“Not just now. I’m tired of saving Kate's virtue. Why don't we take Lady down to the river for a bit, instead?”
“That's not going to get the book finished!”
“No, but it’s going to mean I can go to the dog trials next weekend without the bloody dog totally disgracing me. Lady has been missing out since I let you get involved in this book.”
“Let me get involved? I would remind you, Geoffrey Barrett, that you practically got down on your knees and begged me to help you with your book.”
“Semantics,” he said dismissively. “Now go find your gumboots and let’s get to it. Time’s a’wastin’.”
No sense arguing when Geoff was in this sort of mood, Bess thought, and went off to find her gumboots.
That day set the pattern for the rest of the week. Whatever else Geoff did in the mornings, they religiously took a portion of the afternoon to go dog training. Lady was delighted. She could recognize the route to Hobler’s Bridge, and also knew that gumboots and a whistle and hat meant it was to be her sort of trip. Every time they got ready to go, she danced round the Land Cruiser, waiting for the rear doors to be opened, ecstatic in her joyous activity.
By Friday the constant repetition was starting to show signs of having some effect. Lady fairly flew through her exercises, running the hundred fifty yards from Geoff to the dummy without faltering, then returning to deliver properly to hand. Except for her habit of wanting to sit on Geoff's feet when she delivered, instead of sitting properly in front of him, she was perfection..
Laughing at the dog's foolish foot fetish, Bess stood beside the river. For quite some time she'd been throwing dummies into heavy cover while Geoff was well down the walking track, working Lady from there.
The next dummy Bess hurled flew higher and farther than usual, landing almost in the water amidst the heaviest of reedy cover, just before the track gave way to a short-cut lawn area beneath and alongside the bridge.
Lady, as expected, dashed down the track and into the cover, bounding in the high, springing leaps of her breed. Then she halted, barking and growling in a manner Bess had never before heard from the sweet-tempered dog. Bess started forward to see what was wrong, only to have Geoff shout at her to keep back in case it was a snake. He was making speed of his own, charging up the track and calling to the dog as he ran. But for all the difference it made, he could have saved his breath. Lady was fiercely upset now, and sounded it.
Geoff had almost reached Bess’s side when the cause of the alarm suddenly became obvious. A very tall, tough looking man rose from the thicket where Lady had been spooked, and began to pick his way through the cover towards them. At the same time, he stuffed what appeared to be a handkerchief into his pocket.
“Sorry if I muddled your dog,” he said in a friendly enough fashion. “Just... uh... a call of nature. You understand.”
And without waiting to see if they did, he walked quickly toward the parking lot, where a new-looking Holden squatted next to Geoff’s Land Cruiser. Geoff watched him go, then gazed down at the dog, who was still bristling.
“Ah well,” he sighed. “No sense going on with this now. It’ll take my little sausage here the rest of the afternoon to settle down. Funny, though. She doesn’t make a habit of getting upset with strangers, except when she’s home guarding the yard. Normally, she’d beat someone to death with her tail if she ran into them out here.”
“I think she was surprised. I know I was,” Bess said, and promptly forgot about the incident until they reached Geoff's Land Cruiser and found the man sitting behind the wheel of his car, obviously in no hurry to leave. He waved casually, then turned away and began looking through some papers.
“Salesman taking a break, I suppose,” Geoff said, as they departed for home. “Tough looking sort, though, wasn’t he?”
Ten minutes later, the tough looking sort’s partner made his way back to the car and jumped into the passenger seat. “Damn mongrel dog,” he practically spat. “I thought it was going to have me for tea, until it decided to start in on you.”
“Damn good thing you were able to stay hidden,” the driver replied. “I told them I was taking a bog. They weren’t even a bit suspicious. But I’m beginning to think this is no place to try and snatch the girl. That dog makes it just about impossible.” Reaching into his pocket, he dragged out the ether-soaked rag, glanced at it with disgust, then tossed it out the window. “And I’m not happy about using this. I'd rather clip her across the jaw, when the time comes.”
