Ben Dixon's Heart

By R L Humphries

This is the third book in the Ben Dixon series. Ben Dixon's wife, Milly, has decided to leave her husband and children and her apparently happy life on Wellington Springs Station in Queensland to work on a TV morning show in Melbourne. She expects her family to visit her but, shocked, they reject her plans. She goes anyway and Ben believes their marriage is over. Ben is experienced in TV and warns her of failure and she does indeed strike big problems. Ben, a former investigative journalist, suspects that Milly may have been forced to take up the TV contract and begins to check. He finds that a snide executive of the TV channel might be involved. Milly is becoming distressed in her situation and begs Ben for help, even though he regards them as separated and nearing divorce. In the midst of all this Ben becomes bankrupt, his accountant having embezzled all his money. He loses his two properties and all but a house and a car, and has to work to pay off more than a million dollars, so sets out to do so, working at various properties around the region. But he is conscious of Milly's great unhappiness and, when given an opportunity to work with her again on a revival of their old Ben and Milly TV show, realizes that he still loves her. In Melbourne he can look further into Milly's strange decision to leave her family and his suspicion that she's been blackmailed. It becomes obvious that the executive, Byron Dietrich, is the blackmailer, using a vulnerable friend's problems as a weapon. Ben's inquiries lead him to believe that Dietrich has been criminally active in other areas. He arrives in Melbourne determined to protect Milly and punish Dietrich....

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 28, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483521510

Book preview

fiction

Chapter 1

Two years ago an insane woman put three bullets in my back at a place called the Wreck Lagoon, on the edge of my cattle property in Queensland, Australia.

She’d kidnapped my little girl, Mim, then six going on seven, was holding her at the lagoon, waiting for me to come to rescue her and then she planned to kill me. She nearly did. I was lying hidden near the lagoon, she turned her back for a few seconds, I dashed out and grabbed Mim, and Kate Brown put the three .22 slugs in my back as I was running for cover, holding Mim in front of me to shield her. Kate had a sawn-off rifle which limited the bullets’ velocity but it was still enough to do some damage.

All this because I’d chosen Milly Bartlett as my wife, and not Kate, and Mil had later rejected her lesbian approaches.

It looked like being a bad scene for a while with Kate sitting just a few feet away, with her gun, waiting for me to die from loss of blood and mocking me and Milly. But a big taipan snake, about the deadliest in the world, lived under where Kate was sitting. It came out. I saw it in a brief peep at Kate. I warned her, she stood up and the snake struck her viciously three times and I’d say she was dead in a few minutes.

Kate’s horses had been released by her fleeing lesbian partner and Mim and I struggled on foot towards home as far as I could go and then I had to send that little girl off on her own. Fortunately Kate’s partner in this enterprise, who’d fled when the shooting started, had a conscience. She turned back on her horse, and found Mim treading purposefully but very wearily towards home. I’d taught her how to use the sun and she was doing ok when found. She expertly pointed out my approximate location and I was found, in a bad way, and flown to a spinal hospital in Brisbane. Two of the bullets had hit me in each side but the third had buried itself near my spine and I was crippled. I readied myself to die. My gorgeous Milly spoke to me sternly about the will to live and all that, but she wasn’t lying face down on a special bed, with a great view of the floor, was she? And I was likely to be that way for the rest of my life.

But I was not to die, as I’d wished. A cousin of Milly’s, a bloke she didn’t know existed, rang her out of the blue and offered to look at me and, if possible, operate on me. He was a world-renowned spinal surgeon and he removed the bullet near my spine in a long operation and I was on my feet and back in the saddle within a few months.

But now, a couple of years later, I’d been feeling poorly and was feeling more poorly by the day.

I was up in one of the back paddocks, inspecting cattle when, to my everlasting disgrace, I blacked out and fell off my horse. Blacking out was permissible but falling off my horse—never! A Queensland stockman never fell off his horse. I’d be talked about for years.

