The Sugar Dragon

by Victoria Gordon

  ‘It’s only really in the last few years that the place has begun to get the recognition it deserves,’ he said. ‘It’s probably the only mainland beach in Australia where significant numbers of turtles come to lay their eggs, and certainly it’s the only one that’s so easily accessible to people. In a lot of ways, that’s a bad thing, because even now there isn’t enough organisation to give the poor turtles the protection they should have.’

  He and Verna walked slowly along the beach, keeping to the soft sand above the water-line and watching for the characteristic marks of the huge turtles as they plodded up to reach the nesting areas.

  ‘You realise that we might not see anything at all,’ he said pensively, ‘even though the time is about as right as you can get with a high night tide. Then on the other hand we might get really lucky; it’s just about mid-point in the season, and we could actually see both a turtle going up to lay eggs and some fresh hatchlings.’

  He reached out to capture her hand as Verna stumbled in the soft sand, and she felt a thrill of inner content when he chose to hang on to it as they continued their walk. Con explained that the beach had long been known as the rookery for loggerhead turtles, but only in recent years had it become famous as well because of the nesting green turtles and the little-studied flatback variety.

  It was the discovery and study of the flatback turtles by local scientist Col Limpus that had really begun to bring out the ecological significance of Mon Repos, he said, giving the impetus for increased control and protection of the area.

  ‘That’s why we’re not using our torch, by the way. The researchers have found that too much light and activity can upset the turtles.’

  At little further along, they were stopped by one of the turtle research team, who casually but determinedly questioned them about their knowledge of the rules that had been established to ensure protection for the egg-laying reptiles.

  Finally satisfied that they were at least reasonably safe to be left on their own, he suggested a specific area for their investigation and left them to wander off and check on the arrival of yet another couple. It wasn’t until then that Verna realised how many people actually had joined them on the long stretch of beach.

  Con took up her hand again along with their discussion as he related more about the turtles, which nested at Mon Repos from November to March each year.

  ‘The actual nesting is usually from November to January or early February, but the hatching goes from January to March,’ he said. ‘Most of the nesting turtles will weigh two hundred to three hundred pounds. The loggerheads and greens will lay an average of one hundred and twenty eggs in a clutch, and the eggs are the size of ping-pong balls. The flatbacks lay about fifty eggs, and they’re the size of billiard balls. The turtles will lay up to five clutches in a season, at roughly fortnightly intervals, and they don’t lay every year.’

  Verna was fascinated by the information this man seemed to be able to keep as if on a tape-recorder in his mind, but she was also supremely content just to listen to the rumbling sound of his voice as they strolled hand-in-hand along the beach. She wasn’t even looking any more for the marks of moving turtles, and returned to full awareness with something of a start when Con halted abruptly and knelt to trace with his fingers along a metre-wide scut mark through the soft sand.

  ‘Ah!’ he breathed. ‘We’re half in luck, anyway. Quiet now; we don’t want to disturb her if she’s not yet settled into her laying.’

  Moving like two thieves, they skulked along after the turtle, following the easily-discernible track until they saw her huge shape amidst a flurry of sand.

  They stopped then, well away from the ponderous shape of the turtle, standing in total silence as they watched her flippers brushing ever so slowly to excavate the body pit. Then she used her hind flippers to dig still deeper and create a pear-shaped egg chamber. During the half-hour Verna and Con stood watching, they were so entranced by the spectacle that they were hardly aware of other dark shapes moving up silently to also stand in observation.

  ‘She’s started laying now; I’ll switch on my light and everybody keep reasonably well back,’ came a voice Verna recognised as belonging to the researcher they’d met earlier. ‘Please don’t get too near her head, and try to keep quiet.’

  In the light of the researcher’s torch, they could see much more dearly as the enormous turtle continued placidly with her egg-laying, tears streaming down the huge reptilian face.

  ‘Why ... she’s crying,’ Verna whispered, and was astounded that her voice carried so well.