“Coolidge said no damage to the merchandise. And I’ll tell you straight, I’m not about to get that bloke pissed off with me.”
“Coolidge pays well, which is the only reason I put up with him. If not for the money, I’d tell him where to get off. But a quid’s a quid’s a quid.” Starting the car, the driver proceeded carefully toward their motel, maintaining the speed limit since it wouldn't do to get stopped for speeding. “Don’t go all jittery on me, mate,” he said, darting a quick glance toward his partner, who was twitching in the passenger seat as if he had to take a bog. “We’ll lift the bitch next time, and I don't mean the bloody dog.”
CHAPTER NINE
The insistent jangle of the telephone sounded more hostile with each repetitive ring, and Bess simply couldn't ignore it anymore. Tearing her gaze away from the computer screen, she toed her chair across the plywood and picked up the receiver.
“Hi there, Colorado, what are you doing for lunch today?” Ida's husky voice had a certain cynical, sardonic quality, even over the phone.
“Did you want Geoff?” Bess couldn’t imagine why Ida would be calling her.
“I’ve already had Geoff, darling.” That blatant statement was followed by an almost masculine chuckle, the low pitch bolstering Ida’s image as a man’s woman, a woman used to dealing with men on their own ground.
“Oh.” Bess couldn't think of anything else to say.
“Yes, oh. So, are you game for lunch or not?”
Not, Bess thought, but kept silent.
Ida chuckled again. “How about I come for you in half an hour? No need to dress up. Today we’ll go somewhere for the food, rather than showing off.”
Frustrated with Geoff's awkward attempts to re-characterize their heroine, anxious to take a break from editing a chapter that was “buggering off” in the wrong direction, Bess found herself agreeing. At the same time, she glanced down at her raggedy cut-offs and wondered what Ida would consider casual attire.
Not that it made much difference. As soon as she had set up her apartment in Colorado Springs, Bess had donated all her “respectable” clothes to Good Will. Whereupon, she'd deliberately established a reputation for looking unconventional, even quirky, in a haut monde Barbra-Streisand-thrift-shop manner. It was a reputation she preserved and treasured, despite the addition of her designer mini-skirt and top, a birthday gift from Mouse.
“Right... see you then.” Ida hung up without any farewell, leaving Bess staring at a silent telephone.
It was with a strange sense of satisfaction that she opened the passenger door to Ida’s Pajero and saw that her efforts to look offbeat hadn’t been in vain. She could never compete with Ida, who was resplendent in a figure-hugging jersey dress that stopped just short of being a top with a wide belt.
Still, Bess had to give Ida credit. The stunning blonde didn't show any reaction at all to Bess's Navy-issue sailor pants and the blue baseball jacket that bore a woeful BROOKLYN DODGERS on the back. Hefting herself up into the high vehicle, wriggling onto the passenger seat, Bess was startled to hear Ida's sudden burst of laughter.
“Is this what you call working gear, Colorado?” she asked. “If you wear this when you share a computer with Geoffrey, we’d best go to Hobart for lunch, and see if we can’t find you a chastity belt.”
“What do you mean?”
“You look almost as tasty as Gene Kelly in that movie about the three sailors who invade New York.”
“On The Town? I don't understand
.”
“Your butt, Colorado. Those trousers are tighter than paint. Hasn't Geoffrey ever been tempted to pinch your butt?”
“No. I told him I didn't like men pinching my butt.”
“And he listened?”
“Of course he listened.” Bess didn't bother to mention that Geoff had never seen her in these pants. Which, she now realized, molded her buttocks like a second skin. And, for the record, she admired Gene Kelly's rump as much as Ida did, even though Geoff would have given Gene a run for his money.
“Are you wearing anything under that jumper?” Ida asked.
“Jumper? Oh, you mean jacket. A cotton camisole. Why?”
“Ah well, I didn’t really fancy a pub lunch anyway. We’ll go find us somewhere posh, eh? Show off a bit and give the lads a treat.”
“I have no intention of taking my jacket off, Ida. It's a classic!”
“So are you, darling. And you will take your bloody jumper off,” she said.
