On the Right Track

by Penelope Janu

  ‘I’ll have to keep the car window open to dry my hair,’ I say.

  Leo shrugs out of his jacket. ‘We’ll stick with Angelina tonight,’ he says. ‘She can make conversation for the three of us.’

  Leo is only going to this function as a favour to a colleague. He’s not keen on large gatherings unless they’re veterinary conventions. Turning down party invitations suited both of us when we were going out.

  I take his arm with both hands and put my right leg on the step of his four-wheel drive. Then I ease myself up towards the seat.

  ‘Eric might want me to talk to other people as well,’ I say.

  ‘It’s not like you to help Eric out.’

  ‘I’m being charitable. It’s his last year in parliament.’

  Leo grabs me around the waist and lifts, sitting me sideways on the seat. He jars my leg in the process.

  ‘Sheesh.’

  ‘Sorry. Thought you mightn’t get up there on your own.’

  I wriggle backwards, and rearrange my dress over my bottom and the tops of my thighs.

  ‘It’s difficult to climb in this dress.’

  ‘I noticed.’ He frowns as he peers at the bodice. ‘Is that your skin?’

  ‘No!’ The outer layer of my dress is lace, and a cinnamon colour. The inner layer is ivory satin. ‘That’s the lining of the dress. Stop staring like that.’

  ‘Reckon you’d better get used to it.’

  I bought the dress a year ago. It wasn’t too expensive and the colour is good with my hair. Last Christmas Angelina gave me lingerie to match it. As I ripped open the tissue paper she said, ‘You have to wear a garter slip, and stockings. Not tights. Stockings.’

  The opaque stockings are ivory like the lining of the dress. My knee-high boots are suede and a similar shade to the cinnamon lace. I carefully comb my fingers through my hair to keep it straight and neat. Alessandro Garcia is rich and important. He’s on the board of the golf club, and he’s the host. Notwithstanding his association with my father, he’s unlikely to waste his time talking to me if I’m not presentable.

  The traffic into the Eastern suburbs is heavy, and then Leo misses the turnoff to the carpark entrance. It’s almost eight by the time we walk arm in arm up the broad steps and onto the terrace of the clubhouse. There are no scruffy eucalypts in sight, no leaf litter on the ground, or fluffy gumnut flowers. The gardens and the golf course—everything that’s illuminated—is hedged and trimmed, swept and groomed. Even the boats at Rose Bay, bobbing on the harbour in the distance, appear to be neatly lined up.

  Tor is with a group of people on the far side of the terrace, wearing a dark suit and nursing a drink. The way he moves, his proportions and head carriage, draw my eyes to him.

  Leo nudges me. ‘Now it’s you who’s staring. Who is he?’

  I start. ‘Tor Amundsen. He reminds me of a thoroughbred colt.’

  Leo rolls his eyes. ‘He’s the guy you took to meet Sol, isn’t he? And you went with him to Randwick. I thought you didn’t like him?’

  ‘I don’t. Much.’

  Tor shakes a man’s hand, and then two women. Even though he hasn’t looked directly at me, I’m certain he knows I’m here.

  Someone touches my arm.

  ‘Darling,’ Mum says, air-kissing my cheek. ‘How lovely to see you. What a sweet dress.’

  Angelina hugs me. ‘About time you appeared. Love that dress.’ She fans her face. ‘Hot.’

  ‘Golden insists it’s not see-through,’ Leo says, swiping two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and handing one to me. ‘But I’m not so sure.’

  ‘Good evening.’

  It’s like we’re moving in slow motion, the way we all turn to Tor. Mum greets him warmly, Angelina greets him respectfully. Leo smiles broadly when they shake hands. He’d never tell Tor that I compared him to a horse, but I’m sure he’s thinking about what I said. Besides nodding briefly when we shake hands, Tor ignores me. He has his urbane diplomat mask in place. It’s the face he was wearing the very first time I saw him, when I was riding Pepper. I think he’s doing his best to work out where Leo fits into my life without interrogating him too obviously. He’s suspicious about Angelina’s nervousness. When he makes polite conversation with Mum he smiles at her, but keeps an eye on all the other guests close by. After a while, with a glance and a nod, he signals to Nate and then he takes my arm.

