Dash and Dingo (3 page)

10 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

chair once or twice. But for Diana, it was practically akin to standing and breaking into a wild, bohemian Charleston.

Once in the hallway, Henry tried to pull his arm free, but Dingo was a bit sturdier than he and didn’t let go so easily. “Where the fuck—”

“Blimey! You do have a mouth on you after all,” Dingo said

admiringly, and Henry was embarrassed to feel a flush of gratification at the praise. “Tell me, got a bottle in your office?”

“A…a bottle… of what?”

“Grog, mate. Booze. I need to wash the flavor of that tea from my mouth. It’s a fretful taste, Dash.”

“My name isn’t Dash, and I don’t have a bottle,” Henry disclaimed, although he actually did have a little nip stashed away in a certain locked drawer.

“I guess it’s the local for us then, Dash.”

Henry succeeded in freeing his arm at last. “I’m not going anywhere with you, not the pub nor Australia. This is
my
project, and I’m doing it on my own.”

“Right you are, and I’m going with you.” Dingo grinned. “Call yourself the head of the expedition if you like, but you’d play hob without me. Think you’ve only got to stroll up to Tassie’s home and knock on the door? ‘Come on in, Dash, and have a cuppa’, they’ll say, right before they have you for their tea.”

“Of course I don’t think that,” Henry sputtered. “For one thing, the thylacines do
not
eat people. But surely—”

“Don’t call me Shirley, call me Dingo,” the other man urged. “And are you
certain
they don’t? Anyhoo, if you’ve any humanity in you, show me to the nearest pub. I’m dry as a desert.”

“Fine, I’ll show you where it is, but I’m not coming in with you,”

Henry said with a sinking feeling that Dingo wouldn’t hesitate to drag him inside by main force. He opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain for his second soaking of the day.

Dash and Dingo: In Search of the Tasmanian Tiger | 11

An hour and several pints later, Henry was both fascinated and furious with Dingo.

“So you Brits come to Australia with your hounds, and it stands to reason that a few of them run off into the bush. I mean, you already did it to us with the rabbits, didn’t you? A few years later and feral dogs are roaming the countryside, terrorizing wildlife and livestock alike, and everyone blames poor Tassie. So it’s really your fault the thylacine are so rare, and by rights you ought to do something about it.”

“I know all that, not that I’m taking personal responsibility for the dogs,” Henry retorted. “And I
was
planning to do something about it, I just want it clear that if the college funds this expedition,
I
will be in charge.”

“What are you planning to do?” Dingo challenged before commenting,

“Good ale, but warm.”

Henry ignored this sally. “The zoo in Hobart has the last known remaining thylacine. If we were able to find a small pocket, even a family, or at least a male and female, then we could bring them all back to London to start a breeding program—”

“And why London?” Dingo interjected. “Why not keep them in their own land?”

“The London Zoo has one of the most scientific and prestigious reputations in the world.” Henry tried to be as tactful as possible. “No offense, but even Gordon Austin has said that your zoos cannot measure up, as they are slightly primitive—”

“Primitive?” Dingo bristled.

“You know what I mean,” Henry said quickly. “And if you are as committed to the survival of the tigers as I am, then you have to admit the zoo here is more capable—”

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As if not wanting to have to admit to anything that cast aspersions on his homeland, Dingo changed the subject, attracting attention in the noisy pub with his hoot of glee. “And you’re planning to just slip a leash over Tassie’s head and say ‘heel’ and expect him to follow along behind you all meek and mild. Dash, you
are
a one.”

How was Dingo so successful at making him feel incompetent, Henry wondered, when they’d only known each other a few hours? “If Tassie’s as smart as you say, why not? A few days training, a little positive reinforcement… I shouldn’t wonder if Tassie, as you call him, wasn’t eating out of your hand by the end of the trip.”

“Tearing my hand off, more like.” Dingo chuckled. “Have you seen those razor-sharp teeth in that crocodile mouth of theirs?”

“Not personally.” Henry took a deep breath. “Have you?”

