Her Outback Rescuer

by Marion Lennox

  Buster looked up at them first, his great brown eyes adorably expressive. His wagging tail meant he wagged his whole body. Joy was Buster and rump steak, and even Rachel was smiling.

  But... ‘So who are they?’ she asked again and Amy thought: nope, she wasn’t about to be deflected.

  ‘The old lady’s Dame Maud Thurston,’ she told her sister. ‘She’s been a major patron of the Australian ballet for as long as I can remember. She’s a gem, and her husband was just as lovely. He made a fortune from mining—you must know Thurston Holdings—and together they’ve run one of the biggest charitable foundations in Australia. It’s not just the ballet that benefits.’

  ‘And the guy?’

  For some reason Amy wasn’t sure of talking about the guy. He’d made her...edgy. ‘That’d be her grandson,’ she said.

  ‘So tell me about him.’ Rachel perched on her seat and hugged her knees.

  Rachel? Interested in a guy?

  A waft of remembrance flooded back, making Amy wince. Two years ago, Rachel had come backstage after a performance, her normal prosaic, academic self starry-eyed about the Spanish dancer who’d danced opposite Amy. ‘Tell me about him. Can you introduce me?’

  It was the beginning of a tragedy which had left Rachel with shattered dreams and aching loss. Now... She must have seen what Amy was thinking because she rushed in.

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ she said, sounding angry. ‘He’s gorgeous but you needn’t think I’m ever going down that path again. And it’s you he’s interested in.’

  ‘He isn’t.’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Rachel...’

  ‘Okay, he isn’t,’ Rachel said, and astonishingly she was smiling. ‘But you know about him. Tell me all.’

  ‘We’re not staying with them at Uluru.’

  ‘Of course we’re not,’ Rachel said equably. ‘But tell me about him all the same.’

  ‘I don’t know much. Only what’s spread in ballet circles and that’s only as much as affects the ballet. We’re a self-centred lot.’

  ‘But you do know something.’

  She nodded, strangely reluctant. What was it about the guy that made her want to shut up, not probe further? But Rachel was interested and, the way Rachel had been for the last twelve months, any interest at all was to be encouraged.

  ‘The family’s been in the media for ever,’ she said, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘I don’t read gossip mags but because they’re important to the ballet world, I can’t help but keep up with them. Sir James owns... owned... Thurston Holdings. You know it’s one of the biggest mining corporations in the world? It’s also the most principled. Thurston’s has a reputation for fair dealings, for treating their people right, for restoring land after mining’s finished. Sir James and Dame Maud have tried to keep a low profile but, with that much money, that much power, it’s impossible.’

  ‘I have heard of them,’ Rachel admitted, which was a huge concession from someone who spent her life in books. ‘I did hear Sir James had died—it was all over the papers. So Hugo’s the grandson. Is his dad taking over the reins?’

  ‘That’s just it,’ Amy told her. ‘He’s dead. Bertram was a disaster but we know nothing about this guy.’

  ‘We?’

  Amy flushed. She was no longer part of the Australian ballet scene, she told herself. Move on.

  But Rachel wanted to know, and this wasn’t ballet. She could force herself to gossip a little.

  ‘The Thurston Corporation sponsors so much—the ballet, the theatre, sports for the disabled, medical research... So many organisations rely on them. But when Bertram was alive and we thought he’d inherit, it seemed like it’d all stop as soon as Sir James died.’

  ‘So Bertram was Hugo’s dad?’

  ‘Yep.’ Amy settled back onto her seat-cum-bed and decided she might as well recall all she knew. ‘According to gossip, Bertram was wild. Really wild. He was into parties, gambling, drugs, all the things his parents weren’t. His marriage lasted about two minutes—rumour is his wife suicided later on, but it could have been an overdose. She was a media bimbo. That set a pattern for Bertram. He moved from woman to woman, every one of them media darlings, every one of them self-destructing on the lifestyle. It must have broken his parents’ hearts, but there was no way they could stop him. He finally did the same.’

