On the Right Track Page 28

  ‘Golden—’

  ‘You’re going to New York next week, aren’t you? And to goodness knows where after that.’

  ‘My assignment is over. I have to report to the UN Committee.’

  ‘You didn’t want to leave loose ends. You didn’t need to know about my father because you already had your evidence against him, but you had to reassure yourself Grandpa wasn’t too bad—even though I’ve been telling you that all year. Eric said you agreed with his decision to sell my home. Is that true?’

  ‘He shouldn’t have done it in the way he did.’

  I walk towards him until I’m so close I have to tip my head back to look into his eyes. ‘Answer my question.’

  The graze above his lip is red against the whiteness around it. I can see the movements of the pulse at his jaw.

  ‘That part of your life,’ he says, ‘it’s over.’

  My throat is thick with tears. ‘I loved my home.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘How can you?’ I hiccup twice, and force my words out. ‘You don’t even have a home.’

  He dips his head and then we’re even closer. I don’t think he dares to touch me. My legs are unsteady and my hands flutter like butterflies. I wanted to trust him. I wanted him to love me.

  ‘We haven’t talked about us.’ His voice is low and gruff. ‘Don’t go.’

  I close my eyes tightly and take a few backwards steps. Then I turn abruptly and bump into Nate. He puts a hand on my shoulder. His chest is broad and safe.

  ‘Let her go,’ Tor says.

  ‘She’s exhausted,’ Nate says. ‘She’s had the party, the fight, Tomas and Eric. And God only knows what you did with her last night.’

  ‘Get your hand off her.’

  ‘What are you, a caveman? Listen to yourself. Give her time to think.’

  I swipe tears away as I walk up the staircase with Nate. When I hold out my hand and ask for the car key, he gives it to me.

  ‘Tor’s not himself,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll drive to the city and leave the key with one of Eric’s staff at Parliament House. I can get a train and buses home.’

  It takes a while to work out how to adjust the seat and let off the hand brake, but eventually I leave the carpark and drive onto the road. An hour later, when my tears blur the road markings, I pull over. Everything about this car reminds me of Tor—dark, masculine, uncompromising. When I search in the glove box there are no tissues, just a torch, so I scramble in my bag for a T-shirt and wipe my nose and eyes. When I look up I see a paperbark tree on the other side of the road.

  ‘Melaleuca quinquenervia. Leukos for white and Melas for black.’ I murmur the words Grandpa taught me when I was too young to pronounce them. After we’d run our fingers over the soft papery bark, he squatted next to me and pointed to a low-hanging branch. ‘Look at the seed pods,’ he said, ‘and the creamy white flowers.’

  I take a shuddering breath. Tor said that part of my life is over. How can it be? When I have no idea who I am without it?

  CHAPTER

  40

  I wake at three on Wednesday morning, my mind a maelstrom of thoughts. Last week, Alessandro gave Tor a business card. He’d written something on the back, and I think he’d used a fountain pen. I’ve seen that writing before, even the colour of the ink. The writing wasn’t the scratchy scrawl on the racing guide. It was …

  Just after my father died, Grandpa received a card. It was made of thickly embossed white cardboard and the front was emblazoned with a shimmering gold cross. Grandpa wasn’t religious but he kept it on the mantelpiece for months. It wasn’t in the documents he kept above the ceiling. Could he have put it somewhere else?

  The hall light disturbs Seashell. She wanders out of my office, blinking and stretching, as I walk towards the living room. My grandmother died well before I was born, but Grandpa kept her delicate cups and saucers, and her other precious things, in the dresser in the living room. I find the cards in the third drawer. All are from me to Grandpa except one. The cardboard has yellowed but the gold cross is as shiny as I remembered. The card isn’t signed, but I recognise the writing. The ink is royal blue.

  Many years ago James gave me a gift. It was a gift in the true sense, selfless and priceless. Everything I have—my reputation, my family, my life—I owe to him.

  I told Tor that Alessandro didn’t attend Dad’s funeral, but he organised the flowers for the church—the yellows and golds and pinks and reds. He also wrote a card.

