He glanced across at Amy now and he thought: had this woman been one of those sylphlike figures whose movements on the stage were pure grace and beauty?
The last ballet he’d been to was when he’d been about sixteen. He’d been traumatised by the latest of his father’s public scandals. His grandparents were the centre of media attention and, in typical teenage fashion, he’d decided every eye in the theatre was on him. He’d watched, sullen and uncooperative, but, despite himself, he’d found himself caught. He’d thought then, fleetingly, he knew why his grandmother loved it.
But, after that, he’d never been back. Real men didn’t go to the ballet, especially men headed for the army, for the powerful SWAT team, for action in Iraq, Afghanistan, so many of the world’s trouble spots.
Now, at thirty-seven, he was seeing a faint echo of a world he’d last seen twenty years ago.
Amy was talking to his grandmother as if she was already a friend. She’d figured just the right note. They shared sadness, yet both were moving on.
The sister—Rachel?—seemed a shadow on the periphery, polite but looking as if she’d love to retreat to her stones.
The impression of illness intensified.
He’d like to know these women’s stories.
No. No, he wouldn’t. He wanted to get this journey over with, get his grandmother cheered up and get back to his unit. His grandmother was doing everything she could to draw him into her world, and he would not be drawn.
Except the appalling woman they’d met at lunch had been right. Maybe he had no choice.
The camels won. They upped the pace, swept forward until they were a carriage ahead and then veered away, triumphant.
‘I’m guessing they race every train,’ Amy said, and she suddenly sounded wistful. ‘Don’t they look wonderful? Don’t they look free?’
‘They’re young,’ Maudie said, and the wistfulness was in her voice as well. ‘They’ll get aching legs soon enough.’
‘Yep, any minute now they’ll be taking anti-inflammatories and heating wheat bags to take to bed at night,’ Amy said, and Maudie chuckled—and Hugo glanced at Amy and thought: there’s pain behind those words. Pain and courage.
He did not want to be interested in a woman on a train.
Rachel was back in her book.
Amy was slipping steak into her purse.
Amy was what?
He must have imagined it.
He hadn’t imagined it. She’d sliced a sliver, then dropped her hand below the table to where her purse lay on her knee. When she’d raised her fork the steak was gone.
She cut another sliver and ate it, just like normal.
The waiter appeared to take Maudie and Hugo’s order. They were a course behind the girls. They could watch.
Rachel read. Amy and Maudie chatted.
A steak sliver raised to Amy’s lips. Another.
Another went below the table and disappeared.
Hugo was trained to notice small details. Suspicions. Anything out of the ordinary could mean trouble. As tiny a detail as a robe worn slightly askew, or a guy smiling more widely than appropriate meant immediate caution.
He wasn’t in a war zone now. He could hardly drag Amy’s hand up with the offending steak and say, Explain yourself.
Another sliver dropped purse-wards. She glanced up and met his gaze. Their eyes locked.
She knew he’d seen.
She didn’t say a word but there was a message in those clear brown eyes...
Please don’t say anything. This is important. Please...
Curiouser and curiouser. A steak-smuggling, rock-reading ballet dancer.
Okay, he wasn’t interested in women, at least not when he was around Maudie, but this was a mystery and maybe he could enjoy challenge without involvement.
His steak came. His grandmother had ordered fish. In the corner, Rachel had sent her quiche back uneaten.
On impulse, he cut a couple of slivers from the corner of his steak, dropped them into his napkin—then passed it under the table to Amy.
His fingers touched her knee. She met his gaze, startled. His gaze locked, held; a silent message passed between them.
She dropped her hand under the table and found his.
The napkin passed between them and her eyes widened.
‘Is anything wrong?’ Maudie demanded, her sharp eyes missing little but not seeing the exchange. Only Amy’s stillness.
‘I... no,’ Amy managed. ‘Do you like your fish?’
‘It’s excellent,’ Maudie said. ‘Though the servings are too big. They always are.’
‘But you finished all your steak, Miss Cotton,’ Hugo said gravely.
‘Amy,’ she said, sounding distracted.
‘Amy,’ he said, liking the sound of it. ‘I’m finishing mine, too. It’s a long time till breakfast. They should provide midnight snacks. Maybe a steak sandwich in the small hours? I wonder if they have spare bread?’
She glared at him. His lips twitched. He had a mystery here and, despite his vow to stay uninvolved he sat back and started to enjoy himself.
‘I’ve lost my napkin,’ he told the waiter as he went past. ‘Could I have another, please?’
Amy’s glare intensified.
‘So are you two getting off at Alice Springs?’ Maudie was asking. This train went all the way north to Darwin, but many passengers broke the journey halfway to see the fabulous rock formations: Uluru, formerly known as Ayers Rock, The Olgas, Mount Connor...
‘We are,’ Amy said. ‘Of course we are. We’ll spend a few days exploring. So many big rocks... What could make Rachel happier?’
Rachel gave a fleeting smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Will you climb Uluru?’ Maudie asked her, but it was Amy who answered.
‘Uluru’s sacred to the indigenous people. They don’t like anyone climbing. I’d love to climb the Olgas, though. Did you know European explorers named the Olgas after Queen Olga of Wurtenburg, when the local people named it Kata Tjuta thousands of years ago? Then they changed Uluru to Alice Springs, naming it after someone who never even came here. How weird is that?’
‘Weird,’ Hugo agreed, finding himself increasingly drawn into the conversation. This woman was passionate, he thought. There was enough indignation in those few words to show she cared.
And then he looked closer. In Afghanistan he’d trained himself to notice tribal differences. These two women had cute blonde curls, but their skin was darker than the complexion from Irish or English heritage. It wasn’t the dark of fake tan; it was more a beautiful bronze brush. And Amy’s nose, cute and snub, was a tiny bit flattened at the end. Another of those subtle hints.
‘You have native blood,’ he said, and suddenly, wow, here was her beam again. He loved this beam. How could he make it stay on?
‘Well done, you,’ Amy said. ‘We’re three-quarters Irish, but our maternal grandmother was from a tribe near Alice. She was taken away as a child, but she talked about Kata Tjuta and Uluru all our childhood.’
‘She never came back?’
‘Sadly, no. She died when we were still kids, but we always told her we’d come. And now, with Rachel’s rocks...’
‘You’ll climb?’
‘Kata Tjuta? Rachel might not be able to,’ Amy said. ‘She’s been ill. But I will. Rachel wants rock samples, and I’ll take photos.’
‘Which is a problem all on its own,’ Rachel volunteered from her shadows. �
��Amy’s photos tend to be smudgy pictures of clouds or of her trainers.’
‘Oi. I’m better than that,’ Amy retorted.
‘Not much,’ Rachel said darkly.
‘My grandson takes wonderful photos,’ Maudie said, and Hugo realised that, for the first time in the entire trip, Maudie sounded happy. And... thoughtful? Uh oh. He knew that tone. Maudie’s Machiavellian matchmaking was about to go into overdrive. ‘And I expect you need rock samples, Rachel, my dear.’
‘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 fu
n 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.
Her Outback Rescuer Page 2