Slowly his eyes closed and Seraphim felt a wave of horror overcome her. Instinctively she knew that the poor woman was dead. Horrified by her gaff she scrambled around to find some way to recover. But she just sat, like a stuffed duck, and waited, afraid of what she'd hear.
Finally he unfroze and his eyes opened and cleared. “Yes, she was very sick. She suffered from schizophrenia. Visual and auditory hallucinations. When I was fourteen she was killed by a truck. She believed there was a giant spider in the hospital grounds. She knew I was coming to visit and went out to save me. She never even saw what hit her.”
What could she say? It was a scenario so far from her own concept of reality that she floundered. Dear God. Did such things really happen? It was unimaginable. Incomprehensible. Suddenly she felt flattened by the vast differences between herself and the young man who sat as still as stone before her. Would she have survived such a blow?
She thought back to her own privileged, pampered childhood, filled with love. Would she have made it without her parents? Probably not.
“I'm so sorry Chad.” The words sounded lame. But what else was there left to say? Her heart filled with a burst of admiration for the man. Without being told she realised there had been no father on the scene. She recalled with tenderness the week before when he'd saved her from the tiny spider in the stable yard. Even now she could recall his words. “My mother was scared of spiders.”
His achievements were astonishing. All alone he'd carved a place for himself in the world. And she was worried about a bit of dust and heat!
“Does it bother you?” he asked.
She looked at him in surprise. What did he mean? Did it bother him that his mother was dead? Or that she'd been sick? She wasn't sure how to respond. Mental illness was not a part of her knowledge pool. Of course there had been Uncle Dick, who'd lived in the lodge house when she was young. He'd believed he was a Knight of the Round Table and they'd spent many a happy hour hunting for dragons around the lakes and woods. Had he been mad?
From somewhere outside a dog barked. She looked at Chad who observed her intently. Misery was etched in every tendon, every muscle and every sinew of his body. She stretched across the table and clutched his hands. “Yes, it bothers me,” she said.
His head sank down and he refused to look at her. She gripped his hands tightly, and fought to hold back the sadness that pushed against her throat.
“It bothers me that you would even ask. Don't you know by now that I admire you and respect you?” She paused and took a mental deep breath. “And that I love you.”
Silently he returned the grip on hands. He brought her hands to his face and kissed the knuckles. She cupped his jaw line tenderly and raised his head up until she found his eyes. The dark amber depths swam with unshed tears. She released her hold and pushed her chair away with a violence that sent it crashing over backwards. When she reached him she knelt down at his feet.
He spoke not a word but placed his fingertips firmly on either side of her head and stared down into her face. She felt that he devoured her in that moment. Her hands wrapped around his wrists, and his head bent to hers; her tears mingled with his and their kiss tasted both salty and sweet. It was the merest whispered breath in her ear but she knew she could not be mistaken.
“I love you too,” he said.
Eighteen
That afternoon, after a heated discussion, Seraphim accompanied Chad into town. Chin had been caught up with the horses.
As she settled into her seat Chad tried again. “You don't have to worry about this stuff yet. You can take a couple of days to catch up a bit.”
But she did have to worry. It had become very important that she pull her weight. She wanted to feel that he admired her in the same way she did him. The more she learned about him the greater became her desire to prove her own worth. “I'm fine,” she said.
He shook his head and then smiled, leant across and his lips brushed hers briefly. “Good on you.”
Seraphim basked in his warm approval. Tiredness fell away and she hugged herself happily.
The car lurched away, bumping down the long red driveway. Silently she observed the landscape, fascinated by the endless stretches of empty land and then the miles and miles of trees.
Chad nearly crashed the car when she leapt up and squeaked in excitement.
“Oh my God! Look at that.”
“What! What?” said Chad, swinging the car erratically off the verge and back onto the thin strip of bitumen.
“A kangaroo! I saw a kangaroo!”
He laughed. “Well, that'll be the first of many.”
