by Miranda Lee
It took a few seconds before her brain kicked back into gear.
Don’t make something out of good manners, Cleo. And don’t, for pity’s sake, start making a fool of yourself over this man.
‘It’s quite warm up here, isn’t it?’ she said with a cool smile, after which she made her way down the steps to the hot tarmac, and the hire car already waiting for them.
CHAPTER NINE
THE HIRE CAR was an SUV. Silver, with grey leather seats and a driver named Lou. He was also a talker, but not irritatingly so. A blessing in disguise, Byron soon decided, since Cleo seemed to have fallen oddly silent once they climbed in the back of the car. He liked the way she’d talked to him on the plane. Liked her warm smiles and sparkling eyes.
They weren’t sparkling now. They were cool and businesslike, and mostly directed through the passenger window. Frankly, he couldn’t quite work Cleo out. Which annoyed him. He was usually good at working out women.
Or was he?
If he was such a good judge of the opposite sex, then he should have realised earlier that both Eva and Simone were little better than gold-diggers. Sure, they both had careers of their own, but the bitter truth was they wanted the bonus—or the back-up—of being married to money. He wouldn’t mind betting that neither of them would have rushed into giving him the children he craved. Eva would not have wanted to risk spoiling her figure. Simone might have given in and had one child, eventually, but only as an insurance policy. Ex-wives with children got a better divorce settlement than those without.
‘I presume you folks want to have a bite to eat before going out to the refinery?’ Lou asked once they left the airport. ‘Or did you eat on the plane?’
‘Nothing substantial,’ Byron said. ‘But we don’t have time to linger. It would have to be quick. What would you suggest?’
‘There’s a nice little café on the way out of town. It’s rarely crowded and they do a mean club sandwich. And their coffee is great. Would that do?’
‘What do you say, Cleo?’ he asked her, forcing her to turn back to face him.
‘Sounds like just the thing,’ she replied with a stiff little smile.
Byron frowned. What had he possibly done to upset her?
She remained annoyingly cool during their stop at the café, hardly saying a word as he devoured his sandwich whilst she ate slowly and thoughtfully. Thank goodness he’d insisted Lou sit and have something to eat with them otherwise the table would have been a desert of conversation.
‘I used to work at the refinery,’ Lou said as he munched away.
Byron put down the small remainder of his sandwich. ‘And?’ he prodded.
‘Great place to work.’
‘So why did you leave?’ he persisted, at which point Cleo put down her sandwich and looked up.
Lou shrugged. ‘I could see the writing on the wall,’ he said. ‘No more bonuses at Christmas. Prices falling. The boss looking worried. So I thought I’d jump ship before the whole thing sank.’
‘I see,’ Byron said. ‘So you don’t suggest I come on board at this point in time?’
Lou looked alarmed. ‘Hell, you’re not thinking of buying the place, are you?’
‘Not sure yet.’
‘Bloody hell. I was told you were a big shot movie maker. I thought you must have been going to make a film out here or something. I thought you might be looking for a location, not an investment.’
Byron smiled in dry amusement. ‘Afraid not.’
Lou pulled a face. ‘I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,’ he said, glancing from Byron to Cleo, then back to Byron.
‘Absolutely not,’ Byron reassured the man. ‘I already knew the refinery was in financial difficulty. But it’s good to get the local perspective as well. And I rather like your idea about a movie set up here. I’ll certainly give it some thought.’
‘Great.’
‘Drink up, then,’ Byron said, lifting his own coffee mug. ‘Time we were on the road again.’
The road wasn’t too bad, and the countryside was quite beautiful. Until they hit mining country, at which point the trees disappeared, and the land was scraped clean. Great piles of earth dotted the landscape, in the middle of which stood the refinery, its great smoke stacks reaching into the sky. No smoke, however. Nothing was doing that day.
