On the Right Track Page 23

‘Why not? You can barely walk.’ He thumps his fist on the stable wall. ‘What the fuck have you been up to?’ I turn my back, scoop up the buckets and fumble with the stable door latch. When he moves behind me the hairs on my neck stand on end.

  ‘I asked you a question,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll be fine by the time we go to Bowral.’

  ‘Golden, tell me what happened.’

  He says my name with a drawn out O, and an E with the perfect amount of emphasis for a native English speaker. He doesn’t care that I like the other way he says my name. I shouldn’t care about that either.

  I turn and face him. ‘I rode too hard.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘It won’t happen again for a while. I’m taking Pepper to Solomon. She’s going to a stallion he knows, hopefully she’ll have a foal next year.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Why are you here? I don’t think you came all this way to let me know the travel and accommodation arrangements for next weekend. Or to feed my horses.’

  He follows me to the tack room where I turn off the stable lights. Then he stares at me through the shadows. I’m wearing jeans and a thin woollen jumper. It’s grey, with a loose V-neck. My black bra strap shows. I cross my arms over my chest.

  A flock of cockatoos fly overhead, a screeching mass of white. Tor waits until they’ve gone.

  ‘I wanted to make things clear,’ he says. ‘Garcia has to believe we’re together.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘That’s all it can be between us. An act.’

  I don’t feel any pain when I push past him and walk towards the house. I’m numb all over. My voice is cold like his.

  ‘We’ve had this conversation before, a couple of times. I don’t expect anything else.’

  He falls into step beside me. ‘You don’t play fair.’

  ‘You’ve already told me that too.’

  ‘I don’t play games.’

  ‘Yes you do!’ He stops when I do. ‘You’re always acting. You accuse me of not communicating, but you hide your feelings, your emotions, almost all the time.’

  ‘You hide the truth.’

  ‘I don’t! I just refuse to tell you things I don’t want you to know.’

  ‘So all we can do is pretend.’

  He’s right. All we can do is pretend.

  CHAPTER

  34

  Grandpa admired every species of wattle and all the different flower types, but he particularly liked them in August because that was the month of my birthday. I told him once that the flowers looked much better in September and October, when the trees were in full bloom.

  ‘That’s not the way I see it,’ he said. ‘In August they’re tightly furled and full of potential.’

  Now it’s October, the wattles that grow at the side of the road are every shade of yellow—from buttery cream to gold to saffron. I’m on my way to Mattie’s house. She lives fifteen minutes away and has offered to keep an eye on Fudge and Seashell while I’m in Bowral, so I’m dropping off the house keys. Early tomorrow morning I’ll take Pepper to Solomon’s stables, work at the hospital until lunchtime and then drive home. Tor and Nate will pick me up at three.

  Mattie and I sit at the outdoor setting in her garden, drinking coffee. Harrison is fast asleep in my arms. Elka wheels a doll’s pram between the table and the washing line. Every once in a while she sits next to me, lifts her T-shirt and pretends to feed her doll.

  ‘He’s veeery hungry,’ she says. ‘A very hungry boy!’

  ‘Such smooth taking, Elka. Great work. It’s lucky for your baby that you know how to care for him so well.’

  ‘Have you spoken with your mother about the sale?’ Mattie says.

  Harrison’s body is warm in the crook of my arm. He’s wearing a tiny blue hoodie with matching bloomers, and looks like a gumnut baby.

  ‘The weird thing is,’ I pull Harrison’s little white socks up, ‘her part in this hurts less than Eric’s.’

  ‘He knew how much you loved your home.’

  ‘All my mother could see was its connection to my father.’

  ‘They don’t know what they’ve lost.’

  A grey gum shelters us from the sun. Its silvery trunk is smooth; the branches extend for metres. I stretch out my leg. Then look up through the leaf canopy at the cloudless blue sky. Mattie offers me a bowl of rockmelon, and I take a slice.

  ‘You’re lucky to have this tree, Mattie, to shade the house and garden.’

  ‘But nothing grows under it, not even grass. Elka gets filthy when she plays out here.’

  ‘It’s part of growing up, playing in the dirt.’

