Dash and Dingo

by Catt Ford

  So he decided to go and pay a visit to his thylacine collection, the old friend that always gave him a sense of peace despite its inherent sadness.

  But when he got there, he realized he wouldn’t be alone.

  Dingo sat at the large table, the pelt of the thylacine spread out before him.

  “What are you doing?” Henry asked brusquely.

  Dingo jumped slightly, which made Henry happy. It was good to know that the man could be startled occasionally. “Dash,” he said softly.

  That was another surprising thing. That he could speak softly and the strine of his voice faded so much when he did so. It took Henry aback for a moment, and Dingo continued to stare at him.

  Henry finally found his tongue again. “This is a priceless collection. How did you get in here, anyway?”

  Dingo grinned, and it seemed like he was back to his normal self as well. “Through the door, Dash.”

  “You need a key.” Henry moved around him; it was a tight fit to get between him and the table, and Dingo stood to let him squeeze past. They bumped chests, and he was surprised by the amount of warmth that poured off Dingo—as if he were composed of the bright sun of his homeland itself.

  “I’ve never met a lock I couldn’t charm.” Dingo tipped slightly, and his chest brushed against Henry’s once more.

  Flustered, Henry swayed away from him and began to gently pack up the pelt. “So you’re admitting you broke in here.”

  Dingo gave him that disarming smile again. “Ah, yeah, mate. I just did.”

  “And you think that is acceptable?”

  “Well, I knew if I asked you, you’d let me.”

  “You’re presuming too much. How did you find the pelt, anyway?”

  Tiring of the interrogation, Dingo sat back down. “I can read a catalog, you know.”

  “Oh,” Henry said, deflated. “Of course.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Knowing that he had overstepped the bounds of propriety, Henry was at a loss on how to proceed. He stared down at the pelt and tenderly stroked the caramel fur. For a second, he caught a fleeting glimpse of how it would look in the wild, wrapped around a living, breathing, sentient creature. It would be just a flash against the lush green of the Tasmanian rainforest, gone so fast you would wonder if it were just a dream… or your heart wanting you to see something so badly it would pull it out of the realms of imagination to make it real for you.

  “This isn’t just a thing to you,” Dingo said, breaking his reverie.

  Henry blinked, collected himself, and met the other man’s gaze. “No,” he replied simply.

  “I came in here to touch base,” Dingo told him. “I’m still battling with myself, wondering if this is the right thing to do. But when I saw that pelt and thought that in a few years’ time this could be all that’s left of the poor buggers… we have to do whatever we can. Even if it means coming here—one last chance. It’s probably all they’ve got.”

  Henry nodded.

  “I like that you give a shit,” Dingo said. “That’s why I already met with Lardarse and told him you were going with me, no arguments.”

  “You saw him without me?” Henry protested.

  “Do you ever listen to a bloody word I say?” Dingo asked.

  Confused, Henry pressed the lid back onto the pelt box. “And what did he say?”

  “Well, he was as mad as a cut snake, said I had no right to boss him around. But in the end, he knew I had him by the balls.”

  Henry looked at him agape.

  “Not literally.” Dingo scowled. “Get a grip, Dash!”

  “But what does that all mean?”

  “That you’re coming to Tassie, of course. I always get my way.”

  Speechless, Henry did the thing he least expected to do, and before he could even think of the possible ramifications. He threw himself into Dingo’s arms and hugged him enthusiastically.

  “I’m going to Tassie!” he cried. “I mean, Tasmania.”

  He felt the warm breath of Dingo’s chuckle against his cheek, and he came back down to earth when he realized the position he was in. He pulled away and instantly regretted it. Dingo stared at him with faint amusement.

  “Er, sorry,” Henry said hastily.

  “No worries,” Dingo replied. “You know, Dash, if I knew you felt that way about me, I would have had all this sorted out on the first day I got here.”

  “It’s a British custom,” Henry lied, regaining his usual haughty demeanor. “I’m sure when I get to Australia I must allow for the cultural differences there.”