Once through the security gates, they drove past lots of utilitarian buildings. The largest one had ‘Canteen’ written above the door. Everything looked a bit...bedraggled, like Detroit after the car industry moved out. The manager of the refinery put on a good show, but Byron could see past his bonhomie to the worried man beneath. A quick tour of the refinery was followed by lots of excuses why it wasn’t in production that day, none of which Byron bought. Cleo didn’t accompany him on the tour for longer than five minutes, claiming a headache, which Byron only half believed. She’d apologised, then retreated to the canteen for water and painkillers.
So Byron was surprised to see her hunched down in the dirt outside the canteen, inspecting the back left foot of what had to be the biggest, ugliest dog he’d ever seen. Maybe a cross between a Labrador and a Great Dane, with a bit of dingo and donkey thrown in for good measure.
‘What’s that you’ve got there, Cleo?’ he asked as he walked over to her, the manager in tow.
Her face scrunched up as she straightened. ‘He’s got something wrong with his leg. He was limping very badly. But I can’t find anything. His foot’s fine, but he doesn’t like to put his weight on that back leg. He keeps holding it up.’
‘That’s Mungo,’ the manager said. ‘He’s been limping for a good while.’
‘Then why hasn’t he been taken to a vet?’ Cleo demanded to know, clearly outraged.
The manager shrugged. ‘He’s not my dog. He doesn’t belong to anyone. He just showed up one day a few weeks ago. The men called him Mungo because he’s a mongrel. They give him some food every now and then, and the girls in the canteen make sure he has a bucket of water.’
‘But he needs to go to a vet,’ Cleo insisted. ‘The poor thing’s in pain.’
‘He’ll get better,’ the manager said dismissively.
‘No, he won’t, actually,’ Byron intervened, a few things clicking together in his brain. ‘Not if he’s ruptured his cruciate ligament.’
‘His what?’ both Cleo and the manager chorused.
‘His cruciate ligament. It’s an injury which is quite common with big dogs. If they don’t get it fixed, they’ll always limp, then have severe arthritis as they get older. My sister has a golden retriever who suffered the same fate a couple of years ago. We had it operated on and Jasper’s just fine now.’
‘Better to have him put down, then,’ the manager said, at which point the dog looked up, his dark eyes unbearably sad. Cleo’s weren’t much better.
Please, they said, looking down at the dog, then right at him.
Byron sighed. ‘If you can find him an owner,’ he said to her, ‘I’ll take him to Sydney with us and have him operated on.’
Her eyes lit up like the Harbour Bridge on New Year’s Eve. ‘That would be marvellous. And Doreen and I will take him.’
Byron frowned. ‘Who’s Doreen?’
‘My mother-in-law. She lives with me.’
Byron absorbed that information with a smidgeon of dismay. He’d rather liked the thought that Cleo might not have been happy in her marriage. But you didn’t live with your mother-in-law if you’d hated her son, did you? Not that it really mattered. He wasn’t going to get caught up in Cleo’s emotional baggage, was he?
‘He’ll need to be kept quiet for a long while after the operation,’ he warned. ‘He can’t be allowed to run around, or go up and down a lot of steps, not until it’s all healed.’
‘That’s okay. My place only has one step at the front and back. And Doreen isn’t working at the moment.’
‘Okay. That’s all settled, then. Where’s Lou?’
‘He’s in the canteen,’ Cleo told him.
; ‘Then go get him,’ he commanded as he scooped the dog up in his arms the way he’d learned to do with Jasper. ‘And we’ll get going.’
‘It’ll cost you a fortune, mate,’ the manager warned as he walked with Byron to the parked SUV.
‘I know,’ came his rueful reply. Around five grand at this particular hospital. And counting.
But you only got what you paid for in life. And it wasn’t as though he couldn’t afford it. Plus, it was going to make him a hero in Cleo’s eyes.
Not much a woman wouldn’t do for her hero...
CHAPTER TEN
DOREEN WAS STILL up when Cleo finally arrived home that evening.
‘Ah, you’re home,’ she said, glancing up from where she was curled up on their very comfy sofa, dressed in her pale blue dressing gown and fluffy slippers. ‘Long day?’
