by Di Morrissey
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘So they’re all back at Cricklewood now, safe and well.’ Queenie had phoned Tango and was telling him the story of recovering the bulls. ‘It was pretty hairy at times and, frankly, not very nice.’ The cheerful note she’d been trying to keep in her voice faded.
‘You all right. Mum? I don’t think you’re giving me all the details.’
‘Oh, it’s over now. I didn’t need the shocks waiting for me back here though . . . Saskia quitting has really upset me. Didn’t you try to talk her out of it, Tango? I’m really angry at Colin. He’s so devious, I’m sure he must be up to something. It’s just too much of a coincidence that he, of all people, talks her out of uni then conveniently offers her a job. And just what sort of a place is it? I haven’t been able to talk to her yet.’
‘Mum, Saskia wasn’t coerced. In a way, Colin did her a favour. She’d made up her mind. You know she’s been miserable for months. And from what she’s told me, Harmony Hill sounds pretty nice. The big thing is she’s working with horses and is happy. It’s a job.’
Queenie sighed. ‘I’ll listen to what she has to say. But I do think it’s unfair of her to do this to me when I have so many other problems, and TR and . . . Jenni . . . It’s all very difficult. Tango.’ For a moment she sounded close to tears. Then she gave a brittle laugh, ‘Ah what the heck, we’ll soldier on. I’m pushing on with my wool plan. Dingo is coming back from Cricklewood for a couple of days then he’s going back home, so maybe things will get back to normal soon.’
‘Mum, don’t worry about Sas . . . ’
‘I’m not worried Tango. I’m just . . . well . . . never mind. Take care, darling.’
Tango knew his mother was trying not to worry him but she was obviously very distressed.
The next day Queenie walked around the verandah and rapped on the glass pane of the French doors.
‘Come in.’ TR was stretched out on the bed reading a book. ‘Hi.’ He smiled at Queenie then noticed her straw-coloured linen skirt, cream silk blouse and leather shoulder bag. A heavy gold heart hung around her throat and he wondered idly if he’d given it to her. ‘You look very nice. Where are you going?’
‘I’m very concerned about Saskia. I’m going over to the coast to see her and this place of Colin’s.’
‘Does she know you’re coming?’
‘No, I thought I’d ambush her.’ They smiled at each other and Queenie perched on the edge of a chair. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, noting TR’s pale face.
‘Only mild agony today. Might have done too much yesterday.’ He sighed. ‘I’m just so anxious to toss those damned crutches away and stop feeling like a cripple.’
‘Can I get you anything?’ asked Queenie, hating feeling so inadequate when it came to helping TR.
‘No thanks. Jenni will give me a massage. That always helps.’ They looked at each other awkwardly for a minute then TR changed the subject. ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about Saskia. She seems very sensible and very determined to follow her own drummer. I did try to talk her out of it. We all did. She can be a bit stubborn — like her mother, I think.’ The teasing smile still hovered around his mouth. ‘At least she is happy doing something she likes and it could lead to some sort of a career. The more she works with horses the more she’ll learn.’
‘What’s she going to learn pushing fat ladies onto horses and dragging them up a hill?’ demanded Queenie irritably.
‘Patience, good humour, and to watch her weight?’ suggested TR. When Queenie didn’t smile he added, ‘Look, go and see for yourself then and make your judgement after that’.
Queenie stood. ‘Yes, that’s what I’m doing. I just wish Colin wasn’t involved, I smell a rat when he’s around.’
‘I gather we don’t like brother Colin.’
‘No we don’t,’ snapped Queenie. ‘But let’s not get into that. Well, I’ll be off then.’ She went to the bed and kissed TR on the cheek. It was a swift brush of her lips and both felt shy about the contact.
TR looked up at her, marvelling at what a beautiful woman she was, wishing he could get to know her afresh, without all the baggage of their past. ‘Queenie, when you come back, perhaps we could talk more about this wool scheme of yours. I talked about it with Dingo, it sounds interesting. If I can help . . . be involved . . . ’
Queenie gave him her first happy smile since returning to Tingulla. ‘Oh yes, TR, I’d like that.’
