Her Outback Rescuer

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Our concert’s tiny,’ the principal had told her. ‘The kids perform for their parents and friends, but with our kids we often don’t even get one adult per kid. We’d love it to be a fund-raiser but there’s not much chance of that. If we could only get the publicity you’re getting...’

  She’d winced and agreed. And then next morning the local paper had run the headline again: ‘Where’s PJ?’

  This was starting to seriously bug her.

  At her new local supermarket, she’d seen the notice the kids had put up, advertising their school concert. Someone had half covered it with an advertisement for a used car.

  She’d readjusted the ad and she’d seethed. Here she was, getting publicity, when kids who needed it got nothing.

  And then she’d thought... She’d thought...

  Why not?

  Hugo would hate it, she’d thought, horrified at herself for even thinking it. But the idea wouldn’t go away.

  The more she thought of it, the more she thought: do it.

  It’d be nothing to do with Hugo, she’d told herself, breathless at mind plans that refused to be ignored. Surely all this fuss had to be good for something. And surely what she did was none of Hugo’s business. After all, she was the one who’d been caught in pyjamas. What harm in using that short connection for good?

  She thought, if she believed in this school...why not put personal dignity aside?

  So she did.

  And then the thing had snowballed. One of the teachers had a friend who knew how to wrangle the media. He’d come on board, and a thousand tickets later...

  A thousand tickets!

  Now it was time to perform.

  ‘I just met your principal,’ Rachel said, sounding awed. ‘She has dollar signs coming out of her ears and she can’t stop beaming. So go on, Ames. Get out there and wow them.’

  ‘The kids...’ She turned to see how they were coping.

  ‘That’s who you’re doing this for,’ Rachel said stoutly. ‘Don’t think of Hugo, or of two thousand eyes. You danced for more at the ballet and this is seriously awesome. Go for it.’

  * * *

  He was sitting in a school concert. He hadn’t been at a school concert since he’d attended his own.

  This was a very different school to the one he’d attended.

  The kids were wobbly. They were strongly supported by the staff but each act was clearly an act of heroism. A kid with a guitar, strumming a simple tune, making a few mistakes but getting there. A group of twelve-year-olds doing handstands. A choir, slightly off-key, slightly behind the beat.

  Maud had handed him the blurb on the school. It was for kids who’d found normal school too hard, or who’d played truant for too long and been left far behind, or for kids who’d been in trouble with the law and been referred here.

  Troubled kids.

  Would it have been better if there’d only been a few parents and friends to see them? he wondered, but he listened to the wave of applause after each act, he watched the glow as he saw each kid realise they were playing to a vast audience and he thought this would stay with them for ever.

  This wasn’t a critical audience. Everyone knew what this school was and they were in the mood to be pleased.

  They were waiting to see PJ.

  And word had flown that he was here as well. Necks were craned as people tried to see him, tried to see Maud, but at every new act their attention went back to the stage.

  They were waiting—and so was he.

  And here she was. Amy.

  She bounced onto stage with a group of straggly adolescent boys, all dressed in martial arts uniform. They bounced around doing simple Tae Kwon Do moves, just enough to show that they were learning a little and aching to do more.

  She kicked and punched at each kid and they blocked her with ease.

  A couple of them threw her, and she let herself be thrown. She bounced up, beaming, bowing to the boys, bowing to the audience and the audience went nuts.

  He watched her and felt...felt...

  He didn’t know what he felt, and she was gone. He forced himself to be still and watch on.

  There were a few more acts. A girl with a glorious voice who brought the house down. A group of staff members with a comedy skit. A hip hop band and a malnourished kid who hip hopped like magic.

  They were great. They were wonderful, but...

  She was back, and again she wasn’t alone. She was in the midst of six girls, adolescents of all shapes and sizes. The girls were dressed in black leotards. They swept onto the stage in true ballet style, using simple movements but choreographed to look elegant and sophisticated.

  But elegant and sophisticated didn’t begin to describe Amy. She was in the middle of the line-up—and she was wearing her pink satin pyjamas.

  She was beaming from ear to ear.

  The girls danced, simple steps, keeping in tune and in line.

  Amy tried to keep up with them. She couldn’t.

  She was the clown, the klutz, trying desperately to keep up, flailing to spin, spinning too far, falling over, trying again.

  The girls were trying not to giggle as they danced on. They weren’t succeeding, but they kept in rhythm and they kept in line.

  Amy kept on, valiantly trying to keep up with them. The moves she made were complex, he realised. This was clumsiness at its most skilful.

  The girls spun. Amy spun, too, but she couldn’t stop. She whirled out of control and wobbled and a couple of girls grabbed her and steadied her back into line.

  The girls swooped and turned and Amy swooped with them—and fell and spun on her stomach. She rolled onto her back and gazed up at them and tried to figure how they were holding their hands. She tried to spin where she was.