‘J’ya hear about Ben Dixon, the other day? Fell orf ‘is ‘orse. They reckon ‘e ‘ad a blackout, but that’s no excuse, hey?’

When they found me the story was that Jupiter, my chestnut stallion, was standing quietly over me, his head hanging in shame at my sad dereliction.

I was rushed to hospital 30 miles, or 48 kilometres since they’ve made us adjust, away in Monaldo and the local doctor recommended that I be flown to Brisbane. But Milly rang her cousin, Robert Bartlett, in Melbourne and he told her to hire a private air ambulance and to get me to a hospital in Melbourne which had a unit specialising in blood disorders and to do it without delay. He rammed it home by saying he thought I was dying from blood poisoning, an after-effect of the shooting.

We had plenty of money so Mil wasted no time. I was semi-conscious and only faintly aware of the flight. We had three children—Steve 17 and Mike 15, both at boarding school in Brisbane and my delightful Mim who was now 9, getting near 10.

Milly ordered a big air ambulance so that she and Mim could travel with me. The boys flew commercial.

I lapsed into unconsciousness and again was near death.

I blame the Melbourne weather.

I was admitted to the blood place, haematologists were summoned by my cousin-in-law and my family moved into Milly’s St. Kilda unit, ready for a long stay. After a week of sitting beside me wringing their hands, Milly decided to enrol Mim in a nearby school and she happily agreed. Anything other than sitting beside a comatose and white-faced father all day...with tubes emerging from some unlikely places. And unable to talk.

But Milly loyally stayed with me all day until Mim arrived from school and then she took her home for dinner and homework. The boys hung around sometimes and found other things to do at other times.

I was subjected to a battery of tests and then Robert decided that he’d operate again, firstly on the bullet holes in my sides and then on the spinal one. He felt that the original surgeons had missed something. His big specialty was wounded servicemen and he was very experienced at looking further for fragments. He was confident there was nothing near my spine.

Bingo! In his first operation on my left side, he probed deeper and wider and found a small bullet fragment which had dragged a good bit of my somewhat unclean shirt deep into my body and was now sitting happily as an abscess of some sort, poisoning my body.

The bullet that had hit me had been a tumbler, as opposed to a spinner which would have just spun through my shirt and through my flesh. A tumbler can do anything and this one ripped out a piece of my shirt and carried it into a large untidy hole in my back, hitting a rib on the way. The first surgeon had removed the bullet but missed the dirty piece of thick material, or a bit of it that made up a stockman’s shirt. I don’t blame him. Robert said the material had been compacted and deeply embedded. Anyone could have missed it. But he hadn’t.

Robert checked the other healed wound but found nothing. I’d been getting pumped full of drugs and they then lightened up on them, as the abscess was drained. It was tricky and took a long time. I was told to expect a stay of at least a further three months and probably more. There was some concern about gangrene and things like that. I really wasn’t interested in details. But, after a while, I was feeling better, almost by the hour. I was pretty strong, in normal times, and I was told this was helping.

Milly stayed loyal in her visits, but one day, I told her, though my battered throat, that I thought she should widen her activities. There is no bigger strain on conversational capabilities than sitting hour after hour trying to make conversation with one of the parties nearly unable to talk. I’d been thinking charity work or something... but no!

Milly said, ‘Darling, there is something I could do. Remember Peter Penrose. He was the producer on our Ben and Milly TV series years ago in Brisbane. He contacted me and wants me to audition for his a.m. show here in Melbourne. He’s thinking of me relieving as co-host with brief news commentaries from time to time. I’d start very early and finish at lunchtime so I’d have to hire a housekeeper to look after Mim and get her away to school. What do you think? It’s a trial and it would end when you’re discharged and we all go home. The hours are good for visiting you too.’

