‘Now we’ll see how it should be done,’ Quinn muttered as the big black Labrador was brought to the starting point. And indeed they did! Despite being obviously under excellent control, the dog flew like an arrow when commanded to make his first retrieve, and he hit the heavy weed growth with the power of a tank. He was back with both birds in less time than the other dogs had taken for the first.
‘Pretty hard to beat a Lab at that sort of thing,’ Quinn remarked as they drove home after the distribution of awards and the clean-up of the impromptu campsite around which the trials had centred. ‘Straight-line retrieving is something they excel at, and damned few GSPs can even come close in major trials.’
Then he grinned. ‘But Labs don’t point real well, although I’ve seen the odd one do it, and despite having an almost perfect temperament they’re just not my kind of dog.’
Alix, tenderly holding the totally unexpected qualification certificate that Nick had gained from his utility trial the day before, could only nod in agreement. Certainly she wouldn’t trade her dog for the best Labrador alive.
She made a point of telling him so as soon as they arrived back at the house, and was mildly surprised when Quinn joined in the praise.
‘A little steady work and you’d be as good as any of them, old Nick,’ Quinn said in his extra-soft talking-to- dogs voice. ‘We’ll have to see if we can organise that before the next trials, and then you can really strike a blow for Women’s Lib!’
Alix, who’d been thinking almost exactly the same thing herself, glanced up in surprise. The next trials ... but where would she and Nick be when that time rolled around? Oh, why couldn’t Quinn’s ‘we’ include herself as well? The whole thing was becoming too depressing for words.
Fortunately, the exercise of the past two days seemed to have its effect upon all three of them, and after a light dinner at which nobody said very much at all, an early night for all was declared.
Alix had just slipped into her nightgown, letting her hair float down around her shoulders prior to brushing it, when a light tap at the door of her cottage brought Nick to his feet with an alarmingly deep growl.
‘Who is it?’ she called softly, motioning the dog to silence.
‘Depends whom you were expecting,’ came the soft reply. ‘I make not a bad Romeo, not such a good big bad wolf and a terrible door-to-door salesman, especially for ladies who keep big dogs to guard them.’
‘You sound very much like my evil landlord,’ Alix replied with a grin that surprised herself. ‘Have you come to evict me?’
‘Not a chance,’ Quinn retorted with a snort. ‘I just came to ask a small favour.’
‘Oh.’ Alix whispered the reply, and he answered without her knowing if he heard her or not.
‘Well, are you going to let me in, or do I start huffing and puffing?’ he asked lightly.
‘Don’t tempt me,’ Alix replied just as lightly. She was suddenly beginning to enjoy herself, all thoughts of depression fading with die sound of his voice. ‘Or maybe you should try the Romeo bit; I’ve always fancied being serenaded by moonlight.’
‘Whatever turns you on," was the astonishing reply, but only after you’ve given me the proper opening. I guess we’ll have to dispense with the balcony, though, unless we shift Mrs B. out of her bedroom.’
The quiet chuckle that followed revealed that Quinn was also enjoying the rather ludicrous dialogue. Alix opened her mouth to begin the famous wherefore-art-thou lines, then closed it abruptly. The words simply wouldn’t come. Instead she was struck with a horrible sadness that descended upon the frivolity like a shroud. Tears sprang to her eyes and she realised that she didn’t dare open the door. It took all of her strength just to speak through it.
‘I’m ... sorry, but it’s a bit late for games tonight. What is it that you wanted?’
Her answer was silence, at first. A silence that seemed to reach through the closed door in an icy fog, surrounding her. ‘All right,’ Quinn said then, very coldly. ‘I just wanted to ask if you’d mind staying on with Mrs B. this coming week. I know she maintains she’s all right, but she’s not so young any more, and she pushes herself. Would you, Alix? I’m honestly concerned at leaving her alone until she’s totally done with those crutches.’