  Mattie laughs. ‘When you have your own children, you’ll get sick of cleaning them up. Have a chat with Tor about that, over the weekend.’

  When I jump to my feet, I startle Harrison. His blue eyes spring open. His bottom lip quivers.

  ‘Oh, baby, I’m sorry.’ I rock him until he sleeps again. Mattie looks stricken, as if she’s said something terrible. Why did I react like that? It’s not like I’ve ever thought of Tor in terms of happily-ever-afters. I give her a wooden smile.

  ‘I didn’t mean to upset you,’ she says.

  ‘You didn’t do anything wrong. I’d like to have children but … it’s not like that with Tor.’

  ‘You’re barely twenty-seven.’ She shoves the melon in my direction again. ‘I shouldn’t be hassling you about men, let alone motherhood. At your age I was backpacking, traipsing round Europe.’

  When Harrison stirs again, I hold him against my chest and speak through his fluffy white hair. ‘I have plenty of time, don’t I, Harry?’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Mattie says. ‘But I still can’t believe you gave Tor’s present back. What sort of woman does something like that?’

  ‘He brings out the unpleasantness in me. He thinks I’m dishonest.’

  ‘In that case he doesn’t know you, or deserve you.’

  Maybe he knows me far too well. ‘I might have to go out with your brother after all, if he’ll have me.’

  ‘He’s laidback, non-demanding, like Leo. You’d get on well.’

  Would we? When what I want is a Norwegian linguist spy? To dance with me in a stable yard and take my breath away.

  It’s barely dawn when Solomon and I face each other under a hanging basket of red geraniums. Pepper, flighty like she was when I took her to the track at Randwick, stands uneasily by my side. Her head is held high and her ears are pricked. She’s making eyes at Harlequin, the horse that won the Melbourne Cup. A strapper leads him up and down the stable yard. I grudgingly thrust Pepper’s lead rope into Solomon’s hands.

  ‘If she doesn’t like the stallion, don’t you dare do it,’ I say.

  Solomon rolls his eyes. ‘The stallion is Harlequin’s sire.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean Pepper will like him.’

  Besides muttering under his breath, Solomon ignores what I’ve said.

  I know Pepper will be taken care of and the stud manager won’t want to harm his stallion or her, so they’ll wait until she’s ready to receive him, but that doesn’t stop me worrying.

  ‘I wish I could be there, that’s all,’ I say.

  ‘She’ll be handled with kid gloves, Gumnut. They wouldn’t dare do otherwise because I’ve told them to treat her like she was one of mine.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Is that a thankyou?’

  ‘Don’t push your luck. You’re going to Bowral tomorrow, aren’t you?’

  ‘We’re taking two of my young ones down. And I’ll be keeping my eye on some others. Why?’

  ‘I’m going down tonight, with Tor Amundsen. Might see you at the track I guess.’

  ‘Amundsen’s still here then? I read about what happened in Hong Kong, the crooks they picked up. It’s a good thing for the industry.’

  ‘Crooks like Grandpa, you mean?’

  ‘Give it a rest, Gumnut. John was a fool, nothing worse.’

  ‘He was treated like a
criminal.’

  ‘It was a long time ago.’

  ‘So?’ I run my hands over Pepper’s neck and thread my fingers through her mane. ‘I’d better get to work.’

  Sol looks at his watch. ‘At five in the morning?’

  ‘I have paperwork to get through because I have to leave early. Tor and I are going to a party at Alessandro Garcia’s tonight.’

  ‘You’re … Is Amundsen like a boyfriend, then?’

  Tor said all we can do is pretend. I rest my face against Pepper’s nose. It’s soft and velvety.

  ‘That’s right.’

  Sol doesn’t say a word until I look up. ‘There’s a lot of gossip around here, Gumnut, can’t miss hearing some of it. Amundsen has a reputation with women. Women different to you.’

  ‘Different to me?’ Lawyers, actresses, human rights advocates. ‘Are you taking my horse, or not?’

  He slowly shakes his head, and then leads Pepper away.

  CHAPTER

  35

  Tor, grim and unsmiling, watches me walk down the porch steps towards the car. Nate grabs me in a bear hug and spins me around.

