Code of Conduct

by Cheyenne Blue

  “Maybe thirty kilometres. I’m not too sure.” The twisty dirt road that Viva had driven with such ferocity had passed in a blur of motion sickness.

  “No worries,” the operator said again. “We’ll be with you before noon tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow?” Worry gave her voice an edge, and she drummed the pen on the wooden desk. “The rental company said it was usually within the hour.”

  “That’s within the city, mate. It’s different out bush. The driver has to come from Dalby, and that’s over an hour away.”

  “He could still get here tonight. I have nowhere to stay.”

  “Get the pub to put you up; hotels are obliged to offer rooms to stranded travellers. At least they used to in the good old days.”

  “They’re fully booked.” She had no idea if they were or not, but she didn’t want to spend more time in Viva’s company than she had to. Viva seemed prickly. Gabriela was sure the reason was something past the usual reticence between players and officials. Something was bugging Viva, and Gabriela didn’t want to be there when Viva let off steam.

  “Sorry, mate, but I can’t get the driver out any sooner. Look out for the truck late morning. Now, got a pen? I’ll give you the job reference.”

  She wrote down the number, ended the call, and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. What if the hotel really was booked out? The cheery senior crowd occupying the bar didn’t look as if they were going anywhere in a hurry, judging by the amount of alcohol they were putting away. Would Viva drive her back to her car and make her sleep in it tonight? Surely not.

  Gabriela dropped the pen on the desk before she could snap it in two and left the office. She followed the clatter of pots and the hiss of a fryer to the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

  Dirty dishes stacked up on every surface, and three deep-fryers belched smoke. Lindy stood at a bench as she chopped vegetables with the same ferocity Gabriela had seen in Viva when she pummelled a backhand down the line.

  “Put the fish in the second fryer. Turn the oven down, or the beef will be tougher than Jack’s hide. Get those chips out before they incinerate. Here.” Lindy spun around and deftly did all of the tasks she’d just ordered, while an older man dithered. “Ethan, you chop the salad. I’ll do this. I don’t know why I keep you around.” The wry affection in her voice was obvious.

  “Because you love me. Although sometimes I don’t know why you do.” Ethan turned, and Gabriela caught a glimpse of the same small nose and oval face that Viva had, topped by the same widow’s peak. Ethan’s face was crinkled into a grin as he ribbed his wife.

  He looked at Gabriela. “Can I help you? If you’re waiting for your food, we won’t be much longer.”

  Lindy turned too. “That’s not a customer; that’s Viva’s friend.” She smiled at Gabriela. “Did you get onto the breakdown people?”

  Ethan wiped his hands on a grubby tea towel and shook Gabriela’s hand, pumping with great enthusiasm. “Welcome. It’s always nice to see Viva’s friends. What’s this about the car?”

  “I did reach them.” Gabriela addressed them both, trying to discreetly flex some life back into her fingers after Ethan’s grip of steel. “But they cannot come until tomorrow.”

  “I’m not surprised. There’s only one bloke in Dalby to do all the calls. His foot is flat to the boards trying to keep up. Did they give you a time?” Ethan moved over to the chopping board.

  “By noon.”

  “Be surprised if he makes that. We can’t do it tonight—the car club has us busy—but maybe by late morning, we could get Jack out to have a look at it. He’s pretty handy with a spanner.”

  “I don’t want to give you extra work—”

  “Jack loves tinkering with cars. If it’s an old banger, there’s a good chance he’ll get it moving for you.”

  “It’s a rental.”

  “Then don’t let Jack near it.” Lindy swung around from the oven, where she was basting roast meat. “If it’s under warranty, his bush mechanics will make more trouble than good.”

  “Mrs Jones—”

  “Lindy, remember?”

  “Lindy, I was wondering if you have a room for tonight? I can’t go anywhere until tomorrow and—”

  Lindy was already shaking her head. “We’re booked solid. The car club has every room taken, and half of them are camping in the park as well.”

