‘So the government pays her salary, eh? That’s a good lurk,’ said Quinn. ‘But doesn’t the centre really need a dolphin trainer, not a researcher?’ A note of concern crept into his voice. ‘Don’t get me wrong – you’re doing a great job with those animals. You’ve got a gift, no doubt about it, but you’re not super-human, Bridge. I worry about you, trying to do everything yourself.’
‘Zoe majored in marine mammals,’ said Bridget. ‘She knows plenty about training dolphins, don’t you, Zoe?’
Zoe almost choked on a piece of broccoli. Her knowledge of marine mammals was entirely theoretical. She’d read a lot. She’d watched plenty of Flipper reruns on television. But the only time she’d seen a real dolphin was on a visit to SeaWorld. Zoe shifted in her seat. What to say? Both Quinn and Bridget were looking at her, awaiting her response. ‘I did receive a high distinction for my work on operant conditioning at the Sydney Aquarium,’ she said at last.
‘There.’ Bridget shot Quinn a triumphant glance. ‘I told you so.’
Zoe concentrated on her plate, hoping nobody would notice the blush creeping up her cheeks, wishing the boy from the balcony would come in and change the subject. It wasn’t a lie exactly. She had carried out a research project at the Sydney Aquarium in her second year, and it had involved training animals using operant conditioning – only they weren’t dolphins. She could see the title on the paper she’d so proudly submitted at the end of the semester: Associative Learning and Memory in the Common Sydney Octopus. The octopuses had constantly surprised her with their intelligence and problem-solving skills. She’d grown very fond of Gloomy, her main test subject. So fond, in fact, that at the end of the project she’d stolen him from his tank and surreptitiously released him under a boardwalk into Darling Harbour.
Zoe gazed out the window to avoid catching anybody’s eye. She did not want to answer any more questions. A rosy sunset shone through the bay windows of the elegant dining room. Stunning in its beauty: a picture postcard. The sun flared on the horizon. Zoe turned her attention from the window to the door. ‘Isn’t Josh joining us?’ she asked. The main course was almost over and there was still no sign of the boy. For some reason she hadn’t been able to get him off her mind and was curious to meet him.
‘My brother is as unreliable with meal times as he is with everything else,’ said Quinn, though his tone was good-humoured. ‘But he usually turns up for dessert.’
Zoe picked up her dainty crystal wine glass. She turned it gently between her thumb and forefinger, admiring the delicate gold etching. ‘This is beautiful.’
‘An antique,’ said Quinn. ‘The set belonged to my grandmother.’ He topped the glass up with shiraz. Zoe didn’t usually drink red wine, but it was all that was on offer. It would be rude to refuse. And, anyway, the more she drank the better it tasted. Her pepper steak was good too, and the dinner table conversation fascinating. She couldn’t get enough of the stories told by their lovely hostess.
‘. . . then Koko got the same idea,’ said Bridget, ‘and soon we had five dolphins doing backflips all at once. The crowd loved it.’
‘How many dolphins do you have at the centre?’ asked Zoe.
‘Six in all,’ said Bridget. ‘Three bottlenoses and three spinners.’
‘I can’t wait to meet them,’ said Zoe. ‘How far along are they in their rehabilitation?’
‘I’m afraid none of our current dolphins are candidates for release,’ said Bridget. ‘Five of them have permanent injuries and our youngest spinner, Baby, was born right here at the centre. He’ll never be able to fend for himself.’
‘What a shame,’ said Zoe. ‘That must be hard to come to terms with.’
‘It’s heartbreaking,’ agreed Bridget. ‘I’ve dedicated my career to rehabilitating animals. But it’s not all bad news. We’ve done lots of successful turtle and seabird rescues this year. You’ll meet all of our patients tomorrow.’
Zoe put down her knife and fork. ‘Imagine – getting to know the animals, living and working at the Reef Centre. It’s a dream come true.’
‘Not living there,’ said Bridget. ‘There’s been a change of plans.’
‘But I haven’t organised a place to stay,’ said Zoe. ‘I thought accommodation came with the job?’
Quinn drained his glass of wine. ‘You’ll be staying here at Swallowdale, in the guesthouse. Two bedrooms, fully self-contained and a cleaner once a week, who’ll also stock your fridge.’
‘But why?’ asked Zoe. ‘I mean, that’s very generous of you, but I was looking forward to staying at the centre. You said there was a place available next door, overlooking the beach. It sounds perfect.’
