The Girl From Over the Sea by Valerie K. Nelson

t forget ,’ he went on coolly, ‘ I w ant those tomato seedlings brought to the lab first thing in the morning. ’
    Lesley was seething with fury. He had turned away, deliberately ignoring her remark and causing the gardener to ignore her too. Yet this estate was theirs ... well, Ricky ’ s.
    ‘ Will you be so good as to do as I ask? Get this man to release my dog, ’ she said now in a voice that she tried hard to make cold and calm. Raging at him would have no effect, she knew that.
    He made a gesture to the gardener who went lumbering down the path. Then he turned back to Lesley, eyeing her with a hard, expressionless stare. ‘ You were saying? ’ he queried.
    ‘ I was asking you to release my dog, ’ she said in a voice that she strove to keep very small.
    ‘ So he ’ s your dog. I ’ ve tried to establish his ownership, but that young brother of yours didn ’ t seem very certain. Well, now we can get down to brass tacks. First of all, have you a licence for him? ’
    ‘ A licence? ’ Lesley blanched and looked up quickly, noting the irony in his bleak eyes. She couldn ’ t help feeling that he had Ricky in mind for more than one thing. Ricky, who hadn ’ t a licence for his dog and hadn ’ t a driving licence.
    She forced her voice into nonchalance. ‘ A licence ?’ she repeated. ‘ I don ’ t really know. ’
    ‘ What do you mean by saying you don ’ t know? Either you have or you haven ’ t. ’ His eyes were cold now, that same cold pewter colour of the February sea, and his voice had a contemptuous edge to it. As if in his own mind he was branding her as a liar and a cheat ... over more than the licence for Dingo.
    She thrust her hands deeply into her pockets. ‘ Look, I don ’ t see what business it is of yours whether we have a dog licence or not. ’
    ‘ I suppose that means you haven ’ t one, ’ he said now, propping himself by the lintel of the open door. He looked consideringly at Dingo. That renegade was again wagging his tail ingratiatingly and looking up at his captor an adoring grin on his silly face—the sort of look he had never given any of them, thought Lesley indignantly.
    ‘ If you ’ re going to keep him, you ’ d better get a licence for him, ’ Blake Defontaine went on, making no attempt to meet Dingo ’ s friendly overtures half or even a quarter of the way. ‘ And while you stay here ,’ he continued, ‘ he must be tied up except when you take him out for exercise. He needs training to come to heel when he ’ s called. ’
    Who does he think he is, giving out orders like this? Lesley asked herself in a fu r y. She would have left him standing, but he was between the door and herself and she had still got to free Dingo.
    ‘ If you think I ’ m going to have him tied up all the time you ’ ve made a mistake. I wouldn ’ t be so cruel. In Australia ...’
    ‘ You ’ re not in Australia now ,’ he pointed out irritatingly. ‘ But even there, one supposes dogs obey their owners and are trained to leave sheep and lambs alone. ’
    ‘ What proof have you that Dingo would chase lambs? ’ she asked frigidly.
    ‘ None, and I ’ m not proposing to risk finding out. We ’ re breeding pedigree stock at the Home Farm—animals that are too valuable to be chased over the cliffs .’
    We ! That word again, ’ as if he identified himself with every aspect of life at Trevendone. What bad luck that Dingo had run foul of him again before Ricky ’ s .claim had bee n established! Once it w a s ...
    ‘ Do you know anything about training a dog? ‘ The question came suddenly and Lesley, wrapped in her own gloomy thoughts, jumped. ‘ No, I don ’ t ,’ she admitted.
    ‘ Then why did you buy the dog? ’
    ‘ I didn ’ t buy him. He was to all intents and purposes a stray, and the twins couldn ’ t bear his being turned out, which is what our landlady in London was going to do. So ...’
    He pounced on that. ‘ So it isn ’ t really your dog. Those children