It was nearly midnight when she finally left the table. The two men waved at her vaguely, both deep in conversation. She smiled fondly. Bless them.
“We still on for a ride?” said Chad.
She paused in the doorway. “Sure.”
Immediately they put their heads back together. Somehow she doubted they'd get any sleep at all.
Tucked up in bed she found herself wide awake. In fact, she reflected, she couldn't remember feeling this alive ever before. She contemplated phoning Jessica, but it was too late. Still, she'd phone her the next morning straight after her ride and she amused herself trying to imagine her friend's response when she told her the news.
Jessica would be stunned. The wedding was off. She repeated the words. The… wedding… was… off. She could scarcely believe it herself. No wedding. No Barry. Could life get any better?
She smiled to herself and had to acknowledge that perhaps it could. Australia was a world away. Anything could happen.
At some stage she drifted off to sleep and the alarm clock woke her rudely. Bleary eyed she whacked the machine, cutting off its shrill beeping. It was dark and she was knackered. Why was she so tired?
And then it all flooded back. She sat bolt upright and felt a tingle of excitement course through her body. Oh my God! The wedding was off and she was off to sunny Australia. With Chad! Her weariness vanished and she literally bounced out of bed.
She flicked on the light and scrutinised her wardrobe. Jodhpurs weren't exactly sexy, but she wanted to look her best. It took ten minutes to haul half a dozen pairs on and off. In the end she settled on the first pair she'd tried on, black with a snazzy silver trim running down the outer leg seam. She teamed it with a black and silver rugby shirt, a gorgeous black merino sweater and her silver puffer jacket.
At her antique oak mirror she inspected the result. Not bad. The jodhpurs were great but she looked like the Michelin man from the waist up. She shrugged off the puffer; better cold than deformed.
After braiding her hair, she finally pronounced herself satisfied and set off for the breakfast room, half expecting the room to be empty. Such was her sense of anticipation she felt she was bound to be disappointed.
Light shone out through the sliver of space between the bottom of the door and the carpet. She could hear someone moving around, but that could just as well be Shelley. A small shadow crossed her thoughts. Had Shelley spent the night with Chad again?
But she firmly pushed her doubts away as the door swished open. Both Chad and her father sat at the table. If it weren't for the fact they'd both changed their clothes she would have thought they'd never moved.
“Morning Miffy,” said her father. “The omelets are especially good.”
“Morning,” said Chad. “The bacon's good too.”
“And good morning to you,” she replied. And it was a good morning. In fact it was more than good. It was a hot buttered crumpet, canter pirouetting, blue skies at regatta, kind of day. She piled her plate high with omelet and bacon and gaily speculated that if Chad had recommended doggy doo on toast, she'd be eating it.
Both men were right, the food was good. She dolloped on tomato sauce, taking a small thrill of satisfaction. Barry heartily disapproved of ketchup. She added another blob for good measure. The conversation rotated comfortably around the horses in general, and Can't Take a Trick in particular. Chad excused himself and left the room. Seraphim noticed he had piled his used dishes up and stacked them thoughtfully on the sideboard.
After a few minutes, she felt her father's eye upon her. Glancing at him, she found him observing her seriously. The crinkles around his eyes had deepened; a sure sign of worry.
“What?” she asked, rather reluctantly. Her father didn't speak and she felt a chill of foreboding. “Dad, what's the matter?”
He ran his hand briefly over his face. “It wouldn't do, you know, to become too close to young Chad.”
This she hadn't foreseen. “But... I thought you really liked him.”
“I do. Very much, in fact.”
“So, what's the problem?” Her father looked so upset, that she put out a hand and gently squeezed his larger one. “Tell me.”
He sighed. “It's hard to explain. But just take it from me that your mother would never approve.”
Seraphim didn't know what to say. “But, there must be a reason.”
Her father's face screwed up with concentration. “There is, but I can't go into it. Best just to understand that your mother would never accept it.”
