Charlie’s jaw dropped. ‘People actually say that?’
‘My word, they do.’ The humming kettle began to whistle. He flicked off the switch. ‘And if you’d stop making so much noise yourself, you might be able to hear them.’
‘Outside,’ said Sam. Condor cocked his head and flew onto the kitchen table instead, scattering her papers to the floor. Sam didn’t scold him. She hadn’t been able to concentrate anyway. Her thoughts kept returning to the extraordinary events of the day before. Sam gave the big black bird a crust and chased him out the back door. Then she gathered the forms from the floor and put them aside, giving up the pretence of doing paperwork. Sam was in no mood for quarterly income estimates and insurance policies. Instead she put on Kasey Chambers and gazed out the window to the luminous blue mountains beyond, deep in thought.
Everything was perfect. At last there were no more secrets, no more misunderstandings or half-truths. Today was the first day of a new, authentic life here in Currajong. She had Charlie’s confidence and affection. She had the unconditional acceptance of the town. And best of all, she had Drew’s love. Sam felt capable of anything.
Phoenix’s imperious neigh sounded from the yard, reminding Sam that not everything was perfect after all. Ryan had put the young stallion through his paces during the week and pronounced him ready to go to his new owner. That wasn’t going to happen, not if she could help it. What she needed was a plan. Perhaps Dad would help? Outbid the buyer, make Ryan an offer he couldn’t refuse? The sound of wheels on gravel distracted Sam from her reverie. Maybe it was Drew? If they put their heads together, they were bound to come up with a solution.
‘Hello? Anybody home?’ Faith was the last person on earth that Sam had expected to walk into the kitchen.
‘Mum!’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Faith approached Sam with outstretched arms, and enfolded her in a hug. For one lovely, fleeting moment, Sam was excited to see her mother. She had so much to tell her, so much to show her. Such a lot to brag about. But in almost the same instant, images of Pharaoh crowded into her mind, hardening her heart. Sam pulled away. She hadn’t forgiven her mother, not by a long shot.
‘Darling, I told you I was coming.’ Sam looked blank. ‘On the phone … from Saint Tropez?’
‘I said not to,’ said Sam.
‘That was nonsense, Samantha. Surely I can visit my own daughter?’ Sam marshalled up a hundred responses in her head – clever ones, bitter ones, sarcastic ones – but couldn’t blurt out a single line.
‘Why didn’t you ring first?’ was the best she could do.
Faith heaved a great sigh. ‘I thought you might not have agreed to see me, Samantha.’
She was probably right. Sam stared at her mother, lost for words. Faith looked larger than life, and utterly out of place in Brumby’s little kitchen. You could tell she’d been in France. The French always overdressed for everything. Whatever would Charlie make of her? Faith wore high heels, belted tailored trousers and a lavender blouse. Lavender, for God’s sake. The elegant ensemble was set off with a striped silk scarf and sparkling cluster earrings. Had Faith always looked so overdone? Or had Sam’s own tastes been stripped bare in this remote place?
She wanted to run to her room, flee from this old life that was so unexpectedly catching up with her. Then a wild, hopeful thought struck her. ‘Do you have Pharaoh?’
Faith’s face fell. ‘It’s not possible. I’ve tried my hardest. Pharaoh is just not for sale.’
Sam was hollow with disappointment. ‘I want you to go, Mum. I’m not ready to do this.’
‘Not even a pot of tea?’ asked Faith. ‘I have … I have quite a lot to tell you.’ She looked genuinely stricken at the prospect of having to leave. Sam studied her mother’s anxious, eager face and relented.
‘Sit down, Mum.’ Sam pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, half expecting her mother to turn up her nose at its cracked vinyl seat. But Faith nodded her thanks and sat down without complaint. Sam put on the kettle and sat down too. For a little while nobody spoke. ‘You haven’t told me what a dump this place is yet,’ said Sam at last.
To Sam’s surprise, Faith’s eyes glistened with tears. She reached across the table and took Sam’s hands tenderly in her own. ‘I’m sorry about Pharaoh. That was so terribly, terribly wrong of me.’ Her tone was unusually heartfelt. ‘You may not believe this, Samantha, hurt as you are, but I miss him too. I will never stop trying to bring Pharaoh home.’ Her mother’s obvious contrition was very moving. Sam was confused, unsure of how to react. ‘I do have something else for you …’
Sam interrupted her. ‘There’s nothing else I want from you.’
Faith cast her an uncertain glance. She reached into her bag and produced a large yellow envelope. ‘For you, Samantha.’
Sam opened it. She struggled to appreciate the significance of what she was reading. Registration papers declaring Phoenix to be a foundation sire of the Australian Brumby Studbook. She read on, not daring to believe. His owner was listed as Samantha Carmichael.
