Her Outback Rescuer

‘I do,’ Rachel said, and she smiled, too. It was a faint echo of her sister’s smile, but she was no longer looking at her book. ‘Uluru and Kata Tjuta are made of a type of sandstone known as arkose, with shiny crystals of pink feldspar mixed in. There’s controversy about ageing. I have permission to take tiny traces to confirm composition.’

‘Hugo could cart you down boulders,’ Maudie said, in her element now and loving it. ‘He’s very strong. He’s a commando, you know.’

‘I thought commandos carted machine guns,’ Rachel said, mystified.

‘I cart steak,’ Hugo said promptly. ‘That’s been my latest mission. Steak-smuggling.’

Amy choked, and then managed to swallow laughter enough to glare at her sister. ‘We’re not here to age rocks,’ she retorted. ‘We’re here on holiday.’

‘So are we, dear,’ Maudie said serenely. ‘Are you staying at the Uluru resort?’

‘We have a room in the budget hostel…’

‘Oh, no, dear, that’ll never do,’ Maudie broke in, and Hugo thought: uh oh. Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. But there was no way of stopping Maudie once she was on a mission. ‘Hugo and I are staying at Thurston House, a homestead set up for senior management when they need a base out here. It’s a lovely self-contained house complete with pool, staff and staff quarters. But Hugo may need to visit one of our mines and I hate being there alone. But you, dear…’ She fixed her suddenly gimlet eyes on Rachel. ‘Do you play Scrabble?’

‘I… yes,’ Rachel admitted, sounding confused. ‘But…’

‘No,’ Amy said firmly. ‘We don’t.’

‘We do,’ Rachel said, even more confused.

‘Well, yes,’ Amy said, exasperated. ‘Rachel loves words almost as much as she loves rocks. When I walk out of a room, I leave, but Rachel absquatulates. And if you think I’m making that up, she added ab and ulate to my pathetic squat and achieved untold fame in the Great Cotton Scrabble Challenge of 2007. But if you’re offering us alternative accommodation, thank you very much but Rachel and I are self-sufficient.’

‘But if your sister’s been ill, she’ll feel bad that she can’t go off and do things with you,’ Maudie countered. This was like watching a train wreck, Hugo thought. It was about to happen, whether he jumped onto the tracks or not. ‘Like I feel bad when I can’t accompany Hugo. You’ll be doing us a huge favour if you stay with us. There are four bedrooms and they’re massive. Hugo’s organised a car to meet the train. We could travel down there together, the four of us, and have fun.’

‘Maud!’ Train wreck or not, he did step into the line of impending disaster then. ‘We can’t…’

‘Neither can we,’ Amy said faintly. ‘Thank you but…’

‘But we have twenty-four hours to change your mind,’ Maudie said happily. ‘You don’t want to stay in a backpackers’, do you, Rachel?’

‘No, but…’

‘There you are, then. Meanwhile, if you feel like Scrabble in the morning, we’re in Platinum Cabins Car Two, Cabins Four and Five, with a nice little sitting room in the middle. There’s a butler person who guards our privacy but just ask for us and Hugo will okay it. He’ll more than okay it. It’ll be lovely.’

Maudie beamed and her beam almost matched Amy’s, only Amy’s wasn’t on. Amy was now looking trapped—which was pretty much how Hugo was feeling.

‘I need to go to bed,’ Rachel said, still sounding confused. ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

‘If you’ll excuse us both,’ Amy said with alacrity and stood. ‘Thank you for the lovely offer, Dame Maud, but, of course, we can’t accept. Our accommodation’s already paid for, and we’re content. Goodnight.’

She backed to leave the table, but there was something Hugo needed to say. He’d been slicing for a while now. ‘Amy?’

Amy paused. ‘Yes?’

He shouldn’t say anything. He should simply let things finish right now, but this was irresistible.

‘Here’s a little something for midnight,’ he said, and he handed over his second carefully wrapped napkin.

Amy stared down at it. If it was possible for her to look any more hunted, she did.

‘Thank you,’ she said and stuffed it into her purse.

She turned and fled, with Rachel following limply behind.

‘What nice girls,’ Maudie said as they retreated.

‘Yes.’ But needy. He’d kind of like more steak.

‘It’ll be nice to have company at Uluru.’

‘They refused.’ Praise be.

‘They don’t mean it. Amy’s worried about Rachel. You can see it. She’ll like Rachel having a nice quiet time with me while you take her off exploring. You’ll have time. I know you’re thinking of visiting the mine, but there’ll be days to spare. I wonder what’s wrong with Rachel?’