Sounding, Bess thought, like Geoff when she insisted...no, begged him to make their “Flower” of Ballarat a tad more sedate. Having fended off the sadistic captain, Kate had suddenly evolved into a modern-day seductress – a modern-day Ida, actually – and although Bess had no objection to what Geoff called “Kate's trollop ploy,” this morning he'd gone too far. Unfortunately, by the time Bess discovered the anomaly he'd left for one of his damn business meetings.
Which was another irritant. What exactly did he do? Every time she asked, he side-stepped her questions.
Ida had barely hit the downtown area when her mood suddenly changed. The smile vanished along with her salty small-talk, and she took to keeping a steady eye on her rear-view mirrors.
“Have you been having any more problems over your way?” she eventually asked Bess, yanking the four-wheel-drive around a tight inner-city corner in one savage gesture.
“No, nothing that I know of. We left the bugs in place as you suggested, and we’ve been circumspect in what we say on the phone or in emails.”
“Hmmmm. Well, it might be me then. Here, steer this thing for a mini, but do it from the bottom of the wheel so they can't see you’re doing it.”
With no more warning than that, she let go of the steering wheel and began fumbling in her huge handbag, her manicured fingers emerging a moment later with a cell phone. “Just keep going straight,” she said, reaching down to punch in a number. When it was answered, she mumbled into the phone so quietly that Bess could pick up only the occasional word. After a brief conversation, Ida dropped the phone on the seat beside her and took over the driving again, abruptly switching lanes as if she'd changed her mind about something.
“Lunch at the Rosevears pub... bloody waste in this sort of gear but can't be helped,” she remarked, heading for the West Tamar highway and keeping an eye on her mirrors at the same time.
To Bess, it seemed as if Ida was actually ensuring that whoever was following could keep them in view, although her driving was so skillful it didn’t appear that way. When Bess asked, she got one of those incredible smiles.
“But of course, darling,” Ida said. “How else are we going to find out what they’re up to? And don’t you dare glance back! I want everything to look as innocent as possible.”
They had barely swung through the roundabout at Legana when a police car passed them, headed in the opposite direction. “Bloody wonderful,” Ida exclaimed, stamping on the accelerator. “With any luck at all, we’ll be able to high-tail it for Exeter and swing round home on the back roads. The Rosevears Pub is a fine place with excellent tucker, but I really did fancy somewhere a bit more posh, and now we can manage it.” She glanced in her mirrors again. “It’s okay to look round now, Colorado. Our ‘friends’ have just found themselves caught up in a small traffic check, which should keep them busy for a while.”
Bess turned to see two men engaged in an agitated discussion with a patrolman.
“You organized that, I take it?”
“They were driving like idiots,” Ida replied with a throaty chuckle. “They deserved to be stopped.”
Not long afterwards, she and Bess were being shown to a choice view table at Hallam’s Waterfront Restaurant. A reserved sign was moved to free up the table for Ida, obviously a well-known and valued customer. Although she certainly hadn't been intimidated – or cowed! – by the exquisite blonde, Bess grudgingly removed her jacket and slung it over the back of her chair.
“As good seafood as you’ll get anywhere in town,” Ida said. “Your camisole is rather prim, Colorado, even though it shows your breasts off nicely. Still, if you’re going to wear those trousers around Geoffrey’s office, I suggest you have the oysters.”
Feeling self-conscious in her “prim camisole,” Bess spent the entire meal fending off Ida’s remarks.
“I reckon you’re just what the old bugger needs,” she said at one point, uttering the words around a mouthful of fresh fish. “You’re the right age, you’re beautiful, smart, you’ve got similar interests, and... well... I guess you can’t help being a Yank.”
“Is being a Yank such an awful thing?”
“Naw... not awful, really. America has such a powerful influence in the world overall, it’s only natural people are envious, sometimes even cranky. Don’t worry about it, Colorado. As far as you're concerned, I was joking.”
Occasionally, Ida could be so blunt that it was hard to decide how to take her. And yet, Bess suddenly realized, she instinctively liked Ida... even trusted her.
