‘I’m ready to leave now. You said a car would take me.’
‘You said he worked for Hernandez? Who was it, Sapphire? How can you trust him when you can’t reveal his name?’
I shake my head. ‘Should I call an Uber?’
He turns away and talks quietly into his phone. He’s still frowning when he ends the call. ‘The car won’t be long.’
‘Thank you.’
He smiles stiffly as he picks up his wine glass again. ‘Why spoil what you’ve achieved so far? You made an excellent impression on Jacqueline and, needless to say, the boys.’
‘I didn’t set out to do that. I’m not good at pretending, any more than Mum was. I like children. I’d like the boys and Jacqueline whatever I thought of you.’
He holds his glass up to the light and peers through the liquid.
Merlot, currant, garnet, port.
Blood.
Why don’t I drink alcohol? My mother’s addictions? My father’s pleasure in an expensive glass of wine? The house is warm but a shiver passes through me.
Robert’s phone pings. ‘Your car,’ he says crisply.
When I walk out of the lounge room, he follows. I stand back as he opens the door. He kisses my cheek, a perfunctory touch.
‘I want a name, Sapphire.’
I pick up my overnight bag and the broomsticks. ‘You won’t get it.’
‘We shall see.’
‘Is that another threat?’
He looks past me as a car pulls up. ‘We’ll meet at the War Memorial tomorrow. Ten-thirty? The photographer has booked a room.’
‘Can’t we go somewhere else? Where we can be outside? The boys might like that too.’
He huffs. ‘Where do you suggest?’
CHAPTER
24
The spring air is cool and fresh as I run a circuit, level but lengthy, around Lake Burley Griffin. When my phone buzzes on my thigh, I bend double and unzip my pocket.
‘Sapphie.’
‘Matts.’
‘Oh.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Breathless. Running.’
‘Not asleep?’
‘Too late.’
‘It’s not seven.’ He hesitates. ‘You didn’t call.’
‘By the time I got in it was late, and …’ I stand upright, an arm across my stomach. ‘Do you remember when we went to the arboretum?’
‘You lay on the grass. I said you talked too much.’
A man, his arm protectively around the baby strapped to his chest, walks past. ‘The itinerary looks fine.’
‘That’s not why I wanted you to call.’
‘I … no.’
Silence. ‘How was it?’
‘I like the boys.’ I study the sky, a metallic shade of pewter. ‘I think Jacqueline is probably okay.’
‘Robert called this morning.’
The fountain in the middle of the lake shoots a blast of water ten metres high. I walk to the grassy slope and sit, bending my knees. ‘Why?’
‘He told me about the man who worked for Hernandez.’
Has anything changed since he found me up the tree? What do I feel? Hurt? Betrayal? Pain?
Fear.
‘You want information too.’
‘Robert said you trusted this man. Why?’
At five this morning, I looked up Gabriel Garcia’s LinkedIn profile again, and it confirmed the little information he’d given me. I think I’m a good judge of character. I think he was telling the truth. The photograph on his profile is him and many years ago he worked for Hernandez.
‘Did Robert ask you to get the information out of me? Is that why you called?’
Before he has the chance to respond, I disconnect.
By the time I run across the road to the motel, I have a text from Matts.
That was immature. I leave for a conference in Brisbane tomorrow, and then I’ll be at wetlands sites in WA. If I don’t hear from you earlier, I’ll see you on Saturday week.
A few minutes later, a group chat message comes through.
From: Matts
To: Sapphie, Chambers, Cassie, Luke, Gus.
Wetlands itinerary confirmed.
I climb into the taxi just before ten, laying the broomsticks on the floor at my feet. It’s broad daylight and we’re not on the open road, but the toast I ate for breakfast sits uncomfortably in my stomach.
‘Do you mind if I wind down the window?’
‘No worries at all,’ the driver says.
I tuck my shirt into my jeans. ‘It’s only twenty minutes to the arboretum, right?’
‘Depending on the traffic. You been there before?’
‘Many years ago,’ I say quietly.
