by Amanda Doyle
‘He—he stopped very suddenly, and my head just seemed to bang against something.’
Tad’s lips twitched. Kerry could see little lights of humour lurking in the night-green depths of his eyes.
‘Did he run right into the black stump itself, or was it just an outsized rut?’
Now he was teasing her! She would have to confess. ‘He didn’t run into anything at all,’ she admitted with resigned candour. ‘He just had to stop very quickly, for me, because I was—I felt—er—very sick.’
‘I see,’ Tad Brewster’s tanned face crinkled into a wide, amused grin. He shook his head. ‘You seem to be a glutton for punishment, Kerry. And were you sick?’
‘I was.’ Kerry saw no reason not to be brief.
Tad laughed openly then. Kerry couldn’t see that it was a laughing matter, but he certainly seemed to think it was, and somehow she found herself smiling with him.
‘Poor Bob!’ He shook his head again. ‘The poor coot must have wondered what he’d been landed with! He’ll be breathing down my neck next time I see him, no doubt about that. And that explains, too, what he said to Andy,’ he murmured, almost to himself. His face returned to its former grave set, and suddenly his voice did, too. ‘I’m sorry you had such a rough beginning, Kerry,’ he told her, impersonal once more, ‘but I’m not going to pretend I think the ending will be much better.’
‘Oh!’ Kerry’s brown eyes, fastened on his, widened in distress. “You can’t mean that I—that you—what I mean is—you did say I could have a trial, Mr. Brewster. You promised!’ she accused, her heart turning leadenly inside her.
‘Yes, I promised, Kerry, didn’t I, and I’ll keep to that promise. The name is Tad, by the way, if you haven’t forgotten?’ He looked down at her thoughtfully, fingering his lean, square jaw. ‘You can have your trial, Kerry, but I don’t want you to be too optimistic as to the outcome. It’s only fair to warn you of that. I don’t regard you as suitable material for this type of employment. The climate alone is something with which you’re totally unfamiliar. Did you get that hat, by the way?’
Kerry nodded eagerly.
‘Yes, Tad, I did—a pretty blue one with stitching round it. I’ll wear it, too! I promise I will.’
‘Yes, you see that you do, Kerry. The sun out here is one thing you must never underestimate. Do you understand?’
She nodded her obedience.
‘How are you getting on with Hilary?’ he asked next. ‘Tell me what you did today, how you think she’s received you?’
Kerry did.
‘I think she resents me just the tiniest bit just now, because she sees me as a curb on her freedom. She has been running a bit wild, although I don’t intend to imply any criticism—I can see that you yourself are a busy man, and Bluebell has things to do too, so that it’s been natural for Hilary to make her own amusements. She is extraordinarily advanced in some ways, backward in others,’ Kerry told him frankly. ‘I think I can redress the balance, and I’m certain that we could grow to like one another very much, once we got to know each other. She’s a lovable child, but she doesn’t show me her affectionate side very often, just yet.’
Tad Brewster’s green eyes were watching her intently all the time she was speaking.
‘Are you begging for time, Kerry?’ he drawled, somewhat cynically, when she finally stopped.
Kerry flushed at his tone.
‘Not for myself, if that’s what you’re hinting!’ she retorted, stung. ‘But you can’t expect me to build up a relationship with your daughter in a day. Or even in a few weeks. These things do take time. One mustn’t expect miracles!’
‘Miracles!’ Tad’s lips twisted into a bitter grimace. Just for a second the pain was back in his eyes. Just for one moment up came the brown hand to ease that pain away from his temples. ‘Miracles are something I’ve learned not to expect, Kerry. They’re something I shall never look for—be quite clear about that,’ he said in a voice that had deepened into irony. The lines of his face had deepened, too. They gave his features an oddly weary look, grim, defeated almost.
Kerry realized that she much preferred the other Tad—the crisp, brusque, commanding one—even if he was frightening and autocratic and pessimistic about her own capabilities. This one made her feel sad, touched. This one made her feel that she wanted to smooth away those lines that clouded his brow, so that he could look young and carefree and boyish and enthusiastic, like he did when he was talking to Andy about the running of the property.
