‘That big sook a proper gun-dog? Oh, come now, Miss McLean. I may look gullible, but I know more about dogs than that,’ he replied with a harsh laugh.
‘You’re worse than gullible, you’re chauvinistic and blind and a little stupid as well,’ Alix snapped, ‘and you still haven’t explained what Nick hunting or not hunting has to do with this stupid idea you have of me teaching at the kiddies’ obedience school.’
Quinn drew a deep breath, an action which brought his massive throat muscles into bold relief above the neat knot of his tie. ‘All right, Miss McLean, let me clarify it,’ he retorted. ‘What I’m saying is this: you’ve spent a great deal of time working your dog in obedience. You do it well. You have ignored, obviously, his potential in the work he was bred for — which I might remind you is hunting, not playing silly games on the trials circuit, but that is neither here nor there. What I’m saying is that you have a reasonable empathy with children, you like dogs, and you should think it rather generous of me to volunteer you to help both by helping out at the Fred Bassett school. Actually, I thought you’d be pleased to help, but I see I was wrong in that regard. Too bad! Because you’re going to help, whether you like it or not. That is an order to you from your employer. Miss McLean, and you will obey it.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘If you don’t, I shall very likely be extremely disappointed in you, and I shall be very angry with you, and I shall make you regret it deeply. Is that clear?’
‘It’s perfectly clear,’ Alix replied with a calm that surprised her.
Then she squared her shoulders and lowered her voice a notch as she faced him with her ultimatum. ‘But I would like it clearly understood that I don’t like your insinuations about my dog, who is every bit as good a hunter as your dog, Mr Tennant. And what’s more I fully expect you to apologise for your snide remarks. You may think that hunting is the be-all and end-all of a GSP’s existence, but I happen to think differently, and I think my dog would agree with me. At least he’s only confined to a kennel when it’s absolutely necessary, which is more than can be said for some poor dogs I know.’
Which was a low blow and Alix knew it, because she knew very well that Quinn spent almost as much time with his own dog as she did with Nick, except that Anna didn’t sleep in the house. But she was so angry, and so frustrated at being unable to avoid his order to help Michelle and thus lay herself open to pettiness and sniping that she really didn’t need, that she used every weapon available.
‘And besides,’ she concluded with a confidence she didn’t feel, ‘I don’t know how you can say Nick isn’t a good hunter. You’ve never seen him hunt.’
‘Well, that’s easily enough arranged,’ he said with a smirk Alix had already come to realise meant trouble. ‘We’re holding a combined utility trial and non-slip retrieving trial in a couple of weeks. Shall I enter him for you ... and we’ll see just how good a hunter he really is?’
‘By all means,’ she retorted. And when she saw the look of smug satisfaction in his eye she laughed inwardly with a smugness of her own and thanked her lucky stars she had never revealed to the autocratic Quinn Tennant that Nick had gone hunting with her since he was three months old, was an accomplished retriever, and that she herself was a better-than-average shot. Why mention it now? It would be only that much more satisfactory for Quinn Tennant to find out, when the time was right, that her father had been a good enough hunter to train his daughter and his dogs to also enjoy the sport.
Fair enough, Nick had never been involved in proper, organised field trials. Nor had Alix, but she had been shooting quail and ducks since she was old enough to hold up a twelve-bore shotgun, and she had worked with dogs under her father’s careful guidance long before Nick had come along.
And, what Quinn didn’t know, was that Nick was perhaps the best gun-dog she had ever worked with, better by far than the various Labrador retrievers that her father had trained before eventually switching to German Short-haired Pointers after their first introduction to Australia.
Oh, how she longed to lash out at Quinn Tennant — to tell him to look at Anna’s pedigree, which she had seen, and to tell him that her grandparents on both sides had been bred in her father’s own kennels. That would make him sit up and take notice!
But she wouldn’t ... not now. Far better to wait until these wretched trials and then make him eat his words. Not that it would do the slightest bit of good with the first problem ...
