Leigh nodded, non-committal. That was one thing to look at as soon as possible. Hopefully, it was drawn up by a lawyer rather than Nina herself.
Nina led the way to a corner with partitions. Photographs were pinned on the boards. “These are the Barn Kids. Many are city kids from low-income families.” She pointed to a gap-toothed, small girl hugging a goat. “That’s Naima. Her family are refugees from Iran. Naima’s the best English speaker in her family, so she has to translate for her parents a lot of the time. Her mum makes cheese from Charli-the-goat’s milk to sell in the farm shop. Naima’s family gets a share of the profits.”
Nina took Leigh’s arm as if they were besties and drew her over to a large photograph. “This is the current group of Barn Kids. Twenty kids, age seven to twelve.”
Leigh studied the photo. There were slightly more girls than boys, and they were a mix of ethnicities. All of them were laughing, as if the photographer had said something funny. “Is this the group Billy was in?”
Some of the light went out of Nina’s smile. “Yes. That’s him there.” She pointed to one of the smallest kids in the front row.
Leigh leant closer to see. Billy was a chunky kid, earnest looking. He was smiling, but it was the smile of a kid who didn’t quite get why everyone else was laughing. His hair stood up in blond tufts, and he was dressed in a pair of shorts, a T-shirt, and bright red gumboots. He looked younger than his seven years. She snapped a picture with her phone.
Nina’s hand still rested on Leigh’s arm. The touch was light. Leigh was drawn to the hand. Nina’s nails were short, cut rather unevenly, and there was a rim of dirt under each one. How different to her own neatly manicured and buffed nails. Leigh tried to imagine Nina working in her office. The picture wouldn’t come. Nina belonged out here, light-years from the inner city. Leigh moved away to study the next photo, and Nina’s hand fell away.
“Who are these people?” The photo showed a group of adults. Some held tools, others plates of baked goods.
“We had a working bee to repair the barn. These are some of the volunteers. Mostly parents of the Barn Kids, but others just like to help out.” She pointed at a rather untidy woman on the edge of the group. The woman’s hands were empty, and she stared fixedly at the camera. “That’s Stella, Billy’s mum.”
Leigh snapped another photo.
There were more photos. Kids astride a couple of ponies, an adult at the head of each animal. A little boy holding a chicken. One of Nina milking Sophia, surrounded by a group of kids. The photos were a pastiche of happy times.
“You see?” Nina said. “See the happiness on these kids’ faces? I’m starting a cooking class next week. The kids will learn to cook some of the farm produce, and then their parents will come, and we’ll all share the meal.” Her face was serious, shimmering with intensity. “Some of these kids only eat takeaway or sandwiches at home. This isn’t some whimsical skipping-through-the-daisies farm program, Leigh. This is life skills for kids who badly need them. This is why I have to keep Banksia Farm going. For everything it brings to the community. If I have to pay Billy a huge sum of money, I’ll have to sell the farm.”
“You’ll almost certainly have to pay him something. Few claims are withdrawn. How will you pay him anything?” The words if you don’t have twenty grand for legal fees hung in the air unsaid.
“If he deserves compensation, I’ll make sure he gets it. Maybe I could pay in instalments or something. But I can’t tell if this is genuine or not. And I don’t want to lose the farm if I don’t have to. That’s why I need you, Leigh.”
Leigh. Her name sounded soft on Nina’s tongue. It was usual to be on a first-name basis with clients, but most of them still managed to make her name sound clipped and formal. Not Nina. She drew Leigh’s name out almost to a sigh.
And when had she started thinking of Nina as her client? Leigh’s still-dirty toes curled in the uncomfortable gumboots and reminded her of all the reasons she didn’t want this case. She put a pace between them. “Is the pony here somewhere?”
“Mr Petey’s in the stable. Let me show you.”
Leigh followed her, clumping awkwardly in the gumboots. Nina looked comfortable in hers despite the incongruous look with shorts. Her legs were muscled like her arms, as if she walked the land every day. She probably did. Nina Pellegrini had no need to work out in an expensive gym to keep fit. A mental picture flashed into her head of Nina in her gumboots doing the step aerobics class at Leigh’s gym. She suppressed a grin.
