Code of Conduct

by Cheyenne Blue

  “No Thelma and Louise jokes.”

  “Not even a little one.” Michi’s enthusiasm bubbled down the line. “Brett and I will come by your room at six, and we’ll go eat.”

  Viva ended the call and threw the phone on the bed. The paused TV screen was still frozen on the lineswoman, Gabriela Mendaro. For a last moment, she studied the woman’s impassive face, the smooth skin, the arched brows, and the keen gaze.

  Michi’s words came back to her: Don’t dwell. She clicked off the TV and rose from the bed.

  Enough.

  Chapter 2

  Fifteen months later

  The engine of the sporty hatchback roared as Viva changed down to third gear for the tight bend. The tyres shivered on the gravel road, found grip, and the little car accelerated again. Outside, the air was hot and still, the gum trees drooping in the heat of early summer.

  As soon as she had a clear view of the single-lane road ahead, she pushed the car even faster. There wasn’t another vehicle in sight. The narrow road was a shortcut, generally overlooked in favour of the highway.

  Viva turned the radio louder, singing along to the catchy tune. She had travelled this road thousands of times over the years, first as a kid, when one of her parents drove her to the nearest tennis courts an hour away to practice, then as a teenager, when she returned from the Australian Institute of Sport in Canberra. But for all the hard work and her frantic life as a professional tennis player since, the swoops and curves of the gravel road home still had the power to excite her.

  She slowed for a washout, then accelerated again, leaving a choking cloud of dust. It hung in the air, a comet trail to mark her path.

  Going home. Her heart sang in anticipation. She pushed aside the underlying reason; like Scarlett O’Hara she would think about that tomorrow. Right now, she was looking forward to seeing her family again and to having a cold beer. Not necessarily in that order.

  The road erupted out of the forest onto the scrubby slope that descended the valley to Waggs Pocket. The sun blazed low, reflecting on the windscreen as she headed west. Viva fumbled for her water bottle and took a long draught.

  Focussed as she was on a drink, she only saw the sedan at the last second. It was parked haphazardly, blocking half of the single lane, its bonnet propped open. The driver stood further out, arms waving.

  Viva’s hands clenched on the steering wheel, and she braked hard. The hatchback fishtailed. She double-declutched into second and wrenched the steering wheel to the right, aiming the car at the long grass on the opposite side of the road. The hatchback bounced as the suspension bottomed out. Viva swerved back onto the road and came to a halt.

  Her breath hissed between her teeth in a long exhale. Bloody idiot. Obviously a townie. No bush person would park like that and then stand in the middle of the road to flag someone down. She would have stopped anyway to check all was okay; it was what one did in the bush.

  She reversed back through the dust cloud to where the driver waited—this time by the side of the road.

  Viva opened her window. “You okay?” She couldn’t see the driver clearly, but it seemed to be a woman, short and slightly built.

  “Thank you for stopping.” The woman stepped over and bent to peer inside the car. “I did not think you were going to.” With the sun behind her, she was a silhouette. Her English was fluent but heavily accented.

  “No worries.” Viva squinted through the dust and glare. “What’s wrong with your car?”

  The woman shrugged. “I do not know. It ran rough, then stalled and would not restart. It’s a rental.”

  Viva unbuckled her seatbelt and exited. Outside, she dwarfed the other woman by a head. She stepped aside so she could see her more clearly.

  The stranger moved too, and the sunlight fell clearly on her face.

  Viva froze. No. What were the odds of that? Of meeting her here? In Australia, in Queensland, in the middle of bloody nowhere? She gritted her teeth, and for a second the uncharitable urge to stomp back to the VW and speed away consumed her. It would, after all, be fair payback. Almost.

  The other woman frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  Viva paced around to the other side of the stranded vehicle. She wouldn’t leave even her worst enemy stranded on a remote road. “No. Let’s take a look at your car.”

  A crease formed between her eyes. “Do I know you?”

  Viva lifted the sunnies shading her face.

