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But it still hadn’t been enough. It had only taken a week in Sydney to—
She stiffened in disbelief. Tom Scanlon had appeared in her line of sight. He’d just emerged from the gallery and framing shop next door! She couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t left earlier, as she’d assumed. He’d been with her father in the gallery all this time!
Her eyes sparked with anger. How dare he hang around her father after she’d ordered him to go! How dare he soft-soap Charlie, after he’d failed to melt her!
If Charlie’s been talking to Tom Scanlon about me, I’ll kill him, she vowed. Whirling round, she marched out of her studio and burst into the art gallery next door. She found her father working on a frame in the back room.
‘What did you say to Tom Scanlon after he left me?’ she blazed. ‘Why did he stay so long? You know I didn’t want him here. He’s out of my life now and I want him to stay out. Anyway, he’s probably m-married by now to somebody else.’
‘Married? What on earth makes you think that, love? Tom wanted to be free, you told me. He’d hardly rush off and marry someone else.’
‘It’s easier for a man to tell a girl he’s not cut out for marriage and wants his freedom,’ Natasha sneered, ‘than to admit he wants to be free to play around with other women!’ No need to tell her father that Tom had already found someone else before he’d broken off their engagement. She didn’t want Charlie to start feeling sorry for her all over again.
‘Well? Why did he stay for so long?’ she pressed. ‘What did you talk about?’ She wasn’t quite sure why she had to know.
‘Tom just wanted to have a look around the gallery, that’s all.’ Was Charlie avoiding her eye? He’d bowed his head over the frame he was working on and was frowning heavily, as if in concentration. ‘As a matter of fact, he bought a painting,’ he muttered, almost as an afterthought.
She blinked. So Tom had been serious about buying a painting. ‘Which painting?’ They didn’t only hang her own paintings in the gallery. They displayed the paintings of several promising young Brisbane artists as well. Some of them were very good, yet their prices were still reasonable. Far cheaper than her own.
‘One of yours.’ Her father didn’t look up. ‘The one of the cherry blossom trees in the Botanical Gardens.’
Her jaw dropped. Why on earth would Tom Scanlon want to buy that particular painting? They’d once strolled arm in arm through the Gardens, admiring the spring blossom. They’d even kissed under those very same trees! Why in the world would he want to be reminded of it? It had been hard enough for her to go back to the Gardens last spring and paint there!
The painting for sale in the gallery had been one of her smaller works, a delicate watercolour, priced more reasonably than her larger oil paintings. Perhaps it had been the only painting of hers within Tom’s means. But why buy one of her paintings at all?
Maybe because it was pretty, and he’d wanted a romantic coming-home gift for his lover back in Sydney. But would Tom be that insensitive—to give his girlfriend a sentimental painting done by his ex-fiancée?
If he’d told her he had an ex-fiancée.
Her brow darkened. Nothing Tom Scanlon did made sense any more. He was no longer the man she’d known…or thought she’d known. Not that she cared what he did any more, or why he did any of the things he did. He was out of her life now.
‘That’s all? He just wanted to buy a painting? You didn’t talk about anything else?’ Damn it, Natasha, you don’t care, so why ask?
Her father glanced up, his eyes bemused. ‘If you had any questions for him, Nat, you had your chance to ask him face to face. It’s not my business to ask him.’
‘No, of course not.’ Her chin lifted. ‘And don’t be silly, of course I don’t have any questions I’d want to ask Tom Scanlon! I couldn’t get rid of him quick enough—as you saw.’ She realised she was shaking, not just her hands, but her whole body. Just as well she wasn’t still trying to paint!
‘Nat—’ Charlie began, and seemed to hesitate. ‘The very fact that he came back to see you shows that he must still care about you…that he’s been thinking about you,’ he amended, as pained eyes flew to his. ‘He’s had his freedom…eighteen months of it. He most likely has it out of his system by now. If you still care about him yourself—’
‘I don’t!’ she cried, and bit her lip. ‘Dad, you don’t understand.’ She was calling him Dad again, a sign of growing distress. She folded her arms to hide her trembling hands. ‘He hurt me. I’m not going to let him hurt me again. I’m over him now and I don’t ever want to see him again.’
Her father gave her a long searching look. ‘Maybe I know you, Nat, better than you know yourself.’
‘Oh, yes?’ She glared at him indignantly But she could feel her lip wobbling.
‘I think you do care, deep down. And I think he still cares too. Time’s a great healer, Nat.’