‘Not that any of this alters my decision about your helping with the Fred Bassett school, of course,’ Quinn said then.
‘Oh no, of course not,’ Alix replied. ‘But I do wish you’d understand that I don’t object to helping with the school; It’s just that I don’t like being ordered to do it.’
‘Fair enough. I therefore rescind the order," he said with a grin. ‘My dear Alix, would you please, as a favour to me and to the other members of the organising committee, agree to lend us your wisdom and experience to help instruct the children involved in this school?’
It was smarmy and deliberately so, but it was a distinct withdrawal from his early autocratic attitude. ‘Of course,’ Alix replied with saccharine sweetness. ‘I’d be very happy to help, and thank you for giving me the time off to do so.’
And she left Quinn’s office with a slight feeling of having resolved the issue with at least some saving of face. Not that it made her any more pleased at being delegated to help Michelle build up her own image in Quinn’s eyes, and when Alix reported at the Lions’ Park below the main city traffic bridge for the first session of the Fred Bassett School, she found her worst fears immediately justified.
Michelle, looking quite resplendent in a fiery orange jumpsuit that was far too expensive for the job at hand, made it abundantly clear to Alix and the other helpers that she intended only to fill an executive role.
It was no surprise indeed when she drew Alix aside before the sessions began to say, ‘Personally I’m very glad Quinn volunteered you for this little job, Alix. I’m sure you’re very good with children, and I, quite frankly, can’t abide the little horrors. Yeeeech! And look at all these scruffy mongrels they’ve brought with them. I shouldn’t get too close to any of them, or you’ll find yourself taking entire families of fleas and things home with you.’
Michelle’s concept of herself as merely an administrator fell through, however, as the appointed hour approached and the children with their dogs just kept on arriving. Where fewer than a hundred children had been expected, there were now several dozen more than that, and Michelle had no choice but to take a hand herself.
Alix had to stifle a giggle when a monstrous, shaggy animal of questionable parentage introduced himself to Michelle by planting enormous muddy paws on her bosom, almost knocking the woman to the ground. But she had her own share of difficulties, as did all the volunteers, with the sheer numbers of children and dogs.
In theory it was relatively simple. The children were to be taught basic obedience work—how to train their dogs to behave reasonably well on a leash, to make them sit and accept the rudiments of heeling and simple control. In practice it was less simple, but within a few minutes Alix was happily involved and rather enjoying herself
This first day would be the worst, she knew. By the third day they would have lost several young dog owners to more exciting holiday activities, leaving only those with a definite and sincere interest. But first she would have to get them through the initial class without undue difficulty.
Theoretically, the youngest of the would-be handlers was ten years of age, but Alix strongly suspected there were a few who wouldn’t see that decade mark for a year or so, and she had most of the younger ones in her group. Michelle had chosen the oldest stratum of the flock, and had spent the first ten minutes of her session playing up her sergeant-major role, much to the amusement of her young charges and the other instructors.
Towards the end of the first day’s session, the youngsters and their dogs were moving along well
together, bar the expected few who had no conception of the word discipline. Alix’s crew, perhaps because of being somewhat younger, were more amenable to the instruction, and she was justifiably pleased at that. It was less easy for Michelle, and a casual glance at her class caused Alix to suck in her breath as the two groups marched nearer to each other.
Leading Michelle’s group was a tall, scrubby-looking youth with a bull terrier whose vicious eye had caught Alix’s attention. He was eyeing every other dog with a look that spelled trouble, and Alix called across to Michelle before the two groups got too close.
‘Better keep an eye on that fellow. He looks to be just spoiling for a fight.’ And Alix veered her class just far enough away to avoid getting too close to the bull terrier and his evil glance.
‘You just worry about your own group, if you don’t mind,’ Michelle snapped in return, and A ix looked back in horror to see the other woman directing her group even closer to the next one in line.