  She was a dancing Charlie Chaplin. She was totally, absolutely adorable.

  The audience was rocking with laughter, loving her, loving the kids as they tried to keep her in line, loving the whole thing.

  Hugo was just loving her.

  How could he not?

  They all loved her, he thought. The kids around her were misfits of adolescents who’d known Amy less than a week but already she had them in the palm of her hand. Already they knew simple dance steps. Who knew what she’d do with them, given time?

  He’d thought before this: what a waste that she’d walked away from her ballet. But she hadn’t. Ballet was a part of her. She was sharing that part.

  ‘There’s a girl who knows how to handle media attention,’ Maud whispered, chuckling and chuckling. ‘Oh, Hugo, isn’t she wonderful? If you could learn to handle the media like this...’

  ‘I can’t dance,’ he said faintly.

  ‘You have your own skills.’ She took his hand and held.

  He glanced down at his grandmother’s hand, wrinkled and gnarled. She expected a lot of him, he thought. She asked a lot.

  But she and his grandfather had given him more.

  He looked back at Amy and he thought: she’s been forced to leave something behind—her life with ballet. But she was embracing this new life. She was using everything in her power to make it as good as it got.

  If Amy could do this with what she’d been handed...what could he do with what he had?

  The dance ended. The audience was on its feet, cheering wildly. Hugo was on his feet, too.

  So much for solitude, he thought. It’s not what it’s made out to be.

  He stepped out into the aisle and str
ode towards the stage.

  People saw him and hushed. Maybe this was why they’d come. Maybe this was what they’d hoped for.

  Amy couldn’t see what was happening offstage. She was blinded by the lights. She turned and started ushering her girls offstage.

  ‘Wait,’ Hugo called, and she froze.

  Her girls waited, and she had no choice but to wait, too. She stood, surrounded by her ballerinas, an adorable pyjama-clad nymph.

  ‘Amy.’

  He said her name out loud and she turned as if in a dream. Then she started looking...apprehensive?

  What was she thinking? That he’d yell at her for using Thurston-fed publicity for her own ends?

  He strode up the stage steps and reached her and the look on her face was unbearable. Despite the audience, the stage lights, the troupe of kid ballerinas, he held her shoulders—and he kissed her.

  This was no kiss of passion. It was a firm, solid kiss of pride and claim and deep, primeval right. This was Amy. This was his woman.

  ‘I’m so proud of you I’m almost tempted to get into a leotard and join you,’ he said, and realised the microphones were sensitive and every sound on stage carried straight to the audience.

  Amy smiled, tentatively, though, still unsure. But she was on stage, she had herself under control and she was more aware of the audience than he was.

  ‘Thank you, Major Thurston,’ she said simply. ‘Your support means a lot to us, to this school, to these kids.’ Then she turned to the audience. ‘Thank you all so much for coming tonight. Your attendance money is wonderful, but we need more. These kids are capable of magnificent things—they just need belief. If any of you would like to donate, we have collectors in the foyer as you leave.’

  There was a rumble of approval, but Hugo wasn’t listening.

  These kids are capable of magnificent things—they just need belief.

  Amy was capable of magnificence without belief.

  He thought of the moment at the railway station when he’d walked away. He’d thought he was protecting her by leaving her alone.

  This woman was more than capable of protecting herself. She’d shown that time and time again. She did what she had to do, and she did it with courage and with honour.

  And she’d given herself to him, and he’d walked away.

  But now wasn’t the time to say these things. The kids were starting to look uncomfortable. They’d been under the spotlight for long enough, and who knew more than him that spotlights eventually made you melt?

  Amy had said what she needed to say. He should do the same and get off the stage.

  Do it.

  He grinned at Amy and he took her hand, turning them to the audience as a couple.

  ‘Maybe now’s a good time to make an announcement,’ he said. ‘I’ve handed in my resignation to the military and from now I’m taking on the reins of Thurston Holdings. It’s a corporation I can be proud of, that you can be proud of. My grandfather ran it with Dame Maud by his side. Now, with similar support, with a similar woman, I hope I can do the same.’

  There was a general gasp. Flashlights were firing from every angle.

  Amy had stilled. He glanced at her and saw her face had lost its colour. He smiled at her. It was all he could do and for now it had to be enough. His hand tightened on hers and he saw some of the colour return.

  ‘This school, these staff, are magnificent,’ he told the audience, ‘as Miss Cotton is magnificent. But now it’s your turn. I’d like each and every one of you to get behind this place. Donate on the way out and, for every dollar you donate, Thurston Holdings will match it tenfold. We’ll announce the total in the papers tomorrow. Let’s see how much of a difference we can make, ladies and gentlemen.’