When she spotted the emus he grinned and pulled off the road to let her have a better look. Seraphim decided they were adorable, with feather skirts floating up and down like tutus and impossibly long legs. “I love emus,” she said. I love you, she said silently.
“There's a male with a bunch of chicks at home,” Chad said as they set off again, “I'll show you when we get back.”
“A male?” Seraphim was surprised.
“Yep. The females lay the eggs and skip out leaving the males to hatch and rear the chicks.”
Suddenly they were in town. Saffron slumbered beneath the mid-afternoon sun. The wide streets, with their single-storey buildings and covered fronts, looked deserted. However, the small store was open and blessedly air-conditioned. Despite its size, the general shop sold a dizzying array of goods; some, like eggs, were familiar but most were not. Even the milk had been cunningly disguised, packed in clear plastic bottles.
Finally satisfied that she'd covered the essentials and few extras she pushed the trolley to the counter. The trolley appeared to be drunk and kept trying to get away. Chad kept attempting to prize it out of her grip but she pretended not to notice and staggered along, determined to be independent.
When she paid, out of a wad of cash Chad had given her, she felt a wave of triumph as she managed to make up the right amount with the small, plastic notes. Chad took off with the trolley whilst she waited for the change. Amused, she set off after him. As she burst out of the door she collided with a little girl.
She was an elf of child, all slender limbs, cappuccino skin and soft black curls.
Seraphim stepped back. “I'm sorry,” she said, and offered an apologetic smile. To her surprise the child did not smile back, but stared at her with a pair of huge, black-lashed, brown eyes.
Without a word the girl sidled through the door and slipped away into the cool depths of the shop. For some reason that she couldn't fully understand, Seraphim felt hurt. Had she done something she shouldn't? But she tried to shrug the feeling off. She was being silly. She was just being overly-sensitive, probably due to jet lag.
For a while the novelty of finding that the four-wheel drive held a metal chest fridge in its rear for the cold goods diverted her. But as they set off for home the small interchange continued to trouble her.
“Wasn't that little girl gorgeous?” she said. Chad shot her a sudden hard stare, and Seraphim felt a strange quiver of unease. She had hoped that bringing up the subject may put her at ease, but instead she felt even more uncomfortable.
“You think?”
Seraphim observed Chad cautiously. A six sense told her she was on wafer-thin ice. A horrible thought popped into her head. What if he hated kids? Some people did. Not that she wanted to pop one out every year for the next six years, but she'd always held a vague plan of one or two, at some stage. Disconcerted she searched around to find any other clues that might help decipher Chad's mindset. She came up blank.
An uncomfortable silence filled the interior of the car. Suddenly Seraphim felt a surge of exhaustion envelope her. She slumped against the door, her cheek pressed against the cold surface of the window. The flat countryside peeled by, unchanging, until she had the odd sensation that the car wasn't moving at all, rather it was the alien landscape that had taken wing instead.
Then the car stopped. Chad smiled and relief spread like sunshine throug
h her troubled thoughts. Silently he pointed to the road in front of them.
Eager to ease the tension she leaned forward toward the windscreen. Walking across the bitumen, in orderly procession, were four huge spiky footballs. “Oh, how cute. Giant hedgehogs.”
He laughed. “Echidnas.”
For several minutes they waited until the procession ended and the marsupials disappeared into the dense mulga scrub. Happy that the awkward moment had passed, Seraphim reluctantly decided to let the whole thing go. For the time being anyway.
The rest of the day passed easily. Seraphim insisted on organising the kitchen to her satisfaction. She found that there were only four full-time staff to cater for. This worried her at first, until Chad informed her that Chin's job description was actually quite diverse, ranging from cook to fencing contractor, and everything else in between.
“Well,” said Seraphim, doling out a mountainous pile of pasta, a lake of sauce, and two steaming loaves of garlic bread to take over to the old shearer's quarters for the staff, “I'll help out anyway I can too.”
Chad nodded and wrestled the two tureens out of her hands, balanced the garlic bread on top and carted it off before she could protest. Actually, she reflected, as she sat down, she really didn't have the strength to argue.
