‘So, I was right,’ breathed Molly. ‘But what do I do now?’
‘That’s a tough one. You can’t very well get on the two-way and come straight out with it.’
‘Come out with what?’ Joe stepped into the kitchen.
Molly grabbed a sheet of paper off the table and stuffed it into her apron pocket. ‘Nothing.’ Her face reddened and she wouldn’t look at him.
‘You’re both looking very guilty over nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘And what’s that you’re trying to hide, Ma? It wouldn’t be the list of owners I was looking for, would it?’
Eliza exchanged glances with Molly. ‘You’d better come clean, Molly. Joe’s not going to let it rest otherwise.’
Molly bit her lip, her expression worried. Then she sighed. ‘Shut the door, Joe. I don’t want Lulu to hear any of this.’ She waited until he’d sat down before she pulled the paper out of her pocket and smoothed it on the table. ‘If I tell you, then you have to promise to keep it to yourself.’
Joe frowned, unwilling to commit until he knew more. ‘If this is to do with Lulu, then surely she has a right to know.’
Molly shook her head. ‘It isn’t as straightforward as that,’ she said, her hands still uncreasing the crumpled paper. ‘You see, I began to wonder if Ocean Child came from Lulu’s father– it was the only explanation that made any sense.’ She glanced at Eliza, who nodded encouragement. ‘Finding the list and talking to Eliza has confirmed at least who her father is.’
Joe leant forward and took the list. ‘Which one is he?’
Molly’s finger came down on the fourth name. ‘That’s him. There’s absolutely no doubt.’
The name was a common one and meant little. ‘So what’s your problem? Why not tell Lulu and help her contact him?’
‘Because it’s only a suspicion. I can’t be certain he gave her the horse,’ she protested. ‘He might not know anything about her or care less – and the poor girl has gone through enough without getting hurt again. It’s lucky I didn’t tell her that I suspected Carmichael and her father were one and the same – because it turns out I was wrong.
Joe frowned. ‘How do you know? ‘Molly carefully folded the list and returned it to her pocket. ‘Carmichael got through on the two-way when you were in the yard, and I knew he couldn’t possibly be Lulu’s father.’
‘How on earth can you be so certain?’
‘Because the man I spoke to had a young voice, and he was calling from a roadhouse in Deloraine’
‘Voices are deceptive on the two-way, what with all the static and Doreen’s heavy breathing. You’re jumping to conclusions, Ma.’
Molly shook her head. ‘This man – Lulu’s father – suffered a stroke about eighteen months ago. Eliza knows him well and she told me his speech has been impaired and when she last saw him he wasn’t capable of travelling anywhere, certainly not all the way from outback Queensland to Deloraine.’
Joe mulled this over in the ensuing silence. ‘What did Carmichael want when he called?’
‘To know if Ocean Child was still running on Saturday.’
Joe took a deep breath and tried to dispel the worrying thoughts his mother had invoked. ‘Then he must just be an agent employed by Lulu’s father to keep an eye on the colt’s progress. If he is, then it’s likely he’ll be in Hobart to watch the colt run.’ His frown deepened as he tried to make sense of it all. ‘But then that would mean her father had bought the colt for her as a gift, but that he’s employing Carmichael to keep an eye on her too.’
‘If he knew Lulu existed and wanted to make contact with her, then why didn’t he just write to her?’ Molly twisted her apron in her fingers. ‘The man I knew all those years ago was the plain-speaking kind, and according to Eliza, he hasn’t changed.’
Joe felt a chill of foreboding. ‘Carmichael is at the centre of this, and until we know who he is, he’s not to be trusted. From now on we must keep a close eye on Lulu until we track him down, but you are to say nothing to her.’
He saw a flash of something in Eliza’s eyes that he couldn’t identify but didn’t like. ‘I hope I can rely on both of you to keep this to yourselves?’ he said evenly.
‘If you say so,’ said Molly, ‘but it won’t be easy.’
