Chad's spirits drooped even more. “I've had better days.”
The smile widened into a grin. “Horse trouble?”
“Worse, woman trouble.”
Jimmy chuckled, his beard waggling like a Billy goat's. “Can't help you there, mate.”
“Breakfast?”
“Why not.”
In companionable silence they made their way over to the house. Jimmy sniffed appreciatively. “Smells good. Chin feeling better?”
Before Chad could answer the screen door swung open and Seraphim stuck her head out. “Oh, I was just coming to find you, breakfast is ready.”
Relieved to detect no open hostility in her tone Chad stepped through the door.
“Looks like a passel of trouble to me,” Jimmy whispered gleefully into his ear.
After a quick wash up the two men returned to the kitchen and sat down. In the middle of the table a mountain of fragrant rice took pride of place. Chad's mouth watered. He forgot their earlier misunderstanding, as he tried to identify the ingredients. “Kedgeree?”
“You remembered.” Then she smiled at Jimmy. “I'm Seraphim.”
Filled with remorse for his lack of manners Chad leapt up and made a hasty introduction.
Jimmy accepted a mountain of rice and spooned in a generous forkful. He chewed for a minute and swallowed. “Bloody beautiful. And you can cook.” He looked slyly at Chad and then regarded her thoughtfully. “Will you marry me?”
She laughed. “You couldn't afford me.”
Chad grinned. Jimmy might not have made it into Australia's top ten wealthiest, but he wouldn't be far off. He decided he'd tell Seraphim later, save her future embarrassment.
Conversation moved inevitably to horses.
“So, when's the great Can't Take A Trick arriving?” asked Jimmy.
Chad smiled. “Should be here September for the start of the breeding season. Bit cooler then, give him time to adjust.”
Jimmy shifted in his seat. “Let's hope he performs better than The Huntsman.”
Chad felt the knot of anxiety that seemed to have taken permanent residency in his chest contract at the mention of The Huntsman.
Jimmy swallowed the dregs of coffee in his cup. “That animal must be the most expensive arachnid on the face of the earth.” He managed a wry smile.
Chad recognised the disquiet that lay just below it. Utterly miserable, he could only agree. The horse was a dismal failure. All the great plans they had made for The Huntsman seemed doomed never to eventuate. There was no point in bullshitting. “He's not shaping up so well, is he?”
For a moment Jimmy's eye contact wavered, and Chad felt something subside inside him. Here it came.
His friend and business partner shifted around in his chair, as if he were uncomfortable and then raised his gaze once more. “Chad, mate, I think it's time to cut the losses. I've decided to send him to sale.”
Of course Chad had been expecting this, but the words hit him with an almost physical force. He sat back abruptly in his chair, the air he'd unknowingly been holding in, rushing out in a loud sigh. But he made no protest. What the hell could he say?
“I understand,” he said, finally.
“I'm real sorry Chad,” said Jimmy, hands smoothing the neatly trimmed, graying hair, a sure sign of agitation.
The atmosphere thickened to the consistency of clotted cream whilst the three diners busied themselves with the diminishing of the contents of their plates. Chad dared a glance at Seraphim, to find her gentle brown eyes regarding him thoughtfully. God but she was beautiful. She smiled, a small dimple dappling her left cheek like whipped cream. Suddenly the sunshine peeked through the clouds of his mind. He was a lucky man.
Then the fawn-like eyes left his, and he watched her appraising Jimmy. The long sweep of her jaw set a little, Chad could almost hear the workings of her brain. Curious, he waited.
“Mr. Farthing…” began Seraphim, but before she could continue their guest interrupted.
“Jimmy, please.”
Seraphim smiled. “Jimmy, would you object if I make a suggestion?”
Jimmy nodded politely. “Be my guest.”
Chad sat up, as he experienced a small ripple of apprehension. There was something in her expression, a new-found firmness. A determination that triggered alarm bells. Surely… she wouldn't?
Seraphim placed her knife and fork gently onto her plate and licked her lips delicately.
Chad sat as if turned to marble, hardly breathing.
Seraphim glanced at him almost imperceptivity beneath the long, black eyelashes. Chad's eyes narrowed. Did he detect a glint of cheeky defiance? But the moment was so brief he couldn't be sure.
