A fortnight now, since she’d patched things up with Bridget. Zoe was spending most of her nights at the shack. With Josh kept busy at Swallowdale, the quaint little bungalow perched on the cliff was empty and available. Zoe loved drifting off to the lullaby of waves. She loved waking each morning to a sun-spangled sea or the dramatic swell of breakers before a storm. To the magnificent, old-fashioned shower rose that didn’t know the meaning of water-saving. To dolphins playing in the lagoon before the gates of the Reef Centre opened to other eyes.
There were things she missed about Swallowdale, of course: Josh’s offbeat company; the weight of Captain’s comforting body pressed against her in the early hours; the earthy smell of Aisha’s warm neck. And Quinn. Her feelings hadn’t changed; she still desired him, still dreamed of him. But he was living with Bridget now. How was that going? Were they arguing, like Josh had said? Whatever the case, she would do nothing to spoil things for them.
It was a relief in some ways to step away, to get some distance from all those conflicted feelings. Zoe threw herself into her work, mapping and sampling the remaining seagrass meadows in record time. Thank goodness she’d had the presence of mind to get her own sampling done, because Queensland University was still dragging its feet. She was tired of waiting for confirmation of what she already knew. Time for a bit of sleuthing, a bit of private investigation work, and she would start right in her own backyard, so to speak – in the Swallowdale chemical sheds.
Zoe parked her car at the guesthouse and headed off on foot down the central laneway, the same path she’d ridden a few weeks earlier with Quinn and Josh. She kept a close lookout for curious eyes, but seemed to be all alone in this part of the farm today. When she reached the converted shipping container where she’d seen Rob refill the boom spray, Zoe put on a pair of disposable gloves and pulled a booklet from her pocket: Code of Practice for the Storage and Use of Chemicals in Rural Workplaces. She flipped to the checklist page and put a cross next to the first point. The door was not locked with a childproof latch as it should have been. In fact, the door wasn’t locked at all: it stood wide open. She glanced about before going inside. The light didn’t work when she flicked the switch – another cross. Ventilation seemed good, thanks to the line of spinning whirlybirds installed along the roofline. She ticked that box. Are chemicals protected from moisture? Tick. Is storage area fire-resistant? Tick. Are herbicides separated from insecticides and fungicides? This was a more difficult question. A few containers didn’t have labels at all, earning another cross on the page.
Zoe didn’t know brand names, but she recognised ingredients, and they added up to a toxic chemical cocktail: Aldicarb and Atrazine, herbicides banned in the European Union; 2 4-D, known as a groundwater contaminant; Diuron, a carcinogen found at fifty times safe levels in her seagrass sediment samples. Fungicides were stored higgledy-piggledy among drums of pesticides like Aldicarb and Carbofuran. There were containers of liquid Chlorpyrifos – an insecticide known to kill off coral larvae – instead of the much safer slow-release granules. And over here, another unreadable label.
Zoe moved further into the darkened shed, her vision taking time to adjust. How Rob managed to see a thing in here with his old eyes was a mystery. On a steel shelf lay piles of grimy two-ring binders. She picked one up, and the resulting cloud of dust made her sneeze. It was filled with forms. Chemical usage records – requiring dates and times, field numbers, chemical and quantity used, application rates, wind and speed directions, weather conditions. The list of questions went on. If filled out properly, the completed form would add up to a thorough and detailed record of each incident of chemical use on the farm. Problem was, the form was blank – they all were. She flipped through another folder, shaking her head at the multiple-choice final question. Tick the box beside Protective Equipment Used. Options included apron, gloves, face mask, goggles, respirator, filtered air tractor cab – as far as she could remember, Rob hadn’t even worn a hat!
She wandered around, ticking and crossing her checklist, mainly crossing it. Two rusty steel drums smeared with gobs of dried mud stood near the door, their labels too faded to read. The screw cap of one was rusted on. She tried the cap on the second drum and managed to twist it open. Zoe took out one of the unused forms and dipped its corner into the liquid inside, shuddering involuntarily as she did so. Then she clipped it back into the front of the folder. Nearly done. Outside and round the back, in case she’d missed something. Nothing much to see, just an old corrugated-iron dunny. Trust Rob. Blank chemical use forms were impaled upon a bent nail on the wall – bush toilet paper.
Zoe set off back home, folder under her arm. Maybe she should stay at the guesthouse tonight and tackle Quinn on the state of his shed. She wasn’t looking forward to it. Seeing that man, caring for him like she did, knowing she could never have him . . . starting another fight. Captain came bounding along the path towards her. Zoe kneeled down to hug the big collie. ‘I’ve missed you.’ She ruffled his silken coat. ‘It’s been too long.’