“But that's ridiculous.” Her temper began to rise and she gathered together a few choice words. When she opened her mouth the words failed her. Her father looked so upset and distressed that she swallowed them back down. She'd always tried hard to please her parents, and old habits died hard.
Besides, she really loved her father, and didn't want to cause him unnecessary stress.
Deep down though, she knew she didn't give a damn what her mother thought or said on the subject. She knew then, with a clear certainty, that she was in love with the man from Australia. If her mother got an inkling of the fact, she'd move heaven and earth to have her way.
Then she smiled brightly at her father. “Daddy you old silly, you've quite got the wrong end of the stick. I really like Chad, I do, but I'm only going so that I can see Julian.”
To her relief the lines around her father's eyes melted away.
“Pass the ketchup please,” she said. Honestly, she was so sharp this morning she nearly scared herself!
Nine
On the other side of the doorway, his hand frozen against the smooth, cool timber, Chad felt as if he'd been trampled by a Brahmin bull. He felt physically ill. He stumbled backwards and staggered like a drunk back down the corridor and up the stairs.
Inside his room he sat down on the edge of the bed and stared across the room into the mirror. What an unadulterated, blithering bloody idiot he was.
It was always the same. Over the years he'd learnt to ignore both the sly innuendos and bare-faced insults that came his way. He had thought he had become immune. But he was wrong. Over here, so far from home, he'd felt that life had handed him an opportunity to be judged from the inside out, instead of the outside in. Walter's words left him disillusioned. The great man thought he was an upstanding guy apparently, but not good enough for his daughter.
His breathing laboured as if he'd been working out. He sat motionless and waited. Finally his racing heart steadied and the pressure behind his eyes began to abate. As the initial swelling of emotion began to subside, his thoughts became less defensive.
He was being unfair. If he were honest, he knew that Walter didn't have a problem. Never had. It was that haughty faced cow of a wife. But, in the end, what did her opinion matter? He'd be gone in twenty-four hours. In all likelihood, he'd never see her again.
So, why was he so gutted? Because, of course, it was much trickier than that. It was a matter of the heart.
And then he understood just how happy he had been. How thrilled and excited, full of wild anticipation, the likes of which he hadn't experienced since his rodeo days.
Because? And then his head bowed down in defeat. It was, of course, because he was in love. And, in the intensity of his emotions, he had vainly misinterpreted Seraphim's motives. Like the fool he was, he'd actually thought that she liked him. Not loved him; that would have been silly. But he had believed that there was a growing connection between them.
When she'd expressed her wish to go back home with him, he'd experienced a level of ferocious joy that was almost unbearable. And now, by the same token, his hurt and disappointment wounded him deeply.
Finally, he told himself that perhaps he was lucky. Better to have found out this way, than to have gone on to make a bloody great galah of himself.
A knock at the door bought him sharply back to reality.
“Chad, are you ready for a ride?”
At the sound of her voice, as cultured as a pearl, his heart leapt.
Grimly he told himself that would have to stop. “On my way,” he said.
“I'll meet you in the yard then, shall I?”
His heart twisted. She sounded so happy. He wondered how it was possible that she could remain ignorant of the devastation she had so unwittingly caused. It seemed impossible that the immensity of his pain could remain invisible. And then he was thankful that it was so. She must never know.
“Sure, I'll be down directly.”
“Terrific.”
He listened until the sound of her soft footsteps had faded away. Then he collected his jumper and headed out after her.
As he stepped out of the back door into the walled garden he stopped. Dawn was breaking and a weak sun poked out shyly over the high roof of the barn. Around him the world glistened beneath a crust of brilliant white. Jack Frost had been out to play. Above, the sky turned from a soft slate grey to the palest duck-egg blue.
His feet scrunched in the ice and his breath misted before his face. As he neared the yard the familiar smells of wood shavings, hay and manure wafted on the gentle breeze. How he wished he was home.