Seraphim said, “Well, the fact is Jimmy, I think that you'd be making a big mistake selling The Huntsman.”
If Jimmy were surprised, he hid it well. “Why's that then?”
Chad made a lightening decision never to play poker with the man.
Seraphim leant a little further over the table toward Jimmy. “He's a really good horse, and he could be a great horse. With six to twelve weeks re-education I believe he could really hit form.”
“What kind of education?” asked Jimmy with interest.
Seraphim took a deep breath. “Dressage.”
Chad waited for Jimmy's response, anticipating amusement or even mild affront. He was doomed to disappointment.
Jimmy rapped the tabletop. “Seraphim! Of course, you're Seraphim Driscoll, Wally's girl. You represented England in the World Cup Championships two years ago. I met your dad last year at the Melbourne Cup. Great bloke.” Jimmy paused for breath and turned to an incredulous Chad. “Isn't it Wally you've been off visiting?”
Chad could hardly deny it.
Jimmy continued. “Wait till I tell my sister, Samantha, you're here. She's a dressage fanatic, lives on the North Coast. Listen, I think it's a great idea. Another six weeks or so won't break the bank. Let's give it a go.” He turned to Chad. “What do you think Chad?”
Truth was, Chad hardly knew what to think. The conversation hadn't actually gone to plan. Ruefully he reflected that he'd been outsmarted and outmaneuvered. He dared a look at Seraphim, who was doing her best angel impression, demurely sipping a mug of coffee. She smiled sweetly. Outrage battled with amusement. Amusement won out.
“Great idea,” he declared. His voice sounded forcibly hearty, but Jimmy didn't seem to notice.
Chad sat helplessly as the conversation flowed around him. He felt as if he'd just experienced a mudslide that had effortlessly pushed aside all his belief systems. At the same time he couldn't help but feel an irritating niggle of self-doubt. Seraphim's earlier words had not been forgotten. Not that he believed for an instance that the scheme would do any good, but perhaps he should have been more receptive to the suggestion.
Apparently a shopping expedition was in order. After some argument Seraphim agreed to Jimmy picking up the tab for saddles and other gear.
Jimmy finally stood up. “We'd better take a trip out to Toowoomba; they've a fair assortment of saddler's in town. You can take your pick.”
Outside the heat shimmered across the red plain. A family of kangaroos lolled idly beneath a stand of coolibah trees. High above, an eagle glided serenely on invisible currents. Flies droned and crickets strummed washboards restlessly. In silence Chad stood next to Seraphim until the black vehicle disappeared out of sight. For several seconds neither spoke. Then as if by magic they both turned and spoke in unison.
“I'm sorry.”
Both paused in confusion, waiting for the other to proceed.
Chad nodded. “You first.”
“I'm sorry to drop that on you like that,” said Seraphim, her dark eyebrows drawn together forming tiny creases of anxiety on her white smooth brow.
Gently Chad reached out and delicately smoothed the furrowed skin. “I'm the one who should apologise. You were quite right earlier and I didn't give you a chance.”
Her face cleared and she hugged
him fiercely. “Thank you,” she said, “you don't know how much this means to me.”
As his arms tightened about her to draw her close, his nose filled with the soft flowery scent of her perfume. He realised then, that most likely, he would never be able to refuse her anything. “I guess we'd better go into town later then.”
By way of reply her lips, rosy and full, reached up and enveloped his. Several moments later, slightly breathless, she extricated herself. Earnestly she gazed up at him. “I'm so happy you've changed your mind.”
Chad laughed. “I never said that. I'll take up the sport myself if that animal ever makes it past a finishing flag in first place.”
She drew herself up haughtily. “Hold that thought, Chad Cherub.”
Still chuckling Chad took himself out to the barn to regale the tale to the boys. The next six weeks promised to be mighty entertaining.