‘Are you happy, darling?’ asked Faith.
Sam had forgotten how to speak, but now she found her tongue. ‘Oh yes,’ she said, still stunned. ‘God, yes!’
‘Then you must forgive me for Pharaoh.’ This was classic Faith. Ordering forgiveness, like it was a new fragrance or something. But her mother’s high-handedness did not detract from the pure joy of the occasion.
‘Thank you,’ said Sam, overwhelmed. ‘I feel like I’m dreaming. How did you know about Phoenix?’
‘Mary told me,’ she said.
Could Faith’s visit become any more astonishing? ‘But I thought you hated Mary?’
‘We’re very different people, that’s true.’ The kettle began its low whistle. ‘But we share a very powerful connection,’ said Faith. ‘You.’ Sam turned off the kettle and sat back down.
‘Samantha.’ Her mother’s tone became serious. ‘I have some rather more difficult news for you.’
‘What? Is Dad okay?’
Faith frowned. ‘May I have some water?’
Sam jumped up to get her a drink, and saw Drew’s ute pull up outside.
She sat back down and fixed her eyes on Faith. ‘Mum, just tell me.’ The tension was unbearable.
Faith sighed and took a sip. ‘Your father and I … We’ve separated. We’re getting a divorce.’ The water in the glass rippled, betraying her unsteady arm.
‘Oh Mum, no,’ Sam reached for her hand. ‘What happened?’
‘Your father has been unfaithful, Samantha. On more than one occasion, it seems.’ She shook her head sorrowfully. ‘It’s been a great trial for me.’
‘Of course, Mum. Of course it has.’ Sam squeezed her hand. ‘We’ll get through this.’
‘There’s more,’ said Faith. ‘Much more. It’s about your father.’
‘Mum, you already said that.’
‘I mean your real father, your biological father.’
Sam felt the blood rush to her head. The mysterious Robert Smith. Could she finally meet him? ‘Have you found out something? Do you know where he is? We think he’s been sending money, to Mary and Charlie, ever since the transplant.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Faith, nodding as if it all made sense. ‘He’s a very wealthy man. A generous man as well.’
‘Really? So you know who he is?’ Sam’s hands were trembling.
‘I do. It’s somebody you know.’
Faith seemed paralysed. A vile thought struck Sam. Bill. Bill was her father. Wealthy enough to be the secret benefactor, and he’d lived next door to Mary all these years … It was Bill for sure. Thank God Drew was adopted. Otherwise … It was too awful to contemplate.
Faith forced a smile. ‘Your father is … well, he’s your father and my husband. Victor Carmichael.’
‘What? You mean Dad’s really my dad?’ Faith nodded. ‘And Charlie’s?’
‘It all came out in France,’ said Faith. ‘If you’d come, he’d never
have confessed. He’d have been too ashamed. In any case, he told me the whole story, and now I’m telling you.’
Sam opened her mouth to speak, but Faith raised her eyebrows. ‘Please, Samantha, don’t interrupt me. If you stop me, I may not be able to start again.’
‘I promise,’ said Sam.
Faith gave her a grateful smile and continued. ‘It’s almost twenty years ago now. Your father was a cabinet minister, back then. He undertook a tour of the Upper Murray, supporting some conservative party candidate in a by-election campaign.’ She took a deep breath and appeared to be composing herself.
‘He met Mary somehow. She was just a girl.’ She gulped her water. ‘Your father was forty.’ The words hung in the room like a bad smell. ‘He behaved very badly, Samantha. In every way. He gave the girl …’ Faith looked shamefaced. ‘He gave your mother a false name, but was careless with his phone number. When Mary discovered her pregnancy, she rang and left messages. He ignored them. Can you imagine that? We’d been trying for years to have a child, and he ignores this poor pregnant girl. Mary rang him once a month until the babies … until you and Charlene were born. I suppose she was hoping he might help her, so she needn’t relinquish one of her children.’
‘He didn’t?’ asked Sam, incredulous.
‘No, he didn’t. Instead he did something monstrous. He organised to privately adopt one of the infants. It didn’t matter which one, apparently. Your father wanted to give me a baby, you see. He says he loves me – in his own peculiar way, perhaps. But he knew I’d leave him if I discovered the truth.’
‘So,’ said Sam, reeling from the news. ‘When I found out I was adopted, he let me think he wasn’t my real father, even though he was? Just so he didn’t have to tell you the truth?’
‘I’m afraid so. When he learned your sister was so terribly ill, the guilt was too much for him. He set up a generous monthly stipend for Charlie and Mary. He bought your sister a car. Our accountant raised the unexplained expenditure with me last week, and I confronted him.’ Faith looked grim. ‘There were other liaisons after Mary. My whole marriage has been a lie, really. The one thing that’s been real about it has been you, Samantha. And … well, here we are.’