  ‘Why did I not know this?’ Rachel demanded.

  ‘Because most of it happened when we were kids,’ Amy said patiently. ‘I only know because Bertram died in unsavoury circumstances about eight years ago. By then he was so burnt out that even the gossip mags weren’t interested, except to up their interest in Hugo. But I was a baby dancer then, and I heard the relief in dance circles. Our director was trying hard not to be ecstatic. His take was that we’d have more chance of continued support from an unknown grandson than we ever had from Bertram. But Hugo didn’t come home, even then. He’s been in the army since he was a teenager, in some secret unit no one knows about. He’s made a couple of flying visits since and the press has gone nuts every time—Australia’s most eligible bachelor, that sort of thing—but he’s always looked like he hates it. There was a fuss when he came home for his grandfather’s funeral, but then he went to ground again. Everyone’s wondered what will happen to Thurston Holdings—and lo, here he is, on our train.’

  ‘Home to pick up where his grandfather left off?’ Rachel said doubtfully. ‘He doesn’t look like a businessman about to sponsor the ballet. He looks... tough.’

  ‘Like a warrior,’ Amy agreed, starting to enjoy herself. They were safely back in their cabin. Why not let herself wallow? ‘I was thinking that,’ she confessed, letting her mind meander over the man she’d just met. ‘That gorgeous, deep black hair, sun-bleached at the tips. All those muscles... And he’s weathered and so fit it’s scary. The bone structure of his face—it’s like it’s sculpted. It must be from years of living hard. And did you see the way his shirt strained? No shirt’s ever been built to accommodate that type of chest.’ She grinned at Rachel, enjoying startling her. ‘And those blue eyes with crinkles at the edges like he spends his time looking into the sun... Whew.’

  ‘You really did look at him,’ Rachel breathed, stunned.

  ‘Um...yep. There’s no harm in admiring beauty,’ she admitted. ‘A girl can admire—from a distance.’

  Rachel’s smile widened. Maybe she was starting to enjoy herself as well.

  ‘I guess he’ll have spent his life looking into the sun through machine gun sights,’ she suggested. ‘That’d make anyone’s eyes crinkle.’

  ‘I bet you’re right,’ Amy agreed. ‘And field glasses. He’ll have stood in dugouts in the searing sun, field glasses trained for the enemy...’

  ‘Or on hilltops?’

  ‘I don’t think you look for the enemy on hilltops,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘Wouldn’t you get shot? It’d be such a shame to shoot a body like that.’

  ‘It would,’ Rachel said definitely. ‘No one could shoot such a man. Did you see the muscles on his arms?’ Rachel was following on with relish. ‘Maybe that’s from hand-to-hand combat?’

  ‘With sumo wrestlers,’ Amy guessed. ‘I’d imagine he takes on ten every morning before breakfast.’

  ‘And now we’ve taken his steak,’ Rachel said mournfully. ‘Buster, how could you?’ She giggled and Amy thought wow, her sister was giggling. She giggled back and it was a gorgeous moment.

  And then a camel hove into view. Another one, r
acing the train.

  But only one?

  In the dining car they’d been able to see out both sides of the train. Now, back in their tiny compartment, they could only see the right side of the train.

  Rachel was looking out, entranced, at the lone camel and Amy couldn’t resist; she opened the door to the corridor to see if more camels were racing on the far side.

  There were. Five of them.

  ‘Oh,’ Rachel breathed. ‘I wonder if Maudie’s seeing...’

  ‘Buster!’

  And for one fatal moment they’d been distracted. For one moment they’d had the door wide open and had been staring in delight at camels.

  And Buster, fourteen years old, sleeping out his days content to be with the people he loved and the occasional sunbeam, had just had rump steak for dinner—and he’d looked up and seen camels!