‘Yes. Yes, of course I will, if you think it’s best,’ Alix replied, forcing herself to speak as naturally as she could past the enormous lump in her throat.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘I’m flying to Melbourne in the morning and I’ll be there most of the week. Having you here with her takes a great load off my mind.’
He paused then, only briefly, but long enough that Alix could almost feel his mind working. And then, ‘Thanks again, Alix. Goodnight.’
When she was sure he’d gone, Alix retreated into her bathroom, staring into the mirror through tear-reddened, haunted eyes. What was the matter with her? How could she possibly have changed from a relatively normal, level-emotioned young woman into this … this creature whose emotions leaped like a demented frog from happiness to sorrow without any logic?
She must leave, but obviously she could not until Mrs Babcock was totally recovered. How long? A week? Two? Maybe a month at most before she could, with a clear conscience, give in her notice and take her tattered emotions somewhere less vulnerable.
Quinn left on the early morning plane. Or so Alix was told. She didn’t see him go, didn’t dare to face him after looking at herself in the mirror once her sleepless, tension-fraught night was over. Instead she went off with Nick even before dawn, deliberately staying until she knew the morning flights had gone.
He was gone all that working week, a week in which Alix might as well have gone to work herself. Mrs Babcock gradually assumed control of the household, relinquishing the crutches without any sign of a problem, the cleaning lady came and went without incident, and Alix grew increasingly bored as the days passed.
It was little consolation being able to spend almost as much time as she liked with the dogs. Anna, by Wednesday, began to show distinct signs that Quinn’s prognosis had been correct. Was the man always right? Despite knowing there was still some time before actual mating would be likely, Alix immediately instigated a programme of keeping the dogs isolated from each other, even moving Nick so that there was an empty kennel between them.
She worked Nick regularly, morning and evening, and twice a day too, she took Anna into the back of the station sedan and drove her to an isolated paddock for exercise, thus avoiding the problem of stray dogs gathering round the house.
A telephone call brought one of the workmen from the plant to cut off the old latches from the kennel gates and install the new ones of Alix’s design. That ought to please Quinn Tennant almost as much as being right, she thought acidly, but she did not go to the trouble of fixing padlocks to the new latches.
If he wanted to go to that much trouble, he could damned well do it himself, she thought angrily.
She was, in all honesty to herself, both mildly surprised and enormously pleased when he did no such thing, but instead complimented her for being so careful.
He then took both her and Mrs Babcock out to dinner at the Rowers’ Club and spent the evening regaling diem with tales of what must have been the strangest business trip in history.
‘Everything I touched seemed to go wrong,’ he said with a wry grin. ‘I missed taxis, was late for appointments, damned near missed the plane coming home; the entire trip was just one enormous stuff-up.’
Perhaps, but the way he told it, Alix thought the trip must also have been a hilarious adventure in blunder-land, and both she and Mrs Babcock laughed until their ribs ached at the stories he related.
His sense of humour was pleasant, considerate, often rather absurd, but infinitely warm. Unlike his every other attitude during the next few days, when he managed without any specific, overt action to give Alix a feeling of incredible coolness towards her.
There was never anything she could put a finger on, just a definite atmosphere of dis
tance. Quinn was never alone with her, never touched her, yet often seemed to be watching her. His conversation was never pointed, ever provocative, but always polite and friendly — yet cool.
And when he announced on Wednesday morning that he was off on another long journey, this time to North America, Alix was almost glad to see him go. At least, she thought, it would give her some time to get her own head together.
‘I’m hoping to be back by Sunday, but even if I don t make it I’d like you to consider yourself on overtime through the weekend,’ he said. ‘By my reckoning, the few days from Sunday onward will be the most ... crucial ... for Anna, and if I can’t get back for some reason I want to be sure she’s with someone I can trust to take extra-special care.’
Alix found herself tongue-tied by the compliment, and could only stare at him, struggling to get the words out as she stammered her thanks.