The elderly lady at the information desk promises to look after my broomsticks when I tell her I’m meeting my father at the Himalayan cedar forest. She opens a map.
‘That’s not too far to walk,’ she says. ‘But make sure you don’t miss our other exhibits. Some of the forests have rare or endangered trees and others have Australian natives. I recommend the Japanese cherry blossom and Canary Islands dragon forests at this time of year.’
I’m at the edge of the forest when Alex and Atticus run towards me through the trees. ‘Sapphire! Sapphire!’ Atticus shouts. ‘We beat you! We’re here!’
Atticus and I bump fists. Alex smiles shyly. I hold out my hand and he takes it, clinging on tightly.
‘Mum told me a secret,’ he says softly, tugging my hand. ‘Do you want to know it?’
I crouch down. ‘Should you tell me what it is if it’s a secret?’
‘She said you’re like my big sister.’
I squeeze his hand. ‘Well, I guess that means …’ I hold my other hand to the side of my mouth and whisper in his ear, ‘Is your long name Alexander?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you like the name Alex better?’
‘Yes.’
‘My long name is Sapphire, but I like the name Sapphie better. Do you think you could call me Sapphie?’
He smiles. ‘Sapphie?’
‘Yes.’
‘Atticus.’ He waves his arms around to get his brother’s attention. ‘We have to call her Sapphie!’
There are a number of photographers. The one in charge, a middle-aged man with a wild and bushy beard, has a camera around his neck and another in his hand. His assistants wrestle with tripods and large black bags bulging with equipment. Atticus turns his back to the cameras when he gets bored, but once I show him the map of the forests and point out that the trees in each section are from different places in the world, he makes the connection.
‘I know the flags!’ he shouts. ‘I know the flags!’
Late morning sunshine throws light through the trees as the photographers dart back and forth. Robert and Jacqueline, wearing navy, beige and red and looking like a cover couple from Country Life magazine, walk arm in arm. The boys and I fall in behind, throwing Alex’s tennis ball around and kicking up leaves. As we make our way back to the main path, Robert takes a call. Jacqueline laughs at something one of the photographers says before doubling back to join us.
‘I know every flag in the world,’ Atticus tells me proudly.
‘That’s very clever,’ I say. ‘Do you know about the trees and other plants that grow in those countries? It would be interesting to know about them as well.’
‘What about the animals?’ Alex asks. ‘They’re interesting.’
I whistle. ‘Alex, you’re very clever too. We can think about the trees and the animals.’
‘And the flags,’ Atticus adds.
The photographers spend a lot of time walking backwards as we pass through gum forests and Wollemi pines. When we arrive at the café, I leave the others behind and collect the broomsticks from the information desk. By the time I get back, Robert, his coffee in a takeaway cup, has moved to the bonsai display and is on his phone again. Jacqueline gestures that I sit next to her. The boys sit opposite, drinking milkshakes through ca
rdboard straws.
‘Have you got our presents in that bag?’ Atticus asks.
‘Yes,’ I reply. ‘You can look inside when we get to the cork oak forest. We can search for acorns together.’
‘I’m as curious as the boys,’ Jacqueline says.
Jacqueline was an events planner before she married Robert. She still arranges functions, but now raises money for political and charity causes. As she pushes my coffee across the table and smiles, I’m reminded of Alex. Is she more like her reserved son than her appearance and reputation suggests?
I try to drink quickly. ‘This is taking much longer than the War Memorial would have, isn’t it? The exhibits there are great, but I was worried about being cooped up. I’m not used to cameras.’
‘The boys are enjoying themselves here.’
‘Robert not so much.’
‘A family outing at an iconic Canberra location on a sunny Sunday morning?’ She smiles. ‘He’ll be delighted when he sees the results.’
As if on cue, Robert, still on his phone, appears near the counter. He bends his elbow, raising his brows as he looks at his watch.
I finish my coffee. ‘It must be hard work being on show all the time.’
‘After three years of marriage to Robert, I’m used to it.’ She touches my arm. Her nails are painted a different colour than they were last night. ‘I regret I didn’t get in touch with you, Sapphie.’
