The Bark Cutters (38 page)

Two hours later they were driving back to Wangallon. Anthony, exhausted, fiddled with the radio before finally turning it off. Somehow, something of huge significance had happened to Sarah since the night of the races. It was as if the earth dragged at her, as if she had lost interest. Oh, she had worked in the yards, however it was more like she was just going through the motions. The vital, argumentative girl appeared to have been transformed over the past few days into a remote woman, one he barely knew. Anthony didn't
know what to think or say. All he knew was that kissing her had been the single most stupid thing he'd ever done and it made things pretty damn awkward. He had to clear the air.

‘I want to speak to you,' he hesitated, ‘about the future.' He gritted his teeth. Talking to Sarah was akin to poking at a beehive to get at the honey.

She cared for him. She could admit that now. But he had let her down. He had let her down by misunderstanding the type of person she was, by assuming she would agree to their union for the sake of Wangallon.

‘I'd like us to be friends,' he said cautiously.

‘I'm sorry about the races, I was drunk,' she answered flatly, her fingers gripping the edge of her seat.

‘Me too,' he answered, almost too quickly. He breathed a sigh of relief, yet his stomach felt hollow. At least they were halfway through their forty-minute trip home. The headlights haloed trees and kangaroos on the side of the road. Anthony slowed a number of times to avoid hitting the kangaroos that raced across the road in a kamikaze style attack on their progress. The remainder of the journey back to Wangallon was spent in silence, Anthony trying to think of something light-hearted to say – he couldn't even think of a decent joke.

‘When I marry I want it to be for love. I want to know that the man beside me loves me for my sake only and not as a chance to get his hands on a piece of dirt.'

Anthony waited until their vehicle pulled up outside Wangallon homestead. It had been a very long twenty minutes. ‘What?'

‘You can deny it, but Grandfather's told me the conditions of my inheritance and I'm turning him down.'

‘Do you know how ludicrous that sounds? A will is not something that you accept or turn down. Anyway, your inheritance is none of my business.'

She was looking at him with an expression of total disbelief.
‘I guess with me coming home more frequently this year you figured it was worth a shot. After all we have a shared past and –'

Leaving the vehicle Anthony walked around and opened Sarah's car door. ‘I think you better go inside, Sarah.'

‘Why? Aren't you interested in what I have to say?'

He waited for her to get out of the vehicle. It was late and they were both tired.

‘Anthony …'

‘Don't.' He put up his hand to silence her. He just couldn't go through another argument with her.

‘Just thought you should know,' she said as he got back in the driver's seat, ‘I'm engaged to be married.' There it was. She had actually said the words.

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, however his mind was a blank. ‘Congratulations,' he finally said, before shifting the vehicle into first gear and driving away.

Not even the heavy tea her grandfather drank lifted Sarah at breakfast. He rose, walking to the kitchen window. ‘Your grandmother planted a passionfruit vine out here thirty years ago. The bees came and went, but somehow they couldn't get close enough to the flowers. There was hardly any fruit. Oh, it wanted to grow, wanted to live out here where so many things give up and die, but it wouldn't let itself.' His tone was defiant, his facial muscles taut. ‘Couldn't let those little bees get close enough. Eventually the life just went out of it. First it was the flowers, then the entire vine withered and died.' His hands, sun-spotted with age, gripped the edge of the sink where he leaned. His eyes, slithers of violet, pierced the growing brightness of the room as the sun rose.

Sarah pushed her mug of tea aside. She couldn't do what her father suggested, she couldn't lie. Besides, she had Jeremy to
consider now. ‘Grandfather, I wanted to let you know that when the time comes, in the future, I intend to sell at least half of Wangallon.'

‘That vine was stubborn and probably a little afraid: afraid like you, Sarah. You see your destiny but question your ability. And you place too much faith in others' opinions.'

‘My ability was questioned the day you left Wangallon to Cameron.' Sarah could have almost hit herself for voicing something that was irrelevant now.

‘You weren't the eldest.'