‘Don’t be silly,’ he said. ‘You’ve done an excellent job of coping so far and I have total confidence you can manage without me.’ Then he grinned engagingly and Alix caught a glimpse of the more normal Quinn Tennant.
‘Of course you’ll have to forestall any big plans you might have had for Nick, but if he’s a good dog maybe we can make it up to him next time.’
‘Oh, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to death,’ Alix replied with acid in her voice. What was this man playing at? She was beginning to think that Quinn’s mental state must be as flustered as her own, from the way he switched from cold to friendly and back again.
At that moment it seemed like a quite ridiculous thing for him to have said, especially since he had already voiced his preferences involving a mate for Anna. But it was nowhere near as strange as what he said as he left the airport gateway to catch his plane to Brisbane and onward to America.
CHAPTER TEN
Alix couldn’t believe her ears. ‘What did you say?’ she asked in total bewilderment, her eyes meeting his in a look that combined confusion with ... almost fear.
‘I asked if I should give your love to Bruce if I see him.’ Quinn’s voice was unusually low, and there was none of the mocking light she would have expected in his eyes following such an idiotic remark.
‘Are you quite mad?’ she asked, and then, without waiting for a reply, ‘You must be! In fact, I think you should be going to a doctor, not running off to America. You’re sick!’
She turned away then, but instantly swung round again to face him as frustration and anger boiled up in her heart, then boiled over in a torrent of pain and hurt and ... words.
‘Yes, damn it. Give my ... love to Bruce if you see him. Tell him thank you for running out on me ... because it was the nicest thing he could ever possibly have done for me. Tell him that I never really loved him, any more than he ever loved me. And tell him while you’re at it that most of the time I don’t even remember his name, except when you keep bringing it up all the time.
‘Tell him any damned thing you like, Quinn Tennant, because he’s obviously a helluva lot more important to you than he is to me!’
And then, with an almost animal cry of pain, she turned and ran, plunging through the airport terminal, forcing her way through startled departure passengers, past the equally surprised rental car girls, down the footpath and into her own vehicle.
Stabbing at the accelerator, she flicked the key, felt the engine fire into life. Blindly, ignorant of what might be behind her and not caring in the least, Alix shot backward, screeched to a halt, then spun out of the airport parking lot in a crescendo of squealing tyres and exhaust smoke.
Dimly able to see the narrow road ahead, she raced out of the airport grounds at a fearful speed, swung hard left when she hit the highway, and then roared away from the city at top speed, her eyes locked on the swiftly-passing bitumen beneath her wheels.
She didn’t think, didn’t feel, didn’t care. And not until several kilometres had passed did she gradually let the vehicle slow itself as reality returned to her. Still, she was only partially lucid when the turn-off to Bingera Weir came into view, and she swung the car to the right and down the rutted, rough gravel track to where a narrow weir crossed the Burnett River as a shortcut route for cane trucks en route to the Bingera Mill.
Parked on the verge, where she could see the wide, slow waters of the drought-shrunken river, she sat and stared into space as reality reassembled itself in her mind. Her tears were past, leaving only an incredible emptiness.
An hour passed unseen, then another. And finally, Alix shook her head like a swimmer emerging from beneath the water, took an enormous breath that seemed to stab knives through her ribs, and started her vehicle once again. She drove back into the city at a speed far more sensible than her exit speed, but she didn’t so much as glance at the airport on her right as she passed it.
Back at the office, she said nothing to anyone to explain why it should take two and a half hours to deliver somebody to the airport ten minutes away. She said nothing at all to anyone, not even a conventional greeting as she strode into the building and into the small studio where she worked.
Sitting down squarely at her drafting table, she pulled the most current piece of work in front of her, picked up her implements and began to work. By leaving time that evening, still in silence, she had accomplished an astounding amount of work and had returned herself to normal, for whatever that was worth.
The following few days were spent in an almost absent-minded dedication to the duties she faced. She slept each night like the proverbial log, undreaming, uncaring. She rose at dawn and walked the dogs, individually, before breakfast. She put in a full day’s work, but spoke only when she was forced to, and then as little as possible.