“We have two ponies,” Nina said. “I brought Mr Petey in earlier, as I thought you’d want to see him.” She went to one of the stables and unbolted the door.
The dim space was cooler than the main barn. A pretty grey pony stood on a bed of straw. He was dappled like the rocking horse Leigh had when she’d been little. His ears pricked at the newcomers.
A movement behind the pony caught her attention.
A skinny girl brushed him with long, sweeping movements over his back. Her glance snapped to Leigh, and she ducked behind the pony to brush his hind legs. Leigh caught a glimpse of dark hair and the same large, brown eyes Nina had. This must be Phoebe.
“Phoe, come and meet Ms Willoughby from Petersen & Blake. She’s come out to see if she can help us.” There was a warning in Nina’s tone. Play nice, it said.
Was Phoebe an awkward kid? Stubborn? Mean even? That would make the case more difficult. Much of the defence would hinge on proving that Phoebe was a responsible person, well able to be in control of the pony despite her tender years. Leigh stopped that train of thought. There was still no guarantee she would take the case.
Phoebe stayed crouched, working on the pony’s hooves.
“Phoebe,” Nina said again. This time the implicit warning was stand up now, or there will be hell to pay.
Phoebe stood. Her eyes flashed defiance. “Sorry. You know Mr Petey doesn’t like his fetlocks brushed. It’s better to finish when you’ve started.”
A little crease between Nina’s eyes showed the lie, but she let it go.
Phoebe wiped her hand on her grubby shorts and held it out. “Nice to meet you, Ms Willoughby.” No expression in her voice. She was obviously parroting the words she’d been told to say.
Leigh shook Phoebe’s hand. “I’m happy to meet you too, Phoebe. Why don’t you call me Leigh, as your mum does?”
Triumph flashed in Phoebe’s eyes for a second. “Mum says I have to call you Ms Willoughby.” She shot a sideways glance at Nina.
“Whatever you and your mum are most comfortable with is fine by me.” Leigh pasted a conciliatory smile on her face. This child was pivotal to the case, and if she was to give it a fair assessment, she needed to forge a rapport with the girl. “Why don’t you tell me about Mr Petey?” She took a tentative step forward and patted the pony gingerly on his nose.
“You don’t know much about horses, do you?” Phoebe’s tone held a superior smugness. “You don’t approach them from the front like that. You’re in his blind spot. It’s lucky Mr Petey’s used to people like you; some ponies would be scared.”
Leigh gritted her teeth. If Phoebe was like this with the Barn Kids, she doubted many of them would stay. She took a step back. “How should I approach him?”
“From the side so he can see you. Come up to his neck and scratch him under his mane. He likes that.”
It was a test, Leigh realised. And hell and dammit, she may not like this prickly child, but she needed to make Phoebe comfortable around her. And if a lecture on horse management was the way to do it, well, that’s what she’d do. “Like this?” She circled around to the pony’s shoulder, put a gentle hand on his neck, and stroked. His coat was soft.
“Yeah, that’s better. Scratch him. You can be harder; he likes that.”
Leigh scratched, and Mr Petey gave a deep sigh. His lower lip flapped, and his eyes closed. Would the smell of hor
se ever come out of her hands? “How old is Mr Petey?”
Nina leant her butt on the door, and her gaze rested on the two of them. No doubt making sure Leigh didn’t intimidate her daughter. Hah! It was more likely to be the other way around.
“He’s seventeen.”
“Is that old for a horse?”
“Middle-aged. Like Mum.” Phoebe threw her mother another quick sideways glance. “Horses can live to thirty-something.”
Leigh glanced at Nina, who looked to be maybe late twenties. She must have had Phoebe very young. “Do you like riding him?”
“Yeah. He’s my favourite.”
“Do all the Barn Kids ride him?”
“Not all. Jelly’s a bit smaller, so some of the kids prefer her. They like to be closer to the ground. Not that there’s much difference between them. A few centimetres.” Phoebe moved to Mr Petey’s rear end and brushed his tail.
Leigh still had her hand on the pony’s neck. Mr Petey turned his head and nudged her in the side.