  ‘Golden! I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I thought I’d finally got rid of you. Hey! Careful of my hair, I straightened it.’

  Nate puts me down and grins. Then takes my bag and puts it into the boot. ‘You haven’t got much luggage.’

  ‘It’s only one night. And I’m dressed for tonight already, more or less.’

  My long denim shirt falls well past my bottom and covers much of my dress. I’m wearing sneakers with my tights. It will take a few hours to drive to the Southern Highlands, so I’ll put my boots on later.

  Tor is dressed in a white shirt and suit trousers—his tie and jacket must be in the boot. He barely meets my eye when he opens the front passenger door.

  ‘I’ll sit in the back and doze,’ I say. ‘I was up before three.’

  ‘Won’t it be more comfortable in the front? The seat reclines.’

  ‘There’ll be more leg room for Nate if I sit in the back.’

  ‘Very well.’

  Even before the freeway I’m struggling to keep my eyes open. Nate is telling Tor about an ice hockey final he played at college and Tor is responding in monosyllables—there’s a news station on the radio and I think he’s trying to listen to that. I take my sneakers off and curl my legs up on the seat, then carefully twist my hair to one side so it doesn’t get untidy. I think I’ve fallen asleep in Tor’s car every time I’ve been in it. When Nate turns and asks what’s happening with my horses while I’m away, I drag my eyes open. ‘Pepper with Solomon, Fudge with Mattie,’ I mumble.

  ‘Golden?’ Tor is sitting next to me on the back seat of the car, and his hand is touching mine. The car’s not moving and the door on his side is open. When I yawn and pull my hand away to cover my mouth, Tor sits up straighter. His jacket is on and so is his tie, navy with silver swirls.

  ‘What time is it?’ My voice is groggy.

  ‘Going on six.’

  ‘What? I slept the whole way?’ My leg has stiffened up and I struggle to unbend it. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘In the town.’ He glances at my sneakers on the floor. ‘Nate and I will have a drink at the hotel while you get ready. There’s a bathroom off the foyer.’

  I shake my head, trying to wake up. ‘The party has already started, hasn’t it?’

  He shrugs. ‘That doesn’t matter. We can make an entrance.’

  Suddenly I’m wide awake. ‘No! I’d hate that.’

  He stills for a moment. ‘I’ll be with you,’ he says. ‘And you’re not afraid of Garcia, are you?’

  ‘No, just of making an entrance.’

  When he smiles it warms his eyes and softens his mouth. But within a heartbeat he’s back to being serious. He reaches for my sneakers, putting them on the seat.

  ‘I’ll get your bag,’ he says.

  By the time I walk out of the hotel bathroom, Tor and Nate are sitting at a table, finishing off their soft drinks. They stand when they see me. A few men gathered at the bar glance my way too. It’s impossible to work out what Tor is thinking—he looks right through me. Nate whistles under his breath.

  My dress, reminiscent of an old-fashioned ballet tutu, has shoestring straps and a low V-neck, with a pale silver bodice that clings to my breasts. The dove grey skirt is softest tulle; it hangs from my hips and falls almost to my knees. When I walk it floats around my legs.

  I perch on the end of the chair and focus on my grey velvet boots. They’re ankle length and the heels are low.

  ‘Stop staring at me, Nate. I have to dress up.’

  He smiles and touches my hair where it rests on my shoulder. ‘You’re a ballerina from Swan Lake.’

  Tor bangs his glass on the table. ‘I thought you didn’t want to make an entrance.’

  I frown. ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Do you have a jacket?’

  ‘My coat is on the back seat.’

  Alessandro Garcia’s country estate—a sprawling house with hectares of gardens—is on the outskirts of town. White iceberg roses and dark green box hedges form neat grid patterns on either side of the driveway. Cars are parked end-to-end all the way to the house so Tor parks on the road. Nate opens the door and takes my arm.

  Whatever Tor sees in my expression as I’m shrugging into my coat makes his brows draw together in a frown.

  ‘What now?’ I say.

  He dips his head like he’s going to say something, but then another car parks behind us. When the occupants pile out, talking and laughing, Tor reaches for my hand.