  And then, to the sounds of exclamations and laughter, he turned and caught Amy into his arms. He hugged her hard and then motioned to the girls to precede them offstage.

  ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us,’ he said to the audience, to laughter, to approval, to media frenzy, ‘I’ve been in the desert for almost a week, and that’s long enough for a man to be separated from the woman he loves.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THREE days later, on a warm Saturday afternoon, they stood on Darwin Wharf and watched Maud and Rachel depart on what was billed as the cruise of a lifetime. Two weeks exploring the magnificent Kimberley coast. The women stood on the deck and beamed until they were out of sight.

  When Hugo had broached the idea with Maud, she’d been delighted.

  ‘Would you be sad if Rachel replaced me as your travel companion? She has another three weeks before she starts her new job. Amy’s already started work, and I need to stay, too. There are so many company threads to pick up...’

  ‘You’ll stay here in Darwin? With Amy?’ Maud’s enthusiasm had bubbled. ‘That’s a wonderful idea. Rachel will love it, and we’ll love it even more as we think about you two.’

  ‘Maud...’

  ‘Don’t tell me. You’re taking things slowly.’ She’d chuckled. ‘After kissing the lady in front of half of Darwin? After telling the world you love her? If that’s slow, I’d hate to see fast.’

  Fast...

  Hugo stood beside Amy and thought of his plan and thought don’t let it be too fast.

  The boat had disappeared. Amy’s eyes were misting. ‘This is fantastic,’ she whispered. ‘Rachel will love it. She’ll see so many rocks.’

  ‘Maud might even come home knowing the history of granite,’ he said, but he wasn’t thinking of Rachel. He was thinking how beautiful this woman was. She was simply dressed, in an oversized white blouse and her customary leggings. Her hair was flying free. She was hugging Buster and he thought...things couldn’t move fast enough.

  ‘I’m glad Rachel rethought stowing Buster away again,’ he said and she chuckled.

  ‘Not likely. She gets rocks and I get Buster.’

  ‘And you get me?’

  She looked up at him, her smile fading a little. She was still unsure, he thought. She was still uncertain where their future would take them.

  So was he, but he was sure of one thing. Where this woman went, he’d follow.

  ‘We have tonight and tomorrow to ourselves,’ he said, turning prosaic. ‘Would you like to do something together?’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Maybe dinner with an overnight stay somewhere special?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Can Buster come?’

  ‘Of course. Oh, and I have a gift for him.’ He held out his hand to her.

  She smiled and slid her hand into his and it felt as if it belonged there. He led her back to the car, hauled open the boot and produced a bag.

  It was a small weekender made of soft cream leather, lined with sheepskin and with netting inserted at each end. B Cotton Esquire was elegantly tooled into the outside leather.

  She giggled. Her giggle was gorgeous and he wanted to sweep her off her feet right now. But he’d waited for two days. He could force himself to wait a while longer.

  ‘I didn’t fancy you carrying that purse,’ he told her, trying to sound prosaic. ‘Not this weekend.’

  ‘Are we going somewhere I’ll need fancy luggage?’ She looked doubtfully at the bag.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Will I need to dress up?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Hugo, I’m not very good at...fancy.’

  ‘Neither am I,’ he said. ‘This is a learning curve for both of
us. Will you come with me?’

  She hesitated for all of two seconds. She met his gaze, calm, clear, a woman knowing what she wanted, no matter what it took.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’ll come with you. Wherever you take me, I’ll go.’

  * * *

  He took her back to her apartment and she put on her nicest dress, the one she saved for post-season parties.

  Where was he taking her? Some five-star hotel? A resort?

  No matter. Yes, she was out of her comfort zone but she refused to be intimidated. This was Hugo, her lovely, war-worn warrior, tough as nails on the outside but with an inside of putty.

  He’d left her for half an hour to prepare. She and Rachel were sharing a dead plain one-bedroom apartment on the outskirts of Darwin. Hugo was staying in one of the most expensive homes in the city.

  Five stars. Different worlds.

  But you can do this, she told herself as she heard his knock. Buster was going wild with excitement. Buster loved this man, and so did she.

  She opened the door and he was in evening dress. Deep black suit, crisp white shirt, black tie.

  Five stars? Make it a hundred.

  * * *

  To her amazement, he took her to the airport. To a helicopter. She’d never been in a helicopter in her life. He guided her across the tarmac and she felt...weird.

  He helped her in, organised her headphones, belted her in, and she had visions of the movie Pretty Woman.

  She was being whisked off to the opera? From Darwin?

  How far could a helicopter fly?

  Hugo was climbing in beside her—behind the controls. He flew these things?

  She couldn’t help herself. A squeak came out all by itself.

  ‘I’m trustworthy,’ he said, smiling across at her. ‘And I’ve practised a lot. I even took her up this morning for a trial run.’

  He flew helicopters?