The Bark Cutters (34 page)

Sarah drew her arms tightly around Anthony, feeling the exquisite pressure of their bodies touching, leaning forward into his embrace. Then the sensual pleasure changed to one of urgency. Sarah placed her hands over Anthony's as he caressed her thighs before pressing his hand on the small of her back so that his groin was hard against her. In response she automatically wrapped her legs about his body. She felt the cold metal of the car beneath her back, and was conscious of the moon through the tree canopy above her as her hands stroked the muscles of his broad back. She kissed him back fiercely.

‘God, I'm sorry, Sarah,' Anthony gasped. Having anticipated this moment for so long, he knew if he didn't stop immediately, he would not be able to contain himself. No, he was not taking her out here in a damn council car park.

Sarah slipped off the car as Anthony, his supporting arms gone, retreated. Her heart was beating so rapidly she could barely think. She ran her fingers through her hair to steady herself.

‘I'm sorry, Sarah, I didn't want things to get out of hand. At least not out here. Come home with me.'

‘I can't.' Flustered, she adjusted her skirt.

‘Of course you can.' He was beside her again, his arm encircling her shoulders. ‘I'll drive. We can come back in the morning and pick up your car.'

‘But I'm meant to be staying in town. Grandfather booked a room and …'

‘Better still,' he grinned.

‘What about Jeremy?'

Anthony swore under his breath. ‘What about bloody Jeremy?'

‘He's my boyfriend.'

‘And what am I meant to do about that?' Anthony asked.

Her face coloured with embarrassment.

‘Are you coming home with me or not?' His face, briefly illuminated by a ray of moonlight through the overhead foliage, looked angry.

Dreading his answer, Sarah asked, ‘Is this about Wangallon?'

Anthony gave a sour laugh. ‘I'm not even going to dignify that question by replying.'

My God, Sarah thought, was that what her grandfather was alluding to? He had hinted about the two of them being in love, about safeguarding Wangallon. Sarah could see it now. It was the perfect solution to her grandfather's inheritance quandary. If they married, a Gordon would still be on Wangallon and Anthony would run the property and there would be heirs with Gordon blood. Did Anthony actually think she felt the same? That she was prepared to do anything for her inheritance? ‘We've obviously both had a little too much to drink,' she managed to say.

‘And I can't do this psychoanalysing bullshit at the moment, Sarah. I'm sorry.' Anthony walked into the darkness, intent only on reaching the bar and downing a couple of rum and cokes quickly. He liked her, but she was hard work, difficult and stubborn, and how the hell did Wangallon come into the conversation? He stalked back towards the growing noise of partygoers, aware the few beers he had consumed earlier probably hadn't helped. If he'd been sober he doubted he would have kissed her again. He reached the bar and jostled among the drinkers to place his order. Yesterday's kiss had been a spur of the moment
thing. It seemed right at the time, even if he probably shouldn't have done it. But hell, it made up for not kissing her all those years ago when Cameron was still around. Shit, now he had to go and find Colin and drag the kid home, but not before he'd had a couple more drinks. He caught the bartender's eye. ‘A double, thanks.'

Sarah ate her fried bacon and eggs quietly as she tried to block out thoughts she could not unravel. The earth seemed to have swallowed her up unawares and exhaustion gnawed at her bones.

‘You're looking a bit pale today, girl.'

Sarah gave her grandfather a weak smile and took a sip of water.

‘Big night?'

An understatement, considering she spent the later hours of it staring at the light bulb above her bed in the motel room.

‘The ravages of alcohol, hey? I thought you would have been in practice, what with all the swanning about you do in Sydney.'

‘I don't swan.'

‘Right. Save me the petulant outbursts, girlie.' Angus tapped his teaspoon on the edge of his teacup. ‘What is all this about, Sarah? Is there something you're not telling me?' He asked gruffly. Then, more kindly, ‘Did you and Anthony have a fight?'

‘Yes.'

‘What is it with you two?'

‘I'd rather not talk about it.' Sarah pushed her plate of half-eaten breakfast to one side.

Angus rubbed his eyes tiredly. ‘Well you better. I've already received a telephone call from Colin this morning.'

‘Colin?'

‘Yes, Colin. If you and Anthony have to argue, I would have thought you would be able to find something a little more interesting to argue about.'

‘What is that meant to mean?' Sarah asked defensively. ‘I fired Colin. He was drunk last night. He was rude to me in front of a large group of people. Not only that, but he caused my accident with Blaze.'