*
The man who called himself Carmichael had been travelling all day. He’d brought the utility over from the mainland, and it had proved to be a wise decision, for it allowed him to follow Lulu Pearson more closely and get a real sense of her. He’d watched her on the bluff and followed her to the house in the bush, and during the weeks she’d been in Tasmania he’d come to feel that what he was about to do was justified.
It was a long journey back to Hobart and the Elwick track, but he had plenty of time, and it wouldn’t hurt to rest his injured knee a while. He took a detour out to Poatina to have a look at Gwen Cole’s place. Not that he wanted to come face to face with her – it was the simple curiosity of being able to put flesh to the bones of the woman he knew only as a name on a piece of paper.
He parked under an overhanging tree and walked stiffly down the narrow dirt track to lean on a fence and watch as she tended the horses. The smallholding covered about sixty acres in a beautiful valley, with good paddocks for the fine-looking horses that grazed there. But the house and garden were unkempt and neglected, the dog kennels abandoned, the chicken coop held together with string and wire. It was obvious there was no man about – or if there was, he was a lazy bastard.
As he watched her through the foliage, he came to the conclusion that her one saving grace was her undeniable passion for her horses – but the sight of her left him cold, and he returned to the ute.
*
He’d left Poatina way behind him and having negotiated the rough track that followed the east bank of Great Lake and headed south, now he was almost at Bothwell. He would camp there overnight and get an early start in the morning.
He frowned as he drove through the gloom, his thoughts mulling over the plan he’d spent so long orchestrating. It had worked well so far – better than he’d dared hope. But there were always unforeseen pitfalls to negotiate – and he had a feeling Lorelei Pearson would not willingly cooperate. It was imperative he reached Hobart before her so he had everything in place, and all eventualities covered.
Chapter 13
The convoy of new trucks and floats had been moving steadily southwards since before dawn, and despite her vow the previous night to put all feelings for him aside, Lulu was all too aware of Joe as he sat beside her.
Bob and another stable hand were sitting in the flatbed, backs to the rear window and surrounded by saddles, bags, tack and spare horse-shoes. Dolly had elected to accompany her new friend Eliza, who was driving the second utility, which was similarly loaded with men and luggage, and Ocean Child and Moonbeam were travelling in style alongside the Hobart-owned horses, Danny Boy and Friar’s Lass, in the two floats. Joe had arranged for everyone to stay with the Hobart owners, where all four horses could be spelled after their journey so they would be fresh for their races on Saturday.
Lulu wound down the window and gazed in awe at the scenery. Her childhood was in the time before cars and trucks were commonplace, when travel for pleasure was rare and the horse was the only form of land transport – therefore she’d never gone further than the seaside town’s borders before she’d left for the mainland and England, and knew nothing of what lay beyond them. This journey south was proving a revelation and she longed to be able to stop for a while, to get out her sketch-book–for the colours were soft and almost sensuous, the enormous sky quite breathtaking.
They had been driving through the vast valley for almost an hour, and still it went on. The seemingly endless chain of surrounding mountains was misty blue in the first light of this new day, and the peaceful pastures and tiny farmhouses they passed looked like images from a book. ‘It reminds me of pictures of Scotland,’ she murmured. ‘All that’s missing is the heather.’
‘Who needs heat
her when we’ve got alpine heath, wax-flowers and rock-daisy bushes?’ He glanced at her and smiled. ‘If you come this way between November and February, you’ll find the place covered in them.’
‘What a shame I’ll be back in England by then.’ She looked away as she saw the disappointment in his eyes.
His silence was eloquent as he kept his gaze on the road. ‘I thought you might stick around a bit longer than that,’ he said finally. ‘We’ve only just started the really busy part of the racing season, and I’m hoping to enter the Child in some important events on the mainland.’
‘Our return passage is booked for the end of November,’ she said regretfully.
‘You could always change your ticket.’
