Dash and Dingo (8 page)

probably not, but he hoped perhaps at some point that he would have a chance to swim in the waters of Tasmania. He had read that the beaches of Australia were some of the most beautiful in the world, and with such a reputation as that he couldn’t resist the opportunity if it arose. He scrubbed himself well and stepped out, drying off before wrapping the towel around his waist.

Because the shower had been a cold one, the mirror hadn’t fogged over, and he was able to shave straightaway, deriving a tiny thrill out of using Dingo’s shaving mug and razor. He donned his boxers and hung up the damp towel neatly, feeling a sense of triumph that he’d gotten away with it.

When he opened the bathroom door, Dingo’s snores assured him that the man was still asleep. Henry picked up the phone and ordered an English breakfast for two to be delivered to Dingo’s room, opting for the exotic sounding Siamese tea they offered rather than Indian.

Then he went into his own room to rouse the other man. “Dingo! Time to rise and shine,” Henry barked loudly.

He chuckled when Dingo jerked on the bed and grabbed a pillow, dragging it over his head. “Don’t shout,” came the muffled plea from under the pillow.

Pulling the pillow out of Dingo’s grasp, Henry shouted, “What was that? Didn’t quite hear you.”

“Lord help me,” Dingo groaned, prying his eyes open to glare blearily at Henry. “Don’t you have a hangover?”

“No, never have. Besides, you promised me that filthy stuff you made me drink last night had magical herbal powers and it seems to have worked.

For me, at least.”

Henry’s laugh seemed heartless to Dingo, and he stared at him

reproachfully. “If I’d known I was traveling with a bloody sadist, I’d have….”

“You’d have what?” Henry asked, his smile fading.

“Nothing,” Dingo said hastily, sitting up. He grabbed his head as the movement made his head start to pound. “What did I drink last night that you didn’t?”

“We were drinking the same thing, only you had more than I did,”

Henry said. “Want an aspirin?”

“Coffee,” Dingo moaned. “Then aspirin, then ice, and then maybe a gun, so you can put me out of my misery.”

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“I’ll add it to our order,” Henry said, crossing to the telephone. He felt a bit self-conscious, clad only in his boxers, but figured that two could play at this game. After all, yesterday Dingo had worn only a towel after his bath, and men who didn’t like other men apparently weren’t self-conscious about what they were or were not wearing, and suddenly it all seemed too confusing, keeping track of what “normal” men did or didn’t do before other men. The hell with it. “Room two sixteen, I’d like to add a pot of coffee to our order.

Cream, yes, and sugar.”

“What did you order for us?” Dingo asked curiously.

“English breakfast, buttered muffins, bacon, eggs….” Henry paused, grinning maliciously as Dingo turned a delicate shade of green. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I need a shower,” Dingo announced. He got out of bed and headed for his own room.

Henry was glad to see he was a bit unsteady on his feet. After all, Dingo couldn’t have everything all his own way. “Take my towel. I used yours,” he said, going into this bathroom to get it. He tossed it at Dingo, who caught it with both hands against his chest.

“Thanks,” Dingo muttered, looking surprised. He paused for a moment, taking an appraising glance up and down Henry’s body.

Henry could feel the flush start on his face and spread down his neck and chest, wondering why he felt so exposed. “Your shower?”

“Right,” Dingo said, and he turned and marched into his own room, closing the door firmly behind him.

“Score one for Dash,” Henry murmured and smiled.

After an uneasy breakfast, they took a taxi back to the airport where Henry was left to himself as Dean and Dingo conferred on flight plans, fueling, and schedules while stowing the new batch of mail and parcels they’d picked up. Henry had the distinct impression that Dingo was trying to avoid him, which was a new one on him, but it left him feeling lonely and like a bit of an interloper.

Dean and Dingo disappeared into the cockpit, leaving Henry to make a nest for himself amongst the mailbags in the back. He’d found it was the most comfortable way of traveling, as there were no seats in the body of the plane,

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nor were there windows, so he couldn’t pass the time by looking out unless he wanted to hold his body in a crouching position and peer past the two pilots’

shoulders.