  “Oh.” Various expressions flashed over the other woman’s face, like a deck of cards shuffled fast. “Genevieve Jones.” Her tone exuded polite wariness.

  “In person, Gabriela Mendaro. I didn’t expect to see you until the Brisbane International next month. I imagine you’ll be umpiring there?”

  “Yes, as always. I take December away from the tour, and I usually spend it in Australia.”

  Viva swept a hand around the parched and withered landscape. “But here? In the arse-end of nowhere?” Almost on my doorstep.

  Gabriela’s smile flickered like fireflies. “I like the heat. It’s not so different to Spain.”

  Viva swallowed a retort and moved around to the front of the rental car. “Is it out of fuel?” Her fingers twitched with the need to fix the ridiculously unsuitable car and get the hell out. Gabriela Mendaro was the last person she wanted to see.

  And now, in light of what she’d just learnt from her surgeon, it was doubly bitter.

  Gabriela blinked, as if the question was beneath her dignity. “It has half a tank.”

  Viva checked the dirt road, hoping some station hand would appear in a ute to save her from this discomfort. Of course, the road remained silent and empty. She peered into the engine compartment. What little she knew about fixing cars had been learnt by listening to her younger brother and his friends discussing their latest jalopy and how they might best get it on the road. But maybe this was something simple. She poked the mass of dusty wires with a finger. They remained attached, nothing hanging loose. She found the air filter and tapped it. A puff of dust dislodged. Maybe it was chockers with dust, but really, she hadn’t a clue.

  Gabriela moved to stand next to her. “It might be the fuel lines. Clogged.”

  “Possibly. That’s not something we can fix here, though. The rental company probably offers breakdown service. Did you call them?”

  Gabriela raised her mobile phone. “No signal.”

  Of course there wouldn’t be.

  “Where are you heading?” This wasn’t the first stranded tourist she’d rescued, although none had been on this dirt track that wound through trees and grassland.

  “I think I am maybe one hundred and twenty kilometres from Merringul. I thought I would stay the night there and return to Brisbane tomorrow via Toowoomba.”

  “More like one hundred and fifty kilometres.” Around them, the day was seeping into dusk. Already, the sun touched the top of the range and a lilac haze crept over the landscape. A flock of cockatoos settled into the tree above them, and their raucous cries bombarded Viva’s ears. Kangaroos would soon be grazing in the relative cool of evening, leaping across the road with nary a warning. It was not a good time to be driving.

  Viva slammed the bonnet shut. “Sorry, I don’t have a clue about fixing it. Your best bet is for me to give you a lift to the nearest place where you can call the rental company.”

  “I don’t want to take you out of your way.” The words were stilted, but the mellow tones were like warmth and sunshine.

  “You’re not. The next settlement—indeed the only settlement—along this road is Waggs Pocket, and that’s where I’m going.”

  “What is there?”

  “Not much. Couple of dozen houses, general store, fuel if Candace can be bothered opening, and a pub. My parents run the pub,” she added.

  The puzzled expression on Gabriela’s face lifted. “Oh. I didn�
�t realise you were from here.”

  “Not many people do. Even if you’ve read my player bio, it just mentions Queensland, no more information than that. You can call the breakdown service from the pub. You won’t get a mobile signal before then anyway, and even in town it depends on which way the wind is blowing. Better to use the landline.”

  “Thank you.” Gabriela moved to the boot of the rental car, pulled out a small case, and carried it over to Viva’s hatchback.

  Boxes filled the boot and most of the back seat of the vehicle. “Guess I’m getting my weight training in early,” Viva muttered, as she dragged cartons of bottles and foodstuffs to one side to make room for Gabriela’s case. She ignored the twinge in her right wrist, the bite of pain as she stretched the joint backwards.

  Gabriela moved closer. “Let me help.”

  “I can do this.” Viva’s words were curt. “These are heavy.”

  “I’m stronger than I look.” Gabriela pulled on one of the boxes. The flap opened, revealing the dozen bottles of rum inside. “I’m surprised you can play as well as you do if you drink this much.”