Lulu shook her head. ‘I have responsibilities in England,’ she reminded him softly. ‘Clarice is getting old, and although it may take time for us to be reconciled, it’s important not to leave her alone for too long.’ She lifted her hair from her neck and enjoyed the soft breeze coming through the window. ‘Besides, I have my work to consider, and I can’t let Bertie down after he’s been so patient with me.’
‘Bertie? Who’s Bertie?’
His expression was grim, and she had to bite down on the smile. ‘He’s my benefactor and patron,’ she said, and went on to explain. ‘I have commissions on hold, so if I want my career to go anywhere, I need to be back in England.’
‘So there isn’t anyone special waiting for you then?’
‘There was once, but he died in France.’
He touched his scars as if to remind himself of the price he’d paid for being one of the lucky ones who survived.
Lulu studied him thoughtfully, and her voice was gentle as she spoke. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened – or is the subject still too painful?’
‘I forget about the mess on my face most of the time,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘It’s only when I have to meet people that I’m made aware of it.’ He eased his shoulders and shifted in the seat. ‘It bothers some and fascinates others – but I’ve had to accept there is little I can do about it.’
She remained silent, waiting to see if he felt comfortable enough with her to talk. Time passed and she was about to change the subject, when he broke the silence.
‘I survived Gallipoli with a minor leg wound and was taken to a hospital ship to recuperate. I thought France would be a picnic after the hell we’d all been through, but then we were sent to a place called Fromelles.’
Lulu frowned. ‘I don’t recall a battle there,’ she said, ‘and I followed the news most carefully.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ he said shortly. ‘Haig and his generals changed the name at least three times to cover up their disgraceful failings as leaders of men. We should never have been there, but they wanted the ANZACs to provide a diversion by drawing enemy fire away from a bigger raid further south.’
His face was etched with anger as he stared at the road. ‘Haig was too intent upon his southern raid to take any notice of the reports coming in of a huge enemy presence that had been dug in at Fromelles for several weeks. We were like lambs to the slaughter. The battle lasted less than a day, but when it was over we’d lost more men in those few hours than we had in the nine months at Gallipoli.’
Lulu didn’t know what to say, for there could be no words to comfort such awful pain. She’d heard Maurice talk of the incompetence of the generals and their laissez-faire attitude that had sent thousands of barely trained boys from stinking, rat-infested trenches to face barbed wire and scything bullets. His experiences had lived with him long after he’d returned home, and she suspected it was the same for Joe. And yet Joe seemed to have come to terms with his war, unlike poor Maurice, whose memories had eventually proven more than he could tolerate.
She drew back from her thoughts as Joe resumed his story.
‘Fromelles is as flat and featureless as a pancake. We were caught in no-man’s-land, enemy fire coming at us from all directions. There was nowhere to hide. Our captain was a kid from Queensland. He was only in his twenties, but had enough courage for ten men. He believed in leading his platoon, not sitting in safety miles from the front line.’
Lulu watched the expressions flit across his face as he spoke and knew those hours would be forever burned in his memory. But she also knew he was finding some release in being able to talk about it.
‘It was raining and we were trapped, half of us already dead, men screaming on the wire and in the stinking mud for help. Mortar fire was blowing us apart and making huge craters which quickly filled with water, and the machine-guns were cutting us down like ninepins. The captain and I were hit at about the same time. I grabbed him by the leg and we fell into one of the craters.’
He took a shuddering breath, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel. ‘I knew half my face was gone, but strangely enough it didn’t hurt – not then, anyway. But I also knew I had to get us out of there or we’d be blown to bits.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘I’ve never been more scared in my life, I don’t mind admitting it, but terror gave me the strength to haul him on my back and get us both to the field hospital behind our lines.’
‘That was incredibly brave,’ breathed Lulu.
He grimaced and shrugged. ‘A thousand men would have done the same. There were many acts of bravery that day far greater than mine – but I was scared witless and acted almost without thinking.’
‘Did the captain survive?’
‘They told me he was already dead when I came sliding down into that trench and fainted at their feet.’ He gave a deep sigh. ‘It was the end of the war for both of us – but I got away lightly compared to that poor kid.’
