‘That’s far too complicated for such a minor offence,’ she finally said. ‘I’ll settle for boosting the bill tonight with some total sweet extravagance ... like fried ice-cream, unless you’re determined to settle me into a witch’s mould, of course.’
His laugh was totally relaxed, his eyes also smiling an acceptance. ‘Better I share your extravagance, I think,’ he said, and turned away immediately to signal up the waiter.
The order given. Dare excused himself, and when he returned it was to change the subject entirely to something, from Fiona’s viewpoint, that was eminently safer.
And, equally important, he kept the conversation on safe ground throughout the rest of the meal and even on the drive home, talking about farming, sheep, his time in South America—anything and everything but personal relationships.
And as they drove home he gradually lapsed into a sort of preoccupied silence that quite suited Fiona’s own mood. The unexpected delving into Dare Fraser’s very personal experiences was starting to prey on her mind; she wasn’t at all sure she liked having done so, yet somehow felt privileged at the same time.
It was, she thought, dangerous knowledge to have!
But when they arrived in her driveway to a brief but vocal reception from the two dogs in the kennel and a muted echo from inside the house. Dare showed no remorse at having confided in her.
‘Thanks very much for listening tonight,’ he said instead. ‘I feel better about all that, having got it off my chest.’
‘I’m glad,’ Fiona replied, then halted, uncertain what else, if anything, she might say.
‘You should be,’ he replied with a grin. ‘It wasn’t until we really got into it that I realised how much I’d let the thing fester inside.’ He paused, then added, ‘You’re a good listener, which helps.’
This time Fiona merely nodded in acceptance of the compliment. Dare suddenly seemed too intimate, too close, in the confines of the car.
‘Thanks for having dinner with me,’ he said then. ‘And next time I’ll try not to disturb your morning lie-in as badly as Blue did this morning.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Fiona said as she got out of the car. ‘And thank you for dinner; it was lovely.’
‘No better than breakfast,’ he said waving. ‘See you on the next trip.’
Later, snuggled into her bed with Lala snoring on the floor beside her, Fiona felt at peace with the world. It wasn’t until the next day, with the arrival of the postman, that everything started to fall apart in a screaming heap!
CHAPTER FIVE
Fiona took one look at the company letterhead on the single envelope that comprised her morning mail and knew even before she opened it that it just couldn’t contain good news.
How right she was; how horribly, frighteningly right. The letter inside marked the end of her future as she’d planned it, destroying all her hopes and aspirations in a welter of carefully worded clichés that did little if anything to soften the blow.
Her lease was expiring and it wouldn’t be renewed. Her school, unless she could find a new venue, was going to end just as she was getting truly, properly, established.
She read the letter again, and yet again. But each reading gave her only the same horrible verdict.
She couldn’t believe it ... wouldn’t believe it. Her entire future had just gone down the drain.
‘What can I do?’ she asked John the solicitor for the first time and herself for the thousand-and-first as she’d stumbled through the first part of her day in a daze of shock and worry.
‘On the face of it, not very much at all,’ her lawyer replied after his usual careful assessment of the facts involved. ‘They need the warehouse for other purposes and your lease is about to expire. Unless you know a particularly effective prayer, I’d say your dog school is about to make a move.’
‘But where to? I’m in the middle of a semester now, and if I’m forced to comply with this letter I’ll have no place to hold the final class,’ she raged.
‘I don’t wish to be accused of saying “I told you so”, but when you signed this lease I remember telling you this problem might occur,’ he said enigmatically.
‘But they were quite clear that my evenings were no problem at all,’ Fiona cried.
‘Then! Things have obviously changed, and you’re in no position, legally, to argue. Morally, you might have some case, but financially the arguing of it would be hardly worth your while,’ he said.
‘But what am 1 going to do, then?’
‘Why not run it from home, at least temporarily?’
Fiona started to argue, then stopped herself. He was right, of course, now that she gave it a moment’s consideration.