Angus studied his granddaughter carefully. ‘Do you have any proof?'

‘Why? Do I need it, Grandfather?' Sarah retorted.

‘No. But, you can't fire Colin, lass. Only Anthony can do that.'

‘Why? You're the boss, I'm your granddaughter,' Sarah said hotly.

Draining his teacup, Angus leaned back in his chair. ‘Oh, Colin will go, lass. Make no mistake about that. I myself never took to the boy. He has a streak of the feral in him. However, the timing is critical. You know how difficult it is to get people to work in the bush these days. Anthony will give him a talking to, and set about finding a replacement before he leaves. I always thought the boy was missing something in the top paddock.' Angus tapped his own head. ‘As for you firing him, well, you should know better, Sarah.'

Sarah slouched back in her chair, crossing her arms.

‘Now don't go getting all petulant. I guess you and Anthony didn't get to talking about life, love or Wangallon?' he queried carefully.

Sarah sighed. It was better that the truth came out immediately. ‘Anthony wants Wangallon, doesn't he?'

‘Is the Pope a Catholic?' he asked incredulously. ‘Sarah, near everyone in the bush would like a slice of Wangallon. It's a historic, top-producing bit of dirt and there's a bloody lot of it. Now what's bothering you?'

‘Wangallon's always been there for me. But I had to leave it.'

‘I know that. But you've thought of coming back for good.'

‘I miss the country.' Sarah looked out the window next to their breakfast table. ‘I miss the land and the feeling of continuity, but it's cost me a lot personally.' The wind stirred the leaves in the tree across the road, an empty plastic bottle rolled randomly in the gutter. ‘I have all these memories, Grandfather, but they seem to have been swallowed up by a hundred different things.' And now the cherished image she'd always held of Anthony was disintegrating as well. ‘Anthony's not the person I thought he was.'

‘No-one ever is. But you do care for him, don't you?'

A fleeting picture of Anthony's lips on hers came to her. But it was useless, she thought sadly. She had made a terrible mistake in assuming the past could be rekindled. If Anthony wasn't at Wangallon, she couldn't live there and if he was there, well, she would feel the same devastation at her misjudgement of him, at her loss, every time she saw him. How was it possible to have misread him so? It never entered her mind that he would do anything for a chance of being left Wangallon.

Angus smiled. ‘I was about to relegate you to the useless bin. I'm sorry if you felt threatened by Anthony's role in the running of the place, but let's face it, someone needed to be trained while you fluffed about down in the city. Wangallon is yours. It's always been yours. You're a Gordon, like I said yesterday. You're blood, it has to be yours. You have to understand it needs strong management though. We have that already, of course, but provisions have to be made. My will is contingent on Anthony staying on as manager. After all, he is indispensable. I firmly believe the two of you will do a fine job together.'

‘But –'

‘For the first five years you have to defer to him.' He winked. ‘I can't imagine you'll find that too difficult. The two of you have always had such a special bond and I'm aware, my girl, that your all-too-frequent visits have not been for a doddering old grazier.
Now that you suddenly seem to be seeing Anthony in a new light I'm hopeful that you'll be moving back up here shortly.' Angus slurped the remainder of his tea.

‘Moving back?' A sickness seeped through her bones. The conversation was moving at the speed of light.

‘Well, what did you think? You'll hardly be able to make a go of things in Sydney.'

‘But Grandfather –'

‘My terms include you living on the property for five years, with Anthony as manager.'

Sarah looked blankly at her grandfather. ‘I need to see Dad,' she finally blurted out. There was no-one else for her to speak to. ‘I'll ask reception to book a seat on the coach across to the coast.'

‘What's the matter with you? This is a momentous occasion. Not to mention a major milestone in your life. I expect you to say something along the lines of “Thank you, Grandfather”, or “I'll do you proud, Grandfather”, or “You'll never regret this, Grandfather”.'

‘That's the problem,' Sarah said, aware of how angry he was. ‘I might.'

Sarah gave her father a hug and followed him down the marble-floored interior into the open-plan kitchen. Dropping her leather overnight bag on the couch, she walked through the pale green living room and out onto the patio. Never would she get used to seeing her father here. He was like some type of bush creature in captivity, surviving because he had decided to do so, for the moment. At the back of the house, surrounded by palm trees on gently sloping lawn leading to the river, her mother sat at a small wrought-iron table, arranging roses. They walked across the cosy wooden sundeck, passing bags of fertiliser, potting mix and a variety of rose-filled terracotta pots.