  ‘No, she’s excreting excess salt that she gets from having to drink sea water,’ said the researcher quietly. ‘And while she’s on the beach, it helps to keep her eyes clear of sand.’

  Everyone stood silently then as the turtle completed her laying and then used her flippers to cover up the nest before turning to lurch in heavy slow-motion movements back towards the sea,

  ‘How incredibly beautiful!’ Verna whispered as the behemoth finally staggered into the waves and disappeared. ‘How absolutely wonderful that way. Oh, thank you for bringing me. Con.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ he said. ‘But let’s not go back yet. If we wander further along maybe well get really lucky and see some hatchlings on their way down to the water.’

  They wandered along the beach then in a companionable silence. Verna didn’t know what Con might be thinking, but for herself she was content simply to be there with him, touching him. She could have wandered hand-in-hand like that for ever, and was actually disappointed when they eventually reached the small headland that framed the bay at Mon Repos. Still silent, they turned and began to retrace their steps, this time closer to the waterline where the now- retreating tide had created firmer footing.

  The stars cast a gentle glow as small clouds scudded across the moon, and Verna felt herself wishing that Con would stop, take her into his arms, and kiss her. But he didn’t, even though his huge hands were obviously aware whenever she flexed her fingers in his. When he finally did stop, it was because the turtle researcher had reappeared, to tell them in a quiet voice that a nest of hatchlings just ahead of them was exiting to the sea.

  Moving quickly but carefully, they arrived in time to watch the final exodus of the tiny reptiles as they scurried across the sands in obedience to their instincts. Most of them, Verna knew, were doomed to an early death as prey for carnivorous fish, and she squealed with delight when Con reached down to capture one small shadow and lift it up for closer inspection.

  The tiny turtle was a miniature of the huge female they’d seen earlier, although the patterning on the new shell was more obvious. Verna reached out a tentative finger to stroke the tiny reptile, and felt a pang of remorse as Con stooped to release it once again on its journey,

  ‘Off you go, young one,’ he said softly. ‘And see if you can last long enough to come back here to make new little turtles some night.’ Then he took Verna’s hand again and strode more quickly than before as they returned to the car park.

  But as they reached the end of the beach, he seemed to change his mind about being in a hurry, and paused to sit on a huge old log and light a cigarette. Verna perched herself beside him, declining the offered smoke as she stared out to where a passing ship cast its network of ghostly lights on to the smooth, placid sea. The feeling of peace and contentment that washed over her made her slump with a happy sadness and utter a small, weary sigh.

  ‘If you’re going to go all clucky and broody on me, we’re going home right now,’ said Con with an abruptness that startled her slightly.

  ‘What’s the matter with being clucky?’ she asked lightly. ‘And if you don’t like my reactions you shouldn’t have brought me.’

  ‘AU right, I wasn’t trying to start a fight,’ he said. ‘But when you get that maternal look in your eye, I keep thinking you should be off looking for a husband instead of hanging about with me.’

  ‘That is a stupid thing to say,’ Verna flared. ‘And rude a
s well, since it was you who invited me. I was really enjoying this evening until you started on this line, and I wish you’d just drop it. You’ve made it quite clear that you’re not looking for a wife, and not looking for any involvement. So O.K .— I get the message. Now if you value your freedom so damned much, then take me home and go off and enjoy it!’

  She flounced herself to her feet and strode up the path towards the car park, not knowing if he would follow and caring even less.

  It was bad enough, she thought, to be hopelessly in love with the man, without him continuously throwing it in her face that she was wasting her time. But she fought back her tears and vowed that her feelings for Con Bradley were something he would never, ever know.

  Tm sorry I got all heavy with you,’ rumbled a voice beside her as she reached the cars. ‘I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, and it’s made me a bit stroppy, that’s all.’

  Verna made no reply, but after he had helped her into the car and got in himself. Con presumed her acquiescence and began to speak again. ‘Has Reg said anything yet about me setting him up for old Mrs Whatsit?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Verna replied abruptly, not troubling to hide the annoyance she still felt. ‘But he’s given me some awfully strange looks in passing; I don’t think he’s pleased.’