  ‘Have you seen the view over the golf range, Golden?’ he says.

  Within seconds of Nate joining our group, Leo, Angelina and Mum are laughing about something he’s said, and Tor is escorting me across the terrace. I’ve only taken a sip of my drink but I put it on a table as I pass because I’ll need a clear head. I told Tor I could be useful. I’m determined to be useful. But Tor doesn’t direct me straight to Alessandro, who is leaning one arm nonchalantly against a tall table and talking to Solomon and a few other people I don’t recognise. He leads me to the shadows on the far side of the terrace instead. When he turns and faces me I wish I’d kept hold of my champagne so I’d have something to do with my hands. His diplomat expression is gone. His eyes are dark and intent.

  ‘Leo Beresford,’ he says, ‘why wasn’t he on your list?’

  ‘Leo?’ I take a calming breath. ‘He never even met my father. And Grandpa would’ve seen him only a handful of times, when Leo was a student and following the vets around the stables at Randwick. Leo was interested in me, not Grandpa.’

  ‘What’s your relationship with him now?’

  Is he asking whether Leo and I are together? Does he think I’d kiss his cynical lips—repeatedly—if I were with somebody else? I have no idea what he’s been up to lately. I don’t want to know. But he’s likely to have had many more relationships in the past few months—with lawyers and actresses and human rights activists—than I’ve had in my lifetime.

  I’m about to walk away when his hand rests on my forearm. It’s just a touch but we haven’t touched for weeks. Weeks of waking up in the middle of the night to a kaleidoscope of images. Angry kisses in the rain. Sleepy kisses in Eric’s study. Passionate kisses under the leafy green canopy of a scribbly bark tree. I’m afraid he’ll see how much I’ve missed him if I meet his eyes and tell him to keep his hands to himself. So I look at the ground.

  ‘Let me go.’

  He drops his hand. ‘We have company,’ he says.

  I look over my shoulder. Solomon and Alessandro have left the group they were with and are walking towards us. Solomon puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into an awkward sideways hug. He doesn’t notice the way my breath catches as my ankle twists. Tor sees it because he’s watching everything that’s going on. His lips tighten.

  ‘You’ll remember Golden?’ Sol says to Alessandro.

  Alessandro smiles as he takes my hand. He’s well into his fifties but he’s tanned and slender and looks far younger.

  ‘I don’t know Golden personally,’ he says, ‘but naturally I know of her. You’re Eric Latimer’s stepdaughter, aren’t you? Welcome to Royal Sydney Golf Club. I’m delighted to meet you.’

  Eric has to attend social functions like this because Alessandro’s casinos and other interests bring in substantial revenue for the government. But Eric’s opposition to gambling means there’s no love lost between the men. So why did Alessandro refer to me as Eric’s stepdaughter, and not mention my father, or having known me as a child? Alessandro and my father got on well, I’m certain they did. They ribbed each other, and laughed at each other’s jokes. I remember my father laughing once when Alessandro called me ‘carrot top’. We were in the marshalling stalls at Rosehill with one of Alessandro’s horses. I can’t remember much about the horse, except she was a big grey mare and ran a brave second. Grandpa knew I hated the name carrot top. ‘Now, now, Mr Garcia,’ he said. ‘This is my Gumnut baby. She’s a blossom from a red flowering gum. Her real name is Corymbia ficifolia if you want to get technical about it.’

  I can cope with the throbbing in my ankle.
The fact that Alessandro has wiped my father and me from his memory is more difficult to handle. But I’m here to help. I stay silent and let Tor take the lead. He and Alessandro chat about casinos, and Tor’s work at the UN. Eventually they get to horses, and Alessandro’s interests in breeding and racing. I’m not sure whether Alessandro knows he’s being manipulated or not, because that’s what Tor is doing. He’s a spy. And a diplomat. He’s trained to smile when he doesn’t want to, show an interest when he’s doesn’t really care. He makes people say things they wouldn’t usually say. Alessandro keeps breaking into Spanish. Tor tells him he’s not fluent in it, but he seems to understand everything Alessandro says. Why isn’t Spanish on his CV with all his other languages?

  Maybe Solomon notices how quiet I am. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention.