‘Sarah, darling, what a fabulous surprise,' the voice cooed.

She located her mother's cheek beneath an oversized hat and saucer-shaped sunglasses. Ronald said she was fine and Sarah supposed she was, in her own way. Alone with her mother while her father went to make tea, Sarah waited for her to speak. She knew her mother preferred it that way. The hands continued to
fuss with the assortment of roses standing proud in a tall vase. Sarah cleared her throat, carefully and quietly. Sighing deeply, her mother pulled all the long-stemmed roses from her arrangement and tossed them on the table. Removing her gardening gloves, she turned to face her daughter.

‘Everything's great,' Sarah said, in response to the silence. She watched the corner of her mother's mouth flicker. ‘I came to visit from Wangallon.'

Her mother removed her sunglasses, cleaned them with her shirttail, and rested them on the table. ‘You're pregnant?'

A powerboat dashed past them along the river, pulling a skier behind. Sarah looked on in embarrassment as her mother yelled out loudly, stamping her gumboot-encased feet and raising her fist in the air. The boat vanished at the next bend, and she sat down abruptly as if their conversation had never been interrupted. ‘Jeremy's asked you to get married?' She replaced her sunglasses, and now she was smiling. ‘You've broken up with him?' She frowned at her hands, then lifted her chin to resume her stare at her daughter.

‘It is nothing like that, Mum.' Sarah stretched her hand out to touch the pale softness of her mother's cheek. ‘Mum, everything is fine, really.'

Her mother sniffed. ‘I don't see how everything can be fine, as you put it. You have been going out with that young man for what, fifteen years?'

Sarah hunched her shoulders and sat back in her chair. ‘Nearly three, actually.' Beyond the sloping grass lay the canal, wide and brown, rippling with the wake of the recent speed boat. Her mother removed her sunglasses, wiping the lenses on her floral jumper before placing them with great control on the tabletop.

‘Remember who you are talking to, girl. Cameron never talks to me like that.'

‘Cameron?'

‘Perhaps we should see how Ron is getting along with the tea. It's really getting a little too cool to be sitting out here, you know. Still, it's so pleasant and so nice to watch the boats on the river. Such nice people on the river, don't you think?' Her mother plonked the cut stems into the vase and, gathering the roses, threw them, along with her sunglasses, into a row of palms bordering the garden wall. ‘Let's have tea.'

The three of them sat at the cane table next to the kitchen. They talked aimlessly, non-political chitchat that passed between them and touched no-one. Then her mother announced she was going to water the roses.

‘She is comfortable here,' Ronald assured Sarah, rising to gather the dinner plates and place them on the bench in the kitchen. ‘So what happened at Wangallon to make you come running up here?'

‘Nothing.'

Ronald poured more wine into both their glasses. ‘How's Jeremy?'

‘Good.' Guilty as charged, she thought. Jeremy could never know what happened, never. ‘Anyway, Mum would be comfortable, as you call it, anywhere, Dad. Ever thought of going back to the bush? To Wangallon?' Sarah joined her father on one of the tall stools at the kitchen bench. He looked uncomfortable, like an emu on a budgie's perch. ‘I sort of figured this move to the coast was for Mum's benefit and having seen how she is … well, it seems to me that you'd be better off at home. You and Grandfather could …'

Ronald slammed his fist on the bench, the impact rattling the collection of seashells sitting loosely at the base of a small lamp. Sarah spread her hands on the granite bench top, using the surface to steady herself. It had been stupid to mention her grandfather, she knew they barely spoke. And, having seen her mother, she now appreciated the strain her father was under.

‘Sarah, I've made my share of mistakes, and my father knows that.' The large hands were steady, folded across his chest. ‘Leave my life to me.'

‘But Dad, you don't owe Mum anything. If anything …'

‘If anything, what?'

The years melted away and it was as if they were all back in the kitchen again at Wangallon; the radio playing in the background, Cameron rolling his eyes and her mother threatening to pack her off to Sydney until she'd finished her final exams.

‘Dad, don't you think it's time to recognise the wrong Mum did to you and me?'

The old tightness rose in Ronald's chest before sinking into resignation. He felt his shoulder's slump and the weariness that invariably accompanied his early evening hours since moving to the coast made him rub irritably at his eyes. He didn't want to be having this discussion with Sarah. There was clearly little possibility that his daughter would feel any respect for Sue.

‘It was hard for me, you know.' She bit back her tears, surprised her father's face showed so little emotion. ‘Would you ever have told me?' she asked.