  A large white car rolls slowly down the driveway as I walk up the path from the stables. Eric climbs out of the passenger seat. It been years since he was here. The driver pulls into a shady spot near the bottlebrush tree, covered in bright crimson flowers.

  Eric watches me climb through the railing and into the garden. ‘Good morning, Golden.’

  ‘Is Ange all right?’

  Eric takes off his suit jacket and hangs it over his arm. ‘Angelina is well.’

  She’s been leaving voicemails. I’m sorry I laughed when you told me what happened with Ashleigh. My sister knows I’d defend her no matter what, so she should be more careful when choosing the men she falls in love with. Tor leaves voicemails too. I want to hear your voice. I haven’t returned his calls either.

  ‘What do you want?’ I say.

  ‘Can we go inside?’ Eric says. ‘I have something to say to you.’

  ‘I have appointments all day. The first one’s at eight.’

  Even though it’s early morning, it’s warm in the sunshine. Eric moves his jacket from one arm to the other and fans his face with his hand.

  ‘I won’t keep you long,’ he says. ‘I left you a message.’

  ‘I never listen to your messages.’

  He follows me as I walk through the house, standing back as I pour glasses of water from the kitchen tap. I push the handle of the creaking flyscreen door with my elbow on the way through to the verandah. When I pass a glass to Eric, he puts it on the low table and sits on the edge of an old wicker chair. I thread tendrils of climbing banksia rose around the upright post near the steps—the tiny buds will open soon, forming sprays of scented flowers.

  ‘Why did you come here?’ I say.

  Eric looks up from his hands, neatly folded on his lap. ‘I know about the money Angelina gave to Ferguson.’

  ‘Did Tor tell you?’

  ‘No, it was Angelina. But I spoke with Tor last night. He told me you kept it quiet in order to protect me.’

  ‘It’ll upset Angelina if you get into trouble. Will you?’

  ‘Tor traced the money. It went to a gambling venture based in Macau—not entirely reputable, but not illegal either. There was no association with your father.’

  ‘You won’t have to declare it?’

  ‘I’ll have the details quietly tabled in parliament. There would have been a fuss if I were staying on for another term, but … I’m not too concerned.’

  ‘Angelina will be happy about that.’

  ‘Why did you lie?’

  There are so many lies. ‘What about?’

  ‘Six years ago Angelina told me she’d given you the money and you’d bought an interest in a racehorse. This morning she said you’d told her to say that.’

  ‘She was sick with worry. And you always think the worst of me anyway.’

  ‘And why would that be?’ He sighs and shakes his head. ‘You didn’t say a word when I added fifty thousand to the money you owed me. You didn’t even tell Angelina what I’d done. I’ll repay it, of course.’ He shades his eyes with his hand. ‘Can you sit down? I’m looking into the sun.’

  I glance at my watch as I sit on the chair opposite. ‘You have five minutes left.’

  He takes a sip of water and carefully returns the glass to the table. He searches my face. ‘Your mother was only twenty-two when we announced our engagement, and I was substantially older. When she told me she was expecting a baby, I couldn’t have been happier.’

  ‘Until you worked ou
t I might not be yours.’

  ‘Emily was unwell before your birth, you know that. And afterwards? We thought you had the greatest chance of happiness living with John. He was smitten with you from the moment you were born, even before.’

  ‘He didn’t care whether I was James’s child or not. Mum didn’t feel the same way.’

  Eric flushes. Every time I see him he looks older. I wrap my arms around my middle and lower my voice.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that. You were right to do what you did, and so was Mum. My greatest chance of happiness was living with Grandpa. I was loved unconditionally. I was happy.’

  Eric reaches for his glass but changes his mind, placing his hands in his lap again. ‘There are other matters too, things I should have told you many years ago.’

  He waits until I put my glass on the table and look up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘When we were at Bowral, you accused me of refusing to find out the truth, suggesting I should have asked more questions when your grandfather came to see me about the money. I’m ashamed to say that you were right. I wasn’t aware of your grandfather’s machinations with Solomon, Marc senior and Alessandro, but I knew enough of John to appreciate how unlikely it was that he’d be knowingly involved in criminal activity. My failure to acknowledge this was unfair to him, and after his death, to you. I owe you an explanation.’