Suddenly Dingo looked remote, as if he were reliving a distant and unspeakable sight. “Yeah.”

“Alive?” Henry shivered, his objections to Dingo’s brash personality and habit of sweeping all before him melting away.

Dingo glanced both ways with a secretive look. “I should swear you to silence, Dash.”

“Why?”

“There are some who want the tiger to die out, understand? They don’t take kindly to tales of sightings, and they don’t want a male to reach a zoo.

Alive, anyway.” Dingo raised his glass and drained it, licking the foam from his mouth.

Henry watched absently as the pink tongue traced over the well-cut lips.

“They would try to stop us?”

Dingo smiled at Henry’s use of the word “us,” seemingly binding them into a unit on this adventure. “If we tell everyone what we’re going into the bush for, yes.”

“Then what are we going to say?”

“That we’re going after diamonds,” Dingo whispered. He leaned back with a broad grin. “They’ll just think we’re crazy and pay us no attention.”

“There are no diamonds in Australia,” Henry said.

“There are, but not many, like South Africa,” Dingo said. He yawned suddenly. “Sorry. Been a long day. Maybe I should find a room.”

Dash and Dingo: In Search of the Tasmanian Tiger | 13

“You can stay here,” Henry said in a preoccupied voice. “It’s close by the college, and it’s a pretty decent inn.”

“Meet me here for breakfast, and we’ll discuss our approach with old Lardarse,” Dingo invited.

“Larwood,” Henry corrected automatically.

Dingo rolled his eyes. “Don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you, Dash?”

The mischievous grin that spread over Henry’s face made Dingo think perhaps he may have underestimated the other man.

“I’ve as much of one as I’m going to need,” Henry said. “By the way, how much of what you say can I actually believe?”

“What do you mean?” Dingo asked.

“Those fearsome Aborigines you were telling Miss Winton about.”

“Miss Winton?”

“Diana. Lardar—Larwood’s secretary.”

Dingo smiled at the memory of her. “Ahh, Diana.” His face then fell, and he had the grace to look a bit embarrassed. “Well, perhaps I like to embroider somewhat. Working in this business, you have to build yourself up a bit, you know?”

“Really?” Henry asked drily.

“Admit it,” Dingo said cheekily. “You were a bit nervous when I mentioned them, weren’t you?”

“I might have been if I hadn’t done my research on Tasmania and found out that its last full-blooded Aborigine died there in 1878,” Henry said smugly. “Plus, I don’t really think there’s that much to fear from them.

They’re only human after all, the same as us.”

Dingo’s tongue made a brief appearance at the corner of his mouth as he looked at Henry thoughtfully. “Not much seems to get past you, does it, Dash?”

“Henry,” the other man reminded him. “And no, it doesn’t.”

Dingo grinned unabashedly. “That’s what I like.”

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With a shiver, Henry tossed his keys into the Indian brass bowl he kept on the stand near the door. He couldn’t wait to get out of his damp clothes and turn on the gas fire. The warm amber glow from the fireplace and the lamps made his flat feel cozy and snug compared to the grey drizzle outside.

Ordinarily, Henry was a stickler for hanging up his clothes immediately when he took them off, particularly when they were damp, but tonight he let them crumple on the floor in his eagerness. He walked naked across his bedroom to the small wardrobe where he had amassed his travel gear; all the items he thought he would need for the projected journey to Australia.

He had taken great pains to acquire the trousers, boots, and khaki shirt, all used and previously worn, not wanting to appear ludicrous in a crisp new outfit. The shirt had belonged to his older brother James IV, who had been on safari to Africa and couldn’t stop talking about it. The rest Henry had hunted out in second-hand shops and local bazaars. He’d even purchased a bush hat at the church jumble sale once, when his mother pressured him to help her bring her boxes down.

It had felt like some sort of fantasy treasure hunt while he was putting all the items by, but the flutter of excitement in his stomach as he donned the clothing now made it seem as if his dream was going to become a thrilling reality at last—even if it only seemed so because Dingo had intervened on his behalf. He didn’t want to be beholden to the other man, but there was a part of him that was grateful nonetheless.