‘It’s none of our business.’

‘Of course it’s our business. Amy’s part of the ballet company your grandfather and I practically founded. I usually keep track of the members of our company and it was a shock to hear she’s retired. Since James fell ill, of course, I haven’t heard a thing. I need to get back in touch. But then, it’s her sister who looks ill. She’s not in the ballet scene. If I wasn’t on this train I could make some phone calls…’

‘It’s not our business!’ he repeated.

‘Of course it is,’ she snapped. ‘They’re two nice girls and anyone can see they’re in trouble. It’s our job to help them. And it was very nice of you to give Amy your steak.’

‘I…’ She’d seen, then. He might have known.

No. Not worth arguing.

‘Though cold steak will be horrid as a late night snack,’ Maudie said, and he could tell she’d already included the girls in her list of responsibilities. Maudie’s principal skill was picking people up and making them feel better. Hugo loved her for it, but every now and then it got her into trouble. And now, like always…

Now he hadn’t a snowball’s chance in a bushfire of stopping her.

‘If Amy wants to bully Rachel into eating later on, she’d be better with sweets,’ she was saying thoughtfully. ‘We have complimentary chocolates in our sitting room. Do you think you should take them some?’

‘No. I don’t know where to find them.’

‘You can find them if you want to.’

‘I don’t want to.’

‘Hugo…’ Her voice was filled with reproach.

‘No.’

‘What a waste,’ she said sadly. But her indomitable spirit had been stirred and it wasn’t about to settle. ‘Still,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘We’ll probably see them at breakfast and if we don’t then I’ll track them down. And the house at Uluru… The more I think of it, the more perfect it seems.’ She smiled again, the smile that Hugo had wanted to return, but the smile that now meant trouble. ‘We might just have some fun, and heaven knows we all need it.’

Fun, Hugo thought.

He’d wanted his grandmother to have fun, but now he wasn’t too sure what fun entailed. Trouble?

Two single women and Maudie? Trouble indeed.

CHAPTER TWO

‘SO TELL me who they are,’ Rachel demanded.

To say Amy was disconcerted was an understatement. She needed to catch her breath, get her composure back and feed Buster.

Instead, for the first time in this trip, for the first time in months, she had her sister asking questions.

But Buster first. She locked their compartment door, opened the wardrobe and Buster nosed out.

Buster was a tiny fox terrier, the size of half a cat. He was fourteen years old, he was missing an ear and he had one gammy leg.

Rachel had found him over twelve years ago. He’d been tossed from a car like litter, and Rachel had come home holding the bedraggled creature as if he were diamonds.

‘Amy, we have to keep him. We have to. Please let me…’

They’d been staying with the last of their succession of foster parents and, as usual, Amy had pleaded on behalf of her younger sister.

‘He’ll stay outside. I can build him a kennel. We can use my allowance to feed him. I swear he’ll be no trouble.’

The couple they’d been staying with had been one of their kinder sets of foster parents and he’d been allowed to stay. At night they’d sneaked him in through their bedroom window. He’d slept with them then, and he’d been with them since.

Rachel had left him behind two years ago—he’d stayed with Amy during her sister’s doomed marriage—but they were together again now, and it was Rachel who needed Buster rather than the other way round.

The little dog nosed out of the tiny wardrobe and looked around with caution, as if he understood he was in hiding. Then his ears pricked and his disreputable tail started to wag.

He’d been on dog pellets for two days. He was clever. The smell from Amy’s purse was not dog pellets.

‘It’s rump steak,’ she said, and grinned. ‘With a tiny smear of béarnaise sauce for m’lor’s satisfaction.’ She set it on the table napkin on the floor.

Buster looked up at them first, his great brown eyes adorably expressive. His wagging tail meant he wagged his whole body. Joy was Buster and rump steak, and even Rachel was smiling.

But… ‘So who are they?’ she asked again and Amy thought: nope, she wasn’t about to be deflected.

‘The old lady’s Dame Maud Thurston,’ she told her sister. ‘She’s been a major patron of the Australian ballet for as long as I can remember. She’s a gem, and her husband was just as lovely. He made a fortune from mining—you must know Thurston Holdings—and together they’ve run one of the biggest charitable foundations in Australia. It’s not just the ballet that benefits.’

‘And the guy?’

For some reason Amy wasn’t sure of talking about the guy. He’d made her… edgy. ‘That’d be her grandson,’ she said.

