Turtle Reef Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  To the Australian Marine Conservation Society, providing a vital voice for Australia’s ocean wildlife.

  CHAPTER 1

  Zoe sat up in bed and opened her eyes, rubbing sleep from them like a child. Aching head, parched throat, queasy stomach. Just how much had she drunk last night? She groaned. A lot. Still, it had been worth it. Without a large dose of Dutch courage, she would never have found the stamina to give her loser boyfriend his marching orders. Zoe sank back in bed and pulled the pillow over her head. A wave of relief helped wash away the hangover. She’d actually done it. Had she been cruel? No, not cruel, more like direct. But what choice did she have? After all, last night was the third time she’d tried to tell Hugo they were through. He was just so damned persistent, like a human limpet.

  Zoe contemplated trying to go back to sleep, but it was too late, her mind was already busy. Why did she always have such bad luck with men? Her mother said it was because she was impulsive and jumped in too quickly. ‘The silly notion of love at first sight has a lot to answer for,’ she’d say. ‘There’s no such thing. Look at your father and me. Dating for a year before getting engaged, and then another year before the wedding. That’s why our marriage lasts, because we took the time to get to know each other.’ Zoe would just screw up her nose. She wore her heart on her sleeve, that’s just the way she was. But she had to admit that her system wasn’t working out. Not at all.

  People had warned her that Hugo was egotistical and far too sure of himself, but she hadn’t listened. Zoe took people at face value, and always gave them the benefit of the doubt. It wasn’t in her nature to be cynical or suspicious, and she liked that about herself. Her friends saw it differently. They said she was trusting to a fault, gullible even. They said she was naive and no judge of character. Zoe didn’t agree with their broad assessment, but this time her friends had been right.

  The last six weeks with Hugo, for all its dysfunction, was the closest thing to a relationship that she’d had for a long time. Zoe liked to look on the bright side of things, but even she had to admit that before him she’d had a string of the most appalling, dead-end dates imaginable. She wasn’t blameless, of course. She could be recklessly honest at times, speak her mind without thinking, screw things up, but still . . . What about the guy who talked about himself for so long that she set the stopwatch on her phone, just out of curiosity? Thirty-three minutes straight – no opportunity for her to say something tactless with that one. Then there was the guy whose interests were lifted word for word from her Facebook profile. He liked the exact same movies, same books, same bands. It had given her the creeps. There was the cheap date who proudly admitted he complained about the food to get their meals for free. Weirdest of all was the one where the man’s wife had joined them halfway through dinner to explain she was dying of cancer, and wanted to set her husband up with a nice girl before she gave up the ghost.

  Zoe checked her phone, half-expecting a message from her now ex-boyfriend. No texts, no calls. What a relief. She hauled herself from bed and stood for a while at the window. People down on the street were hurrying like ants, this way and that, on their way to work. An anonymous throng that she was too often a part of. She felt empty, hollow. This wasn’t how she’d imagined her life would be.

  She glanced at the clock; almost nine o’clock. A sudden sick feeling hit her, until she remembered it was Monday, her day off. How she hated working at that library. When she’d finished her honours degree in zoology at Sydney Uni last year, she’d hoped to work for Parks and Wildlife or perhaps as a research assistant with the CSIRO. She’d even applied to the Australian Antarctic Division. With a major in marine mammals, she might have scored a job on the Weddell Seal Project or, better yet, researching the Southern Ocean Whale Sanctuary. But here it was, end of August, and she hadn’t even made a second-round interview. So Zoe was stuck working at the university library. Not even in the zoology department. She could have handled being surrounded by biology books all day. But no, she’d been moved during her first week to the deadly-dull engineering faculty. Technical journals and pimply first-years hitting on her. Yuck.

  Zoe wandered away from the window towards the kitchen. She craved a greasy breakfast, but the contents of the fridge were disappointing and anyway, she didn’t much like cooking. The Macca’s down the road seemed a better option. Zoe went back to the bedroom, catching sight of herself in the mirror as she pulled on jeans. Her tangled brown hair already looked oily, although she’d washed it yesterday. For years she’d wondered how it would look short, really short. Perhaps today was the day to find out? She paused, frowning at the spare tyre around her stomach and the generous curve of her hips. Her tall frame could usually carry a little extra weight without it showing. But six weeks with foodie Hugo had tipped the balance too far. And he worked out at the local gym, so that was no longer an option. Not that she went there much anyway. Her stomach rumbled. God, could she ever go a bacon and egg muffin. The diet would start tomorrow.

  Zoe rubbed a hand over her face. What she really wanted was to get away. From this dingy flat, where she wasn’t even allowed to have a cat for company. From the library, from her dreadful dates, from the Macca’s round the corner. Swear off men, get right out of Sydney and make a fresh start. The phone rang from somewhere in the bedclothes. She fumbled about for it, in two minds whether to answer or not. What if it was Hugo, or the library asking her to work today? No, she didn’t recognise the number.

  ‘Hello? Yes, this is Zoe King.’

  ‘Hi Zoe. I’m Bridget Macalister, director of the Reef Centre at Kiawa.’

  It took Zoe a few seconds to place the caller. She’d applied for a position at the regional Queensland marine park months ago. The pay on offer had been modest as she remembered, little more than a keeper’s salary, but Zoe was more than willing to start at the bottom, and had said so. When she hadn’t heard back, she’d assumed that was that.

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Bridget. ‘You’ve got the job.’

  CHAPTER 2

  The train’s rhythmic clickety-clack was as soothing as a lullaby. Zoe leaned into the corner, 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, love.’

  ‘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 abou
t 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. Apart from that, Zoe was a Sydney girl through and through, born and bred in Bankstown. A city girl determined to embrace this new lifestyle, this new opportunity, this new job.