“He wants you to keep scratching,” Phoebe said.
She daren’t look to see whether Mr Petey had slobbered over her suit, but she would bet a bottle of vintage champagne he’d left a mark. This was an expensive visit clotheswise. Dutifully, she resumed scratching. “Did Billy always ride Mr Petey?”
“He rode both, but he liked Mr Petey best. We try and share the ponies around evenly at Barn Kids, but Billy was the only one here when he fell off. I asked him which one he wanted to ride, and he chose Mr Petey.”
“So what happened? Tell me from the start.”
Phoebe concentrated on the tail, brushing the long strands out so they hung in a silken curtain. “We groomed, saddled, and bridled Mr Petey together. It was a nice day, so we went outside. Billy had ridden in the paddock before.” She looked up, and her gaze met Leigh’s squarely. “He was nearly ready to ride alone.”
“At seven years of age?”
“Yeah. I was riding alone when I was five.”
“It all depends on the child,” Nina said from the door. “Some are still being led at eleven or twelve. Billy had had quite a few lessons by this stage.”
“I gave Billy a leg up, helped him with his reins and stirrups, and led him around the paddock.”
“How did you lead him?”
“I clipped a leading rein to the rings of Mr Petey’s bit and used that. That way, Billy could practice steering and control. I’m only there as a backup.”
“Where did you take him?”
Phoebe shrugged. “Just around the paddock. No particular way.”
“Along the fence, beside the road, in the middle?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t draw a map. Just around. Okay?”
Mr Petey tossed his head at the angry words. His head came around, and his big, rubbery lips and yellow teeth closed around one of the buttons on Leigh’s jacket. Leigh jumped back just as he jerked, and the button flew off and fell into the straw.
Phoebe laughed.
Leigh clenched her jaw. This was too much. Over one thousand dollars’ worth of clothing was ruined on this visit. The farm was dirty, disorganised, and seemed to be run on a shoestring, with no proper safety procedures. And Phoebe was a little shit. Leigh was the one doing them a favour by even considering the case pro bono. She didn’t have to put up with this. She took a step back and fixed Phoebe with a cool gaze.
“Phoebe, apologise at once.” Nina jammed her hands on her hips, her eyes spitting sparks.
Phoebe shrugged. “She’s the one who should apologise. Not me.”
Really? This child was unbelievable.
Nina opened her mouth again, probably to squash Phoebe flat, but Leigh held up a hand to hush her.
“Why should I apologise, Phoebe?” She kept her voice cool, the sort of even tone she used to calm angry clients. Most of those clients were at least twenty years older than Phoebe.
Phoebe’s hands clenched in Mr Petey’s tail. “Because you could save the farm if you wanted and you won’t. Mum and I don’t have that option. You swish in here all superior-like and ask questions like you’re some kind of judge. You don’t like us; that’s obvious. And you don’t belong. I don’t know why you’re here—maybe someone made you come—but I think you’ve already decided you’re not gonna help. You don’t care that we’ve got no one else. I’m sorry if I’m rude, but I think you deserve it.” Her glance shifted to Nina. “I’ll send myself early to bed now. But it was totes worth it.”
She pushed her way past Mr Petey and marched from the stable with her chin up.
Nina leant against the wall and rested her head back. Her eyes closed. “I’m sorry for my horrible daughter. She was probably the last straw. I’m sure you will drive away from here with relief, never to return.” Her eyes opened, and her direct gaze skewered Leigh. “Phoe’s right about one thing, though: you are our only hope. While I don’t blame you one little bit if you want nothing more to do with us, it’s our hopes, our dreams, and everything that matters most in our lives that you’re taking away with you.” She levered herself away from the wall. “Please come to the house, use the shower, and I’ll see what I can do about your clothes and shoes.”
Leigh’s gaze fixed on the curve of Nina’s neck, on her bent head, messy hair falling out of its ponytail. She’d removed her hat and left it on the ground, uncaring if the clothes-eating pony took a nibble. Nina’s neck was smooth and led down to prominent collarbones just visible over the top of her singlet. One shoulder strap drooped down her arm, and Nina hoicked it up. She lifted her chin and met Leigh’s gaze.