  They discussed the various aspects of the ball, which Verna suddenly realised was only a fortnight away, and then drove in relative silence as she let her thoughts wander to what she might wear on such an occasion. It wasn’t until Con had halted in front of her house that Verna spoke about the one aspect of things she’d found unusual.

  ‘What are Mr Williamson and ... that woman going to think when you don’t produce Madeline Cunningham?’ she asked abruptly. ‘Or have you actually managed to arrange for a nationally famous model to visit Bundaberg just for this occasion?’

  ‘Oh, she’ll be here as one of the judges, no fear of that,’ Con replied with deceptive calm. ‘She should be arriving on February the tenth, and I’m hoping she’ll stay with me considerably longer than the fourteenth.’

  ‘Oh,’ Verna said numbly, mentally kicking herself for being so stupid. She got out of the car after thanking Con for the evening, barely able to trust herself to suddenly trembling legs. It wasn’t until he’d driven away and Sheba was gambolling around her feet in the yard that Verna’s mind began to come to grips with what she’d heard.

  How utterly silly she seemed, having assumed that Con was only spoofing old Mrs Lansing-Thorpe about the possibility of Madeline Cunningham being a judge for the ball. And how incredibly naive not to realise that with such a woman on her way to Bundaberg, of course Con wouldn’t favour getting involved with somebody like herself. Thinking of pictures she’d seen of Madeline Cunningham, Verna could easily imagine the tall, glamorous model as a partner for Con Bradley. And it was an imaginary picture that brought pangs to her heart.

  But how despicable of him to merely use her as a stopgap until a more suitable candidate arrived, she thought with sudden anger. Then the anger was displaced by the knowledge that he hadn’t exactly been ‘using’ her, since he’d given her more than ample warning that nothing serious would evolve between them, fantasies or no.

  Still, it hurt. Enough to disrupt her sleep and leave her smudgy-eyed and dispirited the next day. Also angry, both at herself and at Con. When he called to invite her on a drive during the coming weekend, she had no trouble refusing.

  ‘Why not?’ was Con’s immediate response. ‘It’ll do you good to get out of town for a change, see something of the country.’

  ‘I’m sorry; I’m going to be busy,’ Verna replied, and the tremors of anger in her voice were directed not at Con, but at her own inner weakness. Because she really did want to go with him, despite her vow that he could find somebody else to fill his time until the real woman in his life arrived.

  ‘You’re angry with me,’ he said with disarming accuracy. "What have I done this time to get on your black list?’

  ‘Nothing at all,’ she replied lightly. ‘And you’re not on my black list. In fact I think it shows a great deal of conceit to even suggest it.’

  ‘Oh,’ he muttered. ‘I must have done something even worse than usual. But not to worry; a quiet day’s drive in the country will put you right. You’ll have to be up early though; I’ve got a fair day’s trekking planned. How’s seven o’clock suit you?’

  ‘Didn’t you listen to me?’ Verna snapped with renewed anger, and this time it was fairly directed at this infuriating voice that had so abruptly ignored her rejections. ‘I am going to be busy, Con. I am not coming with you.’

  ‘What have you got planned, then?’

  It was so abrupt that Verna was caught off guard, a situation not at all improved by the fact she had nothing whatsoever planned, and suspected he knew it.

  ‘It’s absolutely none of your business what I’ve got planned,’ she replied with as much dignity as she could muster. ‘The point of the issue is that I cannot go with you on Saturday. Now if you’ve nothing else to discuss, I have a great deal of work to do.’

  ‘My word, but you’re shirty,’ he chuckled. ‘And I can’t for the life of me imagine why. Ah well, you’ll be over it by Saturday. See you ...’ And he was gone, leaving Verna staring angrily at the silent telephone.

