Turtle Reef

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

The train’s rhythmic clickety-clack was soothing as a lullaby. Zoe propped in the corner, half-awake and half-asleep, until a change in tempo roused her. She blinked out the window, then checked her watch. Why was it so dark? She checked her watch again. Five-thirty on a September afternoon in Queensland. It should still be broad daylight. Nose pressed against the pane, she stared at the pall lying over the landscape.

The middle-aged man sitting opposite leaned forward, a helpful expression on his ruddy face. ‘Black snow, luv.’

‘Excuse me?’ said Zoe.

‘Bundy’s black snow.’ He gestured out the window to the strange grey world. ‘They’re burning the cane.’

Zoe stood on the platform as the other passengers hurried away, fingers curled tight about the handle of her suitcase. First time in Bundaberg. First time anywhere in regional Australia for any length of time. There’d been a few family trips up the coast as a child ‒ magical beach holidays that had inspired her love of the ocean. But apart from that, Zoe was a Sydney girl through and through, born and bred in Bankstown. A city girl who was determined to embrace this new lifestyle, this new opportunity, this new job.

Her stomach churned with excitement. She glanced around the old station building with its cream weatherboards and bullnose verandahs. Full of old world charm, but she was too wound up to appreciate it. Zoe wandered towards the exit, momentarily confused as she caught sight of her altered reflection in a window. What had she been thinking, getting her hair cut so short? It had seemed such a good idea at the time. A bold new look, practical too, because her new job would entail much swimming and diving. But instead of sassy and stylish, it made her look like a boy with too small a head. A head that looked odd on her generously-proportioned body. She’d have done anything to have her old hair back. Zoe frowned at her reflection, then moved further down the platform to avoid seeing herself. A pinhead, that’s what she was now.

She could smell fire. Cinders got up her nose, burned her throat, stung her eyes. So much for fresh country air. A handsome man wearing a bush hat was watching her. Was that him? Was that the man Bridget had sent to collect her? She smiled and smoothed her close-cropped hair. He separated himself from the fence and strolled over. ‘Quinn Cooper. I’m your lift.’ He extended his hand and swept off his hat in an old-fashioned gesture. ‘Welcome to our little slice of paradise.’ Something deep in her stomach flipped over in an all too familiar way.

‘Zoe,’ she said. ‘Zoe King.’ His hand-shake was firm, just the way she liked. In fact, on first impressions, there was a lot to like about this man. Attractive in a laconic, sunburnt sort of way. Older than her, about thirty. Lanky and tall, with a dark, close-cut beard, and that hat made him look like an actor from a pioneer movie. Honest grey eyes and a slow Queensland drawl in his voice. She started to thank him, but an embarrassing coughing fit choked away her words.

Quinn looked concerned. ‘Apologies for the smoke,’ he said, like somehow he was responsible. ‘The wind changed unexpectedly and brought it into town. Best get you a drink.’ His hand brushed hers as he took charge of the suitcase. They set off towards the platform gate, and Zoe swallowed hard, trying to quell the tickle in her throat.

An elderly station attendant stepped forward. ‘Afternoon Quinn.’ He tipped his hat. Zoe searched in her bag. Where was that ticket? But the man waved them through to the car park regardless. The train blew its whistle and pulled away from the platform, to continue its seventeen-hundred-kilometre journey north to Cairns.

‘In you get.’ Quinn put her bags in the back of the red Jeep Wrangler.

Zoe reached for the handle but he beat her to it. She was a little taken aback. Nobody ever opened car doors for her back in Sydney. She settled into the passenger seat, eyes drawn to the faded glory of an old hotel opposite. They swung right into a broad thoroughfare, past buildings flanked by coconut and date palms. Past the unexpected grandeur of Bundaberg’s historic Post Office, with its Italianate Victorian design and imposing clock tower. Quinn pulled over in the main street.

‘I’ll buy something to wet your whistle. What’ll it be?’

‘Diet Coke thanks.’

Quinn returned with two bottles of ice tea. ‘Coke’s no good for you.’ Zoe didn’t like tea, ice or otherwise. She took a sip and screwed up her nose. Yet despite the taste, it was oddly refreshing, and did a good job of soothing her irritated throat. Quinn glanced across and nodded approvingly as she took a bigger gulp. ‘I’ll head down Quay Street, give you a look at the river.’

Bundaberg’s Burnett River was home to one of the world’s rarest living fossils – the lungfish. She’d written a university paper about it. Zoe sat forward, eager to see the waterway for herself. But she caught barely a glimpse across the parkland before they turned and headed out of town.