In short time he returned. “Smells good.”
Throughout dinner they ate in companiable silence. Or, more accurately, she watched Chad eat, while she pushed her food tiredly around the plate.
He paused, and his warm, topaz eyes caught hers. “Not hungry?”
She felt ridiculously pleased by his concern, by the fact he'd noticed, and by the gentle tone of his voice. She gave up all pretenses and dropped her fork. “I'm just tired, I guess.”
He shook his head. “Of course you are. Come on… bed.” He put down the fragrant piece of bread in his fingers and stood up.
Hastily Seraphim hopped up. “Sit down! Finish your meal. I'm quite capable of putting myself to bed.”
But he ignored her protests and in one effortless motion, lifted her up into his arms, until she lay curled into the broad expanse of his chest, her head resting upon his shoulder. She opened her mouth to protest, but his head bent, and his lips sealed hers.
In the bedroom he laid her gently on the bed and pulled the red quilt around her. “Sleep,” he said.
And she did.
When she awoke the room was bathed in light. For a moment she lay and watched the dust motes swirl around in fingers of sunshine that poured through the window. The bed was empty. She checked out the clock and to her surprise found it was just four thirty. Did that man never sleep?
Eager to greet the new day and to reconnect with Chad, she hopped out of bed and dressed. Outside the sky spread away in an endless sea of blue. Very faintly her ears could just make out the steady progress of galloping feet. Eager to be outside where the action was, she threw on her clothes and bounced down the steps of the front verandah. She followed the sound around the vast stable complex, and out to a paddock so huge she could not make out its boundaries. In the distance three horses cantered along a wide track, noses nodding in unison, jockeys perched effortlessly in their tiny saddles.
Beneath the shade of a mottled tree, she paused. Dust drifted away on a soft breeze as the trio thundered past. The scene spread out before her, dearly familiar and strangely alien at the same time, kind of like drinking a cup of tea out of a crystal vase. Her heart fluttered when she recognised Chad, teeth flashing white in a dirty face, as he sped past on The Huntsman.
Once more they circled away. Critically she watched horse and rider, carefully examining the form and action of the big stallion. Years spent fine-tuning expensive, talented horses backed up her instincts. As The Huntsman trotted down toward her she knew exactly what the problem was. Better still, she thought she knew how to fix it.
For a frantic minute she tried to formulate the best way to put her case to Chad. It was not going to be easy. Although he'd been supportive and kind, she sensed he would be politely dismissive when she voiced her opinion.
By the time the horses reached her they had slowed back to a loose, active walk, flanks still heaving, and steam rising from slick, shiny coats. Chad pulled up The Huntsman and smiled down. There was something incredibly vital about him; he seemed to crackle with energy, eyes brilliant, hair glossy in the harsh sunlight. Here, in his natural environment, he seemed somehow larger than life. It was hard to believe that he was hers.
“Hi,” she said, suddenly a little shy.
In one fluid movement he dismounted, his booted feet barely making a sound in the dusty earth. “Hi you,” he smiled.
She patted the horse's damp neck. “How was he?”
“Lazy.”
For a while they walked side-by-side in silence; Chad pensive, her hesitant. Should she tell him? Or was it not really her place, or even her business.
Chad broke the moment. “If this horse doesn't shape up soon, his owner will shift him somewhere else.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
He looked away from her, his eyes narrowed in concentration. “Jimmy Farthing owns most of the horses in training. During the drought he's been my only source of income. If he pulls the pin, I'm in trouble.”
Suddenly the decision seemed easy. “I think I may be able to help.”
He stopped and looked at her, surprise etched into his face. “How's that, then?”
“Well, I think you're absolutely right about this horse. He should be phenomenal. And I think he will be. I believe that if you let me work on him for six weeks or more, I could make a big difference to his performance.”
Chad's frank amusement was expressed in a short burst of laughter. “You reckon?”
Irritation prickled through her like nettle rash. “Yes, I do.”