‘Dad…’ She heaved a shuddering sigh. ‘Forget it. There’s not going to be a happy ending, so don’t start dreaming of one. It’s not going to happen. What we had once is dead and buried. He killed it. He—’ She flicked her tongue over her lips. She would have to tell him. It was the only way he’d understand. ‘He dumped me for someone else!’
It was out. Finally.
Her father’s head shot up. She flinched at the rush of sympathy in his eyes. But the anger she expected to see wasn’t there…the anger he should have been directing at Tom.
‘Nat…I know it must have hurt you. But some men get cold feet at the thought of marriage, and panic. Maybe Tom just wanted an excuse to get away for a while…to be on his own. Or maybe he just needed some breathing space, and took up with someone else on the rebound—and later came to regret it and realise he’d made a terrible mistake. And now he’s come back to find out if there’s any hope of a second chance.’
‘A second chance? Forget it!’ She shot her father a quick, probing frown. ‘Who says he regrets it?’ she cracked out. ‘Did he say anything about his—his girlfriend to you?’
‘No,’ Charlie admitted. ‘But why would he come all the way here to see you, Nat, and want to buy one of your paintings, if he’s still involved with someone else?’
‘Oh, Dad, you’re so naive. Because he feels guilty. Because his conscience is bothering him. He just wanted to check that I hadn’t fallen into a black hole, so that he could get on with his life without feeling guilty any more. Well, I showed him.’ She tossed her head. ‘I showed him I’m well and truly over him.’ A tremor shook through her. ‘But there was no way I was going to be all chummy and forgiving. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.’
‘No…rightly so,’ Charlie murmured, examining the frame in his hand. ‘I’d better get on with this, Nat…I have to finish it before we leave tomorrow.’
She pursed her lips. He was taking Tom Scanlon’s treachery very lightly. Obviously, her father was prepared to forgive and forget…without even knowing if Tom was still tied up with the woman he’d run away with. It defied belief!
‘I’ve got things to finish this afternoon, too, and I’ve still got to pack,’ she growled. ‘I could have done without this interruption.’ She scowled, still hovering, despite herself. ‘Let’s forget he ever came. All right?’
‘Anything you say, love.’
She shot him a suspicious look. But Charlie’s face was bland. Disturbingly bland.
Well, he could hardly be planning to invite Tom back for a return visit. Tomorrow Charlie was taking her up north on a painting trip. Her first ever trip to Kakadu National Park. She’d agreed to hold an exhibition of her paintings in Sydney in the spring, with Kakadu as her subject.
Kakadu was way up north, near Darwin, at the Top End of Australia. She’d be safe up there. Safe from Tom Scanlon.
Perfectly safe.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN she came into the kitchen the next morning to grab some coffee before the early morning flight to Darwin, Natasha found Aunt Edith, her father’s widowed sister, already there. Edith was going to stay in their flat and look after the gallery and framing business while they were away up north. Since her husband’s death last year, Edith had been helping out in the gallery part-time, and she often popped in to help with the cleaning and cooking, or to join them for a meal.
‘Hi, Aunt Edith.’
‘Good morning, dear.’
There was something about Edith’s usually cheery greeting that alerted Natasha. ‘Is something wrong, Auntie?’ She frowned and glanced round. ‘Where’s Charlie?’ Her father was usually up at the crack of dawn.
‘Oh dear, your father’s come down with the flu, dear. And to make matters even worse, he has gout in his big toe.’
‘Oh, no!’ On the very day they were planning to fly to Darwin! ‘How bad is he? Have you called the doctor?’ Sympathy for her father vied with dismay at what it meant. She’d planned this Kakadu trip so carefully, deliberately choosing this time of year—early May, the start of the dry season, when the grass would still be green and the flowers still blooming. To postpone it, even for a couple of weeks, would upset her carefully-made plans and put her entire working schedule out in the coming months.
Edith grimaced. ‘He wouldn’t let me. He said the doctor would only tell him to stay in bed, and he’s already in bed. Luckily he has tablets for his gout.’ She seemed to hesitate. ‘He demanded his mobile phone so that he could make some phone calls—the last thing he should be doing, the state he’s in.’ She sniffed her disapproval.
‘I’ll go and see him.’ Chewing on her lip, Natasha darted off.
She expected her father to be sitting up in bed, propped up on pillows, or in an armchair with the mobile phone clamped to his ear, but he was lying in bed huddled under the blankets, with only the silvery top of his head showing and a big cage-like mound at the foot of the bed protecting his gouty foot. Her heart sank.