  “I told you; my parents run the pub. I was in Brisbane, so I said I’d pick up their order.” Too late the crinkling of Gabriela’s eyes gave away the joke.

  By moving a few cartons, they were able to jam the case into the corner amongst the paraphernalia for the pub.

  Viva lowered herself into the driver’s seat. “Got everything? Car locked?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The hatchback was not a big car, but Gabriela was not a big woman. Even so, the car seemed cramped with her in the passenger seat. It wasn’t that she sprawled. Indeed, she sat neatly, as if she was lineswoman at the Open. Knees together, feet flat on the floor, her elbows tucked in by her sides. It was as if she had been packed up for shipment.

  Viva started the engine and pulled away. The hatch rattled over the dirt road, and she turned the radio up to drown out the noise. The road was fading into the darkness, and a mob of kangaroos raised their heads as she passed.

  Gabriela gripped the door handle. “Can you slow down a little? You have to watch for wildlife on these roads.”

  Viva’s foot twitched on the accelerator. “I’ve lived here most of my life. I think I know that.”

  Something moved in the long grass beside the road, and Gabriela’s grip tightened. “Please?”

  She was going too fast. Viva eased the throttle, using a bend in the road as an excuse. Her gaze swept the road for bounding kangaroos or other wildlife, but she remained acutely aware of the woman in the passenger seat. Gabriela’s denim shorts came to mid-thigh, revealing a sweep of olive skin. When her lips tightened and her stare locked fixedly on the road ahead, Viva slowed even more. She wasn’t out to terrify her.

  Once the road straightened and entered the final steep descent to Waggs Pocket, Viva increased speed again.

  Beside her, Gabriela’s throat worked as she swallowed hard.

  Viva flashed her a glance. “Look, over there are the Bunya Mountains. It’s a national park now.”

  A jerky movement of Gabriela’s head, but she didn’t glance at the scenery.

  “You’re not interested?”

  Beads of sweat formed on Gabriela’s forehead. “It’s not that. I get car sick on twisty roads if I’m not the driver.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  A quick shake of her head. “No. It’s okay.” She swallowed again.

  “Sorry. You should have said. We’re nearly there.”

  “I’ll be okay if I look straight ahead and don’t talk.”

  The temptation to increase speed or throw the little car into the corners was strong, but Viva wasn’t that vindictive. She slowed to a sedate pace, turned up the air con, and directed an extra vent in Gabriela’s direction.

  “Thank you.”

  The purple light deepened as they descended into Waggs Pocket. Town was too kind a word for the scattered houses that spread out around the single crossroads. Viva raised a hand at Tilly, walking her three rescue greyhounds, and again at the Bartlett twins, no doubt up to mischief judging by their sudden guilty expressions. She swung around the rest area by the creek, where the grey nomads pulled up in their motorhomes, and around the back of the pub.

  It was good to be home.

  Viva jammed on the brakes. The rear car park was full, packed solid with veteran cars, their shiny sides gleaming with the deep rich colours of a bygone era. Jaguars, MGs, and Minis were parked neatly in rows, bonnets all facing out. Her usual spot, at the back of the car park beside the mango tree, was inaccessible. She reversed out and parked on the grass on the other side of the road. Even here, there were a few scattered latecomers.

  The minute the car drew to a halt, Gabriela exited. Stretching, she drew deep belly breaths, her gaze on the line of the creek as it wound through the park.

  Viva opened the boot. “Grab your case. I’m not going to unload the supplies until I can park closer.” Excitement leapt in her stomach. No matter how many times she returned to Waggs Pocket, the pull of home never lessened. She didn’t look back as she led the way to the pub, but she heard the snap of a twig and the crunch of gravel behind her.

  Chapter 3

  Every table in the bar was occupied, and the locals at the counter were squashed tight like cockatoos on a railing. Laughter and chatter rose up to the pressed-tin ceiling. Viva squeezed past the mainly grey-haired bunch of people until she could duck under the serving hatch leading behind the bar.