‘Oh, we couldn’t do that to you,’ said Bridget. ‘I had a good look round that old shack last week. It’s more rundown than I’d realised, so Quinn offered the guesthouse here at Swallowdale instead. It’s lovely. It has a view of the lake.’ She raised the silver serving spoon and turned to her fiancé. ‘More potato?’
‘No thanks, hon. Couldn’t fit in another thing.’ Quinn wiped his mouth with the crisp linen napkin and pushed back his chair with a satisfied sigh. ‘Never tasted beef so tender or spuds so fluffy. You’re a miracle, Bridge, you know that? Working all day and then racing over here to organise a slap-up meal? Don’t know how you do it.’
‘Yes.’ Zoe’s hand strayed up out of habit to push her non-existent hair back behind her ear. ‘Thank you. It was delicious.’
Bridget bowed her head a fraction in acknowledgement. ‘I hope you all left room for dessert.’ She stood up to take Quinn’s plate. Zoe’s eyes followed her new boss as she slipped from the dining room into the kitchen. She couldn’t stop staring. How did Bridget manage it? Mid to late twenties at a guess, not much older than Zoe was herself, yet so accomplished, so stylish. She wore her sleeveless cream blouse, skinny jeans and embossed boots with such flair that Zoe half-expected a camera crew to pop out from behind the curtains. Bridget’s mane of golden hair bounced a little as she walked, as did her gravity-defying breasts. It was apparent that she wore no bra. What a knockout. No wonder Quinn was besotted. Zoe was a bit besotted herself.
Picking up her empty plate and wine glass, she hurried after Bridget into the kitchen. ‘Thanks for dinner. You’ve gone to so much trouble.’
‘No trouble.’ Bridget gave Zoe a warm smile. ‘I love to cook, don’t you?’
‘Not exactly.’ Zoe copied Bridget and scraped off her plate into the in-sink garbage disposal. It made a low whirring sound. She’d never seen one before. ‘Back home I used to eat a lot of Macca’s.’
Bridget’s mouth pursed with concern. ‘That won’t work around here, I’m afraid. We don’t have a McDonald’s in Kiawa.’ She wiped her manicured hands on a tea towel. An enormous diamond on her ring finger caught the light and blazed silver and gold. ‘There’s a good fish and chip shop, but it’s not healthy to live on that stuff.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Zoe pushed a piece of carrot down the sink, curious to see what would happen. The InSinkErator gobbled it up. Then a stalk of broccoli met the same fate. She looked around for something else. Hmm, a fork on Quinn’s plate still held a piece of gristle.
Bridget pulled a multi-peaked lemon meringue pie from the fridge and placed it on the bench. Where had she learned to cook like that? ‘I don’t think this platter is big enough,’ she said with a frown. ‘I’d better go and find another one.’ She studied the pie, taking its measure. ‘Perhaps while you’re living here Zoe, I could show you some recipes?’
‘I’d like that.’ Zoe reached for Quinn’s fork as Bridget disappeared through the doorway. Oh dear. Her arm had knocked the little wine glass into the InSinkErator’s jaws. The whirring sound grew louder as savage, steel teeth crushed the antique crystal and ground it to pieces. Zoe looked up as Bridget returned with a china cake stand, but the shredding sound had stopped and she was none the wiser. Zoe stared at the sink. The beautiful wine glass was no more. What should she do? Should she say something? It would be
too humiliating.
When she turned around, the boy from the balcony was watching her. A good-looking kid with tousled, chestnut hair and clever grey eyes: a younger version of Quinn. Where had he sprung from? Bridget looked up from rearranging the magnificent pie, and visibly started. ‘Josh, I wish you wouldn’t sneak up like that. You gave me a fright.’
The boy’s face fell. ‘Sorry, Bridget.’ The words were uttered in a kind of slow motion, like he had to concentrate to get them out. He wasn’t slow on the uptake though. He knew exactly what had happened to the wine glass.
Should she pre-empt him, confess her crime? No, a little too much time had passed. It would seem odd that she hadn’t mentioned it at the start. Zoe didn’t breathe. Would he tell? Josh held her gaze, his expression thoughtful, like he was trying to make up his mind. Then his eyes twinkled. He grinned and something passed between them. She heaved a relieved sigh and shot him a grateful look, certain her secret was safe.