‘Poor Joe,’ she murmured, her fingers lightly brushing his cheek.
He flinched and captured her hand, moving it from his face to her lap. ‘Please don’t do that. The last thing I need is your pity.’
She moved instinctively to plant a soft kiss on the warm scarred flesh. ‘It’s not pity, Joe,’ she whispered against his cheek, ‘but pride, thankfulness and love for what you did and who you are.’ She drew back, realising that what she’d said had come from the heart and that it was too late to take it back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you.’
His smile was shy as he glanced across at her. ‘I think you’ve embarrassed yourself,’ he teased. ‘As for me, I rather liked it.’
Lulu blushed and looked down. His tanned, calloused hand still swamped hers, their fingers intertwined on her lap, the warmth and strength running through her like fire. It would be so easy to love him – so easy to give in to the emotions he stirred in her. But love and compassion were powerfully deceptive and not easily distinguished from one another – and she didn’t want to make the same mistake with Joe that she had with Maurice.
She squeezed Joe’s fingers and gently placed his hand on the steering wheel. ‘You’d better concentrate,’ she said through a tight throat, ‘or you’ll have us in the ditch.’
*
Lulu had her first sight of Mount Wellington late in the afternoon. It dominated the skyline above Hobart, its dark, rocky slopes menacing beneath a thick cap of cloud.
Joe turned off from the main road and on to the Girrabong Road, which led them into the heart of the bush-land suburb of Merton. ‘We’re about halfway between Glenorchy and the Lenah Valley,’ he said. ‘Elwick racetrack’s in Glenorchy – another Hobart suburb – and it will take just minutes to get there tomorrow.’
Built in the previous century, the grand old house was set in grounds that could have graced an English stately home. It had elegant verandas decorated with white wrought-iron lace that was almost smothered in wisteria and bougainvillea. Chimneys, turrets and towers poked out of the red-tiled roof, and the ochre bricks looked mellow in the sunlight. Orchards spread from one side of the house and nestled at the foot of the mountain, and from the acres of nearby bush came the screeches of galahs and the melodic ring of the bellbirds.
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Joe led the convoy down a broad dirt track hedged with bright blue hydrangeas into an enormous stable-yard close to which was a series of white-fenced paddocks where mares grazed with their foals.
‘It’s stunning,’ breathed Lulu, bewitched by the foals and the magnificent mountain backdrop.
‘Yeah, they run a good place here. Dave and Julia breed some of the best thoroughbreds in Australia.’ He drew the utility to a halt and waved as a middle-aged couple emerged from a nearby barn.
David and Julia White proved to be generous, welcoming hosts, and once the horses were sorted out and the men had worked out where they would bunk, Lulu and the others were taken back to the house and shown their rooms.
‘I say,’ breathed Dolly as she eyed their luxuriously appointed bedroom, ‘it’s just like home.’ She knelt on the window seat and looked out over the orchard to the mountain. ‘Super view as well, but I wonder how close we are to Hobart and the shops.’
Lulu grabbed her sketchbook. ‘Probably too far to walk.’ She laughed. ‘I’m going out while there’s still light. This is too good to resist, and I’ve been itching to draw all day.’
‘Want me to come with you?’
Dolly didn’t seem eager to leave the comfort of the bedroom, and Lulu wanted time alone, so she shook her head. ‘Stay and wallow in a bath. I’ll be back in time for dinner,’ she said.
*
Lulu soon lost track of time as she sketched the dams and foals. She had taken particular care over one of the foals that was drinking from its mother, little tail swishing in delight, front legs spread, behind in the air as it suckled. It would make a wonderful sculpture. She concentrated on the contentment in the mare as she bent her neck to nuzzle the little creature. If she could capture it now, it would be invaluable for when she began to mould the clay.
Her pencil finally stilled and she eyed her work critically. Any more and it would be spoilt – and the light was so dim she couldn’t really see well enough to carry on anyway.
Ocean Child Page 26