‘It certainly has.’
Zoe looked up to find Quinn smiling down at her. Her mouth went dry.
‘Long time no see,’ he said. ‘Where’ve you been hiding?’
Zoe shrugged. ‘Staying at the shack.’ When she stood up, Captain sat on her foot, leaning against her leg like he was trying to keep hold of her. ‘I wanted to give you and Bridget some space.’ A shadow passed across his face. Damn, why had she said that? It sounded so presumptuous. Their relationship had nothing to do with her.
‘Will you come up to the house for a cuppa?’
She squirmed inside. Quinn’s close presence caused her a physical ache. Every instinct screamed, No, spare yourself the pain! But this was the perfect opportunity to tell him what she’d found. It had to be done. Surely Swallowdale wasn’t the only farm in Kiawa not following the chemical code of practice? And as president of the local Canegrowers’ Association, Quinn had a lot of influence. If she could convince him to change, then others might follow his lead. What was more important – her bruised heart or the safety of Turtle Reef National Park?
Zoe braced her shoulders. ‘Okay.’ She felt like howling. How would she cope sitting opposite this man, feeling the way she did, and keep the conversation to herbicide use and record-keeping?
Zoe watched Quinn pull the cellophane packet open and empty Chocolate Ripple biscuits onto the plate. ‘No homemade Anzacs today.’ He gave a little laugh of apology. ‘Bridget finally moves in and she’s too busy to cook.’
Zoe was dying to ask how things were going between them, but held her tongue.
Quinn poured the tea. He seemed to move in slow motion, expertly raising and lowering the sky-blue pot as the arc of amber liquid poured into her dainty cup. ‘Milk?’
She smiled. ‘Do you ever just throw teabags into a mug and drink it with the little tag hanging over the side?’
‘Not when I have special visitors.’
For a moment Zoe’s heart leaped with happiness. She wished his words really meant something, instead of being just a figure of speech. ‘How’s Josh going? I hardly see him any more.’
‘He’s going great guns. Those horses are really turning things around for him. He’s happier, friendlier, talkative . . . more normal, I guess. I rang our local school principal to ask whether they could swing an integration aide if Josh enrolled next year. She reckons there’s a good chance.’
‘Great . . . that’s just great.’ Zoe sipped her tea but couldn’t seem to force it down. His presence was overwhelming, the undercurrent of attraction so strong, her pulse so swift that surely he must hear the blood throbbing in her veins. Quinn had never affected her this powerfully before. How was she supposed to tackle him about on-farm procedures when what she really wanted to do was kiss him? She pushed the thought away.
‘I’ve taken a look at your chemical store. Well, one of them anyway.’ Quinn looked taken aback, and why not? It must have seemed an unlikely thing to come out of her mouth. ‘You know about my research project?’
He nodded. ‘Where’s this leading?’
‘Some pretty high levels of contamination are turning up: 2 4-D, Atrazine, Diuron – cane chemicals. They’re killing off the seagrass, Quinn. Dugongs and turtles out in the bay are starving to death.’
He scratched his jaw. ‘So, what, you’re blaming me?’
‘Not you in particular, of course not.’ He looked a little happier. ‘But I am blaming cane farm run-off in general. I’m wondering . . .’ She took another sip of tea, giving herself time to choose her words carefully. ‘How much attention do local people pay to chemical use guidelines? You know, codes of practice, that sort of thing?’
Quinn took a Chocolate Ripple and offered her one. She shook her head. He bit his biscuit in half. ‘Folks round Kiawa, we’ve got our own way of doing things.’ He popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth. ‘And we don’t put much store in government rules and regulations. Never have and never will.’
His cavalier attitude helped to break the spell. A different sort of heat rose in Zoe’s body. ‘What about the reef? What about the turtles – the beautiful ones we saw that night?’ Her breath caught, and she felt herself beginning to tremble. ‘What about the dugongs, minding their own business, trying to raise and protect their calves the best they can? How are they different from you, trying to raise and protect Josh? How would you like it if he was starving and you went to somebody for help, and they said, We don’t put much store in feeding kids, never have and never will?’
He shifted in his seat. ‘Aren’t you being a bit melodramatic?’
‘How so?’
‘Dugongs aren’t people.’
‘Makes no difference. They’ve as much right as anyone to be here, more actually. They were here first.’