‘Apology accepted,’ said Bridget, favouring Josh with a dazzling smile. His face lit up with pleasure, like a puppy that had been patted. She handed Josh the cake stand bearing the splendid pie and carefully lowered the bevelled glass lid on top, trying not to squash the mountain of meringue. ‘There. Would you do the honours, please, Josh? I’ll get the cream.’
The boy carried the dessert into the dining room with exaggerated care. Quinn applauded when he saw it. ‘Bravo. A masterpiece. I’m a lucky man all right.’
The room fell silent as they feasted on the lightest, tangiest lemon meringue pie Zoe had ever tasted, complete with dollops of fresh, clotted cream. All except Bridget, that was. She announced that she was already full.
Quinn removed the lid again and picked up the silver cake server. He raised his brows at Zoe. She was about to say Yes, please, and dig in for a second helping, but the sight of Bridget serenely sipping her sparkling water made her pause. Reluctantly she shook her head.
‘You girls eat like birds,’ said Quinn, heaping up his dish. ‘Just as well, eh, Josh? All the more for us.’
Zoe was rather flattered by the description. Nobody had ever said that she ate like a bird. Far from it. She pushed away the memory of last week’s two-for-one Big Mac deal that she had taken such enthusiastic advantage of.
Quinn and his brother ate with gusto. Josh shovelled the food in, chewing with his mouth open, unconcerned as cream dripped down his chin. He looked wild and uncivilised, like an animal feeding. Zoe poured herself a glass of water from the bottle on the table and tried not to stare. When Josh finished he started to hum loudly, tunelessly. Thank goodness Quinn had warned her. Otherwise she would have found Josh’s table manners quite disturbing.
When they’d all finished, Zoe stood and picked up her dish. ‘Leave it,’ said Quinn. ‘It’s dark enough. Come and I’ll show you how we burn a cane field at Swallowdale. It’s quite a show.’ He looked about. ‘Anybody else?’
Bridget shook her head. ‘I’ll stay and clean up.’
‘Me too,’ said Josh. The laboured effect of his speech could not disguise his eagerness to help as he set about clearing the table. He was clearly as big a fan of Bridget as his brother was.
Quinn rose to his feet. ‘Well Zoe, looks like it’s just you and me.’
Zoe grabbed the guardrail and hauled herself onto the platform at the top of the floodlit tower. Climbing the lookout’s timber ladder had left her dizzy and breathless, but she’d done it – challenged her hatred of heights. A flush of pride passed through her.
Quinn leaped nimbly up behind her, his shadow merging with hers. There wasn’t much room at the top. ‘Don’t get a fright,’ he said. ‘I’m turning off the lights.’ Zoe blinked a few times and accidentally moved against him as the world went dim. She shivered slightly in spite of the warm evening.
‘There.’ He pointed to the west, where three jeeps moved in convoy up the side of a field. Their roof-mounted spotlights cast bright, shifting circles on the standing cane. When the vehicles were evenly spaced along the length of the track they stopped. Zoe focused her attention on the nearest jeep. Two men in orange hi-vis overalls emerged, carrying containers like giant oilcans with long spouts.
‘What are they?’ A column of flame flew from the cans and engulfed the wall of cane before them.
‘Drip torches,’ said Quinn. ‘The canister holds a mixture of petrol and diesel. A wick in the spout directs the burning fuel wherever it’s needed.’ In a synchronised assault, the other men ignited their sections of crop. Soon it blazed all the way along the track. Fire climbed into the dark sky, higher and higher, towering over the men. It was a dramatic sight: orange flames dancing against the black curtain of night.
‘Why wait until now?’ asked Zoe. ‘Why not in the daytime? Or is it just because it looks more awesome in the dark?’
Quinn turned towards her. Amusement showed on his face in the reflected glow of the flames. ‘Cane fires can get pretty fierce,’ he said. ‘We wait till dusk for the temperatures and winds to drop. It’s safer.’
