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Authors: Tony Parsons
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had a big fight once.’
‘What about?’
‘Me. Campanelli’s always been crooked on me marrying Jack. He wanted me when I was with the country and western troupe—he came to all of our shows.’
Baxter raised a querying eyebrow.
‘I used to sing,’ she explained, a sad and faraway look in her eyes that reminded him of Julie. ‘Anyway, Campanelli wouldn’t have married me. He wanted me for . . . well, other reasons.’ She seemed very uncomfortable.
‘You don’t have to explain anything.’
‘I feel I do,’ she said.
‘Not today, anyway. You should rest.’ Baxter grinned reassuringly. ‘The other thing is, I’ve got a big dog I left at home, Chief. He’ll be getting worried about me.’
Liz laughed. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard that excuse. He must be some dog. What kind is he?’
‘A German Shepherd bred from imported stock.’
‘Ah, I love that breed. We had mostly kelpie and cattle dog cross at home in Queensland. We needed them for the herd.’
It sounded like she was an Outback girl, raised on a station. ‘I should think a cattle dog would be a very handy acquisition. Keep the likes of Campanelli in line,’ Baxter said and smiled.
Liz smiled too. ‘I’m very pleased to have met you, Greg. In fact, I’d say you’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met in Moondilla. And that includes my husband.’
‘Thanks,’ Baxter said, ‘but I’m also sorry to hear that.’
‘Well.’ Liz sighed. ‘Jack’s not bad when he’s not drinking. He helps keep the place tidy and all. The problem is, it’s not too often these days that he isn’t drinking.’ She dabbed at her sore face, checking the damage in the car mirror. ‘I’d be much happier if he just went off and fished. He’s got a little boat and he’s a good mechanic. Maybe not as good as Steve Lewis, but good enough. He can fix just about anything, from lawnmowers to council bulldozers. Why he’s on the grog beats me. But that’s men for you.’
Baxter shook his head firmly. ‘I don’t know the first thing about engines, but I don’t drink. When you’re ranked as high as I am in martial arts, you’re supposed to lead an exemplary life. That’s according to Eastern teaching. Can’t say I do it perfectly—it’s hard in Western society—but I do my best. No smoking, no drinking and no junk food.’
Liz grinned as she got out of the car. ‘You sound too good to be true.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Back at home, Baxter was preoccupied with the layout of his book—principally, how to end it. He’d come across many otherwise good books that ended very poorly, so he was putting a lot of effort into concluding the book he’d come to think of as River of Dreams .
He’d already decided, after weeks of thought, that he should begin the book with the story of Rosa. This had started out as a piece of investigative journalism, one of the most popular he’d ever written. Baxter had titled it ‘Fallen Angel’. With some expansion and embellishment, and with names and details changed, he thought it couldn’t be bettered for the opening chapter.
He was hard at work when the phone rang. It was Julie Rankin, and she proposed coming out for a quick lunch and maybe a fish.
Well, that was what she told him. Once she arrived, it was soon apparent that what she really wanted was his account of the brouhaha at the Family Hotel.
‘What on earth induced you to take on Campanelli?’ she asked, after taking a sip of white wine and declaring it excellent. Baxter had made a second trip to pick some up, and now he was glad of it.
The answer to her question was straightforward enough. ‘He’s a bully and I hate bullies,’ Baxter said. ‘And besides, I had to defend myself. He’s a creep, Julie.’
‘Granted he’s a creep, but he’s an important creep in Moondilla.’ She was smiling, but her eyes were troubled. ‘He could make things tough for you.’
‘I’ll watch my back.’
The thought of Campanelli ‘getting’
‘What about?’
‘Me. Campanelli’s always been crooked on me marrying Jack. He wanted me when I was with the country and western troupe—he came to all of our shows.’
Baxter raised a querying eyebrow.
‘I used to sing,’ she explained, a sad and faraway look in her eyes that reminded him of Julie. ‘Anyway, Campanelli wouldn’t have married me. He wanted me for . . . well, other reasons.’ She seemed very uncomfortable.
‘You don’t have to explain anything.’
‘I feel I do,’ she said.
‘Not today, anyway. You should rest.’ Baxter grinned reassuringly. ‘The other thing is, I’ve got a big dog I left at home, Chief. He’ll be getting worried about me.’
Liz laughed. ‘That’s the first time I’ve heard that excuse. He must be some dog. What kind is he?’
‘A German Shepherd bred from imported stock.’
‘Ah, I love that breed. We had mostly kelpie and cattle dog cross at home in Queensland. We needed them for the herd.’
It sounded like she was an Outback girl, raised on a station. ‘I should think a cattle dog would be a very handy acquisition. Keep the likes of Campanelli in line,’ Baxter said and smiled.
Liz smiled too. ‘I’m very pleased to have met you, Greg. In fact, I’d say you’re the most interesting man I’ve ever met in Moondilla. And that includes my husband.’
‘Thanks,’ Baxter said, ‘but I’m also sorry to hear that.’
‘Well.’ Liz sighed. ‘Jack’s not bad when he’s not drinking. He helps keep the place tidy and all. The problem is, it’s not too often these days that he isn’t drinking.’ She dabbed at her sore face, checking the damage in the car mirror. ‘I’d be much happier if he just went off and fished. He’s got a little boat and he’s a good mechanic. Maybe not as good as Steve Lewis, but good enough. He can fix just about anything, from lawnmowers to council bulldozers. Why he’s on the grog beats me. But that’s men for you.’
Baxter shook his head firmly. ‘I don’t know the first thing about engines, but I don’t drink. When you’re ranked as high as I am in martial arts, you’re supposed to lead an exemplary life. That’s according to Eastern teaching. Can’t say I do it perfectly—it’s hard in Western society—but I do my best. No smoking, no drinking and no junk food.’
Liz grinned as she got out of the car. ‘You sound too good to be true.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Back at home, Baxter was preoccupied with the layout of his book—principally, how to end it. He’d come across many otherwise good books that ended very poorly, so he was putting a lot of effort into concluding the book he’d come to think of as River of Dreams .
He’d already decided, after weeks of thought, that he should begin the book with the story of Rosa. This had started out as a piece of investigative journalism, one of the most popular he’d ever written. Baxter had titled it ‘Fallen Angel’. With some expansion and embellishment, and with names and details changed, he thought it couldn’t be bettered for the opening chapter.
He was hard at work when the phone rang. It was Julie Rankin, and she proposed coming out for a quick lunch and maybe a fish.
Well, that was what she told him. Once she arrived, it was soon apparent that what she really wanted was his account of the brouhaha at the Family Hotel.
‘What on earth induced you to take on Campanelli?’ she asked, after taking a sip of white wine and declaring it excellent. Baxter had made a second trip to pick some up, and now he was glad of it.
The answer to her question was straightforward enough. ‘He’s a bully and I hate bullies,’ Baxter said. ‘And besides, I had to defend myself. He’s a creep, Julie.’
‘Granted he’s a creep, but he’s an important creep in Moondilla.’ She was smiling, but her eyes were troubled. ‘He could make things tough for you.’
‘I’ll watch my back.’
The thought of Campanelli ‘getting’
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