‘Very easy. You’re at work all day, so I’ve been picking her up every morning and letting her spend most of the day with me. Terrible sneaky, and I admit it, but I wanted to surprise you.’
It was so boyishly brazen she couldn’t help but laugh at the mental vision of Con sneaking into her yard each morning to sneak off with seventy-five pounds of willing Boxador trainee.
It’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard of,’ she said, ‘but it doesn’t explain why you did it.’
Con shrugged. ‘She’s at the age for it. And if you’re going to wander around beaches in the middle of the night, not to mention you living alone, I just thought it might be nice if she was some kind of protection.’
‘Against everybody but you,’ she said pointedly, which drew only a laugh in reply.
‘But you don’t need protecting from me,’ he finally said with a weary shake of his tobacco-coloured hair. ‘And besides, you’ve always got your handy-dandy little carving knife.’
‘That was a low blow,’ Verna retorted. ‘Although I’m not so awfully sure that I don’t need protection from you, sometimes.’
The rest of the day sped past in a kaleidoscope of colours and impressions. They drove north to look at the huge Fred Haigh Reservoir, originally called Monduran Dam and still held to that title by locals who objected to the government’s renaming of the scheme for a mere public servant, then took a winding bush track across to Yandaran junction before turning south again towards Bundaberg.
They stopped at the Avondale Tavern for a counter tea of roast country duck, and Con made Verna laugh throughout the meal by describing what he’d write about her for the next week’s paper. ‘Goodness ... if I was that awful they’d never let me in here again,’ she giggled, only to be told: ‘They will if you’re with me — and you will be.’
By the time they finally headed home, Verna was weary from the long day’s drive, but she forced herself to keep awake with the knowledge that Con must be equally tired. It had been, she decided, quite the nicest day off she’d enjoyed since coming to Bundaberg.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next day was far less pleasant. Verna woke with her throat on fire and sweat pooling throughout her bedding. It was all she could do to make herself a light breakfast, which was a total waste of energy because it only stayed with her for fifteen minutes and the effort of getting rid of it left her weaker than before.
Banishing Sheba to the yard, Verna took several aspirins and returned to her bed just in time for her nose to begin running like a leaky tap. She slept fitfully for an hour, then decided she’d best telephone Reg Williamson and warn him that she might not make it to work next day.
‘I think he’s over with Con Bradley,’ the publisher’s wife said when the phone was answered. ‘Can I take a message or anything, dear?’
‘No, I’ll call him there myself,’ Verna replied, ‘but in case I miss him…’
She related the problem to Mrs Williamson and then immediately dialled Con’s number. He expressed no real surprise when she asked for her publisher, and somewhat to Verna’s consternation he didn’t even ask to speak to her again after she’d told Reg Williamson about her illness. Even after she’d returned to her bed, she found Con’s lack of interest mildly annoying.
‘At least he might have asked how I was feeling,’ she muttered before falling asleep for the second time.
An hour later, she woke up screaming. She’d been alone, on a deserted beach, and it was dark. But not dark enough to hide the sleek black shape of a huge dog that threatened her with ivory fangs and a growl from the pits of hell. Every time the dog growled, she could hear a man’s voice shouting at it, a voice that rumbled like the surf and yet seemed to draw on some cord within her. The voice kept telling the dog to get away, but the blazing eyes and slashing teeth drew nearer and nearer ... and Verna couldn’t move quickly. She kept backing away from the menacing shadow, until suddenly she couldn’t back any further because of the iron arms that were clasped about her shoulders. The shadow dog came closer, closer, and Verna screamed.
‘Dammit, Sheba, I’m not going to hurt her.’ The voice rumbled through her scream and the arms tightened even more around her. ‘There, there, my love. It’s all right ... it’s all ... right. Just a dream .And the arms lost their feeling of constriction as a gentle hand brushed the hair from Verna’s sweat-soaked brow.
Then the rumbling voice changed, taking on an air of such horrible frustration and despair that it seemed to be crying. ‘Damn it, oh, damn it, you stupid animal ... I’m not hurting her, for God’s sake ... will you please let go of my leg? Oh, hell!’