Sam’s mind whirled with confusion as she tried to take her mother’s words in. How hurt Faith must feel. And how weird it was to learn her dad was, well, her dad. ‘Is that everything?’ she asked, almost suspecting another secret or two.
‘Yes. I think it’s enough, don’t you?’ Faith gave a shaky smile.
‘So Dad really is my father, and he’s Charlie’s father too?’ Faith nodded. Sam slumped back into her chair. For the second time in months, her world had been utterly changed. Was nothing ever real?
Drew walked through the door, swiftly taking in the scene. ‘Your mum?’
Sam nodded.
‘Are you okay?’
Sam looked into his concerned face, into Faith’s solicitous eyes. She thought of Charlie. How astonished she’d be by this news – her news too. She thought of Whirlwind and Phoenix and the new foal – Sam’s dream herd grazing peacefully in the shadow of Maroong Mountain. Who the hell was she kidding? It didn’t get much more real than this.
Chapter Forty
Sam fussed about in Brumby’s kitchen, rearranging scones on the plate, pretending to be busy. Charlie got off the phone, her face ashen.
‘He wants to meet me.’ She looked so unsure, like a scared rabbit. She looked about twelve.
‘What do you want?’ asked Sam.
‘I haven’t a clue,’ said Charlie. ‘Part of me hates him – a big part.’ Sam nodded. She felt the same way. ‘But part of me is dying of curiosity. You know our father. I want that chance.’
It had been a week since Faith had dropped her bombshell. Sam was as bewildered as Charlie. Dad was flying home. He was sorry, he said. Wanted to make amends. Wanted his wife back. Wanted to make it right again. For his daughters, for Faith, for Mary … but how to atone for a lifetime of deceit? Sam’s own brief charade paled beside her father’s cruel folly.
Drew and Bill walked in, voices raised. ‘Abbey’s a bloody good bloodline,’ said Bill. ‘I’ll give you that, but that brumby business?’ He snorted. ‘You need your head read.’
‘We’ve got two top stallions, Dad, with bookings already for next year’s stud season. And Sam’s dressage-training a first-cross Andalusian–brumby mare, caught straight from the park. Reckons she’ll get her to Grand Prix standard without any trouble at all.’ He helped himself to a scone. ‘Remember when El Soldado lost that imported mare a few years back?’
Bill nodded. ‘Don was ropeable. Wasn’t she some special strain? Carpathian, I think he said. He paid a fortune for that mare.’
‘Carthusian,’ said Drew. ‘And that lost Carthusian was the dam of Sam’s mare. Don’s been out to confirm it – and get this, he offered to buy her. Imagine that. Don Campbell, wanting to buy a brumby. Not a bad foundation mare to start out with, eh?’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ grumbled Bill.
‘Come up to the yards and see for yourself then,’ said Drew. ‘We’ll keep the new colt here at Brumby’s Run, though.’ He gave his father a friendly punch. ‘You’re not gelding this one, Dad.’
That night, a storm raged over the mountain. Sam couldn’t sleep. She slipped from bed without waking Drew, wrapped herself in the fluffy bathrobe that was a present from her mother, and tiptoed down the hall. She could hear Charlie’s steady breathing as she passed her bedroom, Bess’s soft snoring in her basket by the fire.
Sam pushed open the back door and stood until she had her night eyes. Things began to take shape in the gloom. Condor squawked from his perch on the verandah, ruffled his feathers and tucked his head back beneath his wing. The wind roared through the treetops. Shadows shifted and shook. Lightning cracked and lit up the scene for just an instant, giving Sam a snapshot of the sheds and yards and the wild dark forest beyond.
When Sam slipped off her robe, it felt like she was shedding more than her clothes. She walked naked into the rain. This was hers – all this power and beauty and terror. This was her home. The pain of loneliness was a vague memory that seemed to belong to somebody else. And as she whispered a small prayer to the spirit of Maroong Mountain, something told her that she need never be alone again.
Acknowledgements
With thanks to the following organisations for their efforts to help the Australian brumby:
Australian Brumby Alliance
Australian Brumby Horse
Victorian Brumby Association
Save the Brumbies
Hunter Valley Brumby Association
Kosciuszko Brumby and Horse Camp Conservationists
Snowy Mountains Bush Users Group
SEQ Brumby Association
Guy Fawkes Heritage Horses Association
Wild Horses of the Kimberley
Coffin Bay Brumby Preservation Society
Oxley Heritage Horse Association
Outback Heritage Horse Association of WA
MICHAEL JOSEPH
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Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England
First published by Penguin Group (Australia), 2012
Text copyright © Jennifer Scoullar 2012
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ISBN: 978-1-74253-471-8
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