Every evening she had dinner with Mrs Babcock, and usually it was in almost total silence, or, at most, in discussion of such total trivia that it placed no mental or emotional strain on either of them.
Alix could only be thankful that the older woman had the good sense and kindness not to try and interfere. In the long run, it made things much easier, and by Saturday she felt almost able to face Quinn again when he returned. By Sunday she was, in her own mind, totally ready, only he didn’t return.
Inside, Alix was like a gigantic iceberg, although her exterior had by this time returned to something approaching her usual self. She could talk to people now, and be polite … even interested. Conversation was easy, if perhaps a bit brittle.
And especially when she accidentally ran into Michelle Keir while downtown shopping at noon on Monday. Alix was really proud of herself for the way she carried on a cool, easy, light conversation that revealed nothing of the frigid chill inside her.
No, she hadn’t heard from Quinn. No, she didn’t know when he’d return. Today ... tomorrow ... the next day. Yes, the dogs were fine. Anna was at her most susceptible, but that should be over in a day or two, thank goodness. No, Quinn didn’t intend breeding her, at least not this time. He’s got some American dog in mind, but again, not this time. Dead against it, for whatever reason
She accepted the sultry, preening explanation without a tremor; it fell into the icy depths inside her and disappeared without a trace.
‘Well, don’t let on I told you, because I think it’s still all a great secret, but Quinn has some very big plans for a couple of months from now ... very big and rather … emotional, I suppose you’d say. Puppies would only complicate them.’
Michelle’s own words. Translation: I’ve finally got him trapped, so eat your heart out, Alix McLean.
What heart? Alix heard the words, made the translation in her mind, and waved a casual farewell as they separated. You’ve got him, Michelle, and welcome to him. The emptiness inside her absorbed the message and digested it without effect.
She was readying herself to leave work that evening when the switchboard called through with the message. Would she please arrange to pick up Mr Tennant at the airport after work? His plane was due at five-fifteen. She would.
And she did, only to find the airport strangely dese
rted upon her arrival, hardly a car in the parking lot. Still, not hers to reason why, or to question. She would wait. And after half an hour she was still waiting. Puzzled, Alix finally got out of her vehicle and strode into the silent terminal building, where a lone reservations clerk shook his head in puzzlement at her question.
‘You must have got the timing wrong, love. No planes until almost seven.’
That would be typical, Alix thought, and after debating a moment whether to bother going home for tea, she decided instead it wasn’t worth the effort. ‘I’ll just nip up and grab a hamburger someplace,’ she told Mrs Bab- cock on the telephone a moment later.
‘Whatever you think is best, Alix. It’s just that ...’
‘Just that what? Oh, you haven’t got something special planned for dinner?’
‘Oh, no, dear, nothing like that. It’s just that, well, he usually lets me know when he’s due back from a trip. And he hasn’t, although of course if he spoke to you ...’
‘Well, he left a message. I didn’t speak to him personally,’ Alix replied, worried now by the, concern in the housekeeper’s voice. ‘Are you thinking somebody might be playing silly little games or something?’
‘Oh, goodness, no. I mean, there wouldn’t be any sense to that, would there? No, I’m probably just an old fuss-budget, that’s all.’
‘You didn’t fall again — and hit your head this time?’ Alix asked in a bid to infuse some lightness into the discussion and perhaps lessen Mrs Babcock’s concern.
‘No ... no, dear, of course not. But I am feeling a bit tired, so perhaps I’ll have a nap until you get back. About seven-thirty, I expect?’
‘With him or without him, but hungry either way,’ Alix replied lightly. ‘So don’t forget to put tea on before you lie down.’
She arrived just before seven-thirty — without Quinn Tennant. He had been on neither of the final flights for that evening, had sent no message, nothing. Alix drove home vastly confused about it all, but not especially worried.
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