  “Is there anywhere else here to stay?” Surely, even a tiny place like this would have a B&B. Even if it was a way out of town, maybe someone would give her a lift. Anxiety twisted through her mind at the thought of Viva’s face when she learnt Gabriela was still here.

  “No. The only other place is Darlene’s, and that’s booked for the car club as well. I’ve got a foldaway bed; I’ll put it in Viva’s room for you.”

  “Really, no. I don’t want to intrude on Viva’s space.” Worry made her voice sharp and high, curter than she would have liked. There was no way she could share a room with Viva. The antagonism rolled from her in palpable waves. The car ride had been awkward; sharing a room would be fraught with difficulty. For a moment she wished she had never left the ease and anonymity that Brisbane offered.

  Lindy pushed the roast back into the oven and closed the door. “Don’t argue. Viva will be delighted. I’ll do it now.”

  “Lindy, please, check with Viva first.”

  Something in Gabriela’s tone seemed to make Lindy pause. Her gaze raked Gabriela from head to toe. “Have you had a fight?”

  “No.” Gabriela shifted her weight, resisting the impulse to stand on one leg, something she’d done as a child whenever anyone challenged her. “Not that. But we are not friends; we are just acquaintances on the tour. Your daughter will not be happy if she is forced to share her room with me. It’s also highly inappropriate for me to do so. Can you put the foldaway bed in the lounge or somewhere?”

  “There’s no air con or fan. It’ll be unbearably hot.”

  “I do not mind. I am used to the heat.”

  “Gabriela, don’t argue. I’ll do the bed now.” And she was gone in a flurry of discarded apron and bustling figure.

  Ethan regarded Gabriela with wry amusement. “Has my daughter done something to upset you?” He turned back to the bench and picked up the discarded chopping knife.

  “No.” Gabriela’s sigh gusted into the room. “It’s a little more complicated than that.” She dreaded seeing Viva’s face when Lindy told her where Gabriela was sleeping. And she couldn’t—simply couldn’t—stay in the same room, no matter what the extenuating circumstances. Even if she melted in the heat, she would have to find somewhere else. Somewhere away from Viva.

  Chapter 4

  “Mum’s making up a bed for your girlfriend.” Jack smirked as he passed Viva in the tight space behind the bar. “Doubt she’ll be using it, though. You could have saved Mum the bother; you know her back is crook.”

  “What are you talking about?” Viva poured schooners of Classic and set them on the bar. “Eleven sixty, please.”

  “Her back’s been sore since she lifted the kegs in the cellar when Dad was in Brisbane.”

  Viva took the money from the grey-haired man and whirled around to the till. “Not Mum. I know that. The bit about a girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “Really?” Jack reached past her and took wine from the fridge. “Mum reckons you’re acting strange enough around Gabriela that she must be your girlfriend. She doesn’t buy the ‘friend’ story.”

  “She’s not even a friend.”

  “You turn up with a tennis player in your car. It’s a logical assumption.”

  Viva turned to the next person waiting. “What can I get you?” And then to Jack. “I barely know her. She’s not a player; she’s an umpire.”

  Jack’s brow wrinkled as he poured white wine. “What difference does that make? She seems nic
e. A bit stand-offish, but not a lunatic. Not like the last girl you brought home.”

  “Chitra’s not crazy. Just a little…different.”

  “Whatever.” Jack shrugged. “You say po-tar-to, and I say po-tay-to.”

  “And umpires can’t mix with players. Obviously, we attend a lot of the same functions, stay at the same hotels during tournaments, but even friendships aren’t encouraged. An umpire must be impartial. You’re not stupid. Not most of the time anyway. You should have figured that out.” She snagged two packets of peanuts, added them to the rum and Cokes on the counter, and took the customer’s money.

  “So why was she in your car?”

  “Hers is broken down by the forest boundary. I was the next car past. I could hardly leave her there for the dingoes to feast on. She’s calling roadside service. Chances are, she’ll be gone soon.”

  Jack didn’t reply, but he nodded to the corner of the bar.

  Gabriela stood there stiffly, her gaze following Viva as she darted around behind the bar. One of the locals, Max, seemed to be trying to engage Gabriela in conversation, but she was responding in monosyllables.

