Love Thy Neighbour

by Victoria Gordon

  Fiona stifled a scream as the utility vehicle flung itself towards a fence-line that was caught momentarily in the hobbling beam of light, but Dare quickly downshifted, then skidded to a halt and darted out and round to her side.

  Fingers like steel gripped her wrist, slowly guiding the light across the adjacent paddock. Sheep materialised from the darkness, shadowy shapes that seemed almost ghostly but for the eyes that held and returned the light. She gasped as he continued moving the light, apparently oblivious of the fact Fiona’s wrist couldn’t turn as far as his own.

  ‘Let go,’ he muttered, and lessened his grip only long enough for her to do so. Then the light continued its steady path along the fence-line, pausing occasionally and then moving on.

  She heard his grunt even as her eyes picked up the first mark of the invasion, a sheep whose shape was different, a sheep with clumps of wool hanging loosely, distorting its shape. One, then another, then a small group, jammed into a fence corner with terror evident in their jerky, panicky movements.

  Dare grunted again, his fingers moving the light slowly now, crossing from the sheep to the adjacent darkness in a careful pattern of short, sweeping movements.

  ‘There.’ His voice whispered; his fingers somehow gathered her own to reclaim the handle of the spotlight. ‘Just keep it right there,’ he instructed, and she obeyed without seeing the reason, at first.

  She heard the snick of the rifle being cocked, and in that instant the dog turned and stared straight into the light, eyes flaring only briefly as it turned to run.

  The rifle discharged in a series of ‘phutt’ sounds, hardly audible over the barks of the dog in the back of the truck.

  And in the broad cone of the spotlight, one flickering dog shape became two, then three, all streaking for the darkness of the horizon as Fiona tried desperately to keep the light on their fleeing shapes.

  Dare fired again, and again, and with Blue for some reason silent now Fiona was conscious of the tinkling sound of the empties rattling down the side of the truck.

  She could also hear Dare cursing under his breath as the last dog fled out of sight, and she numbly obeyed his soft-voiced command to turn the light downwards so he could see to ensure the rifle was safely unloaded.

  ‘My eyes must be going in my old age,’ he growled then. ‘I should have had the lot of them, but they’re cunning devils; they won’t hold in the light.’

  ‘You ... didn’t you hit any of them?’ She found herself sharing his anger, his feeling of desperation against a foe so difficult to cope with.

  ‘Doubt it,’ he replied. ‘But we’ll find out. I’ve got to see how much damage the bastards did, although it doesn’t look too bad, for once.’

  He waved the sheepdog out and scooped up a flashlight before stepping through the fence to where the sheep were.

  Fiona followed on her own side of the fence, and reached the corner just as the dog brought in the balance of the flock for his master’s inspection.

  Dare quickly shunted away those obviously without injury, but there were several, Fiona saw through horrified eyes, that would never rejoin their fellows.

  Dare’s muttered curses were muted by the arrival of another vehicle, and then joined as his farm worker hopped the fence and came over to him.

  Fiona couldn’t stay; she turned away and retreated to Dare’s truck, the evening’s dinner now rebelling in her stomach and tears streaming from her eyes. She was huddled in the passenger seat when he finally returned and began the trip back to the homestead in silence.

  ‘You want coffee, or just to go home?’ he asked as they arrived back. ‘I’m sorry you had to see that; shouldn’t really have let you come.’

  ‘I’ve seen it before,’ she replied, ‘although never quite so graphically, I must admit. And yes, I think I’d really rather go home if you don’t mind. It’s late, and ... well...’

  ‘Yeah. The tone of the evening’s spoiled just a bit, isn’t it?’ he replied, an edge of bitterness — or was it mockery? — in his voice.

  ‘That’s not really true,’ Fiona replied. ‘It was a lovely meal, and a ... a ... generous gesture you provided to help me get out of my foul mood. I’m just sorry it had to end as it did.’

  ‘Not half as sorry as that damned red setter if I’d got a decent shot at him,’ Dare growled. ‘That’s the third time I’ve missed him, but he can’t lead a charmed life forever.’