He touched her hand lightly. ‘Don’t be too tough on Saskia, hear her out.’
Queenie turned at the French doors and gave TR another wide smile. ‘I’m a fair and reasonable woman, TR.’
‘Until crossed,’ thought TR to himself as he waved her goodbye.
Queenie stayed the night in a motel in Nerang and the following morning found directions to Harmony Hill. As she wound through the grounds to the carpark outside reception, Queenie had to admit it was an idyllic setting.
She walked past a frangipani tree where a set of metallic chimes tinkled sweetly from the branch on which they hung. She stood and listened to them singing in the breeze, then plucked several of the fragrant cream flowers and tucked them behind her ear. She flicked her fingers against the silver cylinders of the chimes and as she turned away a voice behind her said, ‘You’ve just sent a message halfway round the world’.
She spun around to see a man with a thick dark beard and warm merry brown eyes smiling at her. He was dressed in jeans and a flowered shirt with a frayed straw hat on his dark hair. He stuck out his hand. ‘Bruce Gaden. I work here. They’re nice, aren’t they? Coorabell Chimes, made by a musical madcap of a bloke near Byron Bay.’
‘What did you mean by sending a message?’ asked Queenie, taking an immediate liking to this man.
‘I’ve sent these chimes to friends all over the world. We also sell them here and visitors take them away. And it’s sort of an understanding that when the bells chime, a friend is thinking of you.’
‘That’s nice. This place is very pretty.’
‘Have you come to stay?’
‘No, actually. I wanted to see Saskia Redmond or Colin Hanlon.’
‘Not both together?’
‘No. Are they here?’
Bruce stared at the startingly lovely woman with the brilliant emerald eyes and face framed by waves of burnished golden-brown hair. ‘I bet you’re Saskia’s mother,’ he exclaimed.
Queenie laughed. ‘I am. And she doesn’t know I’m coming.’
‘Checking up, huh? Come over to my house and meet my wife — we’re near the stables and that’s probably where Sas is — and have a cup of tea or a fruit juice.’
Queenie was charmed by the Gadens’ rustic cottage and garden and felt immediately at ease with Ria. Little Greta was introduced but hung back shyly, trying to grapple with the concept of Saskia having a mother too.
‘I’ll put the kettle on. Greta, you take Sas’s mummy over to the stables and find Sas,’ said Ria.
The little girl took Queenie firmly by the hand and led her away. ‘Do you like horsies?’ she asked.
‘Oh very much.’
Greta nodded with satisfaction and Queenie felt she had passed some test. When they got to the stables Greta called out, ‘Sassy . . . I gotta surprise for yooooo’.
‘And what might that be?’ answered Saskia, emerging from the stalls with several bridles in her hands. Seeing Queenie she stopped, trying to gauge her reaction — she had been dreading this moment. Apprehensively, she moved forward and hugged her mother. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I was going to call, I had a message you rang. That’s so great about finding the bulls, I knew you would.’ The words rushed out, trying to forestall the exchange she knew was coming.
She stepped back and studied Queenie, who was smiling gently at her. Saskia’s bright and hopeful expression suddenly changed to dismay. ‘Oh dear. Now you know about this job, you don’t approve, you’re going to try and talk me out of it. But it won’t work. Mum.’
‘Steady on, Sas. It would have been nice to have discussed it first, I have to admit.’
‘I had to make a decision quickly at uni, Mum, and you were out there in the scrub. And anyway, no matter what you might have said, I still would have left.’
‘Sas, I just want what’s best for you. I want you to have choices in your life.’
‘That’s exactly why I’m doing this.’ Saskia led her mother to the railing where they leaned comfortably. Sas picked Greta up and perched her on the top railing, holding onto her. ‘I’ve only deferred uni for a year, I’ll go and get my degree if this year out doesn’t work. And this just seemed too good a chance to miss. I’ve set this whole horse deal up here, the admin and money side of it as well as finding the horses, getting them used to the trail — which I also laid out — ’
‘What about Colin?’ interjected Queenie. ‘He just spells trouble.’
