John Davis - Talk to Me Tenderly, Tell Me Lies

‘A couple of hours. But I won’t leave until you’ve finished your rest. Give me a shout when you’re up.’

‘Okay.’

He walked back to the cottage, feeling he’d smoothed over that momentary lapse when she was in his arms. Her annoyance that he’d held on to her – if annoyance it was – seemed to have dissipated after the brandy.

He finished repairing his motor cycle, climbed astride it and kicked the starter. It roared sweetly to life.

He looked even smaller on the big, sleek black machine, barefoot and without his lumber-jacket and crash-helmet. He revved the engine up in neutral, feeling the pleasure of the power beneath him, its eagerness to surge forward and go go go, take him anywhere he wanted. Anywhere in the world. And he was glad all over again with what he was doing. How could you put a price on this feeling? Go anywhere in the world. Whenever you like. He closed the machine down affectionately.

He opened his saddle-bags, took out his camping stove, a packet of rice, a can of bully beef, a little pot, and carried them all into the cottage kitchen. He put water and rice in the pot, cranked up the stove, put the pot on top, and sat down to wait.

Man, he was tired from the digging; he’d thought his shoulders and arms were tough after holding down that motorbike for three years, but that pickaxe in Aussie terra very firma was something else.

God, he felt sorry for her about the dog … He closed his eyes. But instead of Oscar, he saw again those long, plump, bare legs beside him on the kitchen table, her dimpled bottom barely covered by her knickers.

He ate a bellyful of rice and bully beef, then collapsed on the bed.

He lay there, thinking of the way she had felt in his arms. Had she been annoyed? No, he was almost sure not. In fact he was almost sure that for an instant she had almost responded – then she had backed off, as if she’d been surprised at herself.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to remember and interpret every moment; then he smirked mirthlessly: it was just his wishful thinking, imagining she had wanted to respond. That was Ben Sunninghill hoping his luck had changed, stumbling across a lonely woman in the middle of the Australian Outback. No, she hadn’t wanted to respond, she was just taken by surprise …

He sighed, closed his eyes and resolved to put it out of his mind. Too bad. And he wasn’t going to have a chance to find out for sure, leaving this afternoon; he’d never get another natural opportunity of taking her in his arms.

Too, too bad …

Ben awoke an hour later feeling refreshed, though his shoulders were stiff. It was half past three. The ringing silence of the Outback. He creaked off the bed, went out on to the porch and listened.

Not a sound of life. Helen had been resting for almost three hours. He hoped she was sleeping, not lying there red-eyed.

He washed his dishes, packed his saddle-bags and straightened up the bedroom. He found a broom and gave the place a quick sweep, and scoured the sink and the bathroom. Then he put on his black leather breeches and boots.

It was after four o’clock when he was ready to leave. He took his box of jeweller’s tools from his saddle-bag and started walking to the main house to see if Helen was up: he didn’t take the motorbike in case she was still asleep.

The kitchen was empty. Silence. He went quietly to the inner door and carefully opened it.

Helen gasped and jumped backwards. She had been about to open the door from the other side. She was wearing only her panties, and Ben glimpsed two large breasts before her hands shot up to cover them. He slammed the door. ‘I’m terribly sorry,’ he called. ‘I was coming to find out if there was any sign of life.’

Helen was dashing back down the passage to her bedroom. ‘I was just coming to put the kettle on!’

‘Shall I do it?’ he called.

‘Yes.’

He went to the sink and filled the kettle. God, he hoped she hadn’t misinterpreted that incident, thinking he was tiptoeing through the house to get between the sheets with her! Your actual Ben Sunninghill may have been fool enough to think earlier that his luck might have changed, but he wouldn’t be so crass as to try that – God … He turned and walked out into the yard, as if to disassociate himself from her nakedness until the kettle boiled.

Five minutes later she came into the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a shirt. She had put on some lipstick and run a comb through her hair, but wisps hung untidily.

‘I’m very sorry,’ Ben said sincerely.

‘That’s okay,’ she said briskly. ‘Nothing you haven’t seen before.’ Her face was strained.

‘A handsome brute like me,’ he agreed, then regretted the words at once, and added hastily: ‘Did you get some sleep?’

‘No,’ she sighed tensely. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about Oscar. But I’m all right. Tea or coffee?’

‘Coffee, please. Well,’ he went on brightly, to put her mind at rest, if that’s what it needed, ‘I’m all packed and ready to leave. Just give me your ring and I’ll put the diamond in.’

‘Oh … Thank you.’ She slid the ring off her finger and took the diamond from her pocket.

Ben sat down at the table, opened his toolbox, and selected a small pair of pliers. He picked up the diamond and carefully slotted it into its bed.

‘Or would you prefer a beer?’ Helen said.

‘Coffee’s fine.’

‘Well, dammit, I’m going to have a beer!’ She went to the pantry, opened the refrigerator and came back with two cans. ‘Four-X.’ She ripped open a can and passed it to him, then sat down.

‘Thanks.’ He lifted the beer and took four long swallows. As he began to clamp the diamond into its bed, he asked: ‘Can you get another dog easily? A puppy?’

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I don’t want another one. Not yet. Jack Goodwin – he owns the hotel in Burraville – his Boxer bitch has a litter of puppies, but I couldn’t face taking one yet. It wouldn’t seem … right.’

‘Tempus luctus?’ he murmured as he worked. ‘Well, I think—’

She demanded: ‘How do you know Roman law?’

He was equally surprised. ‘How do you know tempus luctus is a Roman law maxim?’

‘I did two years of it at Uni. Tempus luctus was a period of mourning, during which a widow was not allowed to remarry.’

Ben grinned. ‘Yes, but I think it had something to do with paternity, didn’t it – being able to establish who was the father of any child born within a certain time of the first husband’s death?’ He smiled. ‘So it doesn’t apply to your case. I think you should get another puppy as soon as possible.’ He gave the ring a final tweak, and handed it to her. ‘Here, that won’t fall out again.’

‘Oh, thank you …’ She slipped it back on her finger. She admired it. ‘Great. You’re really being a great help around the McKenzie household.’ She admired the ring again. ‘So, how does a gemologist know so much Roman law?’

Ben took a swig of beer. ‘I don’t. I just bought a book on it once. Bedside reading.’

‘Good God – Justinian’s Twelve Tables for bedside reading?’

He smiled. ‘Did you get a degree in law?’

‘No.’ She sighed. ‘I didn’t get a damn degree in anything. Got married instead, in my third year.’

‘Pregnant?’

She gave him an amused look that was not a smile. ‘You’re rather blunt, aren’t you? No, I can’t blame my stupidity on the slings and arrows of outrageous Mother Nature. I was simply in love.’

‘Was?’ Immediately he wished he hadn’t said that.

Her reply was a touch pointed: ‘I still am.’

Ben took another swig of beer. ‘Then it wasn’t stupid.’