It robbed him of the wonder of actually flying to be shut away from the action in the dark. The feeling of movement and the noise battered his senses into a somnolent state, from which he would periodically jerk awake if he heard a sound or the plane lost altitude in one of those sickening drops. Dingo had explained that it happened sometimes, but that it didn’t follow that they were going to fall out of the air.

“If the engines cut out,
that’s
when it’s time to worry, although worry will buy you nothing,” Dingo had said with a laugh. “Donning a parachute makes more sense, but don’t bother unless I tell you.”

Henry had wanted to ask, “What if you’re incapacitated? Do I use my best judgment or go down with the airplane?” But he hadn’t wanted to appear pansy to Dingo. Not pansy, precisely, but Dingo seemed to have no fear, laughing gleefully whenever the plane did take a dip.

After Prachaub, quick stops in Singapore, Batavia, Bima, and Koepang put them within reach of Australia. Darwin was Henry’s first taste of Australia, and the hour that they spent there was disappointing and one that he hoped wouldn’t be representative of the entire trip. A desert airfield in the middle of nothing made him realize how big and empty this newfound land was and why the British still sneeringly referred to it as “the Colonies.” The next few stops assuaged his fears, as they proved that Australia truly was a land of many temperate zones and landscapes. Finally they landed in Melbourne, where Henry climbed stiffly from the plane, clutching his duffle bag while he shook hands with Dean, the pilot, thanking him for the lift.

“No worries!” Dean said. He turned to Dingo, and the two men shook hands before giving each other a rough hug, clapping each other’s back.

“Tooroo, Dingo! Any time you want to fly with me, give me the word. Can always use a co.”

“On your bike, then,” Dingo said with a big smile. “Who knows, we may need to give old Dash a lift back to England.”

“When will that be then?” Dean asked.

“Yes, Mr. Chambers. What
is
your schedule?”

Henry turned to gaze at the owner of the new voice, surprised at how he took an instant dislike to the man it oozed from.

He had black hair, smoothed back sleekly from his forehead, shiny with oil, small blue eyes, a long nose, and a disagreeable pursed look to his mouth,

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even though he was smiling. He ignored Henry, boring into Dingo with his beady eyes.

“Clarence, you shouldn’t have!” Dingo said with an insolent grin. “You met the aeroplane to welcome me back to my homeland. And here I could have sworn you didn’t like me!”

Dean clapped his hand on Dingo’s shoulder. “Dingo did me a favor, Mr. Hodges. I lost my co-pilot in England, and he crewed for me on the way back.”

“I didn’t come to the airport to
meet
you
,
” Hodges said icily. “I happen to be here on government business and caught sight of you, and—”

“And you couldn’t wait to say hello! I’m touched, I tell you, touched.”

Dingo grabbed Hodges’s hand in a crushing grip and pumped vigorously.

Henry tried to hide the smirk that curved his lips when Hodges darted an angry glance at him.

“Who’s your friend?” Hodges inquired as he wrested his hand away from Dingo and wiggled his fingers to return the feeling to them.

“This is my cousin, Dash, over on a visit to meet my folks, his auntie and uncle,” Dingo declared, stepping closer to put his arm across Henry’s shoulders. “Long lost, like.”

“Dash Chambers?” Hodges inquired, holding out his hand so that Henry could take it.

Henry opened his mouth, but Dingo forestalled him. “That’s it; that’s just it. Dash Chambers, cousin to Dingo, Baz, and Johnno.”

Wondering who all these people might be, Henry shook hands, amused when Hodges tried to put the crush on
his
hand. He tightened his grip, maintaining his expression of innocence as Hodges began to squint in pain and tried to withdraw his hand.

“Pleased to meet you!” Henry boomed, mimicking Dingo’s accent with a varying degree of accuracy that made the other man stare. “Dingo here’s told me all about you.”

“He has?” Hodges asked uneasily, wringing his fingers once again.

“What brings you to Australia then, Mr. Chambers? I could have sworn you were here at the behest of Gordon Austin.”

Henry froze at the mention of Gordon’s name and the realization that Hodges knew exactly who he was. He had no idea who this Hodges was or how he was involved in all of this, but when he met Dingo’s eyes, they were

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brimming with mischief. Whatever was going on here, it was best to play by Dingo’s rules for the moment. A crazy idea came to him, so farfetched it seemed perfectly logical to be accredited to Dingo. “Don’t tell anyone then, but…” he paused thrillingly before whispering, “diamonds.”