‘I didn’t respond to your wedding invitation, and I only speak with Robert a few times a year. No wonder you didn’t follow up.’ I turn my cup slowly in its saucer. ‘Anyway, I don’t like—’ When Atticus throws Alex’s tennis ball across the table, I catch it one-handed. Smiling, I roll it back. ‘I don’t like politics.’
‘Or your father.’
‘There is that.’
‘I should have persevered.’
I blow out a breath. ‘It’s complicated.’
She smiles sympathetically. ‘There was a marriage breakdown. You lost your mother in traumatic circumstances and at an impressionable age.’
‘He didn’t love her any more.’ I regret the words as soon as they’re out. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. He’s your husband and you haven’t done anything wrong and—’
She holds up her hand. ‘This is a difficult time for Robert. I’ll do whatever I can to support him.’ She looks at her sons. Atticus is studying the map of the forests. Alex’s straw has broken in half and he’s sucking through two ends.
‘He’s good to the boys?’
She studies her nails. ‘My first husband was abusive,’ she finally says. ‘When I walked out, I had two children, one with learning and other difficulties, and very little money or support.’
‘Atticus has ASD?’
‘He’s on the spectrum, yes.’ She finishes her coffee before taking lipstick out of her bag. ‘I wanted stability, together with the trappings of success that I’d previously enjoyed. Robert didn’t want another child of his own, but he needed a wife and a family. As it’s turned out, he’s become fond of the boys, particularly Alex.’
‘So the marriage suits both of you?’
‘Very well.’ She pushes her cup away ‘Robert is single-minded. But he’s not a bad man.’
‘He wants his own way.’
‘He’s driven and ambitious.’ Her lipstick is the same shade as her nail polish. ‘As am I.’
‘You believe he did nothing wrong in Argentina?’
‘He has his faults but in his own way, he’s an honest man. This controversy is a nightmare for him.’
I get to my feet. ‘I won’t let him make my mother a scapegoat.’
She puts her lipstick in her bag. ‘He made you come here, didn’t he?’ She sighs. ‘How?’
I look out of the windows and into the distance, beyond the city and suburbs to the hazy green horizon. ‘He has something I want.’
Alex points to Robert. ‘Can we go and get Daddy?’ he asks.
‘Remember to say, “Excuse me”,’ Jacqueline says, her eyes still on me. ‘Sapphie? What does Robert have that you want?’
The boys jump excitedly around Robert as he finishes his call. Atticus holds out his map and Robert bends down and studies it too. When he holds out his hands as if he needs help to stand, Alex takes them, his little body straining as he pulls as hard as he can. Robert smiles as Atticus jumps up and down, yelling encouragement.
‘Sapphie?’
‘Please, Jacqueline, don’t tell him that I said anything. It will only make things worse, and it wouldn’t be fair to involve you.’ I lean forward, scrambling under my chair for my bags. ‘Anyway, I’m used to handling things by myself.’
CHAPTER
25
Strider only misbehaves when he thinks he’s in a race; Prima shies at her own shadow, prancing and skittering at the slightest excuse.
I pat her glossy neck. ‘You’re safe with me, Prima. Don’t stress so much.’
I’ve ridden her almost every day for two weeks, ever since I came back from Canberra. As it’s Saturday and the paddocks at the farmhouse are buzzing with people, I was going to rest her today. But Joel had drawn up a timetable and scheduled a ride. He’s not only taken on a self-appointed role as Prima’s trainer, he’s helping with the other thoroughbreds too. I didn’t want to let him down.
He’s leaning against the fence, watching our measured circuits of the paddock. ‘You’re doing okay,’ he says.
‘Thank you, boss.’ I smile. ‘Time for one more round?’
He looks towards the farmhouse. ‘Some guy is waiting for you.’
Even though I’ve been expecting Matts, seeing him ramps up my heart rate. He’s standing outside the small paddock where we work with the ponies, leaning against the gate with his forearms casually draped along the top. Archie is mounted on Freckle and one of the volunteers is leading him around. Lollopy has finished his tasks for the day and is angling his head through the wire on the gate.