‘Do you think I could?’ She asked the question rhetorically; already her mind was awhirl with ideas of how she could run her dog school on her own property, under her own conditions, her own demands.
‘1 don’t know. Most of that would be up to you. Living on ten acres, with no close neighbours, you might be able to push it through council,’ John said. ‘But there would be complications, I’d expect: things like development applications and the like.’
‘But I could do it?’ She found herself astonished at how quickly the concept thrust itself into consideration. To be able to run the school from home! To be able to finish the last class of a winter evening and just walk home! It was an invigorating thought.
‘Provided you don’t have any problems with your neighbours,’ John said with a grin. ‘And that shouldn’t be too difficult. Nobody objected to your kennel licence, and 1 gather you’re on fairly good terms with the most important of your neighbours, at least.’
Fiona didn’t blush. She might have, on the basis of the previous evening’s experience, but having now taken the time to read the latest edition of the Sunday Tasmanian she was far less inclined to expect any help from Dare Fraser.
‘You obviously didn’t see the weekend Tasmanian’ she said with a bitter twist to her voice. ‘The last thing my best neighbour would do is help me organise a dog training school next to his precious bloody sheep!’
‘I did read it, and I think you’re over-reacting just a trifle,’ her lawyer replied calmly. ‘There wasn’t a single thing in the article to suggest he’d automatically be opposed.’
‘He would!’ Fiona knew she sounded almost childishly petulant, but she just couldn’t help it. Reading the article in question on top of her crisis situation had robbed her of any optimism. The interview with Dare Fraser had touched both on his South American experiences and on his attitudes toward urban/rural land development at home, and the clarity of his position could do nothing to produce optimism in her case.
One of the major problems in areas of South America, he’d said, was that major landholders controlled too much land, leaving potential peasant farmers with no hope of securing a future in their own country.
In Australia, by comparison, the encroachment of “hobby” farmers into viable agricultural land was causing a severe problem, according to Dare. Pressure from many local councils was forcing landholders near suburban areas to cut up their lands for urban or semi- rural development, and the loss to the agricultural economy was significant.
‘The councils want an expanded rating base, which is fair enough,’ he’d said. ‘But every expansion of urban development into agricultural areas brings a host of problems, not least of them the loss of land for agricultural use.’
He’d gone on to list some of his pet peeves, most of them issues Fiona herself agreed with. Roving packs of urban-based dogs, insufficient bushfire precautions, poor land management with regard to noxious weeds ... all significant!
She could just imagine his reaction to a proposal involving stacks of untrained dogs being landed right next to his sheep, especially since she now realised the paddock directly next door was the one he favoured for his lambing.
‘You ought to know better than to let your heart rule your head,’ John was saying, but Fiona barely heard. The other thing which had dra
wn her attention in the weekend paper was a fashion photo-article which featured the classic beauty of Consuela Diaz; she could hardly have missed it, since it was directly opposite the interview with Dare Fraser!
‘I ... what on earth are you talking about?’ she cried as John’s words finally sank in.
‘Well, quite obviously something!’ he replied. ‘What’s come up between you and Fraser that you can’t even go and talk to the man about this?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied hotly. Which was true as far as it went. She wasn’t about to get involved now in a discussion about how averse she was to being any further in her neighbour’s debt.
‘Good. Because it would do no end of good to have him on your side in this, as I’m sure you realise. So ... are you going to approach him, or do you want me to do it?’
‘Oh, no!’ She found herself mouthing the objection with hardly a conscious thought. If anyone would approach Dare Fraser about this, it would be Fiona herself, and there was much to be considered first.
‘What am I going to do for money?’ she asked then. ‘I can’t operate out in the open, especially not in the winter.’ And especially, she thought, not with her neighbour’s precious sheep grazing right within sight. ‘I’ll need some kind of a building, and the size I’d need doesn’t come cheap, you know.’