Now this might sound complicated. Last you heard I was a cattleman falling off a horse. My parents had a big cattle station near the Great Dividing Range in Queensland. I’d done an Arts degree in Brisbane and then wangled a job as a newspaper reporter in Brisbane. I’d met and married Milly, another reporter there, and eventually we’d partnered up in a Ben and Milly column which became a TV series in Brisbane and then around Australia. We were guest commentators pretty well everywhere and became celebrities. By this time we had a son, Stephen, and then Mil became pregnant with Mike so our contracts were all automatically cancelled. We went home to Wellington Springs, my property now, and settled down as cattle persons. My parents were retired on the coast.

I told Mil to take up Peter’s offer but to ensure that the duration was as stated. The term she’d used—trial—bothered me. Trial, for what? A permanent job? I’d had trouble with Milly’s ambitions before. Our marriage had almost been wrecked because of the fire that had burned within her. I’d walked out on her. She gave me all sorts of assurances when I forgave her and took her back but, sad to say, my beautiful wife was not always dependable in her assurances.

Nevertheless we all awaited her debut on TV. It was school holiday time, and the boys had come down from Brisbane. With Mim, my room was crowded. Ben Dixon, the host, couldn’t get a good look at the screen.

I should point out that Milly was from Melbourne, a rich brat of very wealthy parents. She is a sweet, vibrant, confident and brilliant wife, and I love her with a passion. She’s also one of the most beautiful women ever put on God’s earth—rich blonde hair that falls to her shoulders in a curl, a heart-shaped face, perfect lips, eyebrows, eyelashes, chin, neck, body, the lot. She has gigantic blue eyes and she’s magnificent and I wake each morning, in better times, wondering how I’d won this amazing beauty sleeping beside me, who’d soon open those eyes and reach for me.

And she looked great on TV. She had a rich made-for-TV voice and the camera moved in on her eyes constantly, even while she was just sitting waiting for her segment, and she did that superbly. But, of course, that didn’t take much talent. Everyone was thrilled—except me. I wondered if this glowing girl would now be satisfied with life back on the farm. In fact, folks, I felt a little sick. This had been a big, big mistake.

She arrived at the hospital walking above Cloud 9 and received much acclaim. She was pumped--- so pumped as to fail to ask for my news, which was good news. My stay had been shortened and I’d be discharged in three weeks. She departed with the family, leaving me with my unspoken news on the tip of my battered tongue. And that was pretty well Milly’s style when these things happened. Nobody counted but Mil. I became very depressed.

The same next day, although things were a little calmer. And I’d got the news across to the boys and Mim. When Milly arrived Mim broke into the excited chatter and gave out my good news. I was a journalist, remember, and I watched Milly carefully. For a few seconds, just a few seconds, she blinked in astonishment and then grabbed me and kissed me in joy.

‘What does this do to your TV career, Mil?’ I asked.

‘It will end, darling. It was only a short-term thing anyway. Don’t worry sweetheart, it’s back to the village for me with my glorious husband.’

Well, we’d see. Beauteous she might be, but Milly could not always be trusted. I continued to have that sinking feeling.

As a boy, I’d largely been brought up by two aboriginal aunties, Mabel and Beryl. They taught me a lot...and they knew a lot. Once, I had a bad feeling about a muster that was coming up. It really bothered me and I went to Mabel in tears. She comforted me in her soft way and told me the feeling I had was what they called the gift of knowing. Mabel had it and now it seemed I was unique among whiteys—I had it too. My feeling about the muster was correct and one of our stockmen was killed by a scrub bull that he didn’t spot in time. That knowing wasn’t a gift, in my opinion. It was a curse. But Mabel taught me how to handle it, and I didn’t get it often.

But I had it now about Milly and her so-called TV trial, so I knew she’d be leaving me.

When I was discharged and the boys had gone back to school, I suggested to Mil that we stay on at the unit for three weeks more to extend her TV experience a little further. I thought that this might calm any excited ambition still within her. Lay a few ghosts perhaps. She was very grateful and then made her final appearance and we headed home.