Her face had an immobile quality to it, unlike her earlier expressiveness. It was as if she’d already withdrawn and couldn’t let hope shine in her eyes any longer. Like Phoebe, she obviously thought Leigh had decided not to help them.
She was probably right. Leigh would return to the office, note her attendance, and make a decision. Her head had already made it.
“I can lend you some clothes,” Nina said.
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine.” Leigh turned towards the door. “I better be going.” The gumboots had rubbed her heels, and there was a hole in her tights that her toe must have pushed through, and it now felt like a garrotte.
At her car, she bent to pick up the ruined shoes and opened the car boot. “Would you have some sort of plastic I can put them on?”
Nina darted off and returned with an empty feed sack. It covered the floor perfectly.
Leigh shrugged out of her jacket and dropped it into the car boot next to the shoes. The jacket was ruined; it could hardly get worse next to the waterlogged shoes, still with pieces of manure clinging to them.
Nina glanced at the shoes. “Let me know the cost of replacing them.”
“Sure.” Leigh knew she wouldn’t. It would be kicking a downed woman. She moved to the driver’s door.
“Wait.” Nina put a hand on her arm.
Close up, Leigh caught her scent: something earthy like freshly cut grass and an overlay of recent sweat.
“I’m sorry this has been a disaster. I expect I’ll get a letter from you in a couple of days, saying you’re not going to take us on. I wish it were otherwise. But I want to thank you for taking the time to come out here and look. You’re obviously a busy woman. Your time is money, and”—a swift, glancing smile—“that’s something I don’t have much of.”
Leigh looked into her face, past the cheerful facade Nina presented to the world. Nina’s smile was off-kilter, her eyebrows drawn together. Underneath the smile, Nina Pellegrini was a beaten woman.
Leigh proffered her professional smile, the one that didn’t reach her eyes. Smooth, reassuring, and insincere. “I’ll be in touch.”
Chapter 5
“Morning.” Grizz entered Leigh’s office and set her coffee mug on the desk. “How did it go at Banksia Farm yesterday?”
Leigh tightened her lips at the memory. The uncomfortable day was still fresh in her mind, and the smell of the farm still permeated her car. She’d have to get it detailed. “It was a disaster. The farm is a disorganised mess, and the daughter is a brat. It will be difficult to prove she’s responsible enough to be in charge of the pony.” She gestured to a bag by the wall. “Would you mind mailing that to Nina Pellegrini?”
“Sure.” Grizz picked up the bag and looked inside. “Gumboots?” Her expression invited Leigh to say more.
“I won’t be needing them again.”
Grizz sat and placed the bag at her feet. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”
“James strongly suggested I take the case, but his only concern is I increase my pro bono work. There are other matters as well as Banksia Farm.”
Grizz studied her in silence for a few seconds. “Sure. In fact, there’s an email in your inbox, asking if anyone has capacity to take on a commercial litigation matter pro bono. Shall I respond that you do, seeing as you’re not taking Nina on?”
Leigh frowned. “I think I’ve heard about that. It involves a charge of money laundering.”
“That’s it. There’ll be a lot of work reconciling bank statements.” Grizz’s mouth turned down. “That I’m sure will land on my desk.” She stood. “Can’t help wishing you’d take on the farm instead.”
Leigh stared at her upright back as Grizz stalked to the door. Grizz would never presume to influence Leigh’s choice, but what she’d said was correct: the very boring task of going through the hundreds of bank statements and financial records would doubtless fall to her. It wasn’t only lawyers who were expected to work for free in pro bono matters—paralegals were as well. No wonder Grizz wanted Leigh to assist Nina instead.
Leigh tapped her pen on her blue pad. Had she been too hasty in dismissing Nina? Sure, the farm was a mess, but her personal feelings shouldn’t influence her decision to accept or reject the case. Nor should the fact that Grizz wasn’t happy about the alternative. Pro bono work came down to the most deserving case in her area of expertise. What she’d seen of Banksia Farm before the visit went wrong had shown it was exactly the sort of case she should consider. It was a community service helping disadvantaged kids. And without a lawyer’s assistance, it was in trouble.
A Heart This Big Page 5