  There was a tiny little smirk playing upon Dingo’s lips. “Custom, huh?”

  Henry pushed his glasses up. “Yes. When one gets excited by something, one becomes… a little exuberant.”

  “Okay. I have to get back to the pub and start making arrangements, get in touch with Deano and find out when he’s flying. I’ll call you later.”

  “Sure,” Henry said, still trying to collect himself.

  He didn’t get a chance, as he was suddenly enveloped in Dingo’s strong arms when the man hugged him. The slight beard on his cheek grazed against Henry’s clean-shaven one, and Henry felt as if he had suddenly been marked.

  “Custom, right?” Dingo asked, with a devilish glint in his eye. “I’m excited, you see. Exuberant.”

  Henry nodded, the burn from Dingo’s cheek finding new skin.

  Dingo let him go and picked up his hat from the table, setting it firmly upon his head. “Tooroo, then, Dash.”

  Henry nodded, and when Dingo closed the door behind him, he pressed his hand against his warmed cheek. He couldn’t help but feel the other man had seen right through his act, but somehow he didn’t mind. Which was practically akin to him breaking out and joining Diana in the Charleston.

  Chapter 3

  “What is this I hear about you going on some madcap expedition to the colonies?”

  Henry grimaced and took a sip from his cup of tea to steady himself. “How did you hear about that, sir?”

  James Percival-Smythe III delicately tapped the ash from the end of his cheroot and stared at his son. “Do you think that there is anything you do at that college that doesn’t come to my attention?”

  “Professor Larwood told you,” Henry said flatly.

  “He’s concerned about you.”

  “Why?”

  “He thinks you’ve come under the spell of this mad Australian with the absurd name.”

  “Dingo.”

  His father snorted to himself, as if his worst fears were confirmed.

  “Is that why you invited me over here tonight?” Henry asked.

  “No.” James III twirled his cigar ostentatiously between his fingertips. “Your mother thought it had been far too long since you had come to dinner.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Henry said feebly.

  “Cataloging? I had no idea it was such an absorbing activity.” His father’s tone dripped heavily with disapproval.

  “You’d be surprised, sir.”

  “I don’t know why you’re wasting your time as file clerk in some basement. My name alone would have obtained a higher-level entry position at the college for you.”

  It was a story Henry had heard often, and he always had to give the same stock answer in reply. “That wasn’t the way I wanted to do it, sir, and you know that. I wanted to make it on my own name.”

  “You still needed mine, even to get that menial job,” his father reminded him.

  As if Henry could ever forget.

  His father sighed. “And how long will that take you?”

  “That’s why this trip is so important to me. It’s how I can make a name for myself.”

  “Your mother thinks it will more likely get you killed.”

  “I doubt it,” Henry said, trying not to choke on the heavy fumes coming from his father’s cigar.

  His father’s disappointment rolled over him in waves. “Go in and see your mother before dinner is served. I’m sur
e she’ll want to have one last look at you before you go off to your death.”

  Henry nodded and gladly fled.

  After a long and mostly silent dinner, Henry decided that he would rather go back to his department than his small flat.

  He switched on only the small banker’s lamp on his desk and sat in its comforting glow. He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples.

  Then the door to the office crashed open, the knob practically gouging a hole in the wall opposite. Henry jumped but relaxed again when he saw it was Dingo.

  “Haroo,” Dingo called out, as if he were storming the palace gates.

  Henry looked up and frowned. “Pardon?”

  “Haroo,” Dingo repeated, making himself comfortable in the chair opposite.

  “And that means?”

  As if he were talking to an imbecile, Dingo drawled, “Hello….”

  “Why don’t you just say ‘hello’ then?” Henry asked irritably.

  “Well, hello to you, sunshine,” Dingo said dismissively, reaching for the pot in front of Henry and grimacing at the contents as he opened the lid. “Any chance you can call for coffee?”

  “Hill’s off for the evening,” Henry told him.

  “And you don’t know how to make a cuppa?”

