The two of them had paused for a quick coffee and now rested in the shade of the huge pine trees. It was a much-needed rest since they’d been on the go since dawn with only the briefest halts for meals. Breakfast had been very much a catch-as-catch-can situation, with everybody expected to help themselves. Few had seemed able to summon up the energy.
“I don’t think most of them realized you were orchestrating much of that performance last night,” Judith said, suddenly forced from silence by the realization of how Bevan was looking at her. His eyes seemed like deep, gray pools, but their increasingly strange habit of luring her to stare into them was disconcerting.
“I’m not surprised,” he said. “After all, you didn’t realize it until just a minute ago.” And he laughed aloud at her expression.
“I ...” She had to let it go. He was right, and to argue would only make it worse. She was tempted to just keep quiet, knowing he had the upper hand for the moment and wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Except ... he kept looking at her.
“I was afraid at one point that you’d gone too far,” she ventured. “There was a moment when I half expected you and Derek to ... uhm ...”
“Come to blows? As in fisticuffs? Over you?”
Bevan’s expression was so bland, so totally innocent, that for a moment she wondered if he even remembered the incident. She was not long confused.
“Ah, you mean when he started in on you and your questionable neutrality. Hell, Judith Theresa, I wasn’t going to hit him for that.” And his grin broadened. “I was actually more afraid of having to jump in and protect him from you.”
Bevan was clearly enjoying her discomfort. “After all,” he said, “I could hardly go about hitting him for thinking almost exactly the same thing I was, could I?”
Judith could only sit and stare at him. Her mouth was capable of moving – in fact she was certain her jaw had dropped and she was sitting open-mouthed – but she couldn’t find or form the words of any sensible reply. In her mind, however, the words flowed easily enough for her to think. How dare he question her neutrality? And what was this rubbish about protecting Derek from her? Nonsense.
“Actually, it was quite an informative evening all round,” Bevan continued. “I learned that your boyfriend is hard to provoke, but he can be led into indiscretion, no doubt about that. And I’m fairly sure now that I know where the biggest problems are going to come from during the next several months, or, more correctly, who they’re going to come from. And then, of course, there is what I learned about you ...”
He let that sentence slide into completion like the end of a disappearing act, obviously savoring the malice in the gesture. Judith wasn’t even tempted to bite. She was still seething about what he’d said earlier.
The problem was knowing the truth of it and having to deny it at the same time. Of course she was biased, in the sense that she felt certain Derek would attempt to manipulate this project to his own advantage no matter how it turned out. But that, she determined, at least to her own satisfaction, was distinctly different from being biased in the way Bevan had implied.
“I am inclined to think – using one of your unique Australianisms – that you’ve both got kangaroos loose in the top paddock,” she finally said. “Or maybe it’s your own biased view of all journalists that’s showing. I am strictly neutral in this. I intend to record things exactly as I see them, exactly as they happen.”
“I hope you can stick to that,” he replied with a wry grin. “But just remember, Judith Theresa, what happens to people who sit on the fence too long. You have far too lovely a rump to have it all scarred up by barbed wire.”
And before she could think of a reply he was gone, on his feet and moving like a great predatory cat, walking away without a backward glance.
18
There was no partying that night. Everybody was quite obviously pooped by the time all preparations were completed and the sun long past setting. Bevan’s announcement of a pre-dawn start was greeted by sighs of dismay, but no obvious dissent, and everyone was abed as early as they could manage.
With all the gear already loaded, they were able to be on the move in accordance with his deadline, and by sun-up the ill-assorted fleet of vehicles was deep in the scrub, fighting their way along apparently little-used tracks to some vague destination known only to Bevan and old Ted Norton.
Bevan and Derek led the convoy in Bevan’s battered old four-wheel-drive, followed by the greens in an equally battered Land Rover. Judith and Roberta were jammed in with Ted in a vehicle of uncertain pedigree and vintage that was clearly designed to provide anything but comfort. Dust both inside and outside the machine obscured much of their vision as the truck lurched and groaned at the tail of the procession, giving Judith the impression it might expire from exhaustion or old age at any moment.
Ted, taciturn as ever, made no attempt at conversation. He grunted every once in awhile at some maneuver by the vehicle ahead of them, but whether in approval or contempt was impossible to determine. Roberta seemed equally happy to make the journey without trying to talk over the noise of the engine and the creaking, groaning, rattling bodywork. Judith, jammed between them on what remained of the front seat, was too busy hanging on to care.
The journey seemed endless, not least because Judith was more than half convinced she could have walked almost as fast and in a great deal more comfort. When they descended a steep cutting to cross a rock-strewn and almost-dry stream bed, she could only sigh with relief to find the first two vehicles halted and preparations underway for morning coffee.
It was no surprise, somehow, to find the track got worse from that point, and worse still after the short break Bevan allowed for lunch. Much of the time, Judith wasn’t sure there still was a track, though of course Ted had only to follow those ahead of them.
On and on they went, the vehicles rolling and pitching like ships on a stormy sea, more dust inside than out and the questionable coil beneath Judith’s “lovely rump” becoming increasingly intrusive as the day wore on.