  They drove the rest of the way to Fiona’s in silence but a sideways glance at the grinding, working muscles at Dare’s jaw revealed his continuing anger at the roving dog pack.

  When they arrived to find Fiona’s own three still safe in their kennel, she breathed an unnecessary sigh of relief that they couldn’t even be accused of involvement in the raid.

  Dare’s mood also seemed to change slightly as they arrived in the driveway. The tension was less obvious, the anger blunted.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to be involved in that,’ he said, just after turning off the engine. ‘It’s never pretty, and I know that with your feelings about dogs it must seem pretty awful to see somebody shooting at them like that, but…’

  ‘You don’t have to apologise for anything,’ she said, reaching out to place her fingers on his muscular forearm. ‘I also know that you didn’t enjoy it; you like dogs as much as I do.’

  She could feel the tension drain away under her fingers as he sighed and then replied, ‘I do; that’s the hard part. If I could shoot the bloody owners of these roving menaces, I would, although of course it isn’t possible. It isn’t the dogs’ fault, but they’re the ones who cop it, even on the rare occasions we can track them home.’

  He lit a cigarette and sat silent for a moment, staring out of the windscreen at the looming shape of Fiona’s cottage against the night sky. And when he did speak, it was to change the subject abruptly and totally.

  ‘Your house holds ghosts for me; did you know that?’ he asked without preamble. Fiona had no answer, and in any event was given no time to voice one.

  ‘I grew up convinced the original Miss Boyd was having it off with my old man,’ he mused, almost speaking to himself, she thought. ‘I hated him for that; it was one of the main reasons I didn’t come back after university. And in a way, I think now because my mother conditioned me to think so, I always had the feeling he’d given away part of my heritage here.’

  ‘Perhaps he did,’ Fiona replied, careful to keep her voice and tone neutral. Dare may have heard, or may not have. He continued speaking almost as if she hadn’t.

  ‘When I was younger, and most of the time while I was in South America, the heritage aspect didn’t really matter much to me, as such,’ he said. ‘I was aware, of course, that someday I would inherit the family property, but it wasn’t a real thing, if you know what I mean. It wasn’t until the parents died that I suddenly realised just how much of a responsibility was involved here.’

  ‘Not here,’ she corrected without thinking. ‘Here is mine, remember.’ And thought, Mine? It would be all too easy to think otherwise, but she dared not ... would not!

  ‘Yours,’ he replied, but it wasn’t an admission, much less an acceptance. He wasn’t, Fiona sensed, really speaking to her at all; he was lost in thoughts that were somehow being vocalised, but she wasn’t at all sure he realised it.

  ‘I hated her,’ he said, and she didn’t need a map to realise he was speaking about her home’s former owner, the original Miss Boyd. ‘My mother hated her and so did I.’ But now his own hate sounded less certain and his next statement confirmed that.

  ‘Of course, 1 was younger then. Now ... well, now I sort of wonder,’ he said, and by leaning forward slightly Fiona could see the fixed, vacant aura of his stare.

  She wasn’t sure he even realised she was there with him, was even less sure if she wanted him to. This, she thought, was far too personal, far too intimate a situation. She didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to be privy to such a soul-searching. It would put conditions, restrictions, even chain
s upon their relationship, and she didn’t want that, wouldn’t have it.

  Neighbours, fine. But she didn’t dare let herself become any more involved with this man, not with his ghosts and his memories and his autocratic way of stepping in to control and manage her life. His fixation about her property — her property — frightened her. His openness frightened her even more.

  1 may have to hate him, she thought, and how can you hate a man who’s shown you his soul?

  Then she shook herself mentally. This was getting quite out of hand, she thought. It was the middle of the night; she’d had a long and arduous day and tomorrow would likely be worse, not better.

  ‘I’d better be going in,’ she said, then repeated it, louder this time, when he didn’t appear to hear.

  ‘Yes, yes, I guess you’d better,’ he finally replied, turning to look at her with eyes that made her wonder if he’d just realised she was there at all.