  Sighing heavily, Henry stood and shuffled over to the small burner behind him and began readying a pot of coffee.

  “Is it too much for you, mate?” Dingo asked. “Should I try coming in again and seeing if you’re in a better mood?”

  Before Henry could reply, Dingo was out the door. There came a knock at it.

  “I know it’s you,” Henry said curtly.

  “Evening,” Dingo said with a tip of his hat.

  “What are you doing here?” Henry asked.

  “Well, that’s no better, is it? Good evening, my good sir.” Dingo bowed exaggeratedly, clutching his hat to his chest. He then turned to his left and addressed the empty air. “Hello there, Dash.” He jumped back to his original position; it was dizzying to watch. “Toodle pip, what what, Dingo?”

  “Good evening, Dingo,” Henry snarled, getting the message. “But what are you doing here?”

  Dingo eased himself into the chair opposite him. “Looking for you, of course.”

  “How did you know I would be here?”

  Dingo grinned. “Where else would you be?”

  “I could be plenty of places!” Henry protested.

  “Yeah?” Dingo asked. “Where would you be, then?”

  Flummoxed, Henry fell back on the required social graces. “Coffee’s ready.”

  “Nah, don’t feel like it now. Scratch it,” Dingo ordered. “What grog have you got in your drawer?”

  Henry had to resist throwing the contents of the pot at the other man, but he knew Dingo was only trying to get a rise out of him. “Grog?”

  “The good stuff, mate. Don’t play dumb.”

  Reluctantly, Henry leaned across his desk and slid open his bottom drawer, extracting the small silver flask within. “Whiskey?” he offered.

  “Sure. Got any ice?”

  Henry looked at him blankly. “Are you trying to be funny? You’re in England.”

  Dingo grimaced. “I guess I’ll have it straight, then.”

  Henry couldn’t be sure, but as he reached behind him for two glasses he thought he heard Dingo mutter, “Bloody Poms.”

  Dingo watched him pour, and Henry slid a glass over to him. “Mind if I propose a toast, Dash?”

  Wearily, Henry said, “Henry. And go ahead.”

  “Thanks, Dash. Anyhoo, here’s to the tiger and our journey beginning on Thursday.”

  Henry almost spilled his glass. “Pardon?”

  Dingo regarded him cheekily over the rim of his glass. “I booked our flight. Thursday. Eight in the morning.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t get cold feet on me now, mate. It’s all arranged.”

  “How?”

  “I told you, I have a mate in Imperial Airways. They’re only running the mail at the minute, although they’re going to start taking passengers soon. So we’re stowaways, really. Hobos of the air!” He downed his whiskey triumphantly.

  “And how long will it take us to get to Australia?”

  “About ten days.”

  “Ten! You said four!”

  “Aha! So you do listen. Well, it all depends. Better than the month on the boat, mate.”

  Henry nodded somberly. “Yes, you’re right.”

  “You don’t sound too sure about that.”

  Henry collected himself and attempted to sound cheerier. “No, I’m sure.”

  “You look down in the mouth about something. Come on, spill it.”

  Henry couldn’t help but be swayed by the astonishing depth of compassion in the other man’s eyes. “Do you like your father, Dingo?”

  Dingo looked surprised, as if it were a question with a foregone conclusion. “Yeah, of course. Why?”

  Henry cleared his throat uncomfortably and shook his head. “No reason. Would you like another drink?”

  Once again, a question with a foregone conclusion. Dingo pushed his glass back over the desk and watched Henry top his drink off. He decided to bite the bullet. “Do you not like your dad, then?”

  Henry’s eyes widened, and he downed his fresh drink in one gulp. “That’s rather presumptuous.”

  “You were the one who brought it up.”

  “It’s… complicated.”

  “He’s pretty high up here, isn’t he? I remember Lardarse mentioning it at some point.”

  Henry considered having another drink but decided against it. “He’s more well-known and regarded for his financial contributions than his academic ones.”

  “Ah, gotcha. Completely different to you, then.”

  Henry colored. “I’m not known for my academic contributions, Dingo.”

