Australia's Maverick Millionaire. Margaret Way

claimed to have spotted a “saltie” at the far end of the lagoon a few weeks back.

      “Watch out for that fella now,” Snowy had warned in the pub, brandishing his schooner aloft. “Plenty big enough. Round six metres, I reckon.”

      That had raised a few laughs. Most people thought what Snowy had seen was a thick forward floating log, although his claim was checked out as a matter of course. This was crocodile country after all. Anywhere north of the Tropic of Capricorn was.

      People lived with their crocodiles. The trick was never to venture into a crocodile’s territory. Australia’s salt-water crocodile was one of the largest reptiles in the world. Crocs would take anything that strayed too near the water—humans, cattle, even big buffaloes, horses, dogs; anything in the water, turtles being a delicacy. Only a crocodile had never been sighted in Paradise Lagoon for more than a decade. Back then a young Japanese tourist who’d had far too much to drink had decided on a midnight swim despite the warning signs in several languages, including Japanese, and his equally intoxicated mate shouting at him not to be a fool. The mate had got it right. A crocodile had been lying in wait for just such a heaven-sent opportunity. It had snaffled up the hapless young man, subjecting him to the death roll before stashing him away at the bottom of the lagoon until such time as it was ready to feast.

      That tragic event had horrified the town. The crocodile, although a protected species, had been shot dead and the lagoon trawled in case it had had a mate. No mate had been found. The town breathed a huge collective sigh of relief. Everyone knew the Wet was breeding time. The female crocodile, much smaller than the male, laid her eggs, some 40 to 60, along the banks of rivers, billabongs and lagoons. No human or animal had been taken in the intervening years and no nests spotted anywhere amid the density of the aquatic reeds and grasses. Still, there was perpetual vigilance. Crocs had been known to come with surprising speed across land in search of more congenial lagoons.

      The town loved its parkland but no one swam in the lagoon. That was strictly forbidden. No local was that much of a fool anyway. Most people had swimming pools. Paradise Lagoon was a favourite picnicking spot. There was a special playground for the little ones and excellent barbeque areas with dining rotundas adjacent for family occasions. Bicycle paths. Walking paths. Children under the age of twelve who entered the parkland had to be under the supervision of an adult, though the danger of going near the water was drummed into children as toddlers. Even little kids heeded the message. Crocodiles were not friendly. Crocodiles ate people.

      Not a problem for them. They were with Aunt Lisa. So there was Lisa, baby Ella, herself and her best friend, Tulip, both of them nine years old, in the same class at school. Up until that day she had enjoyed an idyllic childhood, the privileged and adored only child of Lyle and Allegra Templeton. The Templetons were the richest family in the entire North. Her grandfather, Leo Templeton, had as a young man inherited a pastoral fortune worth millions. Leo’s father and his father before him had built up the Templeton fortune with sheep and cattle; Leo Templeton had taken it to new heights as a result of his own Midas touch and clever diversification. The family now controlled multiple enterprises, all of them highly successful. Her parents were the town’s most popular young couple. She, as her grandfather always claimed, was the jewel in the Templeton crown.

      “Not a girl alive who can touch you!”

      Of course he was biased in the extreme. But she was liked by everyone and she felt she would have been even if her name hadn’t been Templeton.

      They picnicked on the delicious food Aunt Lisa had packed into her state-of-the-art picnic basket—little chicken and mushroom pies, scotch eggs, ham quiche or sandwiches, washed down with cold sparkling apple juice followed by some lovely, fudgy brownies if they had room. They did. Baby Ella, eighteen months old, sat happily in her stroller, staring adoringly at her mother with her radiant blue eyes. Afterwards Clio and Tulip lay back on the grass, eyes closed, talking about all the things nine year old girls talked about—school friends, movies, pop idols, the new bike Tulip had graduated to, her ballet lessons. Aunt Lisa casually read a book, Ella gurgled her pleasure in the beautiful day.

      Before they returned home they took a leisurely walk around the park, admiring the brilliantly plumaged parrots and lorikeets that thronged the trees. At one point Aunt Lisa’s mobile rang. She and Tulip continued on walking while Aunt Lisa turned away to answer her phone.

      That’s when it happened.

      The stroller with a plump, wriggling toddler in it moved slowly but very worryingly off the path. Without its brake applied, it began a slow downward slide over the grass, picking up speed so its progress eventually turned into a freewheeling hurtle. A tree or a shrub might have stopped its progress, but there were none in the way. The slope was not significant yet the stroller with Ella in it was taking a dead straight path to the water, covering the not-inconsiderable distance to the lagoon in heart-shaking seconds, before plunging into the deep emerald depths and disappearing out of sight.

      Aunt Lisa, turning back in alarm, dropped her mobile, screaming her unspeakable terror. Some residents said afterwards they heard her screams half a mile away. Tulip, heart in her mouth, fainted, her slight body swooping to the grass. Clio stood paralysed, knowing when her limbs unlocked she would have to take a header into the lagoon to save Ella. She was a good swimmer, but like everyone else she had never ventured into the lagoon, said to be fathomless at the centre. But this was a life-and-death situation.

      She gathered herself, mumbling a prayer, only at that precise moment, out of nowhere, a tall, athletic boy with a thick shock of hair that glinted gold in the sun suddenly materialized. He was moving as fleetly as a young lion loping down the grassy slope before diving so cleanly into the lagoon scarcely a ripple broke the surface.

      People were charging across the reserve now, not quite knowing what was happening but ready to offer any help that was needed. No one was ever free of the fear of crocodiles. Everyone knew Aunt Lisa. She was a Templeton after all. Everyone knew about adorable Baby Ella. But where was Ella? They had the answer in moments. A roar of relief split the air as Josh’s golden head, dripping water and green gunk, broke the glassy surface. He had one arm firmly wrapped around Ella.

       Thank you, thank you, thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you, Josh.

      It was her turn now to race down the slope. She was fully prepared to dive in to help Josh, only he shouted at her fiercely to stay back that mortified tears sprang to her eyes.

      A woman, an off-duty nurse, took charge of Ella, checking her before putting her into her frantic mother’s arms. Next the nurse attended to Tulip, who had come round. She was sitting up, but was ghastly pale. Two strong men were on hand to pull Joshua out of the water, though his expression registered he was fully capable of getting out himself. That was the moment an elderly woman screamed and they all became aware a terrible weapon of destruction was coming at speed from the far end of the lagoon, its infamous notches of eyes and nostrils just visible above the waterline. The crocodile was nowhere as big as Snowy had claimed, probably a female, but it could have taken boy and little girl with no trouble at all.

      Josh Hart fell back panting onto the grass, golden arms and legs spread-eagled. She had never in her life spoken more than two words to him but Clio found herself dropping onto the grass beside him. “Did you know the croc was there?” she asked, not daring to touch his tanned, outflung arm.

      His fine nostrils flared. “Don’t be stupid, little girl.” He turned his golden-blond head to stare at her, blue eyes ablaze. “There are always crocs around. Snowy did warn you complacent idiots,” he added, adult-like scathing judgement plain on his beautiful, utterly superior face. He might try all he liked to be wicked. She knew he would never pull it off with her.

      “But the council men checked,” she offered in protest. When had they checked?

      “Well, they got it wrong, didn’t they?” His brilliant eyes burned into her.

      “It’s my little cousin, Ella, you saved.”

      “I know.” His answer was short and dismissive.

      She flushed at the hostility he