.”
“Could I have a look, John?”
John passes the invitation to Vere with a shaking hand.
“Thank you.”
“Does it have a name on it?” Roger asks, peering over Vere’s shoulder. “I don’t think mine did.”
“No name. All rather mysterious.” Vere pauses and then reads from the gilt-edged card. Catch the 10.00 a.m. Wednesday ferry from Taronga Zoo Wharf and alight at the Hermitage wharf. Celeste and Derek Williams await your arrival.” Vere pauses again. “And I mean this isn’t the usual ferry and I frankly don’t remember a Hermitage wharf.”
John takes a deep breath and stammers, “I don’t either but then I don’t remember this many houses by the water.”
“Don’t you?” Vere asks.
“And who the hell are Celeste and Derek Williams? Have you met them?” Roger asks.
“No. No. I’m sorry I haven’t.”
“Nor me,” Vere says, taking a cigarette from her handbag. She starts to hunt for a lighter. Both men search their pockets but it is Roger who is first to light Vere’s cigarette.
John backs away to look out the nearest window as the ferry chugs along. “Shouldn’t we be nearly there? It’s before Old Cremorne Wharf the captain said.”
“Did he?” Vere asks.
“Or is it around the point?” Roger asks, throwing the other two into uncertainty.
All three gaze out the window at the small bay ahead, gum trees overhanging the water. A bellbird can be heard just as the ferry engine slows. There is the noise of grating timber.
Suddenly there is a voice from outside. “Well, I haven’t got all day. This is the Hermitage, you know.”
“Our invisible captain,” Roger remarks.
“I’ll help tie up,” John says and disappears on deck.
“Isn’t he keen?” Roger says, lighting a cigarette himself.
“He could probably use some help. I’m going up.”
Roger listens to the sound of high heels and a rope being thrown on deck. He expels a long breath, grabs his suitcase and climbs up the stairs. The other two have already collected their luggage from God knows where and are standing on the wharf waiting for him. As he steps off onto the wharf, the ferry immediately heaves clear and toots its horn.
“Well, he is in a hurry,” Roger says but the other two aren’t listening. They have moved towards a dog that has come pattering down the wharf, barking at their arrival.
“Our welcoming committee,” Roger says, as Vere bends down to pat the dog. The sun shines on their shoulders as the three of them walk down the wharf towards land with the golden retriever loping behind.
* * *
Alien Buddha Press 
Sounds very intriguing Deb . 🏡⛴️
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