  Her stomach churned with excitement. She glanced around the old railway station building with its cream weatherboards and bullnose verandahs. Full of old-world charm, but she was too wound up to properly appreciate it. Zoe wandered towards the exit, momentarily startled as she caught sight of herself 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, a personal statement to protest an appearance-obsessed culture. Practical too, because her new job would entail a lot of 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 man was leaning on the fence and looking at her. Young, late-twenties maybe and quite a hunk. Bridget hadn’t described who would be collecting her. Was that him? She smiled and smoothed her close-cropped hair. The man separated himself from the fence and strolled over. ‘Quinn Cooper. I’m your lift.’ He extended his hand and swept off his hat, 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 handshake was firm, just the way she liked. In fact, on first impressions, there was a lot to like about this man. Handsome in a laconic, sunburnt Tom Hanks sort of way. Lanky and tall, with a dark, close-cut beard and a hat that made him look like an actor from a pioneer movie. Honest grey eyes and a slow Queensland drawl. She started to say Nice to meet you, but a coughing fit choked away her words.

  Quinn looked concerned. ‘Apologies for the smoke,’ he said, like somehow he was responsible. ‘The wind change brought it into town. Better 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 carpark regardless. The train blew its whistle and pulled away from the platform to continue its seventeen-hundred-kilometre journey north to Cairns.

  Quinn put her bags in the back of a red Jeep Wrangler. ‘In you get.’ Zoe reached for the handle but he beat her to it and opened the door for her. 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 labelled Bourbong Street. 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 and nodded towards a milk bar. ‘I’ll get something to wet your whistle. What’ll it be?’

  ‘Diet Coke, thanks.’

  Quinn returned with two bottles of Lipton Ice Tea. ‘Coke’s no good for you.’

  She didn’t like tea, hot or cold. A little peeved, she took a small sip. Despite the unfamiliar taste, the tea 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.’

  Zoe’s curiosity was piqued. Bundaberg’s Burnett River was home to one of the world’s rarest living fossils – the Australian Lungfish. At university she’d written a paper on it, and was curious to see the waterway for herself, but she caught barely a glimpse of the broad, brown river across parkland, before they turned off and headed out of town.

  Quinn glanced across at Zoe as she finished her drink and looked around for a place to put the empty bottle. She settled for holding it between her bare knees. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you’re the new dolphin trainer from Sydney.’

  ‘Trainer? No.’ Thank goodness her voice was working again. ‘I’m a zoologist. Majored in marine mammals: seals, whales, dugongs . . . that sort of thing. Although I do have a special interest in cephalopods. I’ll be doing rehabilitation and research.’ She wet her lips with her tongue. ‘I’m so excited about this job. Are you on staff at the Reef Centre too?’

  ‘Me? No, I grow cane out at Kiawa. My connection with the centre is through Bridget.’ He paused and his tone grew warm. ‘We’re getting married next year.’

  Just as well she’d sworn off men. Her boss’s boyfriend was just 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. I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from her.’

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

  ‘I’m sure I will. Where is she? At the centre? Will there be time to have a look around tonight?’

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

  Zoe smiled and tried not to let her disappointment show. It was thoughtful of Bridget to arrange such a welcome, but Zoe would have far preferred seeing the Reef Centre tonight. It would be hard waiting until morning for her first visit.

  A stiff wind had cleared the smoke haze, allowing a clear view of the scenery. At first, paddocks and macadamia orchards flanked the narrow road, but they gave way to emerald fields of cane as they drove further from town. She felt out of place in her black skirt and T-shirt. The vivid beauty of this Queensland spring cried out for colour.

  Quinn didn’t offer any further conversation, and Zoe was content to stare out the window. Half an hour later he turned the car through an impressive gateway: bluestone pillars, 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 subtropical gardens framed the imposing two-storey homestead. Wraparound balconies featured wrought-iron lacework, and numerous arched floor-length windows gleamed like diamonds in the late-afternoon sun. Tennis courts stretched out beside a river on the left, with what looked like stables beyond them. Close to the main house, a modern 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 from a distant cane fire. Zoe was stunned. People paid to have wedding receptions at places like this. Everything screamed of old money.

  ‘What a lovely home.’ A bit of 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.

  Quinn nodded. ‘Built by my great-great-grandfather, Jack Cooper, a pioneer of Bundaberg’s sugar industry. Since then, the eldest son of each generation has taken over the plantation.’ He sighed, fingers tightening on the steering wheel. ‘My father passed away last year, so the job’s mine.’

  ‘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 grand entrance. ‘Doesn’t every man want 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 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 her a tight smile and hauled her suitcase from the back. A big black-and-white border collie with a magnificent coat came bounding up to them. ‘Meet Captain.’ The dog propped himself 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,’ said Quinn. ‘He doesn’t often take to people like that.’

  Zoe caught a movement on the balcony out of the corner of her eye. Somebody 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 afraid someone might hear. ‘Josh is, well, different. An acquired brain injury when he was twelve. Never been quite right since.’ Quinn glanced up at the empty balcony. ‘Cut him some slack, okay?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Zoe, feeling the warmth of Quinn’s hand on her skin, and wondering when he would let go. ‘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, and released her arm. ‘After you.’

  All this chivalry was going to take some getting used to.

  ‘Zoe tells me she’s a scientist.’ Quinn took a bite of fluffy mashed potato.

  ‘That’s right.’ Bridget’s voice was low and musical, pleasing to the ear. ‘I can’t believe we finally have a new research officer. Her position’s been funded by a grant from the Department of Environment.’ She smiled at Zoe, who couldn’t stop looking at her new boss. Bridget was tall, tanned and enviably slim, with the sort of luminous beauty you might expect of an actress or model.