  Dingo shrugged. “I’ve a feeling you will be, one day.”

  Henry couldn’t look at the other man, too afraid he would give something of himself away.

  “Can I give you a bit of advice, Dash?”

  Henry didn’t correct him on his name this time. “I believe you would give it to me anyway, even if I did refuse.”

  “See, you’re getting to know me already.” Dingo grinned.

  “What do you advise?” Henry wasn’t too sure he would like it, whatever it was.

  “Don’t treat what we’re doing like it’s some way to prove yourself to your old man. Chances are you’re never going to get what you want from him,” Dingo said in all seriousness. “You had the purest of motives before. Think of the tiger. That’s all.”

  It took Henry a moment to give a small nod in response.

  “So, are you in it for the tiger?” Dingo asked.

  “Yes,” Henry said with complete honesty. “It’s always been for the tiger.” He didn’t need to close his eyes to see that shrunken pelt before him, without shape and rightfully belonging on a living, breathing creature that deserved the opportunity to survive and thrive.

  “Good,” Dingo said, satisfied. “I’ll be off, then. See you Thursday.”

  As Dingo got to his feet, Henry tried not to let the disappointment sound in his voice. “I won’t see you before Thursday?”

  “Have things to do, places to go, people to meet, matey,” Dingo said off-handedly. “You going to miss me?”

  Henry tried to answer, but confusion and the inability to form a coherent sentence got in the way.

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be in each other’s pockets so much soon enough that you’ll be sick to death of the sight of me,” Dingo said with a laugh.

  Henry was starting to think the opposite but replied, “Yes. Most likely.”

  “Don’t get up,” Dingo said, while Henry remained seated. “I’ll see myself out.”

  Remiss of his manners because he was still fighting the turbulence aroused in him by Dingo’s casual ways, Henry leaped to his feet. “Oh, sorry.”

  “I said I’ll se
e myself out, and I’ll take a rain check on the hug.”

  Henry sat down with a heavy thud, his stomach even more twisted by Dingo’s recall of what had happened between them only the day before.

  “But I’ll expect it next time,” Dingo said with a wink. He slapped his hat back on his head and sauntered out the door, leaving a speechless Henry behind him.

  Chapter 4

  From Croydon to Paris and then a series of quick stops that included Rome, Athens, Cairo, Delhi, and Rangoon, it took a number of days flying in the little tin can high above the ocean for Henry and Dingo to reach Bangkok. During that time, Henry barely saw Dingo—part of the reason he had been able to arrange for their flight was by agreeing to co-pilot. He and his friend Major Dean Franklin were taking turns flying, and when one flew the other slept. Henry was already nervous enough about being amongst the clouds and so far from Mother Earth that he was too apprehensive to sit with Dingo in the cockpit and risk distracting him from keeping them in the air.

  At first, he had been surprised when Dingo had told him that he would also be flying the plane, although looking back Henry knew he really shouldn’t have been. It was Dingo, after all. Henry hadn’t known him for that long at all, but it seemed he was capable of anything.

  It was when this thought crossed his mind that Henry realized he was acting as if he had a school-boy crush. And he should know all about that; after all, he had suffered the indignity of going to an all-boys boarding school for eight years.

  It was just after some fumbling experiences in university, he had put all that behind him. And not only with men. The world of academia seemed so safe to him, where he could hide himself away at Ealing College and not have to worry about being swayed by others. It helped being where he was, as he was largely ignored and left to do his own job.

  But Dingo could be his undoing, if Henry let him. The man was flirtatious, but it appeared to be his nature and not anything one could take seriously. Henry knew better than to take things at face value—once again, boarding school had taught him that. It was one of the reasons he was so reticent now.

  Bangkok was their midway-point, and it had been decided that they would have a rest stop there. At the airport they were abandoned by Dean, who disappeared before Henry was even aware of his absence. Dingo stumbled down the small set of stairs from the plane to the tarmac, where Henry waited for him. He yawned, closed up the door, and smiled tiredly at Henry.