‘So tell me about him.’ Rachel perched on her seat and hugged her knees.

Rachel? Interested in a guy?

A waft of remembrance flooded back, making Amy wince. Two years ago, Rachel had come backstage after a performance, her normal prosaic, academic self starry-eyed about the Spanish dancer who’d danced opposite Amy. ‘Tell me about him. Can you introduce me?’

It was the beginning of a tragedy which had left Rachel with shattered dreams and aching loss. Now… She must have seen what Amy was thinking because she rushed in.

‘I don’t mean that,’ she said, sounding angry. ‘He’s gorgeous but you needn’t think I’m ever going down that path again. And it’s you he’s interested in.’

‘He isn’t.’

‘He is.’

‘Rachel…’

‘Okay, he isn’t,’ Rachel said, and astonishingly she was smiling. ‘But you know about him. Tell me all.’

‘We’re not staying with them at Uluru.’

‘Of course we’re not,’ Rachel said equably. ‘But tell me about him all the same.’

‘I don’t know much. Only what’s spread in ballet circles and that’s only as much as affects the ballet. We’re a self-centred lot.’

‘But you do know something.’

She nodded, strangely reluctant. What was it about the guy that made her want to shut up, not probe further? But Rachel was interested and, the way Rachel had been for the last twelve months, any interest at all was to be encouraged.

‘The family’s been in the media for ever,’ she said, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘I don’t read gossip mags but because they’re important to the ballet world, I can’t help but keep up with them. Sir James owns… owned… Thurston Holdings. You know it’s one of the biggest mining corporations in the world? It’s also the most principled. Thurston’s has a reputation for fair dealings, for treating their people right, for restoring land after mining’s finished. Sir James and Dame Maud have tried to keep a low profile but, with that much money, that much power, it’s impossible.’

‘I have heard of them,’ Rachel admitted, which was a huge concession from someone who spent her life in books. ‘I did hear Sir James had died—it was all over the papers. So Hugo’s the grandson. Is his dad taking over the reins?’

‘That’s just it,’ Amy told her. ‘He’s dead. Bertram was a disaster but we know nothing about this guy.’

‘We?’

Amy flushed. She was no longer part of the Australian ballet scene, she told herself. Move on.

But Rachel wanted to know, and this wasn’t ballet. She could force herself to gossip a little.

‘The Thurston Corporation sponsors so much—the ballet, the theatre, sports for the disabled, medical research… So many organisations rely on them. But when Bertram was alive and we thought he’d inherit, it seemed like it’d all stop as soon as Sir James died.’

‘So Bertram was Hugo’s dad?’

‘Yep.’ Amy settled back onto her seat-cum-bed and decided she might as well recall all she knew. ‘According to gossip, Bertram was wild. Really wild. He was into parties, gambling, drugs, all the things his parents weren’t. His marriage lasted about two minutes—rumour is his wife suicided later on, but it could have been an overdose. She was a media bimbo. That set a pattern for Bertram. He moved from woman to woman, every one of them media darlings, every one of them self-destructing on the lifestyle. It must have broken his parents’ hearts, but there was no way they could stop him. He finally did the same.’

‘Why did I not know this?’ Rachel demanded.

‘Because most of it happened when we were kids,’ Amy said patiently. ‘I only know because Bertram died in unsavoury circumstances about eight years ago. By then he was so burnt out that even the gossip mags weren’t interested, except to up their interest in Hugo. But I was a baby dancer then, and I heard the relief in dance circles. Our director was trying hard not to be ecstatic. His take was that we’d have more chance of continued support from an unknown grandson than we ever had from Bertram. But Hugo didn’t come home, even then. He’s been in the army since he was a teenager, in some secret unit no one knows about. He’s made a couple of flying visits since and the press has gone nuts every time—Australia’s most eligible bachelor, that sort of thing—but he’s always looked like he hates it. There was a fuss when he came home for his grandfather’s funeral, but then he went to ground again. Everyone’s wondered what will happen to Thurston Holdings—and lo, here he is, on our train.’

‘Home to pick up where his grandfather left off?’ Rachel said doubtfully. ‘He doesn’t look like a businessman about to sponsor the ballet. He looks… tough.’