Matts’s shirt is dark blue. His jeans are black. He lifts a boot to the bottom rung of the fence.
I lean low to pat Prima’s neck. ‘He’s early.’
‘What’s he want?’ Joel asks.
‘Matts is the reason you’re looking after Prima this week.’ I undo the buckle on my helmet, loosen Prima’s rein and kick my feet out of the stirrups, ready to dismount. ‘We’re going up north for the environment comm—’
Archie, upset that his session is over, screams at the top of his lungs.
Prima leaps into the air, all four legs off the ground. My hat falls off, hits her in the rump and bounces to the ground.
Another scream, even louder than the first.
Prima takes off at a gallop.
Pitching forward in the saddle, I scrabble for the reins. I search frantically for the stirrup irons. One. Two. My heart thumps in time to the thunder of her hooves as I sit deeper in the saddle, yanking the rein to the left as I try to pull her round. Prima, her neck extended, the bit between her teeth and the wind beneath her tail, ignores every one of my signals. The ground is a blur of greens and browns. My eyes water. When hair whips around my face, blinding me, I lift a hand and swipe it away.
‘Sapphie!’ Joel calls.
The paddock is a few hundred metres long with a wire fence and a gate at the end of it. The gate is higher than the fence but easier to make out, with a metal bar across the top and another one underneath. I’ve jumped that height before, but on level ground with horses that knew what they were doing. Prima is unlikely to have done anything but work on the flat.
She’s too close to the fence to pull up. And if she goes through it, she’s likely to get tangled in the wire, fall and break a leg. I throw all my weight to one side and yank on the rein again, forcing her off balance and changing her trajectory. I crouch low over her neck. The gate looms ahead of us. Prima sees it. She tenses.
‘Jump, Prima!’
Her hindquarters bunch under her and she jumps, flying long and high to clear the gate. She plants he
r front legs on the ground, finds her balance and careens down the track towards the creek. Gravel and dirt, kicked loose by her hooves, flies high into the air.
‘Prima!’
She finally responds to the pressure of my legs and my hands on the rein, slowing to a canter before we reach the creek. When I turn her, she slows to a trot. The farmhouse roof with the rooster on the top comes into view. I lean forward and stroke her neck. Her sides heave; her flanks are wet with sweat. She’s toey and shaky.
‘That was no good.’
Joel, breathing hard like Prima, opens the gate we jumped only minutes ago. Matts isn’t puffing. He’s standing to one side, arms crossed and lips tight.
‘You scared the shit out of us,’ Joel says, closing the gate and securing the chain after we pass through. ‘Why didn’t you bail out? That’s what you do when Strider bolts.’
‘Strider slows down without a rider on his back. I don’t know that Prima would. I was afraid she’d get caught up in the fence.’
A flock of cockatoos flies out of the grey gum. Their screeching would usually upset Prima, but she’s far too exhausted to care. One of the volunteers has let Sonnet into the paddock. When he trots towards us, Prima pricks her ears. I kick out of the stirrups and slide from her back, pulling the reins over her head and handing them to Joel.
When I push back my hair, the tangles get caught in my fingers. ‘Do you mind giving her a drink and rubbing her down?’
‘No problem,’ Joel says.
‘If she’s calm tomorrow, saddle her and lead her around. Act like nothing happened. I’ll ride her again next week.’
‘No worries,’ he says, waiting until I’ve loosened Prima’s girth and kissed her nose before leading her away.
I retie my hair in a ponytail and wipe my hands down my jeans. When I look up, it’s into Matts’s eyes.
‘I’d better get cleaned up.’
He’s uncrossed his arms but his jaw is still clenched. ‘She could have killed you.’
I take a step back. ‘No, I …’ My voice isn’t as steady as I’d like it to be, and my hands are shaky so I shove them into my pockets. ‘Anything can happen with kids around. I shouldn’t have ridden her today. It was my fault.’
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