There was nothing Alix could do about it; she knew the other volunteers had heard the exchange or were equally aware of the bull terrier’s pugnacious attitude, but nobody had even as much control of Michelle as the young lout sneeringly maintained on his stout little dog. The bull terrier would be given every chance to display his inherent fighting abilities, Alix feared, and his young master would probably only laugh.
Two minutes later her worst suspicions were confirmed. The last young handler in Alix’s class was a slender, diminutive child with an enormous dog which he had shyly told her was a cross between an Irish Setter and a Doberman Pinscher. Rusty was aptly named for his colour, and despite his size he was a quiet, extremely well-mannered animal. With his setter colouring and short, tidy coat, he was also an attractive dog despite his non-specific breeding.
He was also a full-grown male, adult dog, as was the bull terrier, and Alix realised too late that Michelle was not one to miss such an obvious potential for trouble.
Alix’s back was turned when the terrier, apparently without warning, made a sudden leap at Rusty, clamping his enormous jaw on the other dog’s ear. She turned at the squeal of alarm from the red dog and the cry of anger and fear from his young handler, and fought her way through the growing throng of young people and their dogs until she could reach the centre of the action.
The fight was already over; the bull terrier had been pulled away by his owner, who stood smirking his reflected superiority and almost daring anybody to object. But Rusty was shrieking his anger and hurt, and Alix knelt beside his weeping owner to find that the big dog was missing a small nick from one droopy ear.
She reached out for the dog’s choke-chain collar, speaking softly to try and soothe him. Every time he shook his great head, spatters of blood flicked over Alix and the young lad, but she saw immediately the wound wasn’t too serious in itself. The real problem would be in the undisciplined crowding of observers; the bull terrier was growling ominously and eyeing the throng in search of a fresh victim, and Alix stood up long enough to call on the other volunteers to disperse the young people and for somebody to bring the first-aid kit from her car.
‘I have one here,’ growled a familiar voice beside her, and she found Quinn Tennant kneeling to personally inspect the damage. Behind him, a slightly mocking grin on her face, stood Michelle, conveniently out of range of the blood which had already ruined Alix’s blouse and jeans.
‘Really, Alex ... I did warn you about getting too close to that bull terrier,’ she hissed, and Alix looked up in shock at the woman’s deliberate two-faced lie. Then she was being pushed aside by Quinn, who shot her a furious glance as he struggled to stem the flow of blood from the red dog’s ear.
‘...really thought she’d know better, Quinn darling,’ Michelle was crooning witch-fashion, and Alix felt the words drumming into her numbed brain. ‘…don’t know why you couldn’t have sent somebody just a bit more experienced ... shocking lack of responsibility ... sure the parents ...’
Alix thrust herself to her feet. She couldn’t bear to hear any more of this, she thought. But how could she oppose such a deliberately malicious attack? Already Quinn had lifted the dog and was carrying it to his Range Rover with the young owner following behind him. That single look had told her he thought it totally her fault, and nothing she could say would change his mind, that was certain.
Fighting back her exasperated tears, she joined the other instructors in the task of dismissing the youngsters and ensuring they knew the time and requirements for the next day’s session. Quinn drove off with Rusty and his master, presumably to the vet, and Alix noticed a smug Michelle ensconced in the front passenger seat.
‘See you tomorrow,’ one of the other club members shouted with a head-shaking gesture of sympathy, and Alix nodded a reply that was far more certain than she felt. It wasn’t likely, she thought, that she’d be there the next day at all.
When she got home, it took her some time to soak the blood stains from her blouse and jeans, but once that was done she was able to take a long shower and reflect on the incident with a bit more perspective. She cooked herself a light dinner and then walked Nick until almost dark, but there was still no sign of Quinn.
She would watch for his return, and when he arrived she would attempt some explanation, she decided. Not that there was any real sense in trying to offset Michelle’s mischief, but at least she could find out how Rusty had fared. It took until nine o’clock before she saw the approaching car lights that signified Quinn’s return, and Alix, herself clean and fresh in a change of clothing, wondered if he had spent all this time in the bloodstained suit he had been wearing when she saw him last.