‘I don’t believe in miracles, either, Tad,’ she admitted softly, into the funny little silence that had engulfed them both. ‘None have ever happened to me, anyway, unless perhaps—’
‘Unless—?’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She shrugged, feeling suddenly foolish. ‘I was going to say, unless coming here. It—it seemed like one at the time, seeing the advertisement, being accepted,’ she explained shakily, turning away so that he couldn’t see that her lashes were wet. She gave a brittle laugh. (If he could have guessed what an effort it was to laugh, remembering her elation, the way she had skipped right up Macquarie Street, hurrying back to the boarding-house to pack her case!) ‘It—it was stupid of me, I realize that now.’
She walked over to the window, peering out into the darkness with simulated interest in whatever happened to be out there.
‘Yes, Kerry, it was a rash move, I reckon.’ Tad’s deep voice reached her where she stood in the shadow. ‘I can arrange to have you flown back tomorrow, if you wish it,’ he suggested kindly.
Oh, Kerry! So much for being needed! So much for being wanted! Except, perhaps, by a little girl of nearly eight years, with dark brown plaits and eucalyptus eyes—a defensive little girl, not old enough or wise enough to realize that she does want you, does need you?
‘You’ve promised me a trial.’ Kerry swung round, decisive.
‘You still want it?’
“Yes, I still want it—a trial, Tad, with no miracles promised or expected.’
‘Very well, Kerry.’ He walked back to the desk. ‘When you see Hilary just now, tell her that I shall take both her and you for a ride after breakfast tomorrow, will you? I want to assess your proficiency before I let you go out alone.’
That was her dismissal.
‘Yes, Tad,’ she said obediently, moving towards the door, since he appeared to have nothing further to say to her. She had actually reached it when he did add something.
‘One moment,’ he barked, on such a note of command that she swung round in surprise. ‘Come back here, please!’
Kerry retraced her steps, pushing candy-strands of hair off her forehead and tucking them behind one ear, like she always did when she was nervous.
‘Yes?’
Tad was already seated once more at his desk. Kerry saw that his square-tipped fingers now held a white envelope by its corners. She watched them turning the envelope delicately over, then over again. He weighed it in his palm, as if he had to make up his mind about something in connection with it. Then the fingers placed it with great deliberation back on top of the small pile in front of him. It was Kerry’s letter—the one to Mr. Stenning.
‘Yes?’ she said again.
‘You’ve only written one letter, Kerry? This one?’
‘Yes, Tad.’
‘And that’s the only letter you intend to write, presumably, since you’ve bothered to bring only it to my study?’
‘Yes, Tad,’ she agreed nervously, tucking more errant candy-strands behind the other ear, too. ‘That’s the only letter I want to send.’
‘Sit down for one moment, please, Kerry.’ Tad waved her to a chair. He looked suddenly very stern, very intent, very critical. His eyes probed hers with chilly disapproval, as freezing as the green-pale glitter of hoar-frost. ‘You’re young, Kerry, I realize that.’ He spoke slowly, allowing each word to sink in as he uttered it. ‘But youth is not an excuse for lack of consideration, and I can’t believe that your own parents wouldn’t welcome a si
mple letter, however brief, acquainting them of your safe arrival. Unless, of course, they don’t in fact know what was in your mind, whither you were bound? In that case, your present situation reflects even less credit upon you. Such thoughtlessness leads me to ask myself once again if you would indeed be a suitable companion for Hilary, other considerations apart. You may go now, but please think over what I’ve said. Family loyalties, filial ties, should not lightly be discarded through the stupid, sometimes impetuous actions of youth.’
Kerry gave him one single, searing look, and made for the door. Even there, his deep tones followed.
‘And remember this, my girl,’ they pursued her hatefully, ‘I, too, shall be in communication with Stenning, so if you’d thought to further your deceptions by getting in the first blow, you have little hope of eventual success!’