‘And I was a girl.'

‘That's bullshit!'

‘Is it? You would have left Wangallon to me had I been a boy. After all I'm all Gordon, not fifty per cent diluted.' It was the first time she'd talked about how unfair she considered her grandfather's succession plan.

‘So then what's stopping you now?'

‘You're about four years too late. And your reasoning
now
isn't necessarily due to the regard in which you hold me.'

His eyes blazed. He paused, swallowing twice, to encase the anger welling within him. ‘I've protected Wangallon all my life; seen a lot of stupidity, lost faith in my own boy. No-one will live comfortably on the blood of this family. Remember what I've said and remember your brother when you do.'

‘I am. I'm second choice, Grandfather. I was when Cameron was alive and I still am.' Sarah waited, her hands trembling where they rested, sweating, in her lap. Her grandfather cleared his throat, folded his arms across his chest and drew himself upwards. His near-white hair framed his head like a halo. Sarah wished she were anywhere but in this room. His gaze was like a probe, hard and unforgiving. Sarah's spine felt as if it would melt into the kitchen chair.

‘Your marriage choice is up to you. And yes, your father did
ring and gloat about it. But if that is truly what you intend to do, if you really intend to sell Wangallon, then I won't leave it to you. On my death you'll receive one hundred thousand dollars, that's all. The property will be sold along with the members of our family buried here and the entire proceeds will go to charity.'

Shocked, Sarah quickly weighed the implications of his words. ‘I would have to sell though. Can't you see how hard you're making it for me, Grandfather? I can't fulfil your requirements and live here for five years.' The words spluttered out of her parched throat.

Angus rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘Very good, lass.'

‘Why?' she whispered dazed. ‘Because of Jeremy?'

‘Hah!' Angus allowed himself the pleasure of a deep snort through his nostrils. ‘Christ, girl, outta the entire population there's always a good ten per cent not worth feeding. It's like a line of fine Hereford cattle. Jeremy would be the first to go to the butcher.' His granddaughter's face paled. Angus shrugged. He was beyond conforming to the niceties of society anymore. It was a privilege of age. ‘Sarah, my father lost too much in selecting Wangallon. Christ, girl, your own brother's blood stains this ground. Don't kid yourself into thinking your forefathers can be forgotten. This is Gordon land, lass, solid, dependable, lucrative. I would sooner give it to the dogs' home than hand it over to be sold up and wasted. If there is no Wangallon, there is no family, Sarah. You once had enough brains to see that. Let's hope you find them again before it's too late.'

‘But, Grandfather –'

‘No buts, you've stuffed about in the city long enough.' He raised a hand to stop her questioning. ‘You make the decision, girl, and stop bloody whinging. I know things have been difficult for you but it's about time you accepted your responsibilities. Being born a girl doesn't mean you can run away from them. The world might demand testicles when it comes to succession but I don't.
Basically you were next in line. Take it or leave it. But remember one thing. I want a Gordon and if you don't want it, well then, the dogs can have it.' His fist slammed down on the wooden table top, the force of the blow knocking over mugs and splashing the contents of the small jug of milk across the aged wood.

Stunned, Sarah could only watch as her grandfather stomped out of the kitchen.

‘One hundred thousand dollars?' Jeremy paced the confines of his office like an angry terrier. ‘Geez, you're all obsessed. Do they really think the place will go on forever? Good years, bad years, blah, blah, blah. Damn them all. Every couple of years there's a death and they all sit back and say “Shit, this is hard!” then it's back to the flies and the bloody heat. Bloody hell.'

Tired and dirty, Sarah stood silently in the centre of Jeremy's office. Having come straight from the airport expecting advice and support, she found herself grasping her brown leather handbag as her feet shifted uncomfortably on the thick beige pile beneath her.