  The camels were gaining on the train. They were stretching out away from the near windows.

  And Buster, a tiny dog in spirit but a guard dog at heart, went flying along the corridor in pursuit, barking as if he were a hound in full cry.

  No!

  Amy flew along the corridor after him, her heart in her mouth. Luckily, the end of the carriage was the door through to the next car. He could go no further—but he was still barking.

  No!

  She reached him and scooped him up and tucked him under her sweater, just as compartment doors started to open.

  ‘A dog...’ An elderly man with a walking stick was staring in horror in both directions. ‘Did you see a dog? Who’s barking?’

  ‘It must have been outside the train,’ Amy said, beetling past him with her bulge held away. Praying his eyesight wasn’t good.

  ‘I heard a dog.’ It was a young mother. ‘I hate dogs. Our Polly’s allergic.’

  ‘I didn’t see a dog,’ Amy lied and bolted for their compartment.

  ‘Did you see a dog?’ the young woman demanded of Rachel, who was outside their compartment looking worried.

  ‘It was racing the camels,’ Rachel managed, trying to retreat as well. ‘I think it was a dingo.’

  ‘But it sounded like it was in the train,’ the woman said. ‘I think you should report it to the conductor.’

  ‘I need to go to bed,’ Rachel said, and retreated into the compartment after Amy.

  She slammed the door, still giggling.

  But Amy wasn’t giggling. That had been too close for comfort.

  She knew it had been a really bad plan to bring Buster, but what choice did she have? Rachel had hugged Buster since she’d come home from hospital. Rachel’s life was hugging her dog and reading her textbooks.

  The Ghan had been a dream they’d shared since they were children, to travel through the outback, to see their grandmother’s birthplace, to see the rocks Rachel loved.

  It might just haul her out of her misery, Amy had thought, and it was starting to, but ooh, Buster-smuggling could cause complications. Rachel was giggling, but at what price?

  ‘She won’t go find the conductor,’ Rachel decreed. ‘She won’t leave those appalling children. I’ve met them in the bathroom and they’re awful.’

  ‘The other guy might.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Buster’s hidden now. He’s safe.’ Rachel looked fondly at Buster, who was peering innocently out from under Amy’s sweater. ‘What a good thing you wore that.’

  ‘It has its uses. But if anyone searches...’

  ‘They won’t. And they don’t need to come in here. It’s not like we’re in a classy cabin that has turn downs.’

  They weren’t. They’d requested their beds stay up all the time—‘as Rachel needs to rest’. No one needed to come near them.

  And Rachel was smiling.

  Okay, she could live with this.

  ‘Bed,’ Rachel said. ‘Buster can come under the covers with me. If anyone looks in, we’re fast asleep.’

  ‘I’d like a shower,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘But I might wait for a few minutes, just to be sure.’

  ‘You do that,’ Rachel said and retired to her bunk, Buster with her.

  Amy waited for half an hour, holding her breath the whole time.

  Nothing.

  Rachel and Buster fell asleep.

  Okay, they were fine.

  She took her towel and pyjamas to the bathroom at the end of the carriage. She showered and washed her hair. She also tried, weirdly, not to think about Hugo. Which was nuts. She had enough to think about without worrying about Hugo Thurston.

  She’d seen Rachel smile. She should be happy.

  She was happy. She emerged from the bathroom feeling clean and determinedly cheerful.

  The conductor was emerging from the second compartment.

  ‘Miss,’ he said as he saw her, ‘have you seen a dog?’

  Miss stopped in her tracks. To say she felt at a disadvantage was an understatement. She was wearing pink satin pyjamas with cream lace trimming, with fluffy pink flip-flops to match. She’d bought Rachel beautiful nightwear when she’d moved from hospital to rehab. Normally Amy slept in a T-shirt and knickers, but on the train, with a shared bathroom, Rachel had decreed they’d share her pretty ones.