Quinn fixed her with those penetrating grey eyes of his and Zoe felt her presence of mind slip. It was like he could see right into her soul. ‘How are the dolphins in the bay doing?’ he asked her. ‘Are they in trouble too?’
‘As a matter of fact they are.’
‘Dolphins don’t eat seagrass.’
‘Everything’s connected. They’re top of the food chain – apart from us.’ At least he was listening: that was something. ‘I don’t blame cane chemicals directly for the dolphin’s predicament. A virus is killing them off, but something’s lowered their immunity and let this disease take hold.’
‘Like what?’
‘Banned toxins have shown up in their tissue samples, including Dieldrin.’
Quinn whistled through his teeth, inadvertently summoning Captain to his side. ‘Dieldrin. Dad used that before it was banned. Nasty stuff.’ He offered her more tea. She nodded, calmer now. Quinn was paying attention. Maybe she was getting through to him.
‘Let’s take Swallowdale as an example. There are problems with the way you store your chemicals.’ She showed him her checklist. ‘The biggest issue is that records don’t seem to have been filled out. Unless Rob’s passing them on to you?’
Quinn fondled Captain’s ears. ‘I’m lucky if Rob passes the time of day on to me. I’m afraid he’s never seen me as a fitting heir to Dad’s throne. My management style isn’t tough enough.’
‘Rob should be more worried about his own management style. Without records, there’s no way of telling what chemicals are being used on the farm, or when or how heavily they’ve been applied.’
Quinn’s brow furrowed as he examined the sheets of paper. ‘There’s a legal obligation on farmers to comply with this stuff?’
‘Yes, you’ve got some work to do.’
‘I’ll look into it, Zoe, but please don’t go poking around here without asking. You shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘And in return, you need to talk to your canegrowers, remind them of their obligations. Let them know how harmful their chemicals are to the reef. There’s more to it than safe storage and record-keeping.’ Zoe flipped through the pages. ‘This outlines best practice.’ She read out topics as she went. ‘“Subsurface fertilising, slow release pellet pesticides, waterway exclusion zones, bans on wet-weather spraying” – it’s all in here.’
She handed him the booklet. Quinn frowned and put it down. ‘Stick to what you know, Zoe. My blokes won’t appreciate being dictated to by a blow-in from Sydney.’
‘Is that how you see me?’ The heat was back again; her eyes flashed flame. ‘As a blow-in?’ Captain whined and came to sit beside her. She was too angry to pat him. She’d misread Quinn. He hadn’t been listening at all. ‘Maybe Josh was right,’ she said.
‘Why? What did he say?’
‘That you’re stubborn and don’t listen, just like your father.’
Quinn’s nostrils flared. ‘You know nothing about my father.’
‘And you know nothing about the reef. You have no right to harm it just because you and your mates won’t drag yourselves into the twenty-first century.’
Quinn laced his fingers and flexed his knuckles. ‘This conversation is over.’
‘Only for now.’ Zoe threw the checklist at him as she shoved back her chair. ‘I’m not finished, not by a long shot.’
A lump lodged in Quinn’s throat as Zoe stormed away, taking the timber steps two at a time and striding down the path leading to the guesthouse. Captain stared longingly after her. ‘Don’t you dare,’ said Quinn. The collie gave him a reproachful stare, barked twice and then ran after Zoe.
Quinn dug his fingers into his fist. He didn’t blame the dog. He wanted to go after her himself. This wasn’t meant to happen, not at all. He’d missed Zoe, missed her a lot. Hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Several times a day he checked the cottage carport. Felt the blood surge in his body whenever he heard a motor, hoping to see the Lexus turn into Swallowdale’s gates. He’d started to worry that she might not come back at all. And then today, there she was, flashing that beautiful smile, wanting to have tea with him. A tide of relief and happiness had washed through him, startling in its power, making him feel like singing. And now he’d gone and ruined it.
He never knew quite how to react to Zoe. She was so full of surprises and yes . . . damn aggravating at times. Today was a prime example. Unbelievable, that she’d gone rummaging through the spray shed uninvited. A city girl like her. What would she know about farm chemicals? And then she had the hide to criticise him for what she’d found, as if somehow he was in the wrong instead of her. And she’d talked about his father, a man she’d never met. Just as well too. He could only imagine the sort of row those two would get into.