‘You could say that.’ Cleo had eventually sent Doreen a text on the flight home to explain that she wasn’t staying in Townsville overnight, but that she was coming home that day. She didn’t say anything about Mungo at that stage, feeling the dog situation was better explained in person. Apparently, Doreen hadn’t noticed her overnight bag sitting next to the front door, which was typical of Doreen. She would make a terrible witness to a crime.
‘I’ll make you a hot chocolate,’ she offered immediately, uncurling herself and heading for the kitchen.
‘That would be lovely,’ Cleo said, and followed her.
The kitchen wasn’t large but it was well appointed, and had a breakfast bar with three stools at which Doreen and Cleo ate most of their meals—unlike when she’d lived there with Martin, who had always insisted on eating in the more formal dining room, even at breakfast. Cleo dumped her handbag on the floor and climbed up onto one of the stools.
‘I can’t imagine you had much success,’ Doreen said as she made hot chocolate for two. ‘The mining industry is in the doldrums.’
‘I seriously doubt Byron is going to become Scott’s new business partner,’ Cleo admitted with a touch of sadness. ‘Which is a pity. Scott could do with a partner who can be ruthless when he needs to be. Byron told me on the flight home that the nickel refinery needs to be closed down straight away, and I agree with him. But you know Scott. He says he’s going to shut it down but he’s got a soft heart and can’t bear to lay people off until he’s tried everything possible.’
Doreen sighed. ‘I know. I wish he was my boss. Then I might still have a job.’
Until recently, Doreen had worked at a local supermarket. But when their business had started to go downhill due to some poor business decisions and fierce competition from a nearby rival, she was laid off.
‘I get so bored sometimes,’ Doreen added, and pushed Cleo’s mug over to her.
‘What would you think about getting a dog?’ she asked, not sure how Doreen was going to react. She’d never had a dog, her husband not allowing it. Or so she’d confided to her one day. The same had applied to Martin. He wouldn’t even let Cleo get a cat. He wasn’t an animal hater. But he’d hated anything that took Cleo’s attention away from him. She wondered suddenly if that had been the real reason he’d kept putting off having a baby...
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Doreen said. ‘Some dogs can be very smelly.’
Cleo thought of the doggy pong that had invaded the SUV, and then the plane, Byron complaining that he would have to have the jet thoroughly cleaned and fumigated before handing it back to his father. But his complaints had been light-hearted, a laugh hidden behind his poker face. The nurse at the Sydney veterinary hospital they’d taken him to had said she would have to bathe him and vaccinate first before they could proceed with the operation the following day.
Byron had certainly done his part. Now it was Cleo’s job to convince Doreen that they both needed a dog.
‘True,’ Cleo said. ‘But they’re not called man’s best friend for nothing. They give unconditional love.’ And if there were two women in the world who needed unconditional love it was them!
Doreen finally twigged that there was something in the air besides idle speculation. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Cleo.
‘I might be imagining things but I have a feeling that something is going on here. Come on, Cleo. Don’t beat about the bush. If you’re thinking about buying a dog, then just say so.’
‘I’m not thinking about buying a dog. Mungo is more of a rescue dog.’
‘Mungo,’ Doreen repeated with a wince. ‘Why do I get the feeling that we’re not talking about some cute little puppy?’
Cleo decided that a picture was worth a thousand words, so she bent down and pulled her phone out of her bag and showed Doreen a few snaps she’d taken of Mungo sprawled across the leather sofa in Byron’s jet, then a couple more on the way to the vet as she cradled his big head in her lap in the back of Byron’s car.
Fortunately, one of the snaps captured the sadness in his large soulful eyes and not just his great big ugly body.
‘Oh, the poor darling,’ Doreen said, sniffling a little. She was a soft touch, was Doreen.
After that, Cleo felt free to tell her everything, including how wonderful Byron had been about the dog. He’d insisted on paying for the operation, excusing his generosity by saying he could easily afford it. But really, that wasn’t the point. A lot of rich men could afford to do a lot of things but they rarely did them. Most men in Byron’s position wouldn’t have cared, let alone gone to so much trouble. And it had certainly been trouble, lugging Mungo around.