‘Dad…’
He peeked up at her. ‘Sorry, love, I’m sick. Really sick.’ His voice was thin and wavery, his normally lively blue eyes half closed, as if it were an effort to keep them open. ‘But you’re not to worry, I’ve arranged everything. You’re still to catch the plane at nine.’
‘Oh, Dad, how can I go without you? I can’t go camping for two weeks in Kakadu Park on my own! And at this late stage there’s no one else I—’
‘Love, I’ve fixed it, I said,’ Charlie insisted weakly. ‘I’ve contacted a safari tour company—’
‘Dad, I’m not going on one of those organised tours—even if it’s in a four-wheel-drive with only a handful of people. I want to be able to go where I like, when I like, and take as long as I need to get the shots and the sketches I want, and do the painting I want.’
‘You’ll still be able to do all that, love. The tour boss himself is going to take you—personally. I’ve checked him out and he’s thoroughly reliable and highly regarded throughout the Top End. He’ll take you wherever you want to go—and he’ll see to all the food and help you put up your tent and lift any heavy gear for you and protect you from the crocodiles…’ A weak smile flickered.
‘Charlie—’
‘He’ll be waiting at Darwin airport to meet you, love, holding up a sign with your name on it. His name…now what was it? Cannon…something like that. He’ll be wearing an insignia on his shirt and hat in the shape of a magpie goose, he said, with the name Wild-Goose-Chase Tours woven into it.’
‘Wild-Goose-Chase Tours?’
‘Neat name, huh? Attention grabbing. I told him you were a gorgeous blonde and that you’d be wearing a T-shirt with Monet waterlilies front and back. So make sure you’re wearing it.’
‘Oh, Dad.’ She sighed. Sick as he was, Charlie appeared to have thought of everything. Luckily, her Monet shirt was clean. It was a favourite, and she’d already planned to take it with her. She would change into it after she’d finished her coffee. If she decided to go…
‘Dad, you might be better in a couple of days…’
‘I won’t…and don’t come near me! You don’t want to catch it.’ He waved her away with a feeble hand. ‘Even if this rotten gout gets better in a few days, the flu’s bound to develop into a shocking head cold, with an ear infection—it always does with me—and I won’t be able to fly for weeks. But don’t worry, I’ll be fine, love,’ he assured her hastily. ‘Edith will look after me.’
‘Dad—’
‘You don’t have to do a thing, love. I’ve already cancelled the four-wheel-drive we were planning to hire in Darwin. The tour company will provide one, as well as a tent and camping gear and all your food, etc. You just have to turn up. Now off you go and get ready.’
She knew he’d only get upset if she stood around arguing. ‘Thanks, Dad.’ She gave him a rallying smile. Sick as he was, he’d tried his best to put things right for her. The least she could do was sound grateful. ‘I’ll take my mobile phone to Darwin with me so we can keep in touch.’
He grunted. ‘Don’t waste your time making calls back home. You’ll be out of range most of the time anyway. Besides, Edith says she’s taking my phone away.’ He sighed, a wavery sound. ‘Sorry, love…I’m so tired.’
‘Then go to sleep, Dad. And make sure you get Aunt Edith to call the doctor if you feel any worse.’ She gave her father a pat—carefully avoiding the area of his feet. ‘You take good care of yourself, Charlie. Get better soon.’
She couldn’t believe that she was agreeing to go, that her father was actually urging her to go—to go careering off into the Australian wilds with a complete stranger. But if Charlie was happy for his daughter to go off on a two-week camping tour with a tour operator neither of them had met personally, he must be confident that the man was absolutely trustworthy.
This Cannon character, being the boss, and presumably the owner of Wild-Good-Chase Tours, was probably a mature, older man, married most likely, and he should at least be dependable and well experienced in the bush.
Besides, she had to go…people were depending on her. If she didn’t come up with the paintings of Kakadu that she’d promised to produce by early spring, she might never be invited to exhibit in Sydney again! She’d be seen as unreliable, and her reputation in the art world would suffer.
She hurried back to the kitchen to grab a much needed cup of coffee.
As soon as she stepped out of the packed aircraft after the long flight north, the humid warmth in the air, the casual surroundings, and the people milling round the terminal in shorts and skimpy tops, confirmed that she was in Darwin. This was a city where things happened at a slower, easier pace, where people relaxed and enjoyed life.