Hodges immediately assumed a bored and condescending air and said,

“Rather. Well, you’ll have your work cut out. Tell me, Mr. Chambers, have you any interest in the native wildlife?”

He knows
, Henry thought.
I don’t know what to do.

Luckily Dingo came to the rescue. “What, like kangaroos?”

“Nothing that common,” Hodges said disdainfully.

“What, you want to play a round of
Animal, Vegetable, Mineral
, Clarence? Dash here can tell you anything you want to know about rock.

Igneous, sedimentary, or metamorphic. Name your poison!”

“What would you say diamonds are then, Mr. Chambers?” Hodges

asked with his eyes narrowed.

“They could be said to be all three,” Henry answered glibly. “When an organic compound becomes a fossil, it falls into the sedimentary category, when pressure and heat are applied it becomes metamorphic as in coal, and depending on the amount of pressure and heat, a diamond would then fall within the igneous classification.”

Hodges looked somewhat taken aback; Dingo was impressed, while Dean was merely watchful. “Uh, right, that’s—I see you know your stuff.

Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“The pleasure’s all his,” Dingo assured the man. “Smart boy, I told you.

He’s been to college.”

“Your parents must be proud,” Hodges said inanely, glancing at his watch. “I’m late for an appointment. You’ll forgive me….”

“You must come for tea and say hello to me old dad, sometime!” Dingo bawled after the retreating figure. “He’d like to see you again.”

Hodges looked at Dingo with barely concealed distaste before he hurried to a car parked beside the wooden tower, got into it, and drove away, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.

“What was that all about?” Henry asked.

Ignoring his question, Dingo demanded, “Was all that folderol about diamonds true?”

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“Haven’t a clue. I made it all up,” Henry admitted. He grinned as the other two men broke into surprised laughter. “One of the advantages of a college education, learning to bullshit.”

“That and a fancy ten-dollar vocabulary.” Dean chuckled. “Well, Dash, it’s been a pleasure. Call on me for a lift any time.” He shook hands with Henry, who wondered at this mark of respect from a man who’d all but ignored his presence for the entire trip, relaying his commands through Dingo.

Dean turned to confer with the man who’d descended from the tower and approached them with a dolly for moving the mailbags.

Dingo picked up his own bag and led the way toward the tower. Henry hurried after him, repeating his question. “So what was that all about? Who was that man?”

Dingo gave him a sidelong grin. “You’re in the wars now, mate.

Clarence Hodges works for the government, but he’s got his own agenda. And I’m well-known as being one who wants Tassie left well alone. He keeps an eye on me. I’m not quite sure what he suspects me of, but he keeps tabs on my comings and goings.”

Henry pondered for a moment. “He knew about Gordon Austin. That means he’ll find out who I am, if he doesn’t already know.”

“And what will he find out, then? You were giving some sort of rock tour that day I talked to Lardarse, right? So he’ll think you’re a rock-hound.”

Henry didn’t see how it could be that simple, and he wondered why Dingo was missing what seemed obvious to a blind man. “And what’ll he think about you lying about my name?”

“Nothing. He knows not to believe a word out of my mouth,” Dingo said dismissively. “I like pulling his leg. It’s—”

“Fun, I know,” Henry finished for him. “Where are we going now?”

“Home. Like I said. You have to meet your long lost auntie and uncle,”

Dingo said, linking his arm with Henry’s. “Think Lardarse will let out what you’re here for?”

Henry smiled without amusement. “Stiff upper lip and all that. The British do not announce their intentions, only their victories. If I were to fail and he’d puffed off the expedition everywhere, well, not to be borne, eh? No, Lardarse will more likely tell everyone I’ve gone on holiday.”

“Lending credence to
our
story that you’re here to meet the family,”

Dingo said. “And here’s your cousin, then, my brother Baz.”

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Henry withdrew his arm from Dingo’s in a hurry, flushing red when he saw an older, mellower version of Dingo standing beside a battered truck. It didn’t help that he still felt uneasy about Hodges. The man seemed to see right through their lies, and Henry didn’t like the fact that Dingo was brushing Hodges off so easily. There had to be more of a story to it all.