The nerve of the man, judging her like that, always leaping to the most hateful conclusions, without one shred of evidence to support them! Obviously he revelled in thinking ill of people—of her, anyway—just because she hadn’t answered some questions that Mr. Stenning hadn’t asked! That was a very negative crime, if crime it was at all, but this big, insinuating Tad Brewster was determined to rake it up and throw it at her head at every turn. Who did he think he was, sitting there with his crisp white shirt and neat white shorts so pale against his powerful, sunbrowned limbs, like the judge at some country court of appeal? No doubt all his prisoners would be guilty until they were proved innocent!
Hot words bubbled their way up inside Kerry right to her lips, but somehow she managed to stop them there. She had remembered, just in time, that although she was innocent, she was also, in a way, a prisoner. A prisoner of circumstance! She was hardly in a position to snap her fingers at His Worship—not when she had barely a penny to her name, and no other place to go, and the added complication of a pretty blue linen hat, some nylons, and that indescribable pair of shorts ‘on tick’ from this same godlike creature. For two pins she’d have returned them all to the store until she’d earned them, but then she remembered, too, about that blazing, penetrating sun, and the order to ride in the morning. She could hardly do that in this skimpy pink shift and the honey-straw boater! And the nylons were on her legs at this very moment.
Kerry gazed down at them a little desperately, and that was where her eyes stayed, too, as she managed to mumble ‘Goodnight, Tad,’ and slammed the door shut after her.
It closed with a resounding bang, which gave Kerry a queer little thrill of satisfaction as she heard a small, answering crash from somewhere within the room.
‘I hope it was something precious! she told herself, uncharacteristically, through gritted teeth, as she went to find Hilary.
CHAPTER FIVE
Kerry’s morale was hardly boosted by the sight of her reflection in the dressing-room mirror next morning.
The shorts which Andy had tossed over the store counter bulged voluminously, and her thin legs looked pale and insect-like poking from the wide, cuffed hems. Even her pretty white blouse could not alter the general effect, which was that of an innocent-eyed schoolgirl about to indulge in a session on the gymnasium bars. Kerry would have given much to possess a pair of the communal jodhpurs with which the orphanage children had been supplied when they went for riding lessons to Miss Lowe’s.
The coaching—gratis—of the children from the nearby orphanage had always been one of Miss Lowe’s little-publicized good works, all the more so because her riding-school was an extremely popular one with many of Sydney’s young socialites, who thought nothing of paying handsome fees for the excellent equestrian schooling from which they benefited there. So popular, in fact, was Miss Lowe’s that she found it hard to devote any regular period of time to the little inhabitants of the nearby institution, but whenever she had a free hour or two, she would ‘give them a call’, and Matron would decide who should be the lucky ones on each of these occasions. The erratic nature of these treats served only to enhance the delight attaching to them, and even the more retiring children, too wary and cautious by nature to be persuaded to mount a horse, were allowed to take their turn on a ‘call’, and help to feed and groom the smaller ponies.
Kerry, as it happened, had been one of Miss Lowe’s star pupils, and for that fact, at least, she found herself thankful this morning. She had a natural seat on a horse, a good pair of hands, and a kindred sympathy for the animals who, it seemed to her, spent a vast amount of their time in being pushed around by inexperienced, bullying people. Who could blame them if, when confronted with the prospect of a good gallop away from it all, they tossed their heads, arched their tails, and charged off helter-skelter? Kerry, far from feeling frightened, had experienced the same elation as her mount in those rare moments of freedom, thrilling to the speed of the horse’s muscled movement beneath her, revelling in the swiftness of the passing landscape and the wind rushing in her ears.
Tad was waiting for them at the yards. He presented a long, deceptively indolent figure leaning up against the slip-rail, wide hat pulled well down so that. Kerry couldn’t see the green gum-leaf eyes, couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His bare arms were folded and his long legs in their narrow moleskins and elastic-sided boots were crossed, too.
When Kerry and Hilary got near, he uncrossed his legs, eased his body away from the rail, and said briefly, “You’re five minutes late.’
‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I forgot my hat.’
There followed a dispassionate glance at the blue linen hat, then a more searching inspection of the flushed face beneath it.
‘You aren’t frightened, I hope.’ Tad Brewster’s voice was unexpectedly kind, almost as though he had forgiven her for banging the door last night. ‘You needn’t be, Kerry. I won’t allow any harm to come to you. I’ve picked a very quiet horse for you to start on.’