Where most people relaxed, that was. Unless they were waiting to meet a complete stranger. A stranger who was going to be her close companion for the next two weeks—not in a civilised city with other people around, but alone in the bush, exploring Australia’s largest, wildest and most exciting national park.
She gulped hard, and looked around for a man carrying a sign with her name on it. She could only see two people carrying signs, an elderly man and a young woman, and neither of their signs said Natasha Beale. And they weren’t wearing insignias bearing the name Wild-Goose-Chase Tours.
She wasn’t sure whether to wait, or go ahead and pick up her luggage. Maybe she’d find him there. She could always call the tour company. As the boss he—
Her eyes widened. Her heart crashed against her ribs. A man was heading her way. A tall broad-shouldered man in knee-length khaki shorts, a dark shirt with an insignia on the pocket, and an Akubra hat with a similar badge…in the shape of a magpie goose, with the words Wild-Goose-Chase Tours clearly visible.
The man wasn’t holding a card with her name on it. He didn’t have to. He knew precisely who she was. Just as she knew who he was.
‘Tom Scanlon,’ she breathed in disbelief. With an effort she managed to stop her legs crumbling beneath her. That insignia on his cap…on his shirt…No, it wasn’t possible! She could feel herself plunging into a nightmare. A nightmare her own father must have had a hand in!
Cannon, Charlie had slyly—cunningly—called him. Scanlon…Cannon…how devious.
‘Natasha…how was the flight?’ Tom held out both arms, as if about to grasp her shoulders and give her a welcoming kiss on the cheek—or on the lips!
She jerked back, out of his reach. ‘What in the world do you think you’re up to, Tom Scanlon? What sick game are you playing this time?’
‘No game. I’m answering a call for help,’ he said mildly. ‘Your father’s fallen ill, I was sorry to hear, and can’t travel with you—and he appealed to me to come to your rescue.’
Her eyes flared, then narrowed. ‘He knew you were working up here in Darwin?’ Her head was still spinning. She could barely think.
‘I mentioned it to him yesterday. Did he tell you I bought one of your paintings?’
If he thought he was going to soften her up that way, he was sadly mistaken. ‘If you imagine I’m going anywhere with you, Tom Scanlon—’
‘Look, you’d better pick up your luggage. We can argue on the way. Can I carry something for you?’
She had a tote bag and her camera slung over her shoulder. ‘I can manage, thanks.’ She had to think! She had to get out of this ghastly mess.
‘If you say so.’ He actually had the nerve to take her arm as he steered her away. She shook it off.
‘I’m going back on the next plane,’ she bit out. And when she got home she’d give her father a piece of her mind, sick or not. How dare he hire Tom Scanlon to look after her—and be so underhand about it! The last man on earth she’d ever go on a camping tour with. Go anywhere with.
‘After your father’s gone to all this trouble for you?’ Tom’s eyes, deeply blue against the rich tan of his face, reproached her. ‘Charlie told me he was desperate and didn’t know who else to turn to. It was only natural he’d appeal to me—someone he knows—having learned only yesterday that I run adventure safaris out of Darwin…which I’ve been doing for the past year.’
He had? He couldn’t have stayed long in Sydney…
‘But you didn’t have to volunteer to take me!’
‘Sorry, ma’am, but I was the only operator available at such short notice. And your father was very relieved that you’d have someone you both know to take care of you—someone he can rely on.’
‘Rely on? You?’ She turned scathing eyes to his. When had she ever been able to rely on Tom Scanlon to take care of her? ‘Oh, this is too much!’ she burst out. ‘You’ll have to find someone else to take me—I don’t care where from. I’m not going anywhere with you!’
‘You’d prefer to go with a total stranger?’
‘I thought I was going with a total stranger.’
‘Ah, but your father knew that you weren’t. He knew you’d be safe with me. You will, Natasha,’ Tom assured her seriously. ‘This is a business arrangement, pure and simple. I’m just your driver…your guide…your minder, if you like. I’ll be there to give you a helping hand and generally watch over you. This trip’s obviously important to you. Let’s make the best of it.’
The best of it? How could there be any ‘best’ about it, if he was involved? She inhaled a fraught breath. She could feel a net tightening around her. But she wasn’t going to meekly give in. ‘You can answer some questions before I even think about it!’
‘By all means…but we’d better grab your luggage first. Can you see your bag?’
Luggage was already revolving on the carousel, with people dashing forward to retrieve their bags.
