“That hat, Jenny!” he exclaimed. “No wonder I couldn’t find you.” He shot out a firm hand to hold her. “Now don’t run away on me.”
Jenny gave him a level stare. He looked excited and carefree. There was not a trace of embarrassment about him over his behavior of the previous evening, or didn’t he remember?
“She forgives me, she forgives me not,” he chanted, peering under her hat brim to look into her accusing blue eyes.
“She forgives you not,” Jenny said stiffly. Then she thought of how silly she sounded and gave an unwilling smile.
“That’s better,” Tony said. “Have you been fed?”
Jenny assured him she had, wondering how she could make her escape without being too obvious. In her present mood, Tony’s company lacked appeal. The problem solved itself as he glanced at his watch.
“Have to get back to report to Madam. I’ve backed Black Prince with our last remaining shirts.” He hesitated and pulled her around to face him, his eyes searching her face with a curious intentness. “Interested in the odds I quoted last night, Jenny?”
“Definitely not!”
The indignant refusal caused him to narrow his eyes. His grasp on her arm became iron hard. He opened his mouth to say something, but the loudspeaker drowned him out. He tensed and released her. “This is it, Jenny. See you later.”
He turned on his heel, and disappeared through the crowd. The loudspeaker chanted out scratchings, weights and riders. Jenny listened with half an ear as she pushed towards the rails. She had decided that just in front of the winning post was the best position to watch the race from. A woman in front of her in a flowered hat checked her race book against the loudspeaker’s gabbled information.
“Pretty Boy’s scratched,” she remarked to her companion, an elderly lady in a similar floral hat.
Jenny came to a shocked stop. Had she really overheard correctly? “Excuse me, please!” she stammered. “Did you say Pretty Boy?”
“Scratched,” the woman agreed without looking up from her race book. “He was favorite too.”
Jenny turned and forced her way through the crowd surging towards the rails. Bill, Wayne and the strapper had all seemed confident that Pretty Boy was improving when she had left them. What was happening?
The loudspeaker rattled out more of the race information. She realized absently that Black Prince had drawn an inside position. His chances of winning had suddenly improved dramatically. He had a good barrier position, and the only horse capable of competing with him was out of the race.
Jenny quickened her pace towards the saddling paddock. She caught sight of Bill Williams. His face was grim and tense. He was hurrying towards the office. Jenny ran to catch up with him.
“Bill,” she called.
“Not now, Jenny,” he said curtly. “Be a good girl and wait in the stand.”
Jenny sighed, but hurried back to the stand, climbed the steps and sat down. She eavesdropped on the two men in front of her discussing the scratching.
“Pity,” one said. “Pretty Boy was the favorite.”
The other man checked his race book, and wrote something down. He shrugged. “My money is on Black Prince. The odds were getting too short anyway.”
“Someone said that the swab was positive.” There was a knowing note in the shorter man’s voice.
“It will come out at the inquiry,” was the indifferent reply.
“Lining up for the big race of the day,” the nasal voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
A sudden hush fell over the course. There were the magic words. “They’re off!”
Jenny stood and strained her eyes to distinguish the horses as they raced past in a tight bunch. The crowd was noisy again, and the loudspeaker shrieked the race performance over its roar.
The colored silks of the jockeys were an indistinguishable blur. The horses were moving farther apart as they galloped around the track. A bunch of four leaders appeared. The other horses dropped farther and farther behind as they came around the second time.
Jenny clenched her fists and stared until her eyes watered. She wished she had binoculars like a lot of the spectators. Two horses leveled out neck to neck for the home run. Was it the flamboyant orange and black of the Bickerton colors fighting to the front? The horses flashed past the winning post and still she didn’t know which one had won.
“Looks like being a photo,” the man in front of her announced.
“Silver Sound was ahead by a nose,” the other man argued.
The loudspeaker crackled out the winner and place getters in agreement.