But Cleo couldn’t expect him to do any more than he had already done. From now on it was up to her and Doreen to do everything, which included picking up Mungo on Saturday afternoon. Knowing that he wouldn’t fit in the back of her small car, Cleo had already decided to ask Harvey to help. He wouldn’t mind. He was footloose and fancy-free, having been divorced for years, and with no live-in partner that she knew of. He also had a huge SUV that would easily accommodate Mungo.
Of course, it would be Doreen who accompanied Harvey to the vet’s on Saturday afternoon, not her, since she would be busy getting herself dolled up for Byron’s party that night. Which reminded her, Doreen knew nothing of this development. No doubt she’d be surprised, but happy enough, Cleo thought. She was always telling Cleo that she should go out more. It had been her idea for Cleo to start dating!
As it turned out, Doreen wasn’t just surprised. She was shocked.
‘Are you telling me that this billionaire you spent today with has asked you to go to his mother’s birthday party with him?’
‘Um... Yes.’
‘But why? I mean... Oh, Lord, that sounded awful but—’
‘It’s all right, Doreen,’ Cleo cut in. ‘I asked him exactly the same question.’
‘And what did he say?’
‘Apparently, his mother is a meddling matchmaker who is always trying to set up potential brides for him to meet.’
‘Oh, I see. And he doesn’t want to get married.’
‘Actually, he does. Just not to the type of women his mother likes.’
Doreen gave her a sharp look. ‘You seem to have learned a lot about this man in one day.’
‘Well, I did go to lunch with him on Wednesday as well, remember?’
‘That was just a business lunch. This sounds like a lot more than business. Are you sure he doesn’t fancy you?’
Cleo wished she hadn’t blushed.
‘And you fancy him, don’t you?’
She could have denied it, but what was the point?
‘Oh, dear,’ Doreen said with a sigh. ‘As much as I would love to see you move on, Cleo, I don’t think someone like this Byron is the way to go. You wouldn’t fit in with his crowd, would you? I mean, men like that. They date seriously beautiful women.’
‘I said that to him too. He said I would look stunning if I wore the right clothes and had myself done over in a beauty salon.’
Had he actually used the word ‘stunning’? Probably not. More like just fine.
‘Heavens!�
� Doreen exclaimed. ‘And are you going to do all that?’
‘I certainly am. And I’m going to buy a totally new wardrobe, not just one new dress. I’m sick to death of the way I look, Doreen. It’s time to change.’
‘But where will you start? You don’t have a clue about fashion.’
Cleo had to laugh. ‘Neither do you.’
Doreen smiled a strange, sad smile. ‘I did. Once. Until I got married and my brand-new husband cut up all my really nice clothes, then he cut off all my lovely long hair. He said he didn’t like his wife looking like a slut.’
Cleo gasped.
‘After that, he chose all my clothes, and I never grew my hair. By the time he died, I had lost all interest in what I wore, or how I looked.’
Cleo felt tears prick at her eyes. Martin hadn’t been as bad as that. But then he hadn’t had to be. She’d already dressed like a middle-aged spinster when they met. All he’d had to do was compliment the way she looked and she’d just kept on dressing the same way.
‘Then maybe it’s time for you to change too,’ Cleo said. ‘We’ll go clothes shopping together tomorrow. Grace can help you buy a new wardrobe at the same time.’
‘Who’s Grace?’
‘She’s Byron’s PA. Trust me when I say she has a lot of style know-how.’
‘But doesn’t she have to work tomorrow?’
‘Byron contacted her during the flight home and gave her the day off to help me. He’s playing golf with some movie producer so she isn’t needed to be on deck.’
‘Doesn’t sound like he works too hard,’ Doreen said with a cynical edge.
‘Actually, he told me he hates golf but the guy he’s playing with likes to do business over a game.’