‘Your brother was probably the lucky one, Sarah. He got out early. Didn't hang round to watch you controlled by heritage or your mother go mad by it. Shit!' He sat heavily in his leather chair, then rose to swing it roughly around on its pedestal base, a stack of loose papers blowing off the desk in the ensuing draft. ‘I should have known something like this would happen. Shit!
Well, just take the hundred thousand and get out. Sure the money would have been great, but we'll survive. It's not like I was counting on you for your inheritance.' He began shuffling cream manila folders, stacking and restacking them, moving the foot-high edifice from one side of his long desk to the other. ‘The old bastard still thinks he's living in the early nineteen hundreds.'

A crystal water jug lay to right of the desk, a large glass paper weight to the left. For the first time Sarah noticed how incredibly large Jeremy's office and desk were and how incredibly bare.

‘Jeremy, please. I know you're upset. So am I. I told Grandfather no. I told him to give the place to the bloody dogs but I'm trying to be rational about this. I can't throw away Wangallon, which is effectively what you're asking me to do.'

Jeremy looked as if someone had just thrown a bucket of icy water over him. ‘It's for your benefit, Sarah.'

‘Is it?'

‘What kind of question is that?'

The dark brown panelled walls of the office swam around her. Sarah tried to calm herself. ‘I understand that the bush isn't your scene, but you have to realise that I just can't throw away a multi-million dollar property; a property that has been in my family's hands for years.'

He stacked and re-stacked the files once again, the movement becoming slower, more controlled. ‘If you accepted your Grandfather's conditions you would still have to move back to Wangallon with Anthony as manager until your grandfather's terms were fulfilled. Is that what you have in mind?'

‘I could come down to Sydney every couple of weeks and you could come up and see me,' she offered hopefully.

‘What? For five years? That's not exactly how I planned to spend my engagement, Sarah.'

‘You don't really want me to throw away all that money, do you?'

Jeremy laughed. ‘Oh, Sarah, I love how you can delude yourself into believing almost anything. You and I both know that this isn't about the money. It's about Wangallon. You don't want to lose it. You don't want anybody else to have it. If you don't go back and take up your responsibilities, you'll never be happy, Sarah. I can see that now. Even if you fail, which I sincerely doubt, you won't be happy unless you give it a go.'

‘Jeremy, listen to me …'

‘I need structure in my life, Sarah. I need someone who needs me as much or more than I need them. I can't play second best to a piece of dirt in bloody whoop-whoop.' He laughed again, running his hands through his blonde hair. ‘I was a fool. Here I was thinking that poor old bloody Anthony was my main competition. But he's not, it's Wangallon.' Slumping down into the plush leather of his chair, he poured ice water from the crystal water jug. The water rushed down his throat in loud gulping swallows.

Sarah desperately wanted to say that she wanted to be with him more than her need to keep Wangallon, but she couldn't. Jeremy was right. She couldn't let go of Wangallon. She looked down at the lush carpet, at her dirty riding boots, the dry dirt of Wangallon already settling in the long strands of fine wool beneath her feet.

‘I will never live in the bush, I can't, and you'll never be able to leave it.' He walked towards her, hugged and then kissed her: one long, painful brushing of his lips against her forehead. Then he was opening the door as if she were an unwanted client.

Words formed in her mouth, words of hope and encouragement, but she found she couldn't speak.

‘I love you, but I need you to go, Sarah.'

Hooking her handbag over her shoulder, Sarah walked past him through the cool cream interior of the reception area towards the elevator, which, once entered, would take her away from him forever. She straightened her shoulders as Lucy,
Jeremy's receptionist and personal assistant, sauntered back to her half-moon shaped desk, her black patent leather stilettos click-clacking loudly on the tiled office floor.

‘Sarah, hi there. How are things up north?'

‘Good thanks, Lucy,' she answered automatically.

‘Wait.' At the elevator door Jeremy pushed a large manila envelope into her hands. ‘It's all booked; non-refundable. So please make use of it.' Touching her cheek lightly he gave her a fleeting kiss on the lips. ‘If you change your mind …' He kissed her again, his eyes moist.

Barely registering her actions, Sarah stepped into the empty elevator, the silver doors closing firmly in her face.