  ‘You’ve had a hell of a day, and not much better a night,’ he added. ‘I hope it doesn’t give you nightmares or anything.’

  ‘So do I,’ Fiona replied, and pushed open the passenger door of the utility vehicle. As she did so, Dare took her free hand in his own sinewy fingers and lifted it to his lips, his eyes capturing Fiona’s as he did so.

  She tensed inwardly, certain he would pull her towards him, certain he would kiss her, certain she wanted him to but not at all certain why. But he didn’t.

  ‘Sleep tight,’ he murmured, and watched as she clambered from the vehicle and up to her front porch.

  By the time she had the door unlocked, he was gone, leaving her to the company of the dogs and the waning night and, eventually, the very nightmares he’d worried about. Nightmares of slavering hounds and fleeing sheep and gunshots in the dark. They were brief and didn’t come until almost morning.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Morning brought little improvement, either to Fiona’s mood or, indeed, to her circumstances.

  She was wakened by the telephone, insistent in strident tones that she must fling off her covers and rush to answer it.

  The tones of her ex-landlord were even more strident.

  ‘The whole deal’s fallen through, and it’s all your fault,’ he began, hardly even waiting for her hello. ‘All your fault!’

  ‘But…’ She got no further. He was in full rage now, had obviously been rehearsing his attack and had every aspect down pat.

  ‘Don’t trouble to deny it,’ he shrieked. ‘You deliberately left the place open and you deliberately arranged with those hoodlums to vandalise it. You did it because I wouldn’t renew your lease — you did!’

  ‘Please, you must listen to me,’ she pleaded, having to shout into the telephone, her voice high-pitched in a mixture of anger and shock. ‘1 didn’t…’

  ‘You did! You’re a spiteful, vindictive little bitch,’ he raged. ‘But don’t think you’ll get away with this. I warn you … I’ll fix you ... I’ll get even.’

  ‘But I didn’t,’ she cried. ‘I damned well didn’t. I locked up just as I always have.’

  ‘Oh, I can’t prove it, of course. You made sure of that.’ His voice was smarmy now, reeking with innuendo and hurt feelings. ‘But 1 know. I’ve got firsthand information. And let me tell you, Miss Boyd, that your reputation is finished. Finished! Do you hear me? I’ll make sure you never rent another premises in Hobart ever, again.’

  ‘What do you mean — first-hand information?’ Fiona felt a cold shudder through her empty tummy at this insinuation. What could he know? And, perhaps more important, who would have given him this damning information?

  ‘Never you mind,’ he replied, voice dripping with the satisfaction that he’d finally got to her, that he had her worried now. ‘Just never you mind. It’ll come out ...it’ll all come out in the end, and then you’ll see.’

  ‘But I don’t see,’ she replied, trying to force patience into her tone, trying to stay calm, reasonable. She had to! Dealing with this man, she’d found in the past, was hard enough when he wasn’t upset; agitated as he was now, it would be virtually impossible. She had to try and calm him down.

  ‘You will see ... my very word you will,’ was his reply, a reply fairly dripping with venom. ‘I have it on very good authority that you deliberately let those hoons wreck my building, and once I get the proof, well ... you just wait, my girl, you just wait!’

  ‘Whose authority?’ Fiona demanded. ‘I want to know; I have a right to know. Somebody is lying about me, and I want to know who it is.’

  ‘You’ll find out. Just as soon as the police catch those young hooligans and get a confession. Then you’ll find out, and so will everybody else. There won’t be any question then, and there won’t be any advantage batting those innocent eyes and playing innocent, because everybody will know...’

  It got worse after that. Much worse. Fiona suddenly realised — and was astonished not to have seen it before — that her ex-landlord’s attitude towards her was based not so much on the recent incident of vandalism, but on some deep-seated and obviously long-standing sexual frustration, one she’d never before noticed.

  Or just ignored, she thought. Maybe I’ve been too blase about such things, because it’s something I should have noticed; it isn’t something that should be part of any kind of business relationship without being noticed.

  But it was too late for such hindsight now. Already the man’s vituperation was bordering on the obscene and Fiona’s temper was rising to meet it.