Ronald considered the question carefully. ‘No. I couldn't see the point. Well, it's in the past now.'

‘That's all you have to say?'

‘Geez, Sarah what the hell do you want me to say? Was I shocked and shattered? Did I know Cameron wasn't mine? Yes, immediately. Did I blame your mother? No. We never should have married. She was like this delicate flower that arrived at Wangallon in full bloom and then started to fade from day one. I couldn't give her what she wanted and within six months we both knew we shouldn't have rushed into the relationship. Your grandfather warned me, but I wasn't perfect either, Sarah, so I accepted your brother as my son.'

‘Who was he?' For years Sarah's imagination wavered between a Valentino-like figure, someone worthy of a woman losing her heart to, to the nasty intruder whose stealthy methods succeeded in stealing both her mother and brother.

‘A wool buyer,' he shrugged. ‘Sue said she was in love and I would have let her go, but a few weeks later he was dead; killed in a bungled robbery apparently.'

‘So you stayed together.'

‘It was 1961, Sarah. Besides, it seemed the right thing to do and, as I said, my life was far from perfect.'

‘I don't understand. After everything that you've told me, why would you leave Wangallon for Mum? Why would you not consider coming back and becoming involved again. You could advise. Manage.' Sarah slumped back on her stool. ‘Why would you want to be
here
?'

His eyes were steely. ‘The place has taken too much from me. Wangallon's time is over.'

After a quiet dinner of grilled steak and green salad with coriander and parsley, Sarah told her father about the conditions of inheriting Wangallon. Ronald kept his face expressionless, glancing only once into the next room to check on Sue, who was watching television with the sound off.

‘You declined, I hope. Really, Angus is a bloody old fool.' He poured a generous glass of shiraz. ‘You live and work in Sydney and you're in a serious relationship. It's a most irresponsible suggestion. All this –' he emphasised with a huff of disgust – ‘is in addition to the fact that you are a young, single woman. He expects you to live on an isolated property?' Ronald laughed.

‘Dad, listen to me, I didn't decline.' Or accept, Sarah thought. She knew she had to give her grandfather an answer, if only
because he had probably taken it as a foregone conclusion she would accept his terms. But this was something different. Her father did not want her to inherit Wangallon.

When he finally stopped laughing, Ronald spoke with great amusement. The thing he loved the best about his father's cockamamie idea was that the will was contingent on Anthony staying on as manager. That, he said, was truly remarkable. ‘So reading between the fine print it would seem that Dad expects you to marry Anthony eventually.' Splashing shiraz into his daughter's glass, he took a sip of his own drink. ‘So it's quite simple: if you want Wangallon, you must eventually marry Anthony. Bloodline secured, inheritance secured and Wangallon continues.' He slapped the table for emphasis.

‘Bloody hell, Dad, why are you being so flippant? Why does there have to be conditions. Why Anthony? It's impossible.'

‘Don't agree with my father for the sake of Wangallon. Nothing is worse than not following your …' Ronald lifted his glass and took two long sips before emptying the remains of the wine bottle into his glass. ‘My advice to you is to accept the terms of the inheritance. Just say yes. A will is a will after all, Sarah, it's not open to discussion.' He paused, replacing the cork in the bottle. ‘Sell it when the time comes. If need be you could contest it. You're the sole heir after all; you would have a legal entitlement. There is no place for sentimentality in business, and the days of arranged marriages are over. Wangallon's time is over.'

Sarah's mouth gaped. ‘Dad, I can't do that. How can you ask me to sell Wangallon?'

‘You haven't lived in the bush for ages.'

‘But it's wrong. I'd be lying to Grandfather and what about Cameron? We can't sell the land he's buried in. And what about all the others buried there? Our forefathers?'

‘Cameron's gone, Sarah, and the Gordons' time is over.'

‘But, Dad –'

‘Don't be so bloody melodramatic, girl. If the place meant that much to you, you would have stayed.'

‘That's really unfair, Dad.' Sarah couldn't believe her own father could so easily forget the hurts of the past, specifically what she'd endured.

Ronald shrugged his shoulders. ‘You're my girl and I know enough to understand your initial reasons for leaving. Sometimes life gets in the way of our best intentions, Sarah. And sometimes it's for the better. You have a good life now and you have a good man by your side. Don't ruin that happiness by following some romantic notion involving obligation and ancestors.'

‘But –'

‘Go to bed,' Ronald insisted. ‘Get some perspective.'