  Viva sighed. Max was an off-putting sight to those who didn’t know him. His bushy hair and greying beard stuck out underneath the most battered and stained stockman’s hat found in the district. His enormous hand dwarfed his schooner of beer, and his singlet had holes in it. It was a good week if he’d showered in the last three days. But Max was a sweet bear of a man, who would help anyone. If Gabriela would only listen, he was probably offering to drive her back to her car to see if he could fix it.

  Gabriela’s smile had a tinge of desperation as she caught Viva’s eye.

  Viva went over. “Is roadside service coming?”

  “Not until tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow!” Viva bit down on the swearword that also came to mind.

  “It’s polite not to sound horrified.”

  “You’re right. Sorry. But really, tomorrow… I didn’t expect them to be fast, but I did expect them to come tonight.”

  “Believe me, I could not be happier either.” Gabriela’s expression was deadpan.

  Max touched her arm, and Viva stifled a smile at Gabriela’s almost imperceptible shrinking away. “Lemme take you out to your car, missy. I can probably get it going again for you. Me and Jack can fix most things.”

  “Thank you, but it’s a rental. I should wait for roadside service.”

  “Max is great with cars.” Viva gave a sweet smile. “He tuned my hatchback so that it goes a lot faster. You should let him try.”

  “Faster is not good when you’re driving.” Gabriela’s eyes shot sparks. “Can I talk to you for a moment? Lindy has found me a bed for tonight, but—”

  “Can you wait for a bit? We’re so busy. Once this lot are eating dinner in thirty minutes or so, I’ll be able to stop for a bit.” She glanced at Max. “Don’t worry about Max; he’s harmless, especially if you buy him a beer.”

  “You watch your lip, Viva.” Max grinned from underneath the brim of his battered hat. “One of these days I’ll challenge you to a game of that pat-a-cake you call tennis, and we’ll see who’s harmless then.”

  “We did play when I was nine. I beat you,” she reminded him.

  “You could buy me a beer. Make up for the defeat.” His smile was sweetly innocent. “One for me and one for your friend.”

  She grinned and got two beers. “You be nice to Gabriela, or I’ll set Jack on you.”

  Gabriela’s annoyed gaze followed her back to the main section the bar. Never mind, Gabriela would get over it. She was in a rural area; she would have to interact with country people.

  “Give her the menu,” Jack said as he passed. “Mum stops cooking in twenty minutes. You may not like her, but that’s no reason for her to starve.”

  “You think I’m an idiot?” The comment stung. She had forgotten about dinner. Including her own. She scooped up a menu and went back to where Gabriela and Max were eyeing each other warily.

  “Let me know what you want to eat,” she said. “Kitchen closes in twenty minutes.”

  “Steak is good here.” Max stabbed a stubby finger at the item on the menu. “Good beef. Comes from my farm. Unless you’re one of those vegetarian type people?”

  “No.” Gabriela’s smile sparkled briefly. “I like a good steak and a glass of red wine. I will take your recommendation, thank you, Max.”

  “Rib eye steak?” Viva asked. At Gabriela’s nod, she said, “How do you like it cooked?”

  “Medium rare please.”

  Viva wrote down the order, added her own, and put it on the peg for the kitchen.

  Half an hour later, when the car club was all seated and eating dinner, the crush at the bar eased. Jack pushed Viva towards the kitchen. “Go. Find your dinner and your girlfriend and go and eat on the balcony. Standing room only otherwise.”

  She gave him a grateful smile. In a fit of guilt for her earlier bad manners towards Gabriela, she poured a glass of one of the better red wines for each of them and took them over to her.

  She and Max seemed to be in a good-natured argument about football.

  Viva touched her on the arm. “Dinner.”

  Gabriela took a step away from the bar. “Thanks for the conversation, Max.”

  “No worries. I might see you at the tennis. I’m always on the pub social club bus to the Brisbane tournament. We’ve supported Viva every year, since she was in juniors.”

  “I’ll look out for you.”