‘Mum, I know there’s some sort of feud between you two, but he helped me out because we’re family. It was a sheer accident that I ran into him and Dina on the coast and when I told him I was sick of uni, wanted to work with horses, he offered me this. I’m helping him out too.’
‘What’s his involvement with this place?’
‘He’s the manager; Bruce runs the day-today side of things. Colin still lives over at the coast but stays here most of the week. He spends weekends with Dina and has meetings with her father and their associates. I don’t know much about that side of things.’
‘Dina’s father is involved with this place?’
Saskia glanced in surprise at her mother, who seemed horrified. ‘Alfredo Camboni? Yeah, he owns it. But he doesn’t have anything to do with it; Colin says he’s not interested in it — he’s too tied up in the casino they’re building.’
‘My God, I knew it! What goes on here? This is probably a cover for some money-laundering operation.’
Saskia burst out laughing. ‘You’re being paranoid. Mum. Come on, look around. There’s a horse I want to show you. Come and look in the stables first.’
Saskia gave her mother a tour of the stalls and stables; then, with Greta dashing ahead, they went down to the paddock where Toffee was kept. Queenie let out a low whistle as she saw the beautiful bay thoroughbred canter across the grass. ‘That’s a great looking horse. Can he race?’
‘He has a few problems. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it over a cuppa.’
‘Heavens, what is that child doing, Saskia? Get her back, she’ll get hurt.’
Tiny Greta was running on her short chubby legs across the paddock towards the giant racehorse. ‘It’s all right. Mum, I’ll go get her, but the little monkey does this all the time.’ Saskia ducked between the rails and hurried after Greta.
The child stood still in the middle of the paddock as Toffee trotted swiftly to her and stopped in front of her. Greta walked up to the horse and gave it a hug around its knees; her head didn’t even reach up to the horse’s body. Queenie’s heart was in her mouth, hoping the child wouldn’t move behind the animal, willing Saskia to hurry. But the horse seemed to know Greta was a little person who was to be treated with gentleness. Toffee hung down his head and Greta grabbed his mane behind his ears; then Toffee lifted his head, arched his neck and swung the little girl high in the air. He lowered her back to the ground and barely had her feet touched the ground than he lifted her into the air once more, her squeals of delight echoing around the paddock.
‘Again, Toff!’ she cried.
‘That’s enough, Greta,’ said Saskia, plucking the little girl from the horse’s neck. Toffee tossed his head, shook his mane and cantered rapidly away as Saskia led Greta back to the fence to where Queenie was shaking her head and laughing.
‘I hope you didn’t teach her that, Sas!’
‘No, Greta and Toffee invented that game. I have to watch her all the time. But it’s strange, she sometimes gets in the yard with half a dozen horses and pushes them around by their front legs, getting them into place, but they all do what she says and are very careful with her.’
‘Animals seem to know to take care of the baby of a species,’ said Queenie as she took Greta’s hand, leading her back to the Gadens’ house.
‘I’m not a baby,’ pouted Greta.
‘No, you’re a bossy boots,’ laughed Queenie, ‘and I’m glad I don’t have Saskia’s job, I couldn’t manage all those horses and you, Greta! But it does seem like a nice sort of job nonetheless,’ she added, looking lovingly at her daughter.
‘I’m happy here,’ said Saskia returning her mother’s affectionate look.
‘Good,’ declared Greta, closing the subject.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tango was troubled. He sensed there was more behind his recent conversation with Queenie than she was revealing. The journey to recover the bulls had obviously drained her and she had been under constant strain since TR’s accident. Now she was planning to move ahead with setting up the fellmongery and revitalising the old tannery. But he suspected there was something else she wasn’t telling him. As always when he wanted to think. Tango went down to the stables.