“That’s an outsider, if ever there was one. Told you Black Prince was too erratic a performer, despite his speed.”
The two men moved away. The race was over and the stand emptying. Jenny sat down again and prepared for a long wait. At least Black Prince came second! Would Marise and Tony be disappointed? Had they backed him each way or for a win? They were so confident of his ability to win. A hand tapped her shoulder. It was Bill Williams. He looked tired and more stooped than ever.
“What happened?” she asked as she followed him down the steps and out of the stand.
“The swab was positive,” he said flatly. He sighed at her blank expression. “Pretty Boy was doped!”
“That’s impossible!” Jenny gasped. “He was never alone.”
“Impossible or not,” he said grimly. “The swab was positive! Certainly enough of the drug was still in his blood stream to have slowed him down if he raced.”
Jenny was silent. She had read about cases of rigged races and doped horses, but never had any first-hand knowledge of it before. She remembered all the money that had changed hands at the betting rings. People stood to make or lose big money on horses. With so much money at stake, racing became big business, even when the owners only entered the one horse as a hobby.
“Who would do such a dreadful thing?” she asked at last.
Bill Williams remained silent. Her heart sank at his grim expression. His silence was more damning than any accusation. Who stood to gain by Pretty Boy’s doping? The only horse capable of challenging Pretty Boy was Black Prince, or the outsider Silver Sound. Would someone have invested so much money that it was worth their while to get Pretty Boy out of the running? She shivered, and suddenly the sunlit carefree crowd jostling around acquired a darker side.
Of course, Tony admitted he and Marise had backed Black Prince for a lot of money. That suspicion was dismissed immediately. Owners always backed their own horses to win. The Bickertons were reputable property owners and neighbors of long standing. Among the close-knit community such a deed was unthinkable.
She stared again at the crowd of light-hearted race goers and holidaymakers. The idea of staying for the ball seemed repugnant. She wasn’t in the mood to enjoy dancing all night and joining in the light-hearted celebrations.
“Would it be possible for me to get a lift back to Taralon this afternoon?” she asked suddenly. “I don’t particularly want to stay for the ball.”
“I’ll see if the Sellmans will drop you back,” her employer said. Was there a slight easing of the grim lines of his face as he ushered her across to the car park and into the station wagon? “They will be going back some time this afternoon and Taralon is not that far out of the way. Wayne and I are staying for the inquiry. Will you be all right?”
Jenny nodded. Bill drove her to the hotel and left. She went up to her room in a subdued frame of mind. She changed back into her shirt and jeans and packed her clothes slowly. She came down to the lounge room with her case to wait. Mrs. Macka took back her key and assured her that there was nothing to settle, as the Taralon family company covered her stay.
“Don’t forget your wrap, Jenny. Isn’t it a shame about Pretty Boy? No wonder no one feels like celebrating. Who are you going back with?”
Jenny explained that she hoped to get a lift with the Sellmans as Bill Williams and Wayne were staying in Warrnambool for a few days.
Mrs.
Macka nodded a comfortable agreement. “It shouldn’t be out of their way. Would you like a cup of tea while you wait? It’s going to be a long drive back in their old van.”
Jenny smiled agreement. She folded her wrap and dropped it on top of her case. It was hardly worth unstrapping her case to pack it in. Mrs. Macka arrived back with the tea tray and Jenny sat alone in the silent lounge. It was not long before the Sellman van tooted its summons and Jenny and her case were settled in the back between the two older boys.
It was a long slow trip back. The Sellman boys were too shy to say anything and old George Sellman, with Mrs. Sellman beside him, concentrated on his driving. She was glad when they reached Taralon at last. Mrs. Harris offered the Sellmans tea as they pulled up to unload the weary Jenny and her case, but old George Sellman refused with a smile, insisting he wanted to get his family home before dark.
“I haven’t had a chance for a gossip with Connie for months,” the disappointed Mrs. Harris said, watching the van bump away. “What happened to Pretty Boy that they scratched him? Some of the hands are saying he was doped?”