  ‘It’s too late.’

  ‘I disagree.’ He drinks from his glass before carefully placing it on the table again. ‘I was jealous, Golden, it was as simple as that. You loved your grandfather dearly. You never said a bad word against him. You even forgave him for sending you to Clovelly after your accident. You never forgave me for supposedly taking you away from him. I deeply resented your wholehearted affection for John.’

  My throat works to swallow. ‘You hated my father.’

  He slowly shakes his head. ‘I fancied I hated him at first, for the part he played in your mother’s and my distress. But that could hardly be sustained after Emily had recovered, and I had become fond of you. I had never even met the man, and soon enough the only feelings he aroused in me were the same as those provoked by your grandfather—jealousy and resentment. You and your father were never close, but you shared a number of qualities. You were both quick-witted with an independent spirit, you had a physical resemblance and an affinity with horses. It was impossible to compete.’

  I want to look away but I can’t. ‘Did you try to compete?’

  He smiles sadly. ‘I don’t know that you ever gave me the chance. But no doubt foolishly, I searched for attributes I imagined you shared with me. I took pleasure in your academic achievements, your sense of fair play, your tenaciousness.’ He raises his brows. ‘Even your intransigence, your determination to have the last word.’ He stands, but never takes his eyes from mine. ‘I love your sister dearly, Golden, but you were the daughter, you are the daughter, I always wanted too. You are principled and courageous. I’m proud of you, proud of the woman you’ve become. I thought it was time I told you that.’

  I get unsteadily to my feet, turn and grasp the railing, gulping back a sob. Then look beyond the ghost gum, the paddocks and the creek. There’s a dusting of yellow in the distance, the last of the wattle of spring. I blink back tears as I turn.

  ‘How could you sell my home, Eric?’ My voice breaks. ‘How could you?’

  ‘Your mother wanted it. And as I’ve explained before, I think this course of action is for the best, that it’s time to start again.’

  ‘I think you should go.’

  He nods stiffly and walks across the verandah, opening the creaky screen door. He hesitates on the threshold, keeping the door ajar with his foot.

  ‘Just one more thing, Golden.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I said you were courageous, I wasn’t referring to your recovery after the accident. I was referring to other strengths. You are strong like Degas’s sculptures, like Shakespeare’s Katarina. You are stronger than you know.’

  I swipe away tears as I listen to his slow and weary footfalls in the hall. I watch him step carefully off the porch and walk to the car. The driver opens his door and he slumps in the passenger seat. He reaches for his seatbelt. Our eyes meet. I couldn’t possibly see his expression from here but I sense the truth in his gaze.

  You are stronger than you know.

  I walk to my office and scan Alessandro’s card. Then I send an email.

  Tor,

  After Dad died, someone sent Grandpa a card (copy attached). It meant something special to Grandpa, but I was never sure why. I’m pretty sure the writing in the card matches the writing on the business card Alessandro gave you at Bowral.

  Exposing Alessandro won’t change anything so I hope you’ll keep this information to yourself, but I thought you should know about it anyway.

  Please stop calling. Maybe you think I’m another loose end, but I’m not. I don’t see how I could fit into your life (Alessandro’s cocktail party demonstrated that) or how you could fit into mine. My family, my gum trees, my children—that’s who I am.

  Give my love to Nate.

  Golden

  CHAPTER

  41

  I’m expecting the crunch of gravel on the driveway—though I think Sam hears it before I do. Over two weeks have passed since Eric told me I was stronger than I knew. Sam and I are playing ‘Duck Duck Goose’ in the stable yard when the truck comes into view. Sam grips my arm and pulls me down to his level so he can touch my face.

  ‘Tell me what you hear, Sam?’

  ‘Brrrmmm.’

  ‘Yes, it’s an engine. But what sort of engine? A car or a bus or something else? Tell me in words.’