‘Like a warrior,’ Amy agreed, starting to enjoy herself. They were safely back in their cabin. Why not let herself wallow? ‘I was thinking that,’ she confessed, letting her mind meander over the man she’d just met. ‘That gorgeous, deep black hair, sun-bleached at the tips. All those muscles… And he’s weathered and so fit it’s scary. The bone structure of his face—it’s like it’s sculpted. It must be from years of living hard. And did you see the way his shirt strained? No shirt’s ever been built to accommodate that type of chest.’ She grinned at Rachel, enjoying startling her. ‘And those blue eyes with crinkles at the edges like he spends his time looking into the sun… Whew.’

‘You really did look at him,’ Rachel breathed, stunned.

‘Um… yep. There’s no harm in admiring beauty,’ she admitted. ‘A girl can admire—from a distance.’

Rachel’s smile widened. Maybe she was starting to enjoy herself as well.

‘I guess he’ll have spent his life looking into the sun through machine gun sights,’ she suggested. ‘That’d make anyone’s eyes crinkle.’

‘I bet you’re right,’ Amy agreed. ‘And field glasses. He’ll have stood in dugouts in the searing sun, field glasses trained for the enemy…’

‘Or on hilltops?’

‘I don’t think you look for the enemy on hilltops,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘Wouldn’t you get shot? It’d be such a shame to shoot a body like that.’

‘It would,’ Rachel said definitely. ‘No one could shoot such a man. Did you see the muscles on his arms?’ Rachel was following on with relish. ‘Maybe that’s from hand-to-hand combat?’

‘With sumo wrestlers,’ Amy guessed. ‘I’d imagine he takes on ten every morning before breakfast.’

‘And now we’ve taken his steak,’ Rachel said mournfully. ‘Buster, how could you?’ She giggled and Amy thought wow, her sister was giggling. She giggled back and it was a gorgeous moment.

And then a camel hove into view. Another one, racing the train.

But only one?

In the dining car they’d been able to see out both sides of the train. Now, back in their tiny compartment, they could only see the right side of the train.

Rachel was looking out, entranced, at the lone camel and Amy couldn’t resist; she opened the door to the corridor to see if more camels were racing on the far side.

There were. Five of them.

‘Oh,’ Rachel breathed. ‘I wonder if Maudie’s seeing…’

‘Buster!’

And for one fatal moment they’d been distracted. For one moment they’d had the door wide open and had been staring in delight at camels.

And Buster, fourteen years old, sleeping out his days content to be with the people he loved and the occasional sunbeam, had just had rump steak for dinner—and he’d looked up and seen camels!

The camels were gaining on the train. They were stretching out away from the near windows.

And Buster, a tiny dog in spirit but a guard dog at heart, went flying along the corridor in pursuit, barking as if he were a hound in full cry.

No!

Amy flew along the corridor after him, her heart in her mouth. Luckily, the end of the carriage was the door through to the next car. He could go no further—but he was still barking.

No!

She reached him and scooped him up and tucked him under her sweater, just as compartment doors started to open.

‘A dog…’ An elderly man with a walking stick was staring in horror in both directions. ‘Did you see a dog? Who’s barking?’

‘It must have been outside the train,’ Amy said, beetling past him with her bulge held away. Praying his eyesight wasn’t good.

‘I heard a dog.’ It was a young mother. ‘I hate dogs. Our Polly’s allergic.’

‘I didn’t see a dog,’ Amy lied and bolted for their compartment.

‘Did you see a dog?’ the young woman demanded of Rachel, who was outside their compartment looking worried.

‘It was racing the camels,’ Rachel managed, trying to retreat as well. ‘I think it was a dingo.’

‘But it sounded like it was in the train,’ the woman said.

‘I think you should report it to the conductor.’

‘I need to go to bed,’ Rachel said, and retreated into the compartment after Amy.

She slammed the door, still giggling.

But Amy wasn’t giggling. That had been too close for comfort.

She knew it had been a really bad plan to bring Buster, but what choice did she have? Rachel had hugged Buster since she’d come home from hospital. Rachel’s life was hugging her dog and reading her textbooks.

The Ghan had been a dream they’d shared since they were children, to travel through the outback, to see their grandmother’s birthplace, to see the rocks Rachel loved.

It might just haul her out of her misery, Amy had thought, and it was starting to, but ooh, Buster-smuggling could cause complications. Rachel was giggling, but at what price?

‘She won’t go find the conductor,’ Rachel decreed. ‘She won’t leave those appalling children. I’ve met them in the bathroom and they’re awful.’

‘The other guy might.’

‘It doesn’t matter. Buster’s hidden now. He’s safe.’ Rachel looked fondly at Buster, who was peering innocently out from under Amy’s sweater. ‘What a good thing you wore that.’