A couple of the lads helped him collect Dresden's gear. As he tacked up the fidgety animal he wondered how the hell he was going to get through the next few hours. He fiddled and fussed over the horse's boots, suddenly reluctant to face her. Miserably he realised that his much-anticipated return home was going to be as difficult as hell.
With a deep sigh he acknowledged he could delay no longer. He led the horse out. Seraphim was already mounted on Pollyanna. To add insult to his injury she looked utterly ravishing in black and silver jodhpurs and a matching shirt, whose collar rolled over a soft black jumper.
In one fluid movement he grabbed Dresden's ear and vaulted clean into the saddle. He partly hoped for a sterling performance from the horse. He was in the mood. But, to the obvious disappointment of the slyly watching staff, Dresden only put on a half-hearted show. He humped up twice and then sighed deeply. Chad reflected the horse would never have made it on the rodeo circuit. His heart wasn't really in it.
As he settled back into the saddle Seraphim rode up beside him and he couldn't help but admire the lithe length of her long legs. His eyes travelled slowly upward and stopped abruptly at the vicinity of her chest. Beneath the snug fit of her jumper, highlighting the swell of her breasts, her nipples stood out like twin bullets. He felt a heat begin to gather in his loins and he forced his eyes upward.
She smiled at him. A small dimple hovered in the hollow of one cheek and her long black lashes brushed upon creamy cheeks. Chad wondered if it were possible for a man to feel more utterly wretched.
“Ready?” she asked.
He shifted uncomfortably in the cramped confines of the English saddle. “Yes,” he replied, desire and unhappiness effectively eroding away any hope of intelligent conversation.
Thankfully she seemed happy enough to talk for the both of them. “We'll go out through the village and into the woodlands. They are mainly beech. If we're lucky we may see some deer. There's roe deer and the little Japanese deer too.”
She kept up a chirpy dialogue as they rode. He enjoyed the sound of the horse's feet on the iron hard bitumen roads; somewhat of a novelty. In the silver trees little birds sang, their feathers fluffed up against the cold. A small grey creature skittered across the road, its bushy tail flying behind, and Seraphim informed him that it was a squirrel.
They entered the wood just past the church, via a small stretch of open land called a common. It was very quiet. The only sounds were the suctioning of the horses feet in the boggy ground and the soft blowing of their labour. Pollyanna stopped so abruptly that Dresden literally bumped into her.
“Sorry,” Seraphim whispered, raising a gloved hand. “Look.”
Not more than twenty metres away in a small glade of saplings, a herd of deer stood frozen. They watched wide-eyed, long ears waving gently, their heads high. Then a large doe snorted and turned tail, and like a flock of birds the rest followed, tails bobbing, away and out of sight.
“Oh, lovely,” said Seraphim.
“Lovely,” Chad echoed, as he watched her exquisite profile. His eyes caressed the long sweep of her jaw, the immaculate bones of her cheek, and the straight, strong lines of her nose emphasised by the black cap of dark hair. Then it dawned on him. “You're not wearing a helmet.”
She glanced at him then, the picture of guilt and rubbed the perfect nose with one small hand. A gesture that was both endearing and young. “I don't know what's gotten into me! I feel positively wicked this morning.” She made a small moue of concern with her mouth and lifted her eyes to him. “You won't tell Daddy, will you?”
He opened his mouth to reassure her. But then he remembered her words from earlier. “I'm really going to see Julian.”
He hardened his heart, determined to try to develop a little more distance between them. “It's none of my concern,” he said. Some of the vitality fell from her face and she looked away. He felt like a blister on bushman's backside, but forced himself to remain quiet.
She nodded and pushed her horse on.
She rode silently and he sensed her hurt. His misery waxed as her shoulders slumped a little, but he told himself it was for the best. He had to survive too.
This time he made no attempt to challenge her. All the joy in the day seemed to have seeped away. He knew he was at fault but he didn't know what else to do.