  Her anger grew, rather than diminished, and when she finally tucked into bed on Friday night — still without the slightest idea what she’d do the next day, except that it wouldn’t involve Con Bradley — she was half tempted to go around and bang on his door and have it out right there, despite the lateness of the hour. She was still thinking about it when she finally drifted off to sleep, having set her alarm for six so that if nothing else she could be well away from the house just in case he did call for her at seven o’clock.

  By six-thirty next morning she was awake, showered, dressed and waiting for the coffee to finish perking when a knock at the door made her leap to her feet in surprise. Before she could reach the door, however, it opened to admit a smiling Con Bradley.

  ‘Coffee! Good .. . just what I needed,’ he said with a grin, strolling over to seat himself beside Verna’s chair.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Verna asked with astonishment evident in her eyes.

  ‘Waiting for you to pour me some coffee. Or am I expected to pour my own?’ Lounging back in his chair, he seemed totally unaware of how unwelcome he was. Verna stood up and moved to the counter, then stopped herself in amazement as she found herself reaching up for a second coffee mug.

  What am I doing? she wondered. The absolute nerve of this ... this egotistical character, expecting me to just hop up and get his coffee I Turning, she stood and stared at the intruder, unable to help herself from noticing just how masculine he was in a short-sleeved shirt open to the waist and shorts that revealed his well-tanned, powerful legs.

  You just get out of here,’ she said finally with a determined frown. ‘I’ve already said I’m going to be busy today ... and I am! Now you know I’m not going anywhere with you, so please leave.’

  ‘Without even a cup of coffee? That’s not very neighbourly, I must say,’ he answered without shifting his relaxed position.

  ‘Oh, all right! Have your damned coffee and then go,’ Verna replied hotly. ‘But I honestly think you’re taking an awful lot for granted.’

  Con said nothing until he thanked her for the coffee, which he drank slowly without taking his eyes from her.

  She could feel herself tingling beneath his frankly disrupting appraisal, but she managed to keep her own silence, staring angrily out the window as she wished he’d finish his coffee and get out.

  ‘What are you planning today that’s so terribly important?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘I keep telling you ... it’s none of your business,’ she shot back.

  ‘But how can I persuade you to change your mind if you won’t tell me what your plans are?’ he replied gently.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she replied hastily. ‘I’
m ...’

  ‘... lying to me; that’s what you’re doing,’ he said. ‘You know very well you haven’t any plans at all. What I can’t understand is why you insist on trying to lie to me, Verna. You should know by now that I can read your mind.’

  ‘I am not lying,’ she lied. Tm spending the day in the office getting my story bank up to scratch. With Dave sick we had to use up a lot of features, and I’m afraid the stockpile’s got too low for my satisfaction.’

  She turned to look Con directly in the eye as she dreamed up and spoke the blatant lie, so she couldn’t miss the mocking laughter that sprang up, seeming to flare even brighter with her every word.

  ‘Bulldust!’ he said when she’d finished. ‘You’re the worst liar in the entire world, my girl, which is likely just as well if that’s the best excuse you can manage.’

  He rose and strolled over to pour himself more coffee while Verna, who had felt a surge of relief that he was leaving after all, sat in stunned silence as he mixed in the milk and sugar and returned to his seat.

  ‘Look, if you honestly don’t want to come with me, why not just say so?’ he asked. ‘I mean, I’m not a schoolboy; I’m not going to break down and cry or anything. At least it would be better than all this prevaricating.’

  ‘All right. I don’t want to go with you today. I don’t want to go with you tomorrow. I didn’t want you here. I don’t like you bursting in here expecting to be fed and watered. And I want you gone! Is that clear enough, Mr Bradley? Gone!’ Verna was near to tears by the time she’d finished, and only just managed to choke out a final, ‘Is that good enough for you?’

  Con was unmoved. He lounged back in his chair and shot her a quizzical glance from those bright, pale blue eyes. ‘Why are you so mad at me?’ he asked softly. ‘And don’t tell me it’s none of my business. You were fine the last time I saw you, if not exactly loving, and now you’ve gone all hostile and out-of-my-life-you-cad. What the hell’s the matter?’