Twenty
Seraphim felt an enormous burst of satisfaction as The Huntsmen completed a canter circle in the dusty round yard. In only three weeks the green young horse had begun to round up; his massive quarters, thighs and neck filling out. After a couple of hairy moments, he'd also learned to accept the dropped noseband which kept his mouth firmly closed. Enjoying both the thoroughbred's balanced stride and the poorly disguised curiosity of Chad's staff, Seraphim dropped the rein, and The Huntsman fell back into his swinging trot. As they settled into a walk, the dust began to clear, but not before Seraphim caught a glimpse of Chad as he ducked out of view behind the hay shed. She grinned to herself, well aware of the inner struggle raging in the broad chest of her lover.
Blithely unaware of the dirt streaking her sweat-stained body and filthy face, utterly absorbed, Seraphim patted the sleek neck of the horse. Tomorrow she would start to ask a little more of him. She sensed he was ready. Already aerobically fit, and naturally balanced, she felt that she could push him along at a reasonable rate. Excitement nipped at her heels. In six month's time he'd probably be ready for an elementary test. But then she fell flat. He'd be out winning races in six month's time.
At the gate she halted and slipped off the horses back.
Chad appeared to make a wizard-like apparition, pulling open the gate to allow them through. “How's it going? He looked all right… from the bit I saw.”
Struggling to hide her amusement, Seraphim turned and fiddled with the girth. “Pretty good.”
Together they walked over to the hosing bay and stripped off the sweating horse's tack. Chad played a hose over The Huntsman while Seraphim pulled off her helmet with a groan of relief.
“He looks really well,” Chad remarked.
Caught by surprise Seraphim felt her mouth drop open in surprise. It was the first time Chad had made any direct comment on the horse's progress. She decided it was a good moment to bring up a subject that had been in the forefront of her mind for the last couple of days. “If he doesn't make it as a racehorse I'd like to buy him.”
It was Chad's turn to stare gormlessly. He blinked. “What the hell for?”
With consummate effort Seraphim swallowed and carried on. “For me. He'd make a brilliant dressage horse. I could take him to the top.”
“But he'd cost a bucket load. Jimmy would want to break even, at least.”
Seraphim was not surprised. “Can you tell me what he paid for him?”
Chad shrugged. “I guess; it's not a state secret. He paid just over half a million dollars, Australian.”
Relief washed over her like an icy spring. “That'd be no problem.”
Chad stared at her, his enigmatic eyes wide with surprise. “Bloody hell.”
Together they finished up the horse, turning him out into his dusty paddock. For a moment Chad looked glum. “Hardly worth the effort,” he said, as his hand swept left to right pointing to the crumbling dirt around them.
She didn't know what to say, her heart squeezed with sympathy. Silently she looked around the parched, arid landscape. A sudden cacophony of screeching made her start. Overhead a huge flock of grey and pink galahs winged by, indescribably vivid against the picture-perfect sky. She took his hand. “It's going to rain, don't worry.”
By way of reply his work-hardened hand squeezed hers gently. Her heart overflowed with love for the determined, talented man at her side. Slowly they made their way back through the stable block, throwing biscuits of the bright green, leafy hay that Chad called lucerne.
In the kitchen she dug out a packet of lamb's kidneys and set to, hoping to lift his spirits with one of her specialties. Soon the rich scent of sherry and marinating meat drifted through the house.
Freshly showered, water glistened in his dark hair like gems and beading his broad chest. Chad bounced back into the kitchen. “God that smells good.”
Thrilled to find her instincts had been spot on the mark, she did not object when his strong arms enfolded her as she carefully lowered the heat on the oven ring and stirred in an unhealthy dollop of fresh cream.
He peered over her shoulder and sniffed appreciatively. “Remind me to take you to bed after breakfast,” he said.
She grinned and popped a couple of slices of toast under the grill. “Can do.” Inside her tummy muscles quivered with delighted anticipation. Their love life was going from strength to strength. He was a gentle, considerate lover, as keen to please as he was to receive. She couldn't imagine how she'd ever lived without him.
Over breakfast she found herself preoccupied. This didn't matter as Chad had devoted himself to the welcome task of sampling the latest dish. The occasional small moan of ecstasy escaped, but otherwise he remained in an enraptured silence. As he ate she admired the lovely tone of his skin that reminded her of newly opened conkers. “You have such a lovely tan,” she said.