A breeze blew the booklet with its attached checklist off the table and he picked it up: Code of Practice for the Storage and Use of Chemicals in Rural Workplaces. He’d never seen it before. Dad had his tried and tested ways of doing things around the farm and since his death nothing had changed. There was no reason to, was there? Quinn opened the booklet. Chemical storage areas must be locked and secure. That was actually a good idea. If he’d locked the shed, Zoe wouldn’t have been able to snoop. Quinn read on. He didn’t know about half this stuff. Regulations covering bunding, record keeping, chemical mixing, spraying. Accreditation. Ensure all operators have up-to-date training and relevant accreditation. A list of recommended courses followed. That was a good one. Quinn imagined sending Rob off to enrol in a chemical management course. Heaven help anyone who tried telling that old bastard what to do.
He flipped over a few pages. Reef Wise Farming. Obligations and Penalties For Non-Compliance. This was something he did know a bit about. Canegrowers in the northern catchments had been saddled with onerous new regulations governing chemical and fertiliser use, all designed to protect the Great Barrier Reef. The protocol did not extend as far south as Kiawa, which was the cause for much celebration in the ranks of the Canegrowers’ Association. Still, the controversial changes had many local farmers up in arms. They saw it as the thin end of the wedge, government gone mad.
They were particularly enraged about growers having to undergo random farm audits by reef protection officers. With the price of sugar in the doldrums, the financial burden of implementing the resulting reforms had been the last straw for some of their northern neighbours, sending them to the wall. To stay in business and ignore the new rules risked fines of thirty thousand dollars. A 79 year-old famer in the Burdekin had shot and killed an officer when he’d tried to inspect his property late last year. Some Kiawa growers, especially the older ones, had quietly applauded.
Not Quinn, of course. The reckless act had stunned him with its savagery. But as far as the new Reef Wise regulations went, he’d been as angry about them as his peers.
He imagined how wild Dad would be if he knew about them, then checked himself. Dead for two years, and he was still viewing things through the prism of his father. Quinn hadn’t seen this as a problem before. Reacting as his father would have reacted was one way of honouring him, of keeping his memory alive. But something Zoe said had struck a nerve. A taunt purportedly based on Josh’s words. You’re stubborn and don’t listen, just like your father.
Quinn put the booklet down and rubbed his forehead. The seed of a headache was germinating behind his eyes. Why had he snapped at Zoe like that? He knew what she was like and shouldn’t have been surprised by what she’d done. He’d wanted so much to talk with her, share a laugh, something that never seemed to happen at home with Bridget.
Bridget. The thought of her intensified the pain in his temple. The things Zoe said about her had been going round and round in his head. He couldn’t silence them, not when he was hauling cane out to the siding, not when he was arguing with the manager at the mill . . . not when they were in bed together at night.
He had no firsthand knowledge about what had been going on at the Reef Centre. However the tenor of Zoe’s words, the implication that Bridget had been dishonest somehow, holding things back – that rang true. And if Josh really was the one training the dolphins? It meant Bridget had been using the boy, something Quinn could not forgive.
Funny, he’d always imagined that the day Bridget moved in would be the happiest day of his life. He’d dreamed of it during her years away studying, longed for it while she stubbornly insisted on staying with Leo at Cliffhaven. Spent night after sleepless night craving the press of her flawless, perfumed body against his. And yet, now she was here, a vague and terrible disquiet had taken root. Something was wrong with Bridget.
She seemed oddly detached, as if living in her own little world. Oh, she went through the motions all right. She came home each night, ate dinner, watched television, was a willing partner in the bedroom. She rose early each morning to shower and change, kissed him goodbye and left for work.
But it was a shell of a relationship. They didn’t talk about anything, not really, not about what mattered. They didn’t laugh and joke, or tell silly stories, or discuss their hopes and dreams. Whenever Quinn tried to engage her, she put on that perfect smile and allowed the conversation to grind to a halt. Or she changed the subject, steering the discussion safely back into shallow waters.
‘How about we turn off the television tonight, go sit out under the stars and talk,’ he’d say.
‘What about?’
‘I don’t know. What our lives might be like in five years’ time? Do you want to see Paris one day? If somebody handed you a magic lamp and gave you three wishes, what would they be? Anything.’
‘Quinn, you’re being silly.’ Her smile was ambiguous. ‘Let’s watch a movie instead.’
The truth was, he was profoundly lonely. The physical passion they shared was a hollow delight, like making love to a stranger. Afterwards he couldn’t sleep. He’d wait until Bridget had drifted off, then get dressed and go walking, restless and dissatisfied. And more and more during these solitary nocturnal interludes, his thoughts would turn to Zoe: beautiful, fascinating, infuriating Zoe.