A lengthy discussion involving the lawyer’s calculator produced the consensus that Fiona would require a training shed at least the size of a four-car garage, perhaps five metres by ten. ‘And that’s cutting it fairly fine,’ she said. ‘Nine by twelve would be better.’
‘It’s a commercial situation; getting money — within reason, of course — shouldn’t be that much of a problem,’ John mused.
‘Paying it back would very definitely be a problem,’ was Fiona’s response. ‘I’m stretched pretty fine already with the mortgage, let alone adding another one.’
Which was a thought that she carried home with her, its having already dominated her mind throughout the day. She might manage, if she could add a couple of extra classes — and keep them! But it would mean a year of brutish work, combining the job with the career, probably fitting in weekend classes as well.
The problems and potential problems weighed heavily throughout the drive home, and finding Fraser’s Blue panting expectantly at the back door did nothing to improve her saddened disposition.
‘You want seeing to, me old mate,’ she growled at the fawning Lothario. And, after a sweeping glance across the horizons suggested her neighbour didn’t realise his prized sheepdog was on the romance trail yet again, Fiona decided the only way she’d get any peace would be to take the animal home herself.
‘Come on — in you go,’ she commanded, waving towards the open tailgate of her station-wagon with what she hoped was a suitable authority.
The dog crouched, obviously listening with but half an ear; the rest of his attention was focused on Fiona’s back door and the amorous delights to be found there.
‘In, damn it!’ And to her surprise, the dog obeyed, if not with any marvellous show of willingness. Fiona didn’t care whether he liked it or not; she slammed the tailgate closed before he could change his mind.
‘Back in a flash,’ she cried to her own dogs, who yelped their disapproval at the whole proceedings, and within minutes she was driving into Dare’s yard, eyes flickering back and forth as she looked for his kennels.
It was the work of a moment to get a leash on the lovesick sheepdog and put him securely into a vacant kennel. Fiona was just turning to return to her vehicle when a sullen voice queried her presence.
The fashion plate that was Consuela Diaz didn’t wait for a reply. Instead, she launched into a verbal assault that left Fiona stumped for any chance to reply.
The machine-gun speed of the abusive commentary, combined with the woman’s accent and the intricate switching from English to Spanish and back again, made it impossible for Fiona to decipher exactly what she was supposed to have done, but there was enough clarity for her to realise her actions would be reported to Dare Fraser, and pronto
‘Fair enough,’ she muttered in reply, unwilling to put herself into an argument with this woman. Especially, she thought, since she would more than likely end up in the wrong, no matter what the facts.
‘Tell him what you like,’ she finally said, and was in her station-wagon and driving away before the reply could be sorted out. She didn’t know whether she had been accused of stealing the damned dog or trespassing to return him, and after the day she’d had Fiona didn’t much care.
All she wanted was a quiet evening, what was left of it, and early to bed without any further problems. What she got, astonishingly, was the privilege of arriving home to find that Blue was there before her!
‘I do not believe this!’ she cried, leaping from the vehicle with seven sorts of mayhem in mind. And even as she did so, the obvious explanation became distastefully clear.
‘You witch of a woman,’ she snarled in the direction of where she’d left Consuela Diaz. ‘I’m surprised you’d have the nerve to get anywhere near a kennel dressed like that.’
The model’s fashion-plate outfit hadn’t gone unnoticed; now its very chic seemed to sneer at Fiona.
And what to do now? She couldn’t very well return the dog for a second time, not and have to face the risk that Fraser’s woman would only turn him loose as soon as Fiona left. But the obvious alternative, that of waiting until he noticed the dog’s absence and followed the logical reasoning, would certainly put paid to her chances of an early night.
‘Damn it ... damn it ... damn it!’ she cried. ‘Why today, of all days? Why me?’ And almost expected a sepulchral voice to give her an answer.
Looking round, realising it was almost dark now, she also realised she was running out of time for any decision at all. Her own dogs had to be fed, Lala had to be let out to relieve herself, and both activities required some adequate disposition of the amorous sheepdog.