  ‘Gumnut,’ he says, ‘when do I get my hands on your mare?’ He turns to Alessandro. ‘Peppercorn Black. You’d remember her as a two year old. She had wins under her belt until her tendon played up. If her crackpot owners had had a little patience, no reason she couldn’t have come back to the track. John Saunders picked her up for a song and gave her to Golden. About time we got a foal out of her.’

  Alessandro’s smile is stiff. ‘I don’t recall the horse.’

  There’s a crease between Tor’s brows. He moves a little closer, and I smell his clean pine scent. Maybe he’s concerned I’m going to ask whether Alessandro recalls another horse—the one that killed my father. Tor’s eyes soften, just for a moment, when I press my lips together. Then his gaze shifts and he smiles at Alessandro.

  ‘I understand you’re an excellent golfer,’ he says.

  Alessandro laughs. ‘I’m certainly passionate about it. Do you play?’

  ‘Not often, but I have a colleague who’s a member at Bayonne. When I’m in New York, I play with him there.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful course. But this one is better, and I’ll prove it to you.’ He holds out his hand. ‘Join me for a game?’

  Tor laughs as the men shake hands. ‘Thank you. I’d enjoy that very much.’

  Marc Ferguson is standing at the bar. Our eyes meet. He gestures to me and then he makes a drinking motion with his hand. It’s the perfect excuse to flee.

  Marc peers at my face and frowns. I’m probably pale. My freckles will be prominent. He takes off his jacket and offers it to me.

  ‘I’d prefer to look at you, not cover you up, but you’re cold. Put this on.’

  I shake my head. ‘No, thanks. A horse rug is the only thing I’d take from you.’

  He barks a laugh. ‘You always were an ungrateful brat.’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee.’

  ‘C’mon then.’

  I follow Marc to a large room off the terrace with concertina doors, one wide open. Although there’s a table laid out with petit fours, there are no other guests in sight. We help ourselves to chocolate-covered strawberries while a waiter fills up milk jugs.

  ‘Remember the chocolates Dad used to give us?’ Marc says. ‘All you had to do was open your eyes wide and stick your bottom lip out. He could never say no to you.’

  I twist my hair into a roll and flick it over my shoulder. ‘Your dad was great.’ I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. ‘Until I really needed him.’

  Marc grimaces. ‘Wish you’d let that go. I don’t know what happened any more than you do, because Dad won’t talk about it. I appreciate it made things worse, me not being around to sort things out.’

  ‘Because you’d run off with my sister? Or because you’d taken her money? Thanks for keeping the latter to yourself, by the way. Eric can’t find out.’

  ‘It was an investment, simple as that, and Angelina went into it with her eyes open. I’m sorry it happened but I have nothing to hide from anyone, including Eric.’

  ‘Angelina does have something to hide. Don’t say anything.’

  He shrugs. ‘Can we get back to Dad? He’s never recovered from what you did to him. When Angelina placed a bet with him on Slipper day and told him you were there, he wanted to run into the stands to see you straightaway. Until Ange said you didn’t want to see him. Nice one, Gumnut. He was really cut up about it.’

  I cross my arms over my chest. I’m ready to go home. I look around for Leo but I can’t see him anywhere.

  Marc raises his brows. ‘Cat got your tongue?’

  My voice wavers. ‘It was your father who gave up on us, not the other way around. He only got in touch with me a year after Grandpa died. Grandpa would have lost his livelihood because the police were involved, but he might have held onto his reputation if his friends hadn’t deserted him. I don’t owe your father anything.’

  ‘Dad cared about you. Still does. I care about you too.’

  I’m swallowing tears when I pivot, only to bump into Tor. He steadies me, then takes a step back. He won’t meet my eyes. There’s something he’s trying to hide. Is he angry again? Did I mess up with Alessandro? We found out he wants to forget he ever knew my father. That was useful information, wasn’t it? My words come out in a rush.

  ‘I’m going home.’

  Nate taps me on the shoulder. ‘You’ve only just got here. Didn’t get to say hello properly before. You look very pretty, Golden. It’s nice to see you out and about.’

  Marc grins. ‘I’d have put it another way. You look good enough to eat. And you’re at a party, socialising. What’s going on?’

  A waiter pours four cups of coffee and hands them out. Could Marc make trouble? Why would he bother? I’m tired. I don’t want anything to do with Marc. Or Tor. He’s glowering at me when no one is looking. How could I ever have imagined that I’d missed him? Nate is the only one I like. He’s smiling at Marc.

  ‘Golden is working as well as socialising,’ he says. ‘She’s helping Tor with his English.’

  Marc laughs. ‘You’re kidding?’

  Tor holds my arm just above the elbow and squeezes it gently. Then he lets it go. It’s a warning, I’m sure of it.

  ‘Golden tells me my O’s and E’s are wrong,’ he says. ‘I have to lengthen my vowel sounds.’

  Coffee slops into my saucer. ‘They’re just a little short.’ I search for Leo and finally see him, deep in conversation with Solomon and a couple of owners. They’ll be talking about interesting things and I wish I were with them.

  ‘What is it I have to do?’ Tor says.

  I put my coffee down before facing him again. ‘Your O’s are short because your tongue is too far back in your mouth, so you have to relax your tongue and bring it forward. With your E’s, the position of your mouth is too round. You need to widen your lips.’

  Tor doesn’t say anything, just stares at my mouth, then opens his mouth a little, as if he’s imagining what he has to do with his tongue and lips to make his speech perfect. I could put my hand against his mouth to show him what I mean. Or I could tell him I don’t want him to change the way he speaks because I like the shortened way he says the sounds in my name.

  Nate grins. ‘Does Tor get exercises? One of my sisters had a lisp. She had to recite limericks, nursery rhymes, things like that.’

  Before I can answer, Eric and Mum join us. When Nate explains what we’ve been talking about, they laugh just like Marc did.

  ‘Tor would need a challenge,’ Mum says. ‘You could give him James Joyce for homework.’

  ‘Or Shakespeare,’ Eric says.

  Tor raises his brows. ‘Which play would you suggest?’

  Eric pretends to consider the alternatives, but I know which one he’ll choose. Tor probably knows it too.

  ‘The Taming of the Shrew is my favourite,’ he says. ‘Just like Bapista Manola, I have daughters in need of a husband. And one of those daughters,’ he looks at me and raises his brows, ‘is notoriously difficult to deal with.’

  I’ve been standing for over an hour in high-heeled boots, and I’m so exhausted I could lie down on the hard stone floor and sleep. I’ve been hurting Eric since before I was
born. Why stop now?

  ‘You only have one daughter, Eric. Angelina.’

  Marc mutters, ‘Easy, Gumnut,’ under his breath.

  Mum touches Tor’s arm. ‘Next time you’re in Sydney,’ she says, ‘you must join the Latimer family for dinner again.’ She smiles stiffly at me. ‘Golden, perhaps you would like to join us too?’

  I hide my limp as I walk away, leaving the others behind.

  I’m hovering behind Leo, waiting for the right moment to interrupt his conversation, when Tor catches up with me.

  ‘I’m leaving early tomorrow,’ he says. ‘We have to talk.’

  ‘We can do that when you get back.’

  ‘I’ll be gone for a month. Beresford brought you here, didn’t he? I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘We can find somewhere private and get it over with now.’

  ‘I don’t want Garcia to think we’re sneaking around his golf club. And Nate’s got the rest of the night off. It’s late, I’d have to drive to your house anyway.’

  ‘Why? You’ve made it clear it’s unlikely I’m in danger.’

  ‘I sleep better knowing it for sure.’

  ‘Careful, Tor. You sound like a spy.’

  ‘Let Beresford know what’s happening, and say goodnight to Garcia.’ His voice hardens. ‘I’ll wait at the steps to the carpark.’ He gives me a fake smile. ‘To allay suspicion we might be together.’

  Five minutes later, when I hold onto the railing and walk sideways down the steps, he doesn’t offer to help. And after he opens the car door he watches, hands by his sides, as I lower myself onto the seat.

  He growls. ‘Take those fucking boots off.’

  ‘No.’

  He doesn’t speak as we turn onto the freeway, and I have nothing to say. The radio is tuned to a news station. I yawn, and lean my head against the backrest. I close my eyes.

  CHAPTER

  23