  “Darl, I’m so happy to see you.” Her mum bustled up and stretched up to press a kiss to Viva’s cheek. “I know you’ve had a long drive and you’re tired, but the British Car Club are here. There’s only your dad in the kitchen—and you know what that means. Would you mind working the bar with Jack so I can do the meals before your father burns the place down?”

  “Of course not.” She pushed down the longing for a quiet night on the balcony. The British Car Club was a good-natured, enthusiastic mob who came four times each year, puttering along the highway from Brisbane, holding up the traffic for kilometres.

  She whirled around to start serving and caught sight of Gabriela, who stood straight as a fencepost on the far side of the bar, taking in the crowd with a bemused expression.

  Viva grabbed her mum’s arm before she could disappear. “Mum, this is Gabriela. Her car broke down, and I rescued her from the forest road. Can you let her use the phone so she can call breakdown?”

  “No worries, darl.” Viva’s mum advanced on Gabriela. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the phone.” She paused. “I know you, don’t I? You’re a friend of Viva’s from the tour. I’m sure I’ve seen you playing.”

  “She’s not a friend,” Viva started, but then Jack bore down to sweep her into a hug.

  “Sissy. About bloody time!” His grin took the sting from the words. “I hope your arm is strong for pouring beer.” His nod indicated the car club people lining the bar.

  She followed Jack into the main bar area and looked around. “Who’s next?”

  Gabriela waited by the bar, eyes straight ahead, resisting the urge to fidget. After the brief introduction, Viva’s mother had been interrupted by a customer and had yet to return. At least she appeared friendly, unlike her daughter. Viva’s antagonism crackled like sparks from a bushfire. Gabriela moved over into Mrs Jones’s line of sight, rested her case between her feet, and waited.

  Mrs Jones put a hand on the customer’s arm. “I’ll see you later, Stan. Right now, I have to see to Viva’s friend.” She turned to Gabriela. “Come with me, darl.” She led the way down a hallway and through a door marked private.

  “Come in.” She shuffled the papers on the desk into an overflowing pile and put a rock on top. The papers fluttered in the breeze from the overhead fan. “Sit. Do you have the number to call?”

  �
�Yes, thank you.” The car rental paperwork was in the front pocket of the case, and she pulled it out.

  “Of course you have it. You couldn’t travel around the world as you do if you weren’t organised with paperwork.” Viva’s mother tilted her head and stared at Gabriela. “I’m trying to place you. Please don’t think me rude… Viva doesn’t bring many friends home with her. Normally just Michi, her doubles partner. Lovely girl, Michi.”

  Gabriela unfolded the paperwork and smoothed out the crease. “I’m sorry, I really don’t mean to be rude, but would you mind if I called the breakdown service? I don’t know how long it will take for them to arrive.” Part of her mind wondered when Viva’s mum would figure out she was neither a friend nor a player on the tour. She hoped the car would be fixed and she would be on her way before that happened.

  “I’m sorry, darl, I should’ve thought of that. Yes, you call right away, then go and find Viva when you’re done.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Jones. You are too kind.”

  “Lindy. There’s no formality around here. Even if it would be nice at times. I’ll leave you to it.” Lindy whirled around and was gone, closing the door behind her.

  Gabriela glanced around the office. The high-ceilinged room was stifling hot, despite the fan. There were pictures of Viva on the wall: action shots, lifting trophies, one of her and Michi Cleaver during a doubles match, shoulders close together, hands lifted to their mouths to hide their whispered tactics from prying eyes. And, of course, in pride of place was a photo of Viva lifting the US Open trophy high. Gabriela remembered that photo; it had been in every paper. Aussie girl wins the US Open. Viva was popular with the press; her outgoing personality, striking good looks, and athletic figure saw to that.

  Gabriela searched the desktop for a pen, eventually finding one under a pile of delivery dockets, and called the breakdown service number.

  “No worries.” The laconic voice on the other end didn’t sound concerned. “We can come and get you at the Stockyard Hotel in Waggs Pocket and take you back to your vehicle. How far away is the car?”