It was the sheer volume of that final outburst that brought Verna entirely back to reality, and she fluttered open her eyes in bewilderment to find them only inches from a pair of pale, ice-blue, pain-filled orbs that winced even as Con breathed a sigh of relief at her awakening.
It’s all right, love. You were dreaming, that’s all,’ he whispered with astonishing gentleness. ‘Just a ... dream, which is more than I can say. Would you please speak to this ignorant animal of yours?’
His arm helped Verna to sit upright enough to see over the edge of the bed, and her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of Sheba, growling softly through the teeth that were locked around Con’s right leg.
‘Sheba! You stop that!’ Verna shouted, and the dog immediately released Con and sprang up to lave sopping kisses on her mistress. ‘Oh, do get down, you stupid old thing,’ she muttered, feeling herself weaken despite the support of Con’s arms.
He laid her back against her pillow and reached gingerly down to lift his trouser leg and look with a grimace at the bright red tooth marks on his skin. ‘Well, I guess I can’t even qualify as a dog trainer, after that little exhibition,’ he said with a rueful grin. ‘Of all the times for her to get the message, why did she have to pick this one, I wonder?’
‘Oh, Con. I’m sorry, really I am,’ Verna said weakly. ‘Are you hurt very badly?’
‘Just my dignity, actually. She didn’t even break the skin,’ he muttered. ‘Scared hell out of me, though.’ He reached out to lay the back of his hand against Verna’s forehead. ‘You’re burning up,’ he said angrily. ‘Can you manage to control this beast long enough for me to get you a doctor?’
‘I don’t need a doctor,’ she replied. ‘It’s just a bit of wog, that’s all ... honestly it is. If I could just manage some decent sleep I’m sure I’ll be right by morning.’
‘Well then, control her long enough for me to get your housecoat on,’ he said. ‘You’re not staying here alone in this condition; I’ll take you home with me, where I can keep a decent eye on you.’
‘But I...’
‘But you nothing!’ he retorted. ‘I’ll have no bloody arguments out of you and that’s that. I’d just stay here with you, but I’m afraid your neighbours might get the wrong idea and Sheba might too. At least in my house she knows I’m the boss, so I’ll be able to tend you without dragging her around like a set of leg irons.’
He was already lifting Verna from the bed when she suddenly realised that she was totally naked, and her immediate reaction was to throw herself back under the soaked sheet with a cry of alarm.
It brought a low growl from Sheba and a snort of anger from Con. ‘For goodness’ sake, woman, I’ve seen naked women before,’ he growled, ‘but if it’ll make you happy I’ll close my eyes.’ And after grabbing up her housecoat, he did exactly that, supporting Verna with one hand as he helped her into the garment with the other. ‘Right! ... decent now?’ he chuckled, and when she murmured her agreement he opened his eyes and shook his head sadly. ‘Such modesty ill becomes you, my love, but now isn’t the time to discuss it. You just sit here and tell me where all the things you’ll need are, and you’ll be back in a nice dry bed before you know it.’
Twenty minutes later, she was, with a fresh dose of aspirin and only the vaguest recollection of Con lifting her and carrying her to his car, shouting angry orders at t
he dog while he did so. At his large beach house it was the same process in reverse, although Sheba was much less aggressive when faced by Con on his own ground.
There were no more nightmares as Verna slumbered her way through the afternoon and into the evening, waking only long enough to sip at the thin soup Con spooned up for her, and then to take more pills before dropping off to sleep again.
Her sleep that night was vaguely punctuated by the clatter of a typewriter and the soothing, pleasant sensation of strong, gentle fingers sponging away the fever from her face and body, but the whole thing was so very vague that she had only a fleeting remembrance when she awoke next morning with the fever broken.
Then she thrust away the covers and turned scarlet at the realisation she was once again naked beneath them. But before she could do more than cover herself again, the bedroom door swung open to admit Con, looking so ridiculous with an apron round his middle and a tray in his hands that Verna couldn’t hold back a weak grin.