She presented herself at the door, trembling with a nervousness she couldn’t bother to conceal, and when it opened to reveal a stern-looking Quinn, Alix blurted out her reason for being there.
‘I just came ... is ... is die dog all right?’ she stammered, almost cowering beneath his hard-eyed gaze.
‘He’ll survive,’ was the chilling response, and Quinn stepped back as if to close the door.
Alix squared her shoulders; she was determined to at least have a try at explaining.
‘It shouldn’t have happened, I know ... she began, only to be cut off.
‘It certainly should not!’
‘Well, it wasn’t my fault,’ Alix snapped, her control shattered by his icy response. Then she looked up to see, behind him, the unmistakable sheen of glossy dark hair and a wicked, foxy grin. Michelle was here! Blindly, Alix turned away, ignoring Quinn’s response.
Breaking into a tear-blurred, panicky run, she rounded the corner of the house and sped past the kennels to the questionable sanctuary of her cottage.
It wasn’t until much later, when she lay awake and fretful, her sleep stolen by the trauma of the afternoon, that memory recalled his words. And then only spasmodically.
Had he said, ‘Oh ... no,’ in a typically scathing voice, or had it been ‘I know?’ Alix pondered that for some time, but she was asleep before her shattered composure could regain enough solidarity to try and work out the problem. And in the morning she was no closer to being sure.
She went to work expecting some opportunity to speak to Quinn without Michelle’s interfering presence, but he apparently was either away from the office or deliberately unavailable throughout the day. When it came time for Alix to slip home and change for the dog school, she hesitated only briefly before deciding to continue with her ‘volunteer’ duties.
‘And to hell with you if you don’t like it,’ she cursed aloud as she thrust herself into jeans and a T-shirt before driving away to begin another session with the children and Michelle.
Damned Michelle ... sneaky, cunning, devious, lying Michelle. Well, let her just try anything today and I’ll fix her! Alix vowed silently.
Fortunately, there was no need for quite so savage an attitude. Michelle was her usual conniving sweet self, but she was wise enough not to try and rub Alix’s nose in the defeat of the day before.
&
nbsp; Perhaps more important was the fact that the bull terrier wasn’t there at all, and Rusty showed up with a rather complimentary bandage on his injured ear. Young Geoff, the dog’s owner, was filled with praise at how Quinn Tennant had helped by driving them to the vet and then home to explain the accident to the child’s mother.
‘I told him it wasn’t your fault, too, miss,’ the child affirmed, but Alix determined that Quinn either hadn’t heard or hadn’t listened; probably hadn’t believed it. Nothing else could explain his chilling attitude the night before, or was be prepared simply to accept his girl-friend’s lies?
I don’t care. I don’t care ... I don’t care ... I don’t care, she told herself over and over, trying miserably to convince herself against the deep hurt inside that clamoured aloud just how much she really did care. Even faced with the evidence, she couldn’t quite make herself believe that Quinn could be so totally, inhumanly blind. Unless he was simply a different person entirely when around Michelle ...
‘Hallo, young Geoff. And how’s Rusty? I see he doesn’t seem to be suffering too awfully much.’ Geoff’s face lit up at the greeting, but Alix, several feet away, shivered miserably and tried to keep her attention on the rest of the class.
As a gesture, it was entirely wasted, because the class was over for the day anyway, and Alix found herself with little choice but to join Quinn and the boy in their inspection of Rusty’s battle-scars. Before they could do more than exchange greetings, however, a silky voice announced the arrival of Michelle, and the end of any chance Alix might have to try and explain her position in the affair.
Quinn rose lithely to his feet as Geoff led the big dog away, and said to nobody in particular, ‘The dog’s well cared for. That ear should heal nicely, but I’m afraid he’ll carry the scars to the end of his days.’
‘Well, it’s just as well he isn’t a pure-bred dog, isn’t it,’ Michelle quipped. ‘I mean, it hardly matters; he’s just a mongrel.’
The Everywhere Man Page 10