Jenny shrugged and said she didn’t know any more than what was going around the racecourse. It was Bill William’s place to fill everybody in on what happened. She certainly wasn’t courageous enough to even hint that perhaps he suspected that the Bickertons or anyone else he knew might be behind the doping of Pretty Boy.
As she unpacked her case, Jenny paused as another thought struck her. Why had her employer made the special trip to drop her back at the hotel? She knew he was worried, but why was he so grim and silent as he returned her? Surely the trip to return her to the hotel immediately wasn’t necessary? She could have waited until after the race meeting finished.
She had sensed his relief when she volunteered she wanted to go straight back to Taralon. Why? Had he really believed Ben’s statement that she had visited the horse the night before the race? Did he suspect her too?
The thoughts went around and around in her mind. She started to feel sicker and sicker. Who had found her evening wrap and left it folded on the stair rail? Because she had accompanied Wayne and Bill for one last check of the horse on the way to the dinner dance, Ben had seen and admired her black evening wrap. He sounded so sure that it was her he had seen that night!
She puzzled about it right through dinner and the food stuck in her throat. It was a silent meal. The three children were still having their meals in their bedrooms. At last she excused herself to Mrs. Harris and went straight to bed. Perhaps, after a good night’s sleep, all the dark foreboding clouding her mind would shrink to manageable proportions. She was just drowsing when she heard the distinctive purr of the Mercedes at the front.
What was Wayne doing back here? She lifted her head from the pillow and listened. She heard Wayne’s curt quiet-voiced orders and the lower rumble of agreement as he and two other men walked down past the side of the house. With a shock she realized she had pushed the ever-recurring worry of the cattle rustlers to the back of her mind. The hands on the property were still keeping watch! A few minutes later she heard the distinctive purr of the Mercedes as it started to fade quietly into the distance.
Jenny relaxed, but sleep was longer in coming. She kept puzzling over what dreadful urgency had caused Wayne to get a lift back to his property to collect his car, drive to Taralon and then leave immediately for the three-hour drive back to Warrnambool. Just what was going on?
Chapter Eleven
“Please Merry, take yourself and your dolls off the desk,” Jenny suggested, trying to keep her voice even and good-humored.
Merry pouted and sat a large and extremely ugly doll on her knee, ignoring the request. It was the week following the race carnival. The boys had recovered from their mumps and were back at school. Merry, bereft of their company, was bored and demanding.
“Why don’t you take a carrot down to Bertha?” Jenny suggested.
The little shaggy pony, Merry’s pride and joy, was originally named Birthday Boy, which had ended up shortened to Bertha.
“He’s not supposed to have carrots.”
Jenny gave up and closed the heavy ledger. She had set herself the task of doing the books to take her mind off the ever-present worry of how the inquiry was going. The days had passed and the rumors and conjectures flew around the place, but no one knew anything. Now there was an expectant, uneasy silence over all the hands at Taralon as they went about their duties.
Bill Williams had phoned with the message he was staying in Warrnambool until the inquiry was finished, but the inquiry had finished, and still no one knew what was happening. One of the station hands volunteered the information that Wayne was back working his own property. If he came back at night to check the security arrangements of Taralon, Jenny hadn’t seen or heard him.
Only Mrs. Harris seemed immune from the tension that had everyone so grim-faced.
“No point in going off half-baked,” she said stolidly. “We’ll hear the facts when Bill comes home.”
The weekend had come and gone, and still Bill Williams hadn’t returned. Merry had suddenly become possessive and demanding. She was bewildered by the continued absence of her Uncle Wayne and the suppressed impatience and tension in the atmosphere wasn’t helping. Jenny studied her bored and sulky face.
“What about we go blackberrying?” Jenny suggested.
Merry’s face brightened and she scrambled off the desk, dolls tumbling in all directions.
“I’ll get my special bucket. I know where there’re lots and lots of blackberries.”