  ‘That’s enough!’ she finally shrieked into the telephone. ‘Enough — do you hear me? You’re a dirty-minded, nasty little pervert of a thing and I won’t listen to this ... this filth for another instant. And don’t you ever .. .ever phone me again. Not ever!’

  There was a marginal satisfaction in slamming down the telephone so hard it must have hurt his ears, but really, she thought as she trudged through the routine of making her morning coffee and toast, the satisfaction was only just marginal.

  Far more significant was the implications of the man’s call! Could he have information that would implicate her in the vandalism? He couldn’t, Fiona thought. Unless, of course, somebody wanted her implicated, had perhaps arranged the entire thing with exactly that in mind.

  ‘It just doesn’t make any sense,’ she sighed after relating the morning’s happenings to her lawyer later in the day. ‘I accept that I might — might! — have forgotten to lock up properly. I don’t think that’s what happened, but OK, let’s say it did. That’s still no excuse for his coming out and directly accusing me of being involved in the vandalism itself. Is it?’

  John was his usual laconic self, and even as she spoke he was staring out of his office window at the tower clock atop the T&G building over the road. He seemed to have a fascination with that clock, Fiona had often noticed in the past.

  ‘I think I’d better have a talk to him,’ John finally said. ‘It sounds like he’s just overwrought by the deal’s falling through, but that’s no excuse for outright abuse.’

  ‘What you have to consider, I’m afraid,’ Fiona replied with a sigh, ‘is that it’s all really just an excuse.’

  ‘Which means what? Have you been overdosing on cryptic crossword puzzles or something?’

  ‘It means that he’s ... well ... I think he’s had some fairly personal ideas all this time, and now he’s all shirty because I didn’t notice,’ she muttered. ‘I guess he could have handled outright rejection, but being ignored is just too much for him.’

  John’s laughter did nothing for her mood.

  ‘It isn’t damned well funny,’ she snapped. ‘I can handle being accused of something I didn’t do, even if I’m not a hundred per cent sure I didn’t do it, but add this bastard’s outright maliciousness into the bargain and I’m not at all sure what he might manage.’

  ‘He’ll manage nothing,’ was the reply. ‘The man’s known for his ignorance and nobody who matters is going to listen to him. And if he does start mouthing off too much, we’ll slap
a writ on him; he’s got the money to make it worthwhile.’

  ‘That is the absolute last thing I want,’ Fiona cried. ‘I know you lawyers think differently about such things, but mud sticks and I won’t have a bar of that sort of thing. 1 hope that’s clear.’

  ‘There could be a juicy settlement in it.’

  ‘No!’

  Her day at work wasn’t any great improvement, but at least, she thought at the end of it, her ex-landlord hadn’t bothered telephoning her there.

  Nor did he continue his harassment during the remainder of the week, so she assumed he’d been warned off by the threat of legal proceedings. Unfortunately, none of that did anything to improve her memory of the night the warehouse was vandalised, and the fear that she just might have been responsible continued to haunt her.

  The weekend, thankfully, was a mighty improvement in all regards. Her students all arrived on time for their final lessons, and most expressed delight in the situation of training out of doors with heaps of room and, luckily, splendid weather.

  ‘It would be great to train here like this even in the evenings, at least during summer,’ said one of the Afghan owners. ‘It’s so lovely and quiet.’

  Fiona, who would personally have preferred it if this particular handler had announced she’d be training somewhere else ... anywhere else ... could only nod her agreement.

  She had spent the first class in absolute terror that somebody would let a dog go, that the dog would somehow penetrate Dare Fraser’s newly improved fencing to the sheep beyond.

  It didn’t happen, didn’t so much as look like happening, but Fiona’s nerves stayed on edge throughout the first class. By the second she was better; by the third quite relaxed about the whole thing.

  Even the sight of an approaching rider didn’t faze her. Until she realised it was that woman again.

  As the figure of Consuela Diaz, tarted up to a level of fashion far beyond the circumstances, approached, Fiona’s attention swung from the rider to her students and her nerves strained with every pace of the handsome bay horse.