  “You won’t miss us. Look for a bunch of bright red T-shirts with Stockyard Hotel written on them.” Max tipped two fingers to the brim of his battered hat and gave her a grin.

  Viva led the way to the kitchen to collect their meals. Eating on the balcony with Gabriela would be awkward, but she would cope. Some polite conversation, a few comments about the upcoming tennis season, a fine steak, a glass of good wine, and then hopefully Gabriela would go off to bed.

  Bed. She frowned. Gabriela had mentioned Mum had found her a bed, but belatedly, Viva wondered where. The car club usually took all the rooms. There must have been a cancellation.

  She entered the kitchen, coughing as the fine drift of smoke and cooking oil caught at the back of her throat.

  Her parents were sitting at the table, eating their usual strange mix of leftover food: a piece of fish, the crusty parts of the lasagne, a slice of roast beef dripping blood that was obviously too rare to serve, and a mix of salad and veggies.

  “Your dinners are in the hot cabinet,” Lindy said.

  “Thanks.” Viva loaded a tray with the plates of food, cutlery, glasses of water, and the wine, and with Gabriela following, she headed up the wide staircase.

  The east-facing balcony was one of her favourite areas. Her family’s living area opened onto it. The sun had set, and a cool evening breeze wafted over, keeping away the mozzies. Viva set the plates on the solid wooden table by the rail. Muted noise and the occasional shriek of laughter drifted up from the bar below, but otherwise the evening belonged to the shrill of cicadas and the occasional chirping gecko.

  “That’s yours.” Viva arranged the cutlery. “Medium rare, as requested.”

  “Thank you.” Gabriela perched on the chair. “You must tell me how much I owe you.”

  “Nothing. Consider it hospitality for a stranded traveller. And it gave me an excuse to have some wine. My one glass a week.”

  Gabriela hesitated. A small frown creased her forehead. “I am not allowed to accept a gift from a player.”

  Viva inclined her head. “Fair point. I apologise—I meant the offer only as a courtesy, nothing more. If you see Mum after dinner, she’ll let you know how much.”

  Gabriela’s smile was brief, but her face softened and lost its authoritarian look. “I appreciate the gesture anyway. And I would hate for
you to miss your wine. You only have a single glass even in the off-season?”

  “Discipline and habits don’t fade easily.”

  Gabriela studied the food. “This looks good. Max really does grow the cattle, yes?”

  Viva nodded. “His family has farmed here for generations. Pasture-fed cattle. No feedlots or additives. I credit his beef as part of my good health.” She flexed a biceps. “Lean beef, lean muscles.”

  Gabriela’s gaze moved to the street, as if the posturing offended her.

  Apparently, Gabriela didn’t appreciate her humour. Viva stifled a smile, cut a piece of her own steak, and marshalled her thoughts back into line. It seemed silly to sit in silence as they ate. She glanced across the table, while she thought of an innocuous question. “So, how are you spending your time in Queensland?”

  “I rent an apartment in Brisbane from the middle of November until the end of the Brisbane International. Usually six or seven weeks. I have stayed at the same place for years. It’s by the river and near the bike path. I walk a lot, cook for myself, catch up on my reading. Mainly just enjoy time alone. It’s difficult to do that on tour.”

  There was a wistfulness in her face that tugged at Viva. “I know what you mean. Strange cities, new faces, and something happening day and night.” Viva speared a piece of broccoli. “Sometimes, all I want to do is stay in my room and watch trashy TV, but instead there’s someplace I have to be. It must be different for you, though. Umpires keep themselves apart.”

  “To an extent. We have our own friendships, mainly with other tour officials. Not players, of course; close friendships and intimate relationships are forbidden.”

  Viva frowned. “Actually forbidden? As in, it’s a rule? I thought it was just not encouraged.”

  “It’s in the code of conduct. Rule 8(ii), if I remember correctly.”

  An imp of mischief sparked, and Viva leant forward. She put down her fork and touched Gabriela on the back of the hand. Her skin was warm. “Even us having dinner together like this would be frowned upon?”