‘Your breakfast, m’lady,’ he said with an exaggerated flourish. ‘Only tea and one perfectly poached egg in your weakened condition, but if m’lady can keep it down I’ll try to do better for luncheon.’
M’lady did manage, but only just, and she was asleep again almost immediately afterwards, once assured that her work was being taken care of.
It’ll do old Reg good to step back into harness for a change,’ Con had said brusquely. ‘Maybe then he’ll realise how much work you actually do with that paper, and he won’t be so free at offering your services to all and sundry. So forget about work, love. Just go back to sleep and leave everything to me. If Reg can’t handle it, I’ll go in and do it myself, but not until you’re feeling a bit closer to normal.’
The next time Verna woke she was still weak, but at least approaching something like normality. At least until she looked at the bedside clock to find it was nearing five o’clock. Her housecoat was hanging behind the bedroom door, and when she struggled weakly to her feet and retrieved it, she was overjoyed to find that there was a complete bathroom adjoining the bedroom.
If you’re going to have a shower it’ll be short and without washing your hair,’ came a voice behind her as she stood in the doorway, and the uncanny reading of her mind caused Verna to turn around more abruptly than she should have. She stumbled and would have fallen but for a strong arm that clasped itself around her waist.
‘On second thoughts, no shower at all,’ Con said with a shake of his head. ‘But if you promise to stay rugged up you may come down and try to eat something. I don’t imagine you’ll be able to sleep again just yet.’
He kept his grip on her as they negotiated the staircase to the lower floor of the massive A-frame house, and even in her unsteady condition Verna couldn’t restrain the cry of delight as she reached the top of die staircase and looked down.
The bedroom complex where she’d been sleeping led on to a balcony-cum-sitting room, tastefully furnished with heavy, comfortable chairs and reading lamps. The main wall and the balcony railing had been converted to bookcases and the high windows provided natural light.
The room below was decorated in cane, with the fabric patterns in cool blues and greens, but here again the bookcases were the focal point. The cane furniture extended into a large dining room with a massive table that must have been four feet by eight, and across the dining room was the doorway to the kitchen.
‘It’s absolutely gorgeous,’ Verna said as they descended. ‘I just can’t imagine how anybody who owned it could even think of renting it out.’
‘Well, it wasn’t quite this nice when I rented it,’ Con remarked drily, ‘but now that I’ve bought it, I’ll be able to eventually finish off with the effect I wanted.’
‘Which means all the bookcases and everything is something you’ve done,’ Verna said wonderingly.
‘Well, I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I’m actually a fair carpenter when I put my mind to it.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean to sound as if I didn’t believe you could do it,’ she said quickly. ‘I just thought they were so ... you?’
‘My very word—compliments, no less! I’ll have to get you sick more often,’ he laughed. ‘Or is that too high a price to pay?’
‘Far too high,’ Verna replied, and then, suddenly feeling quite unaccountably nervous, ‘And thank you for ... nursing me.’ Her expression clearly revealed her embarrassment at the obvious knowledge he had gained in the process, and Con looked down at her with a quirk of merriment in his eyes.
‘Come and sit down here,’ he said gently, guiding her to the largest sofa and spreading a large, soft blanket around her. ‘And don’t be embarrassed, Verna. You have an exquisite body and you should be proud of it. Certainly Sheba is, judging from the way she guards you.’
He looked ruefully down at his leg, putting on an expression of such outrageously exaggerated pain that Verna couldn’t resist smiling.
‘Did she really bite you?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry, but I have only the vaguest memories.’
‘I’d show you the tooth marks, but I’m not exposing my irresistible legs to you in your weakened condition,’ he replied. ‘You might be tempted to ravish me or something, and I doubt if you could handle it fresh from the sickbed.’
‘Well, I could always get Sheba to hold you for me,’ Verna retorted, and then looked away in surprise at making such an audacious reply.
Con only laughed, then stooped down to kiss her gently on the forehead. ‘Not on an empty stomach,’ he said. ‘Making love on an empty stomach makes your tummy rumble. So first I shall feed you, although be warned I’m not the world’s greatest chef.’