Zoe finished her drink and looked for a place to put the empty bottle. She settled for holding it between her bare knees.

‘So,’ said Quinn. ‘You’re the new dolphin trainer.’

‘Trainer? No, I’m a zoologist. Majored in marine mammals: seals, whales, dugongs ... that sort of thing. Although I do have a special interest in cephalopods.’ She wet her lips with her tongue. ‘Are you on staff at the Reef Centre?’

‘Not me. I grow cane out at Kiawa. But I do know your boss, Bridget Macalister. We’re getting married next year.’

Oops! Just as well she’d sworn off men. Her boss’s boyfriend was about as far out of bounds as you could get. ‘Congratulations,’ said Zoe. ‘I’m really looking forward to working with Bridget. Such impressive research credentials.’

‘Bridget’s great, the absolute best.’ Quinn’s eyes shone with pride. How sweet. ‘You’ll love her. Everyone does.’

‘Will she be at the centre when we get there?’

‘Bridget said to bring you back to the farm. She’s arranged a welcome dinner.’

Zoe stared out the window to hide her disappointment. She wanted to see the Reef Centre tonight. How could she wait until morning?

A stiff wind change had cleared the smoke haze. At first, paddocks and orchards flanked the narrow road, giving way to emerald fields of cane as they drove farther from town. She felt out of place in her black skirt and neat grey shirt. The vivid beauty of this Queensland spring cried out for colour.

Quinn didn’t offer any further conversation. Half an hour later the car turned into a pair of tall gates hung between bluestone pillars. They passed beneath a gracious arch with the word Swallowdale emblazoned across it. A few minutes later a white house came into view on a rise. More of a mansion really. Sweeping lawns and sub-tropical gardens framed the imposing two-storey homestead. Wrap-around balconies featured wrought-iron lacework, and numerous arched floor-length windows gleamed like diamonds in the late-afternoon sun. Tennis courts stretched beside a river on the left, with what looked like stables beyond them. A pretty cottage nestled beside a broad ornamental lake, fringed by trees. Some sort of lookout tower stood near the water. Further afield, a sea of sugar cane stretched to the horizon, topped with feathery seed heads that wafted in the wind like waves. The only blight on the magnificent view was a dark plume of smoke. Zoe was stunned. People paid to have wedding receptions at places like this. Everything screamed of old money.

‘What a lovely home.’ An understatement, but it was all she could come up with. The only time she’d seen anything quite so grand was in a glossy magazine.

‘Built by my great-great-grandfather,’ said Quinn. ‘Jack Cooper was a pioneer of Bundaberg’s sugar industry. Since then, the eldest son of each generation has taken over the plantation.’ He heaved a sigh, as if the worries of the world lay on his shoulders. ‘My father passed away last year, so the job’s mine now.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Zoe. ‘I mean I’m sorry to hear that you lost your father. I imagine you love running Swallowdale.’

‘Of course.’ Quinn swung onto the circular drive and pulled up by the homestead’s rose-covered entrance. ‘It’s an honour for any man to follow in his father’s footsteps.’

‘Well, I suppose that depends on the father, doesn’t it?’ said Zoe. Quinn shot her an odd sideways glance before climbing out. He walked around to her side of the car, but by the time he got there, Zoe had opened the door for herself, and was standing triumphantly on the groomed, gravel driveway. ‘Take my dad for instance,’ she said. ‘He drives a school bus. I wouldn’t want to do that.’

Quinn gave a tight smile and hauled her suitcase from the back. A black-and-white border collie with a magnificent coat came bounding up to them. ‘Meet Captain.’

The dog propped on Zoe’s feet and trained his beautiful, brown gaze on her. She knelt down to hug his neck. Captain offered a paw.

‘You’re honoured. He doesn’t often take to people like that.’

Out of the corner of her eye Zoe noticed movement on the balcony. Someone was watching them ‒ a teenage boy with dark wavy hair. Quinn followed her gaze. Zoe waved to the boy but he ducked from sight.

‘That’s Josh, my kid brother.’ Quinn laid an unexpected hand on her arm, and glanced around as if someone might hear. ‘Josh is well … different. Not quite right. ’ Quinn glanced up at the empty balcony. ‘Cut him some slack, okay?”

‘Of course,’ said Zoe, wondering exactly how Josh was not-quite-right. ‘Thanks for telling me. I’d hate to put my foot in it. I do that a lot I’m afraid.’

Quinn smiled. ‘Well, so does Josh, so you’ll fit right in.’ He gestured towards the house. ‘After you.’ All this chivalry was going to take some getting used to.