He ran a hand over his face, and to his credit, she could see him trying to contain his hilarity. “I'm all ears.”
“Look at him,” she said, moving closer to the big horse and running a hand down his neck. His ears waved and he butted her softly with his huge head. Chad moved in behind her, and pulled her close. It was very difficult to concentrate as heat flared and spread through her abdomen. “He's not using himself as well as he might,” she struggled on. Chad's hand had crept beneath her shirt, softly caressing the taut skin of her belly. She brushed the hand off. “Behave,” she warned. The hand did as it was told.
“Sorry,” he said, not sounding it.
“If we changed his work routine and developed all the big muscles along his top line,” she paused, and then, pulling away from Chad, swept her hand along the animal's neck, back and quarters, “he'd be able to push himself along from behind, rather than pulling from the front.” Eagerly she turned to gauge his response. “Do you see?”
He lifted one dark sweep of eyebrow, in an expression of disbelief. “You want to do dressage with him?”
Disappointment flooded through her. It seemed that some prejudices ran too deep. “Yes,” she said flatly.
Then a broad grin spread across his face. “You're kidding, right?”
For a moment she wished she were a cat so she could fluff up her coat, pull out claws and hiss and spit in protest. Exasperated and infuriated, she searched for the right words. “You know, the other day you told me that people don't always give Chin a chance because he's different. Well… you're no bloody better.” Feeling the pressure of unshed tears gather and determined not to share them, she turned abruptly and headed back toward the house.
Back in the kitchen she vented some of her unexpressed angst banging cupboard doors and jangling cutlery loudly onto the table. Why Chad was as bad as her parents! As bad as Bloody Barry!
The more she thought about it, the more convinced she became that she was right. And with that conviction came a deep-seated determination to prove it.
Nineteen
Barely aware of his actions, Chad returned to the stable block then untacked, hosed and turned The Huntsman out
into his paddock. His brain turned over like a turbo driven engine. He'd really put his size twelves in it. What a moron. A bit of tact would have gone a long way. Of course, the whole idea was ridiculous, but still…
In the barn his two young lads scurried around lobbing hay into stables, to the eternal gratitude of the inhabitants. Chad found Chin in the tack room tidying away the morning's collection of abandoned whips, boots and bits.
“Chin, do you think I'm unreasonable.”
“Yep. Sometimes.”
Chad could feel his temper bite, but strangled it down. “In what way… exactly?”
Chin stopped work and ran a hand thoughtfully over his bald head. “Well, if I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times, you have to get rid of those solar panels. While they're sucking up the radio waves, the rain won't come.”
Chad counted to ten, and then added another five for good measure. “Chin, the solar system has nothing to do with the weather.”
“How do you know that?”
Exasperated Chad stared at Chin. “Because it's ridiculous.”
Chin picked up his radio, pulled up the antenna and pressed the unit against his ear. “So, you gonna take down the panels?”
“No!”
With a sad smile Chin shook his head. “I rest my case.”
Torn between laughter and tears, Chad stood and watched Chin, now totally tuned into outer space, wander off down toward the yards. Then for one crazy moment Chad actually found himself wondering if, just maybe, there might be something in his mate's bizarre theory. After all, there had to be a reason for the dry. But he pulled himself up sharp. It was going to rain. Soon.
By seven he was starving but kept finding things to do to put off breakfast. Seraphim was bound to be pretty mad with him still. But then the meaty roar of a V8 engine announced the arrival of Jimmy Farthing. A little reluctantly he went out to greet him.
“Morning Jimmy.”
“Chad,” said Jimmy, climbing down from the plush leather depths of his Cruiser. “How's it hanging?”
The Huntsman's owner, dapper in clean moleskins and black akubra, took Chad's hand in his, and shook in a friendly gesture. Fifty-five, bearded and rangy, the crinkled skin around his eyes reflected a sunny disposition. This morning being no exception, he smiled, showing good teeth. “What's new?”
A Man For All Seasons Page 12