He brought her a tall glass of lemonade, warning her off spirits for the time being, and retired to the kitchen with the dog at his heels, leaving Verna to sip at her drink and wonder at the cacophony of sounds from the kitchen she’d never yet seen.
It seemed only minutes later when Con returned to help her into the bright, modern kitchen and sat her at the table.
‘I’ll just put the dog out and we’ll be right,’ he said, and Sheba followed him obediently to the doorway. ‘Now I want it understood—no digging, no stealing from the neighbours and no barking,’ he said sternly before returning to the kitchen.
‘And now, dear patient, do you reckon you can handle a little tucker?’ Verna nodded uncertainly, not willing to admit that she was absolutely ravenous, then sat wide-eyed as Con opened the oven to bring out two scone tins.
‘Oysters mornay,’ he said, presenting them with a flourish as Verna marvelled at the ingenuity of using scone trays to cook them in. They dug in, and cleaned up the oysters with hardly a word spoken, then Con returned to the oven for a massive seafood casserole that smelled even more delicious.
‘Take it easy with this,’ he warned. ‘If you eat too fast you might upset your system. Don’t forget your poor old tummy’s been empty for a couple of days.’
Verna forced herself to eat slowly by making a series of highly complimentary remarks about his cooking, until he finally bade her stop it. ‘You’ll give me a swelled head, and I do that well enough by myself,’ he grinned. ‘But I’m glad I could show you I have some redeeming qualities.’
‘But I’ve never said you didn’t,’ she replied. And then, with a shy grin, ‘In fact after this I think you’ll undoubtedly make somebody a wonderful wife some day.’
Too right!’ he replied. ‘I cook, I clean, I even do the laundry — which reminds me that I must go off and do just that. Nothing personal, love, but there isn’t a dry, clean sheet left in the house and I won’t have you getting back into damp ones.’
‘Oh ..Verna was as dismayed as she looked. ‘But you can’t ... but surely you can get some from my place … I mean...’
‘Sorry, we’ve been that route already,’ he said with a broad smile. ‘Yours, mine and ours — all of them. Will you be all right for an hour or two while I nip cut to the Laundromat? I’ll leave Sheba with you for company an
d there’s a book or two I can recommend.’
He bullied over the rest of Verna’s objections and returned her to the lounge room to be rewrapped in the blanket. ‘I won’t be long, and if I come back and find the dishes done or anything else, your bottom will be too sore for sleeping. I mean that, Verna,’ he said stoutly.
Once she had promised faithfully to obey his commands, he departed with a basket piled high with soiled bed linen, promising to be as quick as he could.
Verna relaxed on the sofa with a Constance Bradley novel she’d never read, enjoying it with an entirely new insight now that she’d come to know the highly unlikely author.
Or do I know him, really? she wondered. Certainly Con Bradley the nurse and self-effacing chef was far more complex than the huge, faceless stranger of her fantasy morning on the beach. If, in fact, Con Bradley was that stranger in the first place. Verna was ninety-nine per cent certain he had been, but his deliberate off-putting of the subject left room for doubt.
Certainly she knew one thing: she loved him. And despite his stand-offish manner sometimes, she felt that just maybe he might be at least fond of her in return. But love, no! Despite the romantic novels he wrote and his occasional displays of genuine fondness, he was too reserved and cynical for Verna to give herself even the falsest of hopes. And besides, there was Madeline Cunningham, who obviously had the front running with the elusive Mr Bradley if anyone did.
It was think of the devil, with results Verna could have done without. Even as Madeline Cunningham’s name stalked unhappily into her mind, the telephone rang and Verna answered it to the woman herself. She knew it, somehow, even before the caller identified herself, forcing Verna to do the same … with astonishing results,
‘You’ re Dragon Lady!’ the throaty voice on the phone cried. ‘And you don’t sound at all horrid. Oh, I’m so looking forward to meeting you after all Con’s said. You must be braver than I am to let him write about you like that.’
The Sugar Dragon Page 13