“Okay, Colorado,” Ida said, “let’s change the subject. When are you going to trip darling Geoffrey and beat him to the floor? It hasn’t happened yet. I’d know if it had by the look in your eye, dear, and although I suppose you’ve been told this before, I would kill for those eyes of yours. Give us a look at your game plan. It’ll give me something nice to go to sleep by, thinking of poor Geoffrey getting what’s coming to him. He’s already smitten. I suppose you realize that...”
She stopped, staring hard at Bess as if trying to memorize her.
“You don’t realize it, do you? You think you’re the only one who’s smitten. Bloody oath, Bess! There’s the poor bugger going round with his tongue hanging out and you can’t even see it. Did you think he’s so close to his damned dog, he pants like that all the time?”
“Ida...”
“Yes, I know. You’re a very genteel young lady, for a Yank, and I’m making you uncomfortable.”
“No, it's not that. I mean, yes, sometimes you make me feel uncomfortable, but I was going to ask you why you invited me to lunch?”
“I could say I wanted to stir...tease you, Bess. But the truth is, I don't have many women friends. In fact, I don't have any women friends. I know I can be rough as guts sometimes. It’s a hangover from my years as a cleaner, and before that, back home, when I was a courier. Neither are jobs for the faint-hearted, and you get into the habit of using the kind of language you hear around you.”
“Stop it, Ida. Your language doesn’t bother me in the least. Neither does your directness. It’s just that there are things about me I’d rather not share. Can we be friends without the usual this-is-my-life confession?”
“Suits me. I won't share, either. But I am, and always will be, a snoop who ought to know better. Hell, I do know better, but it doesn’t stop me mouthing off. And since I got this security business going, I’m afraid my curiosity bump has grown bigger and bigger.”
“I’ll trade you my eyes for your smile,” Bess said.
Ida laughed, a huge, gurgling, throaty laugh that erupted straight from her tummy. “My, my, you are a piece of work, aren’t you? I don’t envy my darling Geoffrey when you finally get him in your sights.”
They had just finished ordering dessert when there was a ring-a-ling from inside Ida's capricious handbag. She grabbed up her cell phone and strode outside to ensure better reception. Watching through the window, Bess could see from the flickering range of expressions on Ida’s face that whatever she was heari
ng, it wasn’t exactly good news.
“Sydney heavies,” Ida said upon her return. “Standover men of the worst sort,” she added, looking at Bess through blue eyes gone agate hard. “Of course there was no mention of them following us. The copper wouldn’t have asked, for starters. But this is hardly a tourist destination for standover merchants from the Big Smoke, not at this time of year and not without some appropriate female company, although they could easily enough buy that here, I suppose. Still, it's strange. Very strange.”
She sat down, ordered coffee for them both, then turned to Bess again as the waitress moved out of earshot.
“You haven’t been up no good, have you? My first impression was that it had to be me they were following, but now I’m not so sure. We didn’t pick them up until after I’d collected you.”
“Me? I'm simply collaborating with Geoff on his book. There can’t be anything sinister in that. The book is total fiction, not an exposure of any kind. It’s set back in the Victorian gold field era.”
“And you, personally? Nothing hanging around in your past? An estranged husband?”
“My husband...died.”
“I'm sorry, Bess. How about a pissed-off wife of somebody you’ve been... ah... involved with? No, strike that. You’re not the type.”
“Thank you, I think. But no, there's absolutely nothing like that.”
Briefly, Bess wondered about her father with his world-wide network of informants and spies and industrial espionage people. But that made no sense. Her father wouldn't go out of his way to cause problems just because she’d escaped his corporate-hooker scheme. Besides, by now his “British suitor” had surely targeted another heiress. Bess had often heard War Cornwall compared to Howard Hughes, going after the things he wanted with an insane vengeance. As Father aged, he even exhibited a few Hughes fetishes. But blood was thicker than...what? Oil? Diamonds? Kangaroo pelts?
“Geoffrey then?” Ida took a sip of her coffee. “It’s the only logical explanation if we eliminate the two of us.”
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