He went into the lounge to peer at himself in the mirror that hung over the fireplace, turning up the collar on his shirt. Henry donned the hat and pulled it well down over his eyes, admiring how the brim was turned down on one side while it curled rakishly up on the other.

“Dash,” he mused. The name sounded as foreign as Dingo’s and just as improbable.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. The hat made them tend to slide down a bit.

“Dash Percival-Smythe. Dash Smythe. Dash Smith.”

As if he could hear Dingo’s boisterous laughter, Henry frowned at his reflection and took off the hat. “Damn. It’ll never work.”

Deflated, he took off his expedition wardrobe and hurried into pajamas and his dressing gown. His feet were cold. He put his slippers on and went into the kitchen to make himself a nice cup of tea before sitting in front of the fire with his feet on the fender.

Dash and Dingo: In Search of the Tasmanian Tiger | 15

“Dash and Dingo,” he muttered. “No, he would insist on coming first; it’d have to be Dingo and Dash.”

Next to the bluff, breezy colonial with his broad muscular shoulders and golden skin, Henry thought he looked pale, skinny, and bookish. And rather silly in his carefully chosen bush gear.

“It’s still
my
expedition,” he growled, “no matter how charming he is.”

Rather appalled at the trend of his own thoughts, Henry rinsed out the cup, turned off the fire and lamps, and retired to sink into a somewhat uneasy slumber, dreaming of Dingo and the Tasmanian Tiger, both showing all their copious, dazzling teeth as they laughed at him.

“Strike the trip to the zoo, Dash. It isn’t going to happen,” Dingo said, his jaws moving as he munched his bacon.

“But I’ve got to see a thylacine alive, haven’t I? If I’m going to be able to identify one in the wild,” Henry countered.

“It’s not bloody likely that if you saw one you’d mistake it for, oh, say a sheep,” Dingo chuckled. “If we pay a visit to old Benjamin, the game would be up. Everyone who goes tiger hunting stops off there first; so it’s no go.”

“Fine, perhaps you’ve a point.” Henry fumed. He wanted to see the last known thylacine, which had been given the rather incongruous name of Benjamin, before the term of its natural life came to an end. “We travel by tramp steamer. I figure it’ll take approximately twenty-eight days to get to Tasmania—”

Dingo shook his head vehemently. “Nah, mate. We’ll hop a plane. I’ve got this friend who flies the mail from here to Hobart, and we’ll be there in four days. And it’s free, can’t beat that.”

Henry tried not to look too defeated while Dingo appeared to be a little smug. Even though he was oversetting all of his plans, Henry had to admit he could see the value in the offer of free travel; it would make his proposition all the more appealing to Larwood. However, he wasn’t prepared to let Dingo march off with all the honors in this battle of wills.

“Dingo, just remember, Larwood is an academic. He will respond more favorably to a well-reasoned argument that lays out the advantages to this institution, in terms of money, publicity, and a profitable arrangement with the London zoo, should our quest prove successful.”

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“Damned if you English don’t know how to speak the language,” Dingo observed. “If I read you right, Lardarse is a dull old dog, and you’re aiming to play into that. I say we hit him where he lives.”

“And where, according to you, does he live?” Henry snarled.

“It’s all about selling a dream, Dash. We’ve got to get him so excited, he won’t even know he’s saying yes while he’s agreeing to our terms.”

There it was again. We. Us.
Our
. Henry could see how people got swept up on the tide of Dingo’s enthusiasm. He almost did himself but remembered the glazed look of Diana’s eyes and swore to himself that he wouldn’t look as besotted. Even Larwood seemed in awe of the man.

“Well?” Dingo asked.

Henry realized he had been lost in his own thoughts and may have even been staring at Dingo while doing so. He pushed his glasses back up his nose hurriedly and tried to look as blank as possible. “Yes.”

“Did you even hear what I said?”