  So she was respectable—almost—but she didn’t feel respectable. She felt numb with panic. She stared down at her pink-painted toenails in her fluffy pink flip flops and tried to decide what to say.

  Had she seen a dog?

  ‘Um... no,’ she lied.

  ‘We’ve had a report there’s a dog in this carriage,’ the man said. ‘I’ve had orders to search.’

  ‘Ooh,’ Amy managed. ‘Have you searched us?’

  ‘You’re in?’

  ‘Compartment Seven.’

  ‘I’ve done One and Two,’ the guy said grimly. ‘I’ll get to you in a minute.’

  ‘There’s no need. My sister’s asleep. She’s been ill. Please don’t disturb her.’

  ‘Orders are to search the whole carriage.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘No exceptions.’

  ‘Okay,’ Amy said faintly. ‘Just search quietly in Seven. Oh, and I might not be there. I have... I have a date.’

  * * *

  It was ten o’clock and Hugo was going stir crazy.

  Maudie was exhausted. She’d headed straight to bed after dinner, to her lovely little bedroom just through the sitting room door. Hugo had a similar bedroom. They had their own palatial bathroom. Luxury.

  But Hugo didn’t do luxury. He was accustomed to swags on the ground, to sleeping rough. He’d had over a month of soft living since his grandfather’s death had brought him home, and he wasn’t enjoying it any better now than he had at the start.

  He was also bored out of his mind, aching to be back with his unit.

  He had a television. Who wanted to sit on the Ghan and watch telly?

  He had a murder mystery to read but he’d already figured out the murderer. What fun was there in that?

  He could go to the lounge car and meet people.

  Yeah, right.

  Scrabble was the last of an appalling list of alternatives but he found himself organising letters. Trying to remember how to spell absquatulate.

  Thinking of a brown-eyed dancer with an appetite for cold steak.

  He found himself grinning, and he hauled himself back from the brink with a jerk. If Maudie even suspected what he was thinking...

  He was not thinking.

  A knock on the door.
Yes! Anything to escape this boredom. He flung the door wide, so hard the man behind stepped back in alarm.

  It was Henry, the Platinum butler. I bet his name’s not really Henry, Hugo thought. I bet all Platinum butlers are Henry.

  The guy was struggling. He wanted to say something but was having trouble getting it out.

  ‘Yes,’ Hugo said encouragingly.

  ‘Sir...’

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘There’s a woman,’ Henry said, sounding torn. ‘In pyjamas. She says you’ve invited her to your room.’

  There was a moment’s stillness while they both took that in.

  ‘A woman,’ Hugo said at last. ‘In pyjamas.’

  ‘A young woman.’ He might sound the same if he was announcing the arrival of aliens.

  ‘Did she give a name?’ Hugo asked cautiously.

  The man’s face cleared. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, she did. She says her name is Amy Cotton and she’s a friend of Dame Maud. She says you’re expecting her. She’s carrying a large purse and she says she has something Dame Maud needs.’

  ‘And she’s wearing pyjamas.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the guy said. ‘Pink ones.’ He groped for his dignity and managed to look disapproving. ‘My job’s to protect your privacy, sir. Shall I tell her to go away?’

  It’s Amy, Hugo thought. It’s a brown-eyed girl who made his grandmother’s eyes twinkle. It’s Amy, in pink pyjamas, carrying a purse.

  Should he tell her to go away?

  He definitely ought to. But...

  ‘I expect she’s bringing my grandmother notes on cooking steak sandwiches,’ he said at last. ‘Maybe even ingredients. We were...discussing it at dinner. Where is she now?’

  ‘At the end of the carriage. No one’s allowed past the butler’s pantry without authorisation.’

  ‘Then she has my authorisation,’ Hugo said. ‘Go on, man, let her through.’

  * * *

  What did the guy think she was? A call girl operating on the train? A woman carrying her credit card facilities in her oversized purse as she wandered from carriage to carriage in her satin pyjamas?