Although I’d been a print journalist, my Ben and Milly experience had made me something of an expert on TV. Everyone had been high in their praise of Milly. But she’d had little to do and I thought her performance was average when she had to do something slightly ad lib. The truth, sadly, was that she’d done little more than look glamorous and recite a few news headlines. At other times, to me, she struggled. I had huge mixed feelings. I wanted her to do well, for her sake, but not well, for our family’s sake. I could see the future, as clear as day.

In the plane she kissed me and said, ‘You’re a wonderful man to give me that chance. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Junior. Boy, I won the jackpot with you, didn’t I?’

I gave her a hearty kiss back. ‘My pleasure, Millicent. It all took my mind off things. It was good.’ I knew this was not the end of the affair, and I waited!

But my gorgeous daughter Mim had not, after the initial excitement, joined in all the celebrations and had, in fact, been cool to Milly and at times, almost rude. I thought they’d had some sort of disagreement—these things happened with mothers and daughters and I knew it would blow over when we got home and Mim was with her beloved horse, Peter.

Chapter 2

It was great to be back in the saddle. I had a good aboriginal staff and they’d kept things going very well in my absence. But I was the Boss and my eye saw things that they failed to see, or perhaps, preferred not to. My childhood friend, a giant named Bunny Adams, had also kept an eye on things from the property next door.

So away I went, cracking the whip and enjoying good health for the first time for a long time.

I could see this reflected in Milly. The strain of watching her husband declining and, figuratively falling off his horse each day was now gone and she was more beautiful than ever. My poor health before collapsing had meant that sex was out of the question, and ever since we’d been married---to be honest---before we were married, Mil and I had had a healthy and vigorous sex life. On our return to activity, however, I’d noticed more vigour, dare I say, desperation, in her love-making.

All of this added up. My return to health meant that Mil could now leave and the love-making was, perhaps, born of a guilty conscience.

Milly continued with Mim’s home-schooling but there was still that tension which I’d thought would blow over. It was a dark cloud in our otherwise brilliantly happy lives.

Finally, one night, I’d had enough.

‘What’s happened between you two?’ I asked. ‘Mim, you’ve been very rude to your mother at times and it’s now bothering me. For God’s sake let it out and let me try to settle it.’

Mim glared at her mother. Mim rarely glared.

‘Mother was unfaithful to you in Melbourne, Dad, when you were sick. Mike and Steve saw it too. She’ll deny it, but it’s true!’

I looked at Milly, who was actually smiling. ‘She means disloyal, darling, not unfaithful. Slight misuse of words there, Mim. I went out to dinner with Peter and his wife but I failed to tell the children. A bad mistake! When I appeared in the lounge all dressed up, they all objected but I’d made the date so I went. They haven’t forgiven me, I think. Certainly Mim has been boiling it. I told you, Benny, but I think you were struggling a bit and this was before I told you of Peter’s offer. The dinner turned out to be Peter sounding me out and having a look at my looks, I think. It could be termed disloyal I suppose, but never unfaithful, darling. I’ll never be unfaithful to you. Anyway I refused any other dinner invitations I received. That would have been disloyal if it had been for pleasure and not business. Satisfied, Mim?’

Mim had the grace to look sheepish. She walked over and kissed Milly who pulled her into a cuddle.

Happiness reigned again...awaiting the next Dixon crisis. And it came—oh yes, it came!

****

It was an afternoon, some weeks later. Mim had gone riding and Milly and I were alone at home for once.

She came to me, put her arms around me and said, ‘Ben, could we go to the spring to talk, please? I have something important to ask you.’

She was shaking a little and I knew what it was. The knowing feeling nearly overpowered me and I wanted to be rid of it.

‘Sure Milly. Now?’

‘Yes please, darling.’

The spring was a place for love-making, settling arguments and explaining. It was a beauty spot and Mil’s favourite spot in the whole world, she kept saying.

So we rode to the spring but there’d be no love-making here today. Or ever again, I thought sadly.

After we dismounted I said, ‘When do you leave, Mil?’

‘How did you know?’