I think that barbed-wire fence would be an improvement over this, she thought to herself at one point, and by day’s end she was very nearly certain of it. But not so sure that she would admit to it when asked almost that exact question by the man himself when he strode over to meet their vehicle on arrival at the chosen campsite.
“You have a warped and evil sense of humor,” she said hotly, accepting the hand he offered to help her down from the truck, then trying to ignore the easy familiarity with which he had offered the same assistance to Roberta. And the familiarity with which Roberta had accepted it.
Jealous? Stop this, Judith. Stop it now!
It was insane, she realized, to even think about being jealous, which didn’t explain why it was happening. Whatever was between Bevan and Roberta was clearly of long standing and none of her business. All of which would have been easier to accept if her fingers hadn’t tingled at his very touch and gone on tingling even after he’d released them.
Ridiculous, she thought, to thrill so easily to any man’s touch. Worse, to be so sensitive to Bevan that he could stir her insides to jelly with a simple, direct look. As he was doing right this instant, having held onto her fingers much longer than necessary as he helped her down from the vehicle, having asked, with laughter in his eyes, if maybe fence sitting mightn’t be preferable after all.
“You sound about as frazzled as you look, Judith Theresa,” he said with a grin, reaching out to wipe at a smudge of dust from her cheek. “You should see yourself. You look like something the cat dragged in. Freckles upon freckles.”
Judith flinched angrily from his touch. She had seen the layer of dust on Roberta and everyone else, knew her own face would look equally grimy, perhaps worse because of the freckles.
“It’s nothing to laugh at,” she growled, only to find herself positioned so she could see herself in the big side mirror of the truck. Her sunglasses removed, she looked all googly-eyed, like a demented raccoon. An
d, objections or not, decidedly laughable.
“Oh, all right,” she grudgingly admitted. And broke into a grin of her own, shaking her head at the weird image in the mirror. “It is something to laugh at and I admit it.”
“Nice to see you’ve kept your sense of humor,” he said, now moving his gaze along a distinctly unlaughable tour of her equally dusty figure. It suddenly seemed to Judith that he was capable of dusting her off, especially in strategic places that actually cried out for it, with his eyes alone. They touched, caressed, appreciated. And infuriated.
“I really do wish you’d stop looking at me like that,” she heard herself say, knowing it was silly to bother, a dangerous admission of his growing power over her.
“Like what?”
Like you want to eat me for dinner. And like you know I want you to.
And his eyes twinkled, revealing all too well his amusement at her dilemma, his total awareness of that ability to influence her emotions.
“You know very well like what,” she snapped. “And I don’t know why you persist in doing it. It isn’t accomplishing anything, and it isn’t going to.”
Bevan just laughed, white teeth gleaming from a face almost as dusty as her own. “Must be accomplishing something, or you wouldn’t be getting so frothy about it,” he said. And then, softly, insidiously, “And why on earth shouldn’t I look at you, Judith Theresa? You’re eminently worth the effort.”
“And you’re so full of it your eyes are brown,” she snapped, turning away, knowing it was a form of retreat but unable to be sure that she wouldn’t say or do something even more foolish if she stayed. She stalked away, feeling his gaze tracking her every step, his eyes touching like a caress along her flanks. Even his quiet laughter, which she could hear, was a subtle form of caress.
That laughter continued to bother her throughout the rest of the late afternoon as Bevan seemed to be everywhere at once, organizing the setting up of their camp. It seemed that everywhere Judith became involved, whether in helping to pitch a tent or store the various scientific equipment under proper cover, he was always nearby, always laughing, always watching her. At one point, finding him the only man in camp because everyone else was out getting firewood – at his instigation – she angrily muttered that he ought to be doing his share of the wood gathering. A wasted gesture.
“Organizers organize,” he said, once again using his eyes to laugh at her, showing that he knew he was getting to her. “No sense having a dog and barking yourself.”
To which she had, as he had obviously expected, no reply that wouldn’t merely serve to make things worse. Judith had also noticed the curious glances sent her way from Roberta, who seemed to be enjoying the byplay. That was sufficient to make Judith determined to put an end to it if she could!
The layout of the camp was simple enough, having been determined before they’d left the property. The three women shared one tent, Bevan and Ted another, and Derek and the two local conservationists the third. A fourth had been brought to house equipment, and a fifth to serve as communal kitchen. Their first bush dinner was a haphazard but cheerful affair, enhanced by the anticipation of the next day’s activities – their first real test of the equipment and the procedures that would see them through the coming months of the tiger hunt.
Jan Smythe was most visibly affected. Her photographic and technical specialties would be significant now, and she was obviously looking forward to it. Her bubbling enthusiasm permeated the camp. Jan was teamed with Ted Norton, whose local bush skills and experience, according to Bevan, would be sorely tested before the expedition was over.
“I’m not overly worried about whether Ted can find us a tiger or not,” Bevan said during dinner. “The main thing is whether he’ll be able to find whichever of you is the first to get lost, once we’ve gone bush for real.”
The comment drew howls of protest from the entire conservation element. Even Derek, who’d never been to Tasmania before, was moved to an eloquent defense of his bush-craft skills and those of his companions.
