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Talk to Me Tenderly, Tell Me Lies
John Gordon Davis
An unforgettable tale of adventure and heartache in the unforgiving Australian Outback.A stirring account of a woman’s awakening – tension, passion and heart-stopping action.Helen McKenzie is looking into the future and she doesn’t like what she sees.Her role as a mother is almost over – her husband works thousands of miles away, her children will soon leave home – and she is alone in the Australian Outback, facing a terrible dilemma. Should she take off to pursue her unfulfilled ambitions, or stay behind, a faithful wife, locked in predictable security?Ben Sunninghill has all the freedom he wants. Travelling the world on a motorbike, this carefree stranger from New York never spends long in one place – until he appears in Helen’s backyard to borrow a spanner, stays on to help out around the farm, and ends up changing their lives forever.Ben gives Helen the confidence to take control of her own destiny, but finds himself losing control of his. As Helen and Ben battle with their feelings, a storm of troubles is brewing that will leave behind a trail of broken lives …
John Gordon Davis
TALK TO ME TENDERLY,
TELL ME LIES
Copyright (#)
HarperCollinsPublishers
1 London Bridge Street,
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk/)
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 1992
Copyright © John Gordon Davis 1992
Cover photograph © Shutterstock.com
John Gordon Davis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.
Source ISBN: 9780007574384
Ebook Edition © OCTOBER 2014 ISBN: 9780008119317
Version: 2014-12-19
Dedication (#)
To Harry and June Pearson
‘Talk to me tenderly, tell me lies.
I am a woman, and time flies.’
Vivian Yeiser Laramore
Contents
Cover (#u01686c1e-1FFF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)
Title Page (#u01686c1e-2FFF-11e9-9e03-0cc47a520474)
Copyright (#)
Dedication (#)
Part One (#)
Chapter 1 (#)
Chapter 2 (#)
Chapter 3 (#)
Chapter 4 (#)
Chapter 5 (#)
Part Two (#)
Chapter 6 (#)
Chapter 7 (#)
Chapter 8 (#)
Chapter 9 (#)
Chapter 10 (#)
Chapter 11 (#)
Chapter 12 (#)
Chapter 13 (#)
Chapter 14 (#)
Chapter 15 (#)
Chapter 16 (#)
Part Three (#)
Chapter 17 (#)
Chapter 18 (#)
Chapter 19 (#)
Chapter 20 (#)
Part Four (#)
Chapter 21 (#)
Chapter 22 (#)
Chapter 23 (#)
Chapter 24 (#)
Chapter 25 (#)
Chapter 26 (#)
Chapter 27 (#)
Part Five (#)
Chapter 28 (#)
Chapter 29 (#)
Chapter 30 (#)
Chapter 31 (#)
Chapter 32 (#)
Chapter 33 (#)
Chapter 34 (#)
Chapter 35 (#)
Chapter 36 (#)
Part Six (#)
Chapter 37 (#)
Chapter 38 (#)
Keep Reading (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Author (#)
Also by the Author (#)
About the Publisher (#)
Part One (#)
CHAPTER 1 (#)
In this land the distances are vast. If you stop your vehicle and listen there is only ringing silence. It is always hot in this part of Queensland, and the rainfall is very spare. Then, almost without warning, the rain can come crashing down for weeks, and the rivers that have been dry for years break their banks, causing devastating floods over hundreds of thousands of square kilometres, and whole villages and towns have to be evacuated. Because of the great distances there are few telephones, so people keep in touch by two-way radio. Outback children have to receive their education from broadcasts and medical attention can only be had through the Flying Doctor Service. The private aeroplane is not a luxury here but a working vehicle. The McKenzies had an aeroplane, but it had not flown for a year because, after several years of very poor rainfall, they could not afford the maintenance to keep it airworthy.
This Monday afternoon, close to sunset, Helen McKenzie was doing her laundry. Her washing-machine had broken down, so she had put a cauldron of water on to the wood-burning stove. She had taken off her jeans and shirt to wash them, and she scrubbed the kitchen floor in her underwear while she waited for the water to heat. She had dispatched Oscar, her dog, outside while she did the job, and had propped the back screen-door ajar with the mop because the damn latch was faulty and often jammed from the inside. The other door, leading into the rest of the house, Helen had bolted closed on the far side, because it too had a faulty latch which allowed Oscar to enter simply by pushing his paw against it.