  ‘It’s a truck.’

  ‘A truck makes a noise like that. Good work.’

  His hands feather over my features. ‘Happy face.’

  I laugh. ‘Yes, Sam. I’m happy because I love to hear your voice. And because Pepper is in the truck, she’s safely home.’

  ‘Pepper!’ Sam lets me go and smiles too. ‘Get Pepper out!’

  ‘Fantastic words, Sam! I know you’re excited that Pepper is home.’

  It’s difficult to keep up with Sam as he climbs through the railing and darts across the garden. He feels for his markers—the clump of clivia, the wheelbarrow filled with basil and parsley and chives, the stepping-stones, the she-oak sapling—as he races through the garden to the house.

  ‘Wait for me on the porch,’ I shout.

  Fudge whinnies behind me. I can’t see Pepper but I hear her snorting and stamping in the truck. Sam squeals with excitement.

  ‘Pepper here!’

  ‘Yes, Sam. Pepper is here. And with any luck, next year she’ll have a baby horse, a foal. Stay on the porch while I get her out of the truck.’

  Once I lose my land I’ll send Pepper back to Solomon. She’s highly strung and flighty and she’s always been stabled at night—I can’t afford to pay someone to house her like that. Not when I have to save, and then take out a mortgage. I’ll buy a tiny house and garden with a view of the bush, and keep Fudge in a paddock close by.

  I help the driver, a young guy with muscles and tatts, lower the tailgate and unload. Pepper strides down the ramp, throws back her head and whinnies. I’d saddle her if Sam weren’t here. We’d canter through the paddocks and cross the creek and then we’d gallop. I’d stop thinking about Tor for a little while, and worrying about the future. I’d be wild and reckless, fearless and free.

  I’ve had back-to-back clients at the Children’s Hospital since first thing this morning. Late in the afternoon Dr Makepeace sees me in the corridor and takes my arm.

  ‘You’re a little peaky,’ he says. ‘Fancy a coffee?’

  I look at my watch. ‘I don’t have long.’

  ‘In that case we’ll gallop.’

  Dr Makepeace walks gingerly down the corridor and I walk slowly by his side. He eases himself into a chair as I order the drinks. When they arrive, he leans forward and peers at me
through the pyramid shape in his fingers.

  ‘Are you sleeping, Golden?’

  I only spent one night with Tor. Why have I missed him every night since? ‘Not very well.’

  He looks at me with concern. ‘Are you still skirting around the obstacle on your racetrack? Not crashing through him or jumping over him yet?’

  When I saw Dr Makepeace as a patient I hardly ever spoke about my feelings. But whenever I did, I always told the truth. I knew he’d be too clever to be fooled by anything else.

  ‘I fell in love with my obstacle.’

  He raises his brows. ‘I should have considered that.’

  ‘It’s over now.’

  ‘You were non-compatible? He didn’t appreciate a spirited chestnut? What type of horse was he?’

  ‘He had a thoroughbred’s stride. Do you think I’m crazy?’

  ‘Certainly not. But would you mind if a foolish old friend, a colleague, gave you some advice?’

  I smile. ‘You’re the best psychiatrist in the country. Go for it.’

  ‘I referred a child to you some time ago. She used actions instead of words to express her thoughts, and she was rewarded for this—if she stood at the freezer and screamed, her parents would give her an ice cream. With your help, she learned that words were a preferable form of communication, but she had a speech delay so it was a difficult transition to make.’

  ‘Yes, I remember her. I have a few other clients like that.’

  He taps my hand. ‘Your reluctance to trust, Golden, your tendency to push people away, provides you with rewards. It keeps you safe from being hurt in the ways you’ve been hurt in the past—by neglectful parents, or friends who have let you down. But this approach might not always be for the best. It would be difficult for you to change, but it could lead to greater happiness.’

  When my eyes fill with tears, he covers my hand with his. ‘I did push him away,’ I say. ‘And I haven’t heard from him since.’

  We finish our drinks, and then walk arm in arm down the corridor. ‘A spell might do you good,’ he says. ‘How about taking a holiday?’