‘Oh, I’ve known for a long time, Milly, just been waiting for your big announcement. Those so-called trials in Melbourne when I was ill; they weren’t trials Mil. Oh, the first one or two, but when they kept you on I knew they were rehearsals. And that story of Peter contacting you to try out. How did he know you were in Melbourne, unless you contacted him? So I’ve just been trundling along, overhearing your secret phone calls and planning, and waiting. I’ve long ago learned to live with your dishonesty Milly, but I love you and I’m willing to put up with anything just to have you with me. But all to no avail, apparently. So when do you leave?’

‘They want me to start on Monday week.’

‘What will you be doing—the same things as we all gasped at in Melbourne. Simple yes or no.’

‘Yes. But can I explain, Ben, please?’

‘Fire away!’

‘I have hopes that you and Mim might come with me to Melbourne. I don’t want to be separated from you. But I can see, from your reaction, that won’t be possible. But would you consider coming down every so often, to stay with me, to be with me, for us to be as husband and wife. I’m hoping Mim will come with me and the boys come on holidays. I love you, Benny, and this is something I must do. We all know I have ambitions that surface now and again, and I’m sorry, this one has surfaced and I just want to have one more try at a different way of life. I really don’t have much to do here, do I? Be honest, Ben! Do I?’

‘I suppose not, if being a housewife and mother isn’t much to do.’

‘And you said long ago that you knew Melbourne was calling me and that I’d go. And at Toorak, darling, when we were having all those fights, and even when we weren’t, you offered to live here and leave me to live in Melbourne, visiting occasionally. You were happy to live our marriage that way then. How can you object now, when I suggest it?’

‘A couple of things, Mil. The Wreck Lagoon hadn’t happened then. Now I’d hope you’d hang around to keep an eye on me and love me and look after me—be a wife to me. And visiting you will be a whole different thing. Remember our Ben and Milly show on TV in Brisbane? Towards the end we had hardly any time to parent Stephen and we were glad to get out when Mike made his presence known. We couldn’t have coped. If you’re the huge glamorous success that somebody has told you you’re going to be, Mil, you won’t have any time to spare for visitors. There’ll be huge demands on your time, and you’ll answer them because this is what you’re looking for—to be a feted celebrity, just as you were as the heiress at Toorak. You know, and I know, Milly, that you’ll come first, and family second. And that’s why you’re going. You had your moment in the sun and now it all awaits Milly Dixon, or will it be Milly Bartlett, again. Better to use the heiress name I think.’

‘Ben, you really are being difficult. I’d hoped you’d be supportive if you love me as you say you do. Doesn’t your love extend that far?’

‘Good one, Mil. No, I guess it doesn’t. But while we’re all being honest here, I feel I have to tell you, darling, that you’re doomed to a big disappointment. You’re so far up in the clouds now that I doubt that telling you that I watched your so-called trials very closely, and that I thought you were lacking in many things, will bring you back to earth. So either Peter or any others involved have another motive in mind or they’ve lost it, totally. If it’s what I suspect, then God help you both. I don’t like being cuckolded. And I’d travel to Melbourne to demonstrate that. Or there’s some other element and I’ll search it out, Milly, have no doubts on that. But I have to say that, from what I saw, I wouldn’t offer you a three-month contract, let alone the pot of gold three-year one!’

‘How did you know it was a three-year contract, Ben? I never told you. You’ve been prying and eavesdropping haven’t you? I don’t like that much.’

‘I don’t give a rat’s carrot what you like, Milly. So listen up. Start packing and leave as soon as possible, after telling the children. I’ll absent myself on Monday when the boys arrive and you tell them and Mim. Should be fun for you there. Now, start packing by taking everything of yours out of our room. Out by tonight. We’re no longer Mr. and Mrs. Dixon. If you insist on this ill-fated expedition, expect divorce papers when your year’s desertion comes into being. It starts when your plane leaves the ground. I rang James last night and told him to search out those dusty divorce papers from Toorak and get ready to execute them. And forget coming back here when