‘Thank you, Tad,’ replied Kerry meekly. Too meekly? The green gaze sharpened, but he made no further comment. Instead he took her arm and led her over to an aged chestnut gelding who was snuffling with a velvet nose along the rail to which he was tied.
‘You take Trixie, poppet,’ he said over his shoulder to Hilary, who proceeded to lead an alert little pony from the adjoining yard, and was seen to mount with childlike ease born of long practice. Hilary was no novice!
‘Now you.’
Tad unlooped the gelding’s reins and swung them over the horse’s head. He put the reins into Kerry’s left hand, and turned her into the horse’s shoulder. Doing that, he was right behind her, and his hand stayed covering hers, keeping the reins short on the animal’s neck. Kerry hadn’t realized what a big man he was. He seemed to tower behind her head, and his muscular brown forearm made her own arm look more pallid and stick-like than ever. Kerry had never been so close to a man before, except for the wool firm man when she had knocked his spectacles askew and the Minister at the orphanage when he had kissed her good-bye. The Minister had been short, rotund, a little bit pale himself, and he hadn’t made Kerry feel like she was feeling now. He hadn’t made her feel small, stupidly feminine and frail, just a little bit breathless.
‘Shall I help you up?’ Tad’s voice, very deep, was close above her ear.
‘No! No, thank you, I mean! If you’d just leave me—go away! I mean—’
‘Nervous?’ Tad’s lazy grin was kind, steadying, as he took in her flustered state.
‘No, not of the horse! I mean—well, I like horses,’ Kerry mumbled, fumbling hastily with her foot to find the stirrup, and swinging herself away from that protective masculine form.
Tad stood back.
‘Not bad,’ he drawled. ‘His name’s Bounder, by the way, but he doesn’t live up to it often. He’s a stock-horse, Kerry—intelligent, quiet. He’ll just do as much or as little as his rider tells him, so you’ll be quite safe.’
Bounder stood obediently, and Hilary and Kerry watched Tad mount his own restless black stallion. It sidled and pranced to where they waited, a powerful creature. Kerry thought the man and the h
orse were somehow well matched. To her own naive, inexperienced way of thinking, she attributed to them both the same qualities—an unpredictable temper, a rather frighteningly handsome image, and a store of unleashed energy—a carefully controlled, purposefully rationed strength.
Tad whistled up a little blue puppy which had been wriggling its thin body through a bank of paddy-melons. It came ecstatically to the call of its master, yapping excitedly at the stallion’s heels. The horse lashed out irritably, and the pup twisted clear of those powerful hooves with native cunning, and settled for a sedate trot at a safer distance.
The party was on its way.
To her surprise, Kerry found that she was enjoying herself. Soon she forgot about the baggy shorts, and her pale legs that were being pinched now and then by the stirrup leathers. She forgot that she was on trial, forgot that she was the subject of a watchful green-eyed gaze from a big brown man on a big black stallion. Instead she looked about her with interest at the harsh austerity of the open landscape, where the heat threw back a tattoo of shimmering waves off the bare paddocks, and turned the far-away scrub into a hazy sea of sage and silver.
She felt a freedom, an untrammelled peace such as she had never known, riding along with the soft clop-clop of the stallion’s hooves pounding the dust on the one side, and the quick pitter-patter of Trixie’s on the other. The cloudless blue of the mid-morning sky, the unattainable distance of that flat, far-off horizon, made her feel small, but oddly significant, as though her whole life had been building up to this experience. She felt at home with Bounder, at home with the big stock saddle beneath her, at home with Hilary, who chattered across her, spasmodically, to her father. She even felt at home with Tad Brewster himself, at this safe distance—and that was the oddest feeling of all. It was like discovering herself to be a tiny piece in a vast jigsaw of many thousands of pieces—a funny-shaped little piece, the very last one needed to make the scene complete—such an unlikely-looking little piece that didn’t appear as though it would ever fit into the small space that was left, and then, when you tried it, it unexpectedly did! It fitted perfectly!