She had almost finished scrubbing the floor when she heard furious barking outside. Then a big snake, nine feet long, came slithering flat-out into her kitchen, with Oscar in joyful pursuit. She screamed, the back door banged closed as Oscar bounded into the room, and with a terrifying writhing the snake flashed across the floor and disappeared into one of the kitchen cupboards. Helen screamed again as she dashed to the back door, but she slipped on the wet linoleum and sprawled. She scrambled up wild-eyed and flung herself at the door, but the catch was stuck. She shook it desperately; then, in the purest horror, she ran to the kitchen table and hurled herself up on to it.
The long cupboard into which the snake had fled lined the entire wall, from one door to the other. Helen McKenzie crouched in the middle of the table midst the cacophony of Oscar’s barking, her heart pounding, eyes wide, desperately searching for the terrible snake amongst the things at the bottom of the dim cupboards. Oscar was charging up and down after the snake as it writhed from one end to the other. Helen shrieked at him to come away but he would have none of that. She could not see the snake, but she knew it was a King Brown, one of the deadliest. Helen crouched on the table shouting at Oscar, her terrified mind fumbling; then she frantically crawled to the end and leapt off to try the back door once more, but Oscar came roaring along the cupboards, slammed into her legs and she sprawled again. She crashed headlong on the linoleum and all she knew was the panicked horror of Oscar furiously scrambling over her. She screamed ‘Come away!’ and scrambled up frantically and ran to the back door. She hurled herself against it, wrenching the handle, but still it refused to open. Helen turned and flung herself back up on to the table again, just in time to see Oscar jump out of the dark cupboard with a yelp, the terrible serpent’s fangs flashing at his muzzle – then the beast recoiled into the darkness and Oscar lurched backwards into the kitchen, shaking his head.
‘Oscar!’
He staggered backwards across the kitchen, yelping, brushing his snout with his paw, then twisting as if trying to find his tail. ‘Oscar!’ Helen screamed. The dog crashed over on to his side. ‘Oscar!’ Helen heard something fall in the cupboard, she jerked around and saw a long dark slither in the dimness. ‘Oscar!’ She scrambled on her hands and knees to the edge of the table, gasping, eyes wide, and down on the floor Oscar tried to clamber back to his feet. He got halfway, then collapsed on to his side. ‘Oscar!’ He rolled his eyes at her, and tried to get up, and he crashed again. He lay there, trembling, taking stentorian breaths. Then he spasmed once, his legs went out rigid, jerking, then he suddenly went limp, groaned, and was still.
Helen lay on the table, aghast: then her incredulous face began to crumple.
‘Oh Oscar, Oscar, Oscar …’
A slithering sound came from the cupboard and she jerked around and stared, heart pounding – but she could not see the dreadful snake. Then she dropped her face in her hands and sobbed.
That is how she was, lying weeping on the table in the dusk, when she heard the motor cycle. She raised her tear-stained face and listened incredulously. Then:
‘Help!’ she wailed.
CHAPTER 2 (#)
The motor cycle spluttered up the track from the distant farm-gate, its headlight on. It came to a halt opposite the steps leading up to the verandah of the big homestead. The rider climbed off the machine. He was dressed entirely in black leather motor-cyclist’s gear. He raised the visor of his black crash-helmet, and looked at the unlit house.
As the house was in darkness he would have gone away, but for the fact that the front door was open. He listened. Silence. Then, uncertainly, he mounted the steps and walked across the verandah to the front door, his steel-tipped boots sounding loud on the wood. He rapped on the frame of the outer screen-door and listened.
Nothing. He knocked again, louder. Still silence. He was about to turn away in discomfort at being on another person’s property in the gathering dark, when he heard what sounded like a woman’s cry. He listened intently, and the cry came again. He opened the screen-door, leaned into the dark doorway and called tentatively:
‘Hullo?’
He heard a muffled, anguished cry: ‘The kitchen door …’
The man frowned, then descended the verandah steps. He turned towards the back where he presumed the kitchen would be. ‘Hullo …?’ he called.
He heard another cry as he approached the kitchen door. ‘Hullo?’ Then he heard a woman’s voice:
