by Janet Gover
‘Good boy.’ Liz bent over to vigorously rub his neck.
The horse suddenly lifted his head, staring up the bank. His body quivered as another horse appeared. It was a brown gelding with all the hallmarks of Willowbrook bloodlines somewhere in his breeding. Liz, however, could only see the man on its back. He sat the horse as if the two were one, his back straight, his body lean and fit. His face was hidden in the shadow of his broad-brimmed hat, but she didn’t need to see his face. She knew only too well who this was: the man who owned this lost piece of Willowbrook.
It seemed the day could get worse after all.
He saw her and raised an arm in greeting. He began to turn his horse’s head in her direction, but Liz didn’t wait. She turned her mount towards the creek. This time the horse hesitated, and she forcefully pushed him forward as a feeling of near panic swept over her. He gave a small leap into the water, plunging through and out the other side. She urged him up the creek bank and into a canter, telling herself she was training her colt, not running away from a man and her memories.
Liz was still disturbed when she arrived at the homestead. She dismounted and gave the colt a really good rub down before putting him into the round yard. The horse trotted easily in a circle, tossing his head, his movements strong and smooth. He had the look of his sire, Apollo, when he was a young horse. That seemed such a long time ago. When she and the man from the other side of the creek were both young and no shadows lay between them. When the future seemed full of promise.
She heard the sound of a car engine. Now she was about to find out if the future still held any promise. If Liz had ever wanted to run and hide, this was the moment. But delaying the inevitable wasn’t going to help.
She heard two car doors slam.
The woman who got out of the passenger seat was tall and blonde and beautiful, as out of place at a horse stud as Liz would have been in a nightclub. Her figure-hugging dress belonged in a fashion show, not in the bush, and her heels were even worse. Liz felt her hackles rising. What had Kayla been thinking, bringing a stranger to Willowbrook when they had serious decisions to make about the future?
The woman looked around. She paused as she took in the old fountain in front of the house, which hadn’t worked in a decade. What use was it to spend time repairing a fountain when there were horses to exercise and fences to fix? The woman’s inspection continued, examining the front of the house, looking at the view across the valley, until finally her gaze came to rest on Liz.
Liz felt suddenly exposed, as if this well-groomed and beautiful woman could see every line on her face, every smear of dirt on her faded jeans and work shirt. More than that, she felt as if the woman could see the desperation in her heart and the terrible fear that she was about to lose everything she loved.
As always, feeling cornered brought out the fighter in her. As she had so many times in the past, Liz turned her anger on her sister.
‘Kayla? I thought we were going to have a proper family discussion. Just the two of us.’
‘Liz, this is Pascale Bonet—my friend and boss and business partner. Pascale, my sister, Liz.’
‘It’s good to meet you.’
When Liz reluctantly took the offered hand, she couldn’t help but notice how coarse her skin looked next to Pascale’s. How chipped and broken her nails were. Her hands looked like the hands of a workman. Pascale had the hands of a lady, and judging by the rings she wore, a rich lady.
‘I know you weren’t expecting me.’ Pascale’s voice was deep and rich and cultured. ‘And I certainly don’t wish to intrude. But I was interested to see the property where Kayla grew up. I hope you don’t mind.’
‘Come in.’ Liz led the way to the back of the house, not pausing to see if either of her guests followed.
Once inside, she busied herself making tea without bothering to ask if they wanted any. She needed a few moments to get herself together. As she dropped tea bags into mugs, she was conscious of Kayla showing her companion through the disused rooms on the ground floor of the house. It had been months, maybe years, since Liz had used some of those rooms, and she hadn’t cleaned them more than once or twice in the same period. She shuddered at the thought of Pascale’s judgemental eyes on the faded curtains and unpolished wood and she silently cursed Kayla for bringing the woman here. Then she heard footsteps on the grand staircase leading to the upper floor. Those rooms, she knew, were in even worse condition. She should feel ashamed. She would, if she didn’t prefer to feel angry at the intrusion.
When the two of them reappeared, Liz just wanted to get this visit over and done with.
‘Kayla—shall we get down to it?’
‘I’ll excuse myself,’ Pascale said. ‘I’d like to wander around the outside, if that’s all right.’
‘Don’t go to the stables or open any gates.’ Liz didn’t care if that sounded rude.
‘Of course not. I only want to look around the outside of the homestead.’
The door had barely closed behind her when Liz rounded on her sister. ‘You’re trying to sell the place to her? Without even asking me? Well, you can stop wasting your time and hers. I am not selling.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’ Kayla pulled out a chair, dropped her bag on the table and took out a familiar folder. ‘Pascale wouldn’t want this place. But selling it may be your only option.’
With the words finally spoken, Liz felt as if the ground had dropped out from beneath her. She sat opposite Kayla. ‘Okay. Tell me everything.’
Everything was as bad as she had expected.
‘There must be some cuts you can make,’ Kayla said as they stared at the spreadsheet she had prepared. ‘This column shows expenses that can’t be reduced—loan payments, rates and so forth. What about the stud costs—vets, feed bills? Competition costs. Are there significant cuts you can make there?’
‘I’ve already made all the cuts I can. The horses have to be fed. We’ve had three years of bad drought and hay has to be brought up from South Australia. It’s expensive. Prices have more than doubled. And I have to get out there and show the horses. Those competitions are my marketing tool. If I’m not out there, I’m going to have trouble selling the young horses.’
‘Can you reduce the number of horses?’
‘I’ve only got ten mares left. That’s really not enough as it is. And a couple of them are getting on. I don’t know how many more seasons I’ll get out of them.’
‘Can you get more income from agistment?’
‘Not without a stallion to attract breeding mares.’
‘Then you need another stallion.’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Liz didn’t even try to keep the frustration out of her voice. ‘But I can’t afford to buy one.’
‘Is there one of Apollo’s colts you can replace him with?’
‘Maybe.’ Liz sighed as anger gave way to resignation. ‘I have one promising colt, but he’s just a three-year-old. It’ll be a couple of years before he can make a big enough name for himself to attract many outside mares.’
‘Then you’re going to have to sell land. Try to clear some of the loan and refinance it so payments are lower.’
‘No. I can’t. If I sell any more land, this place will be too small. It will never ever be successful again.’
‘Then it’s very likely the bank will take the place. You’ll be left with nothing.’
Liz struggled to take the next breath. And the one after that. It wasn’t as if this was a surprise; she’d figured it out herself weeks ago, even before the bank manager’s visit. But somewhere deep inside she had clung to a tiny hope that her sister, with her expensive degree and her years of working in the city, might come up with a solution.
‘I’m sorry, Liz. I don’t know what else to suggest.’
‘I do,’ Pascale said as she walked back into the room.
Liz felt her hackles rise. ‘This is a family matter. It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘You’re right, of course. It
isn’t. I’ll just go back to Sydney and when the bank takes this place away from you, you’ll always wonder if my plan could have saved it.’
CHAPTER
9
‘I’m sorry?’ Liz turned to Pascale.
Kayla knew that tone and resisted the urge to slide her chair away from the table to duck Liz’s anger. During the past few days, she’d watched Pascale staring at her computer and making notes. While she was sure Pascale was here to offer her moral support if she needed it, she was equally sure that her boss had other things on her mind. And she knew her sister well enough to know how she was likely to react. Kayla decided her best course was to say nothing and let her boss do what she did best.
‘Please forgive me,’ Pascale said as she sat on a spare chair and placed an iPad on the table. ‘As you know, I own Elite Weddings. It’s a high-end wedding planning business. Kayla and I work with top designers and caterers and photographers to provide very specific and exclusive services for people who want the very best and are wealthy enough to pay for it.’
Pascale paused to give Liz a chance to comment. When none was forthcoming, she continued as if there was no tension in the air. ‘There’s a growing demand for rural weddings. Not only from my Sydney clients, but also from overseas clients looking for a unique wedding experience. This area has most of the services we’d need. There are wineries and plenty of accommodation nearby. There’s an airfield for private planes. This homestead is perfect. It needs a lot of work, of course, but the basics are all there.’
‘This isn’t a party venue. It’s a working horse stud.’
‘But it’s not working any more, is it?’
Pascale’s words seemed to echo around the room. Kayla waited for Liz to explode. But she didn’t. Instead, her sister dropped her eyes and her shoulders slumped. That, more than any of the accounts sheets and bank statements, told Kayla just how bad things were. Part of her wanted to tell Pascale to stop, to leave Liz alone. But deep inside, she knew Pascale was right, and Liz needed to know that too.
The silence lengthened uncomfortably.
Pascale got to her feet. ‘Let me show you what I mean.’
Without a word, Liz stood up. Kayla joined them as Pascale led them through the kitchen door into the main part of the house. She stopped in the entrance hall, a broad space that featured a lovely curved staircase.
‘The downstairs will be the focus of the public area. The front veranda and this lovely entrance will provide all-weather areas for arrivals and drinks and canapés. This staircase to the upper floor is beautiful. Fabulous photo opportunity. This room …’ Pascale swung a door open.
‘Is my office,’ Liz snapped.
‘Which can be moved upstairs,’ Pascale continued smoothly, ‘leaving this as the groom’s retreat. The room on the other side of the entrance will make a lovely bride’s retreat. We’ll set up one room upstairs as the bride’s dressing room for those who want to make their grand entrance down the stairs. Those who can’t manage that in heels will use the downstairs room.’
‘Do I still get a room somewhere?’
Ignoring Liz, Pascale carried on. ‘This ballroom was an unexpected bonus.’
Kayla watched as the door swung open to what had been the family room when she was growing up. She’d never thought of it as a ballroom, but it could easily be that. It was large enough, with a high, embossed ceiling and arched windows at the far end. The floor was covered with a thin layer of dust but Kayla could remember a time when the timbers glowed with a rich golden sheen.
Pascale continued to outline her vision as she led the way upstairs. Kayla hadn’t climbed these stairs for years. Nor, it seemed, had Liz. As she focussed on the rooms that were at once familiar and yet so distant, Kayla began to see the neglect. A picture hanging at an angle. A pile of papers, the edges curling with age, sitting on the top of a bookshelf. The dull timber of the bookcases, which their mother had kept so beautifully polished. Dust had invaded every corner.
‘Liz, do you ever come up here any more?’
‘What do you mean? Of course I do.’ As she’d followed Pascale through the house, Liz’s back had become straighter and her face harder.
‘When? You eat, work and sleep downstairs. Do you use the utility room shower as well?’
‘I know it’s a bit dusty, but after a full day’s work outside I have to do office work as well. I don’t have time to come up here and fuss. And I certainly don’t have the money to pay someone else to.’
‘That’s no real problem.’ Pascale stepped in. ‘Now, I had imagined this to be the upstairs bride’s room.’
She pushed the door open and Kayla’s breath caught in her throat. This largest of the upstairs rooms had been their parents’ bedroom. For a few moments she saw it through her memories, the lace curtains and hand-sewn quilt on the bed where she had taken shelter on stormy nights. She thought she caught a whiff of her mother’s perfume and the pain came rushing back. But it lasted only a second as she saw the reality: a few pieces of bare furniture and dust motes dancing in the sunlight that streamed through a gap in the curtains, now grey with age. No visible trace remained of the people who had once lived and laughed and loved here.
Without a word, Liz spun on her heel and marched down the stairs. Kayla stood with Pascale and heard the back door open and then slam shut.
‘Where has she gone?’ Pascale asked.
‘Where she always goes when she’s upset: to the stables. She’ll come back when she cools off.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think she’d react that way. I thought she’d be pleased at the chance of saving the place.’
Kayla waved her concerns away. ‘It’s a shock to her, that’s all. Come to think of it, it’s a shock to me too. But I have a better idea of what you’re talking about. I don’t know if Liz has ever even been to a wedding.’
‘How can someone in her thirties never have been to a wedding? There must have been school friends. Or relatives.’
‘We don’t have any close relatives. Of course there were friends. But after our parents died, Liz distanced herself … from everyone. Including me.’ Kayla heard the edge in her voice. Even after all these years. That was surprising, but it was also a place she didn’t want to go right now. ‘So, I get the picture. Are you able to talk details yet? Exactly what are you planning and how is it going to be financed?’
‘Based on what you’ve told me, I’ll finance the refurb. We will do it in phases. The first phase will allow us to run a couple of smaller events to test the water. Then we’ll use the profit from that to do the next phase.’
‘How is that going to help Liz’s situation?’
‘I’ll take over the interest on the loan for a specified time, to be paid back from event profits. Once we’re square with that, Liz will start taking a share of profits.’
Kayla was well acquainted with Pascale’s business practices and knew those profits would be considerable. Although scrupulously honest, Pascale was a tough negotiator. Liz would do all right out of the deal. It might just be enough to save Willowbrook, and none of this would interfere with the horse stud. Liz could keep working to resurrect that.
‘Hopefully Liz will see sense when we’ve had a chance to talk.’
‘You own half the place. Don’t you get a say?’
That was a question Kayla didn’t want to answer. Technically, she did have a say, but Liz had considered Willowbrook hers for so long, Kayla didn’t feel comfortable asserting her right of ownership. Liz wasn’t going to give up control of the homestead easily. Not to Kayla and not even to save it.
CHAPTER
10
The night sky above Willowbrook is inky velvet; the stars bright embers that seem almost close enough to touch. Liz and Kayla are standing with their mother on the stone steps that sweep down from the front of the house to the curved driveway. In the grassy centre of the driveway is a fountain where three stone horses dance around a central pillar. In the stillness of the night, they
can hear the splashing. Water is a precious commodity, and the fountain is seldom turned on, but this is a special occasion.
A blanket has been spread on the grass, ready for a late-night picnic. Liz is surprised to see candles. According to her father, fire is a dangerous thing in the bush, or around horses. She is about to say something when she sees that the little candles are all inside glass jars. That looks safe enough. Of course Kath Lawson would do the right thing.
Kayla walks carefully down the stairs, her eyes fixed on the plate she is carrying. There’s a cake on the plate, chocolate, with the words ‘Happy Birthday’ written on the top in icing. The words are a bit wobbly, as if the hand that wrote them was young and not familiar with the art of writing—with icing or with anything else. It’s the first cake Kayla has ever made. Her mother helped, but Kayla had carefully followed the handwritten instructions in Kath’s recipe book. She’s so very proud of the results.
Lizzie’s hands are full too. She’s carrying four plates with a pile of cutlery on top of them. Their mother is carrying the esky, into which she has placed Champagne for the adults and lemonade for the girls.
The three of them surround the blanket and place their burdens on the ground. There are presents already on the blanket, each gaily wrapped.
‘Now, who wants to get your father?’
‘Me!’
‘Of course, Lizzie. You go and get your dad, while Kayla and I make sure everything is ready here.’
In a trice Lizzie is gone, running into the house to the office where Sam has been tactfully ‘working’ this evening.
‘Mum, let’s put the cake here, with candles around it.’ Kayla starts laying out the picnic. ‘Then you and Dad can sit here, and Lizzie and I will sit there. The presents should be here, next to the cake.’
‘That’s a lovely idea.’
Kayla beams. She loves hearing praise from her mother. When she grows up, she wants to be like Kath, who is beautiful and clever and makes wonderful cakes.