The fire increased in fury, roaring like an angry beast. It took off in a spectacular way across the paddock, leaping four, five, six metres high into the inky blackness. A sight equally frightening and thrilling. Zoe closed her eyes and imagined what she’d be doing if she was still back in Sydney. Eating takeaway in front of the television, perhaps, or updating her Facebook profile. Quinn took hold of the safety rail with both hands and leaned towards the inferno. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘It’s quite a spectacle.’ Heat flushed Zoe’s face and an acrid smell assailed her nostrils. She pictured the scorched earth, the billowing smoke, invisible in the darkness, choking everything in its path. She pictured animals and birds and insects fleeing for their lives. ‘I read somewhere that they don’t burn cane any more,’ she said. ‘That the modern way is to cut it green. To leave the tops of the cane on the ground, like a kind of mulch.’
‘Trash-blanketing?’ said Quinn. ‘Yeah, some blokes do that. But not round here. We’re an old-fashioned bunch in Kiawa.’
‘Why?’ she asked. ‘I mean, if it was better for some reason to cut cane green, why wouldn’t you do it? Wouldn’t it be better? Wouldn’t mulch help keep down the weeds?’
‘You want to know why?’ An edge had crept into Quinn’s voice. ‘My father burned cane, and his father before him, and his father before him. It’s the best way. You lose too much crop cutting it green – and it costs more.’
‘I —’ she began.
He shook his head. ‘Let’s go down. After you.’
Zoe’s face was warm, and it wasn’t because of the fire. As they left the platform at the top of the tower, Quinn glanced at the flames one last time. An unreadable expression came over his face. Annoyance? No, something more. Sadness?
They reached the cool grass at the bottom. ‘You’ll do,’ he said. The edge in his voice had gone.
‘I don’t understand —’
‘A lot of people wouldn’t have climbed up there in the dark.’ A rising moon showed the admiration on his face. Zoe fought to stem the rush of pride at his approval, the rush of blood. If only she could stay at the beach instead of here at Swallowdale. It would make this impossible attraction to Quinn far easier to manage.
CHAPTER 3
‘Well?’ said Bridget. ‘What do you think of our star attractions?’
‘They’re beautiful,’ said Zoe. ‘Absolutely beautiful.’
Six dolphins cruised around the natural saltwater lagoon that formed part of the Kiawa Reef Centre. The three smallest ones were particularly energetic, leaping from the turquoise pool in graceful arcs. Those must be the spinners, Stenella longirostris, literally meaning long-beaks. One of them shot forwards and approached Zoe. She hadn’t seen specimens of this species before. They lacked the fixed smile of their bottlenose cousins, and were around half their size. Far more dainty, with slender beaks – rostrums – and soft brown eyes. Almost human eyes.
‘This is Baby.’ Bridget sat do
wn at the edge of the water. The sleek little dolphin rolled upside down and presented his pale pink tummy to be scratched. Bridget obliged, then nodded to Zoe. ‘Come and say hello.’
Zoe knelt down and tentatively stretched out her hand, enchanted by this strange and exotic creature inviting her to play. But she was also a little scared. Truth was, Zoe had never had much to do with real live animals. She’d grown up in a two-bedroom flat in Bankstown, sharing a room with her older sister Stacey. Her mum worked as a cleaner and her dad drove Greyhound coaches between capital cities. The family seldom had enough room, time or disposable income for pets.
When Zoe was little it had been fun sharing with Stacey. She’d adored her big sister, who told stories about princesses being rescued by white knights, and always let Zoe crawl into bed with her when bad dreams came knocking. Everything changed though, when Stacey hit her teenage years. She no longer had time for her kid sister. With Mum working nights and Dad away so much, they weren’t allowed to have friends around very often. Zoe abided by the rules, even though it put her on the outer at school. But Stacey began bringing boys home behind their parents’ backs. She’d bribe Zoe with lollies or money to get lost. If that didn’t work, she’d threaten harm to Zoe’s most precious possessions. ‘If you don’t give me and Jayden some privacy, I’ll dump those stupid fish books of yours in the toilet. And don’t you dare tell Mum either.’ How Zoe had hated it. Banished from her own room, trapped in the cramped flat, unable to block out the mysterious giggles and thumps coming through the thin walls, no matter how loud she turned up the television.
When Stacey was seventeen she moved in with her boyfriend and Zoe suddenly had some space to herself. What a luxury. She landed an after-school job at Bankstown public library and soon had enough money saved to set up a small aquarium in her room. She loved her fish, but it wasn’t quite the same as having a dog or a cat. You couldn’t form a relationship with a guppy, and she was timid when it came to connecting with more challenging animals. And yet here was Baby, staring at her with those curious, intelligent eyes, demanding just such a connection.
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