Tubs of blazing bright geraniums stood around the flagstone courtyard by the horse stalls. Tango wandered through the stalls, murmuring to the horses, breathing in the sweet smell of fresh hay. In one of the breeding boxes a thoroughbred broodmare was lying down resting, her swollen belly showing she was close to term. Tango read the vet’s check written on her chart by the door showing all was in order. The foal, sired by Sweet William, was due in two days. Peering inside he saw the magnificent chestnut mare had company. Dennis, the injured young jockey whom TR had befriended in hospital, was seated on the straw by the mare. His wheelchair was by the wall.
He glanced up and saw Tango. ‘Just keeping her company. I reckon she’s missing her stablemate and she seemed a bit stressed.’
‘Good idea, Denny. How’s it going? You settling in okay?’
‘I am. I manage to keep pretty busy too . . . despite the chair. I’m real grateful to you and TR for giving me this job. I’ll pull me weight as best I can.’ The crippled boy looked down at the mare, and stroked her neck. ‘I know I’ll never ride again, but it’s real good to be around the horses.’
‘I know what you mean. I’ll catch you later, Denny.’
‘Righto. I’ll be back in the office this afternoon, got a lot of reports to write up.’
Tango smiled and left. The boy had an uncanny head for figures and was proving quite an asset, doing some of the paperwork and book-keeping that Tango detested.
Tango debated about seeing Mick down at the track but decided against it, wanting to be on his own to think things through. Guneda was running smoothly, the horses in training were coming along well, as were the breeding and stud programmes. But decisions would have to be made in the coming months and Tango hoped TR would be part of that process. Even if his memory hadn’t returned he would have to start getting involved in the business again. His knowledge and instinct with horses were still intact, he’d shown flashes of that in casual conversation. If they couldn’t have the old TR back then a new TR was going to have to take his place.
With a sudden burst of insight. Tango realised Queenie faced the same problem. It was all very well re-educating a man for a job but how did you resurrect his old emotional life? If we could live life over, would we do the same things? Marry the same people? Fall in love again the way we did before? His beautiful mother, who’d found the love of her life, lost him, then found him again was now facing an even worse kind of loss — no wonder she was feeling insecure and unhappy.
Tango had experienced a few semiserious flirtations and had extricated himself from distraught and desperate partners, but in his heart he knew he was looking for a love that was all-conquering and complete — a love like his parents. Leaning on a white painted railing and watching racehorses Guilder and Barnstorm prance in a field together. Tango made up his mind. As soon as Royal Robes, the chestnut mare gave birth, he would
leave for Tingulla. He wanted to see Jenni again.
TR and Jenni were in the swimming pool at Tingulla working through an aqua-exercise routine. The pool had been put in by Queenie and Warwick when Saskia was born and Warwick had insisted on it being oversize so he could swim long laps for exercise. It was made from natural stone with neutral pool tiles that reflected the colour of the sky. Surrounded by an expanse of green lawn the pool area was screened by trees and shrubs and even a palm or two.
TR stopped to catch his breath, hanging onto the edge of the pool. ‘My legs are aching, Jenni. In fact, they feel like they may drop off.’
‘That’s good. This is the best exercise you can do, TR — it uses all the muscles with no strain.’ She swam over to him. ‘Float for a bit on your back and rest.’
TR floated with his eyes closed. ‘I wish I felt as free on the land as I do in the water.’ ‘You will. Think how far you’ve come in such a short time.’
He opened his eyes and looked at Jenni, thinking she looked no older than Saskia. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, her short blonde hair was damp and it clung to her delicately shaped head. Her neat compact body, sheathed in a yellow one-piece bathing suit, was rounded but boyish, her hidden strength defined in her lean muscles.
‘I owe you a lot, Jenni. You’ve been very patient with a grouchy old bloke,’ TR said with a lopsided grin.
‘It’s my job,’ she answered. ‘And you’re not grouchy — well, not so much now — and you’re certainly not old.’
‘I feel it sometimes. I guess my days of sowing wild oats are well and truly over,’ he joked.
Jenni was standing on tiptoe, the water above her shoulders. She reached out and touched TR’s cheek. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said softly.