“Watch out for snakes,” Mrs. Harris warned as she came out to see them off.
“And we can have blackberry tart for dinner,” Merry decided.
She scampered down the steps ahead of Jenny, clutching her bucket, her earlier boredom completely gone. School would be good for her, Jenny mused to herself. She was much too intelligent to be left to her own devices all day.
This thought had her wondering about Marise’s intentions. She appeared to have completely recovered from her accident and yet there was no sign of her returning to work at Taralon. No one had seen anything of her or her brother since the race meeting. They had stayed in Warrnambool for the week of the racing carnival, despite the rumors that they had lost heavily when Black Prince was beaten.
“Always Sydney or the bush with those two,” Mrs. Harris had sniffed. “Their money would have been all up on Black Prince winning. Still, owing everyone won’t stop them enjoying themselves.” With which comment she had returned to whisking her egg whites with a suppressed energy.
Not many people at Taralon seemed to actually like the Bickertons, and the children actively disliked Marise. Yet Gwenda Williams must have liked her. They had got very close in the six months before the accident, Mrs. Harris had said. Jenny tried to visualize the dark-haired bride of the wedding photograph as Marise’s close friend. Gwenda Williams would have been at least twelve years older than Marise and the wedding photograph, despite the likeness to Wayne, revealed a face with vulnerable gentle eyes, and with a childish, almost petulant droop to the full mouth.
Could Gwenda Williams have developed into the sort of sophisticated, malicious personality to be compatible with the younger Marise? Somehow Gwenda seemed too like her brother to be Marise’s type. Her mind strayed to the shape of Wayne’s firm mouth. It was definitely the same mouth, but firmed into a controlled strength, and the same-shaped lower full lip hinted at sensuality rather than petulance. Would his mouth soften into warmth and tenderness when he kissed a woman properly?
“It is hot,” Merry grumbled. “After we pick the blackberries, can we cool down by the creek? I bet there are no silly old snakes down there.”
Jenny blushed, suddenly aware of where her thoughts were taking her. For just a few seconds, her treacherous imagination had her actually being kissed by Wayne’s warm controlled mouth with its disturbing hint of sensuality.
“You’re looking awfully hot too,” Merry insisted. “I
s it all right, if we go down to the creek to cool down afterwards?”
“If there are no snakes there first,” Jenny agreed.
She followed Merry down the hill to the creek paddock, where the blackberries clustered in a last defiant uncleared tangle. Soon her temporary job at Taralon would be finished. In fact, after Christmas, Merry would go to school with her brothers, and there would be no real need for Marise to bother to return. Now that Bill Williams had recovered, he could easily cope with the bookwork.
She would go back to the Agency for another position in the business world of enclosed space. Somehow, strolling after Merry across the dry hot paddocks of Taralon under the hot blue of the sky made her previous existence of office temping seem unreal and dreamlike.
The reality was filling brimming buckets with the juicy blackberries, and stopping Merry from eating too many as they picked. After they had filled both buckets, they found a shady spot by the creek to have a rest. Jenny checked for snakes before she and Merry sat with their bare feet in the water that trickled over the clean-washed stones. Apart from the murmur of the water the silence was absolute. Jenny felt herself relaxing. She had been unaware that the tension over Taralon had affected her so physically.
By the time they trudged back with their full buckets, appetizing smells drifted out from the kitchen. The battered station wagon with the horse float still attached was parked by the stables.
“Dad’s home!” Merry yelled, flinging herself up the stairs and spilling blackberries from her over-full bucket. Jenny followed more slowly, picking up the blackberries. Bill Williams sprawled comfortably on the old couch in the kitchen, drinking tea. Mrs. Harris was at the table rolling pastry, a wide smile showing the gold fillings in her teeth.
“What happened?” Jenny asked, interrupting Merry’s breathless recital of the lizard they had seen.
Shadows Over Taralon Page 8