  So now it’s time to pretend? The sleeves of my worn black coat are much too long. He searches through the fabric and when he locates the tips of my fingers he burrows some more until he’s holding my hand tightly in his. If we’re only acting, why does his touch warm me all over? Why does my heart beat more quickly?

  I take a shuddering breath. And then we walk. Nate is on my other side. He smiles encouragingly every so often.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he says. ‘Hope we get proper food. You hungry?’

  My words run together. ‘I hate it when they serve canapés on porcelain spoons. There’s too much to eat all at once, especially when you’re not sure what it is.’

  Nate laughs. ‘Spoons are preferable to prawns on sticks.’

  Tor slows, even though we’re only halfway up the driveway. ‘Give us a minute, Nate,’ he says, as he veers off the gravel. We face each other in front of a rose bush. There aren’t many flowers in bloom yet but there are clusters of buds on every branch. He drops my hand but hangs onto my sleeve, taking great care to neatly fold it until my wrist is visible. Then he folds the other sleeve while I stand silently and watch. Finally he looks up.

  ‘Is that better?’ he says.

  ‘I’ll take it off when we get to the house.’

  He speaks quietly. ‘You’re beautiful, Golden, just like Nate said. I should have told you that earlier. You took my words away.’

  ‘In all five of your languages?’ I cross my arms over my chest. ‘I know what you’re doing, trying to make me feel better. Am I pale? Do you think I’m going to embarrass you? Or be too stupid to help you?’

  His jaw tightens. ‘No.’

  ‘Parties aren’t my thing, that’s why I’m nervous. But I’ll be okay when we get there. What are we going to say to Alessandro? Are you finally ready to talk about that, now that we’re standing at the bottom of his garden?’

  He frowns. ‘I asked Marc senior what happened with the race fix in the year you were born. He said he didn’t know anything, and so did Solomon. I believed them. They had no idea about your grandfather’s bank account either, until it got into the press. They didn’t know why your grandfather was being paid, or who was paying him. But they’re hiding something, both of them. As is Garcia.’

  ‘Garcia is hiding plenty of things. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘The fact he pretended he didn’t know your father doesn’
t mean he’s aware of what went on twenty-seven years ago, or afterwards.’

  ‘But his evidence to the Racing Board about the race was dodgy, wasn’t it?’

  ‘If you mean it was inconsistent, unconvincing, then yes. There was a fair chance he knew something was up and he placed his bets accordingly. But that wasn’t enough for the board to make adverse findings against him—or anyone else.’

  ‘I’m sure he was involved, that’s why he organised the flowers for my father’s funeral.’

  ‘Your father was riding one of Garcia’s horses when he was killed. That explanation works as well.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘If I can convince Garcia I want to know about your father for personal reasons, because I’m interested in you, he might reveal something. I don’t think he’ll talk otherwise.’

  It takes a moment, but then I understand. ‘You think Garcia might tell you about my father in order to protect you? Because being with me would be bad for your squeaky clean image, your reputation? Is that what you’re getting at?’

  Tor reaches for my hand. My fingers are stiff, tense. He sighs as he loosens them and threads them through his. He glances at Nate and then meets my gaze.

  ‘We’d better go.’ His face is in shadow because the sun is going down but I can tell by the way he articulates his words that he’s clenching his jaw. ‘Just follow my lead.’

  We walk in silence towards the security men who stand at the top of the steps leading to the house. They’re black-suited and solidly built, lined up shoulder to shoulder like soldiers at a palace. After they’ve checked our names, I deposit my coat in the cloakroom and we’re directed to a well-lit side path. It leads to a patio that runs the entire length of the back of the house. We stand to one side of the scores of guests, between a pergola post festooned with orange bougainvillea and an outdoor heater. The landscaped back gardens are just as orderly as those in the front. Lights illuminate the bright green foliage of liquid amber trees and the new spring growth of crimson sentry maples. Oriental pear trees with spent white blossoms line a path to a gazebo at the bottom of the garden.

  Tor squeezes my hand and then relinquishes it. He nods in the direction of the bar. It’s been set up in a marquee on the edge of the lawn. Some of the tables hold glasses, others are laden with bottles in ice buckets.