They crossed a narrow bitumen road onto another bridle path. The hedge that flanked the left-hand side was bereft of leaves and looked as if it had been dusted with icing sugar during the night. A large red brick house covered in ivy stood amidst smooth lawns. Two black Labradors lumbered down to the fence line, tails wagging and fat bottoms wiggling, as they barked half heartedly.
Seraphim laughed and in the stillness, the sound showered around them in a fluting arpeggio. Then she turned and said something. She seemed strangely excited, her eyes as wide and seeking as the doe in the woods. But he didn't catch her words.
“Sorry, what was…” Chad began.
By way of an answer a large, cold wet lump of mud smacked him in the forehead. In a matter of seconds he was liberally splattered in smelly goo. Brushing the slop from his eyes, his sight cleared and he realised that Seraphim and Pollyanna had surged well ahead.
Beneath him Dresden tensed. Before the horse could even think about a buck Chad booted him up. Keeping him on a short rein, he allowed him to accelerate. Ahead, the track widened and began to climb. As he watched, Seraphim stood in her stirrups and crouched over her horse's neck jockey style.
She glanced back and her words carried clearly this time. “Hurry up, slow poke.”
He couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. Cheeky woman. This time he wouldn't let her win so easily.
By now Dresden was completely wired. His hold on the bit spoke of a determination to nail the opposition. Chad didn't argue and let him go. The young horse accelerated and raced up the hill. Within seconds they'd covered the gap and Chad pushed his way level with Seraphim. For one brief moment they were eye to eye. She glanced over at him, eyes shining and lips parted, then Dresden surged past and away, his superior strength and youth no fair match for the older mare.
It was only as he began to pull up his steaming steed, that Chad realised what it was she had said before she took off. She had yelled, “Mind the mud.” It had been a calculated and deliberate ploy. Punishment.
Question was, for what, exactly?
Ten
By nightfall he was none the wiser. She'd been subdued all the way home; occasionally glancing at him, the hint of a smile about her full mouth, and making no secret of her amusement at his disreputable state. But she remained otherwise aloof.
Of course this irked him no end even as he tried to tell himself it was for the best. Wasn't this exactly what he'd set out to do? Create some boundaries. Why then, did he feel so cheated? It was the very devil of a thing.
In the yard he'
d copped a good-natured ribbing from the lads over his filthy appearance. By the time he'd put away his tack, there'd been no sign of Seraphim. He tried to quash down his disappointment.
He spent the rest of the day and the evening closeted in Wally's den, thrashing out the finer details of Can't Take a Trick's impending transportation. With Chad's flight due to take off the next day just after nine in the morning, there was much to do. Every time someone entered the room Chad looked up, unable to resist the secret hope that it would be her. But it never was.
They ate off trays. Wally, obviously well pleased with himself, disappeared at eight. “Be back in a minute. Got you a surprise.”
The surprise turned out to be a six-pack of real Four X beer. Manna from heaven. But Chad's delight waned as he clutched the familiar stumpy bottle in his hand. Dear God, it was room temperature! Nearly warm. But he thanked his host profusely and drank anyway. How he got through the bottle he'd never be able to tell. It was amazing what you could do when you had to.
At ten the door opened. Almost by way of reflex action Chad looked up, ever hopeful. This time he was rewarded.
“I'm just off to bed,” said Seraphim, crossing the room to give her father a hug.
Lucky bastard, Chad thought grumpily.
“All packed?” asked Walter.
She nodded. “Pretty much. I've just got to pick up some Ambre Solaire in the morning.”
Chad wondered what that was. Maybe it was some sort of posh perfume. It'd probably scare the horses. Preferring not to advertise his ignorance he said nothing.
She turned to him, and observed him without smiling. “Goodnight, Chad.”
“Goodnight, Seraphim,” he replied. It seemed to him that she spoke volumes in the saying of nothing at all. Glumly he reflected that maintaining a polite distance wasn't going to present a problem at all.
Later that night he couldn't sleep. His brain buzzed with the prospects of returning home, the imminent arrival of Trick, and of course, Seraphim.
A Man For All Seasons Page 6