“Nobody’s questioning your competence,” was Bevan’s blunt reply. “I’m just reminding everyone of the simple fact that people do get lost, or have accidents. It can happen to you, me, or anybody else. Even the getting lost part. I suspect that although Ted would never admit it, he’s been lost too, on occasion.”
“Not true,” was the denial in the firmest voice Judith had ever heard Ted use. “I’ve never been lost in the bush in my life. I’ve had a fair few camps get lost, and my truck’s been lost so often it should carry one of those satellite gadgets. It got lost for an entire week, one time. But I’ve never been lost. I’ve always known exactly where I was.”
It took a minute to sink in, but everyone eventually got the point and laughed. Judith did think, however, that at least some members of the group had to force their laughter just a tad. For her own part, she had no false confidence. She would not only be taking the warnings to heart, but would be extra careful to ensure she wasn’t the object of any embarrassing rescue missions.
After dinner they sorted out the next day’s agenda, which would involve splitting the party into two. Ted and Jan, with the cameras and sensor gear, would do a broad swing to the north and east of camp, with Reg and Ron serving as bearers, while Bevan, Roberta, and Derek made a somewhat less expansive expedition to the south and east. Judith was free to join whichever party she chose, although Bevan somehow managed to imply that he’d prefer it if she went with the others.
“We’ll be taking some cameras and equipment,” he said, “but mostly we’ll just be out for a sticky-beak and a wander. Jan’s the real expert here, and I’d prefer she and Ted combine their talents as much as possible.”
“There is no way we can set out all the cameras in one day anyway,” Jan said. “I expect there will be a lot of fine-tuning before we start to get any proper results at all.”
The rest of the discussion was brief. Everyone was bone weary from the rough drive and the work of setting up camp, and they were all in their sleeping bags by nine o’clock. Five minutes later, or so it seemed to Judith – and she was not alone in her thinking – it was morning, or at least that dim, silent, almost unreal time of mists and half-seen shadows.
19
“It can’t be morning already. I only just got to sleep,” muttered Derek as he nearly trod on Judith emerging from her tent.
“It’s an insane time to be getting up,” grumbled the ever-surly Ron Peters, leaving Judith to wonder what sort of conservationists these people were, that they seemed happiest spending half the day sleeping.
Only Roberta seemed totally comfortable with the early rising. She was already halfway through getting a hearty breakfast together when Judith entered the cook tent. “At least we’ve got half decent weather for the beginning of it all,” she remarked, her smile broad and genuine, her elegant beauty obvious even in the bush shirt and jeans she wore.
“Uhm,” Judith replied. Such cheerfulness was frightening. She knew herself to be barely able to communicate without several cups of coffee inside her, and her glance strayed immediately to where a huge pot of that vital brew was steaming.
Roberta was busily laying out the tables and preparing the various ingredients for what seemed an enormous breakfast, and Judith, once fueled by a few sips of coffee, offered to assist.
“Nothing much left to do. I’ve got everything just about ready, and if Bevan and Ted would hurry up and get back with the trout they promised me, I could start cooking. Which do you fancy? Steak and eggs or eggs and trout?”
Judith shuddered at the thought.
“I’ll stick to coffee for now, thanks, and ask my stomach when it finally wakes up. A bit of toast when it’s ready might be good, though.”
“You’ll waste away to a mere shadow,” said an all-too-familiar voice from behind her, and she turned to face an annoyingly bright-looking Bevan Keene, one hand occupied waving half a dozen pan-sized trout in front of her nose.
“
Ugh. Take them away. It’s too early in the morning to even think about food,” she said.
“Might be the last chance you have until lunch,” he said calmly, turning to hand the fish over to a much more responsive Roberta, who enthused over the offering. “I would have thought you’d be a proper breakfast person,” Bevan added, “given your taste for rare steaks.”
“There is a time and a place for everything.”
“And everything in its place. Yes, I know.”
He was totally unflappable, Judith thought, which was doubly annoying at this hour.
“And the time for eating is now because Bevan’s right,” said Roberta, a huge frying pan in her hands. “We might none of us even get back for lunch, and I’m certainly not packing any cut lunches, so you’d best forget your squeamishness and get around some of this. It could be a long time to the next proper meal.”
Jan Smythe entered the tent – and the discussion – with a totally disinterested glance at the fish and the thawing steak all ready to be cooked. “If you all had the sense to be vegetarians, we could be finished breakfast and on our way by now,” she said, pouring herself a cup of tea and throwing muesli into a bowl.
Judith’s own folly in ignoring a hearty breakfast was screaming insults at her even before their brief stop for morning tea. At first, finding herself less and less able to keep up with Jan’s party despite their heavy loads, she thought it was simply her lack of recent exercise, but when she staggered into the rest break with sweat pouring from her and her legs like string, old Ted was the first to comment.
“Tomorrow, you’ll eat,” he said. “Your body isn’t used to this, and you put yourself at a disadvantage before you even started by not eating.”
Jan was more practical, offering a grateful Judith substantial helpings of the trail-mix she’d packed to serve as lunch and snacks for herself through the day.
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