‘Right. It’s back into the wagon with you, 1 guess,’ Fiona said, flinging open the tailgate and fixing the dog with her most commanding glare.
‘In ... now!’
‘And let us pray he’s been taught not to eat upholstery,’ she muttered as she let out her dogs and watched them rush to surround the station-wagon with a chorus of abuse for the visitor.
From then on, it was easier. She fed her crew, locked them in the house, and carefully put Dare’s dog into the kennels, where he could stay the night, if need be, in safety. It was far from an ideal solution, but the best she could think of at the moment.
Much later, when Fiona had changed into casual clothes, fed Blue and eaten her own evening meal, a yodel of greeting from outside was chorused by her own mob, and she shouted ‘Come in,’ at the expected knock on the door.
‘You shouldn’t to be this casual about visitors in the middle of the night,’ said Dare Fraser as he stepped into the room and smiled gently at her. ‘What if it hadn’t been me?’
‘What indeed?’ Fiona was in no mood to be sociable with this or any other man just now. And her mood wasn’t improved by the fuss her dogs made over Dare. ‘You can take your lovesick hound home any time,’ she said bluntly. ‘And he’s had his tucker, by the way.’
‘Well, I’m glad he has,’ was the reply as he walked, uninvited, to sit down at the table across from her. ‘What’s the matter — had a rough day?’
‘One totally unimproved by coming home to find Romeo panting at the back door,’ she replied, surly and not caring who knew it. ‘And I’m sure you’ll be appropriately looked after once you’ve taken him home; just see — if you wouldn’t mind — that your ... your friend leaves him kennelled, this time.’
‘You’ve lost me,’ he replied, raising one eyebrow to accompany the query.
‘I’m only saying that I’ve taken him home once tonight, and put him away in a kennel, and the bastard beat me back here! That’s what I’m saying; it should be clear enough!’ Fiona knew her voice was rising
in anger, didn’t care.
‘Ah.’ He was — damn him anyway! — just so calm and just so rational about it all. ‘And you’re suggesting, I gather, that Consuela …’
‘I never mentioned any names. For all 1 know you could have fifteen friends about the place who could have done it. The one you mentioned is the only one who spoke to me, and of course I didn’t understand it because my Spanish, or whatever it is, isn’t that good,’ Fiona interrupted, running her own words together so quickly she could only just follow them herself.
‘Well, I wasn’t there, so of course I can’t say,’ he replied, eyes darkening. ‘But I’m sure it wasn’t anything deliberate.’
‘Well, if it wasn’t deliberate, then you’d better change that hound’s name to Houdini,’ Fiona raged, all pretence of her own temperament now flown. ‘Now will you please, please, please just get out of here and take him with you?’
‘I rather think I’d better,’ Dare replied, rising easily to stand looming over her, dominating the atmosphere of the kitchen.
Fiona didn’t bother to watch as he strode towards the door, but the sound of his voice forced her to look up as he opened it.
‘I have to say this, trite as it sounds,’ he began. ‘1 really do apologise for this. It—’
‘I don’t need apologies,’ Fiona snapped. ‘I need your bloody mongrel dog kept home where he belongs!’
The outburst washed round him like river water around a rock. Dare stood there, solid, unyielding, one dark eyebrow raised as he stared at the intensity of her outburst.
‘Oh ... look. I’m sorry,’ Fiona sighed. ‘It isn’t you and it isn’t the poor damned dog’s fault, either. It’s just that his randiness is one more problem I didn’t really need today, that’s all. Please, just take him and at least try to keep him under control.’
‘I gather that I’m a problem you can do without today, too,’ Dare remarked without rancour. ‘But when you’ve settled down a bit, you might want to talk about it.’
And he was gone, quietly shutting the door behind him, before she could even think to reply. Fiona, for her part, stayed unmoving for long, long moments, partly ashamed of her outburst, but mostly just too weary to bother moving.
Love Thy Neighbour Page 9