‘It has its uses. But if anyone searches…’

‘They won’t. And they don’t need to come in here. It’s not like we’re in a classy cabin that has turn downs.’

They weren’t. They’d requested their beds stay up all the time—’as Rachel needs to rest’. No one needed to come near them.

And Rachel was smiling.

Okay, she could live with this.

‘Bed,’ Rachel said. ‘Buster can come under the covers with me. If anyone looks in, we’re fast asleep.’

‘I’d like a shower,’ Amy said doubtfully. ‘But I might wait for a few minutes, just to be sure.’

‘You do that,’ Rachel said and retired to her bunk, Buster with her.

Amy waited for half an hour, holding her breath the whole time.

Nothing.

Rachel and Buster fell asleep.

Okay, they were fine.

She took her towel and pyjamas to the bathroom at the end of the carriage. She showered and washed her hair. She also tried, weirdly, not to think about Hugo. Which was nuts. She had enough to think about without worrying about Hugo Thurston.

She’d seen Rachel smile. She should be happy.

She was happy. She emerged from the bathroom feeling clean and determinedly cheerful.

The conductor was emerging from the second compartment.

‘Miss,’ he said as he saw her, ‘have you seen a dog?’

Miss stopped in her tracks. To say she felt at a disadvantage was an understatement. She was wearing pink satin pyjamas with cream lace trimming, with fluffy pink flip-flops to match. She’d bought Rachel beautiful nightwear when she’d moved from hospital to rehab. Normally Amy slept in a T-shirt and knickers, but on the train, with a shared bathroom, Rachel had decreed they’d share her pretty ones.

So she was respectable—almost—but she didn’t feel respectable. She felt numb with panic. She stared down at her pink-painted toenails in her fluffy pink flip flops and tried to decide what to say.

Had she seen a dog?

‘Urn… no,’ she lied.

‘We’ve had a report there’s a dog in this carriage,’ the man said. ‘I’ve had orders to search.’

‘Ooh,’ Amy managed. ‘Have you searched us?’

‘You’re in?’

‘Compartment Seven.’

‘I’ve done One and Two,’ the guy said grimly. ‘I’ll get to you in a minute.’

‘There’s no need. My sister’s asleep. She’s been ill. Please don’t disturb her.’

‘Orders are to search the whole carriage.’

‘But…’

‘No exceptions.’

‘Okay,’ Amy said faintly. ‘Just search quietly in Seven. Oh, and I might not be there. I have… I have a date.’

It was ten o’clock and Hugo was going stir crazy.

Maudie was exhausted. She’d headed straight to bed after dinner, to her lovely little bedroom just through the sitting room door. Hugo had a similar bedroom. They had their own palatial bathroom. Luxury.

But Hugo didn’t do luxury. He was accustomed to swags on the ground, to sleeping rough. He’d had over a month of soft living since his grandfather’s death had brought him home, and he wasn’t enjoying it any better now than he had at the start.

He was also bored out of his mind, aching to be back with his unit.

He had a television. Who wanted to sit on the Ghan and watch telly?

He had a murder mystery to read but he’d already figured out the murderer. What fun was there in that?

He could go to the lounge car and meet people.

Yeah, right.

Scrabble was the last of an appalling list of alternatives but he found himself organising letters. Trying to remember how to spell absquatulate.

Thinking of a brown-eyed dancer with an appetite for cold steak.

He found himself grinning, and he hauled himself back from the brink with a jerk. If Maudie even suspected what he was thinking…

He was not thinking.

A knock on the door. Yes! Anything to escape this boredom. He flung the door wide, so hard the man behind stepped back in alarm.

It was Henry, the Platinum butler. I bet his name’s not really Henry, Hugo thought. I bet all Platinum butlers are Henry.

The guy was struggling. He wanted to say something but was having trouble getting it out.

‘Yes,’ Hugo said encouragingly.

‘Sir…’

‘Can I help you?’

‘There’s a woman,’ Henry said, sounding torn. ‘In pyjamas. She says you’ve invited her to your room.’

There was a moment’s stillness while they both took that in.

‘A woman,’ Hugo said at last. ‘In pyjamas.’

‘A young woman.’ He might sound the same if he was announcing the arrival of aliens.

‘Did she give a name?’ Hugo asked cautiously.

The man’s face cleared. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes, she did. She says her name is Amy Cotton and she’s a friend of Dame Maud. She says you’re expecting her. She’s carrying a large purse and she says she has something Dame Maud needs.’