He looked up and very slowly chewed the remains of his breakfast. His face remained expressionless, but a small tick began to pulsate beneath his left eye.
“What?” she asked, sensing a problem. “What's the matter?”
Without a word he slowly he put down his knife and fork, pushed back his chair and strode off down the hall.
Nonplussed, Seraphim simply sat in her place, her eyes fixed on his receding back. Then he disappeared into the bedroom. She felt inexplicably alone, oddly abandoned, and a little scared. What had she said to warrant such behavior? Everything had been just fine. Should she go to him?
But she made no move and sat watching the dust motes swirl gently in the sunshine that beamed through the kitchen window. She remembered how, when she was a little girl, she had believed that she could actually see oxygen. A pang of homesickness promised to overwhelm her. Suddenly she wanted the comfort of familiar faces and family. Why was Chad so upset?
Abruptly she turned at the sound of his footsteps returning. Despite his tan he looked pale. However, he said nothing but handed her a white piece of card. It wasn't until she turned it over that she realised that it was actually a photograph.
A pretty young black woman smiled up at her. Liquid brown eyes stared shyly out beneath a mop of thick, black, curly hair; full lips curled in a gentle smile.
“Who is she?” she said, looking at Chad.
He met her gaze steadily, but the muscles in his neck tensed. “That's Ruth. My mother.”
And suddenly everything came together. Of course, he wasn't tanned at all; Chad was black. She glanced back down at the photo and corrected herself. Half black, perhaps. There was nothing in the woman's features that seemed familiar. It was not an African face, nor Caribbean. “She was very pretty,” she said. “Where was she from?”
Chad shook his head a fraction. “Here. Australia.” He reached out and took the photo and looked at it. “She was as Aussie as you can get. My mother was an Aboriginal.”
And then she twigged. “The little girl… the one at the shop. She was Aboriginal wasn't she?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
He pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. For a moment he did not reply and Se
raphim could almost feel his mind moving away from her. She sat down opposite and waited.
After a very long moment he looked at her again, the beautiful yellow eyes filled with sorrow and pain. “Do you know what it's like to go into a store and watch while everyone gets served but you?”
Horrified she shook her head.
“Has anyone ever refused to sell you a drink at a bar?”
Again she simply shook her head.
“Both have happened to me… on several occasions,” he said simply. “Because I'm an Indigenous Australian. My mum's mum was one of the Stolen Generation.”
Seraphim looked at him, the last rang a bell. “The Stolen Generation, you've mentioned that before. What does it mean?”
“In the early to mid 1900s, Aboriginal children were forcibly removed from their families by the government authorities and placed into white families and institutions. The idea was to 'breed out' the indigenous people. My grandmother was one of them, taken from her parents to a government institution as a young child. There she was made to give up her own language and beliefs, and to accept white European values. I know she lived there most of her life. My mother was born there. When she was five months old the authorities put her up for adoption, but Mum ended up being shunted around from place to place, and home to home. When she was sixteen she tried to find her family but she was told that her mother was dead and the authorities claimed not to know details of her tribe. Not long after, she became sick. When I was six they took me away from her and I went into foster care.”
Seraphim didn't know what to say. How could such atrocities happen? And then she sensed the depths of Chad's sadness. He was a man alone, without family, without history. How had he survived? Inside the man the child remained, cloaked and masked, but nevertheless present: abandoned and unloved. Finally a question surfaced. “Why didn't you tell me?”
He smiled softly, and she sensed he'd been ready for this question. “When I was fourteen I got into trouble with the law, you know, stupid kids stuff, but the thin end of the wedge. Some policeman sent me to see a bloke called Craig Squires, one of our best rodeo riders. He offered me a place and the chance to ride, so long as I kept my nose clean. He treated me real good. It was my first opportunity to make a go of things, and I grabbed it with both hands.” He chuckled softly, his eyes misty with memory. “Not that I wasn't a little shit at times, but he never gave up on me, you know. He gave me a sense of pride for the first time in my life. And a home. But I still struggled hard to make it through the ranks. It wasn't until I finally made it the USA that I learnt what it was to be treated as a man. Just that, a man. Not a black man. That's how I wanted you to see me.”
A Man For All Seasons Page 13
