Promises

by Cathryn Hein

  ‘So where’s this new horse of yours?’

  Sophie realised Tess didn’t know about Costa Motza. As far as Tess knew, the only racehorse she’d bought was Rowdy.

  ‘He’s staying at Hakea Lodge for the time being. Aaron wants him to finish the jumps season. I’ll take him after that.’

  ‘In that case, why are you hanging around that place?’

  That place. Not Aaron’s, not Hakea Lodge, not even ‘the yard’. That place. Like the words were poisonous.

  ‘Aaron’s stable jockey’s out of action. I’m helping exercise his gallopers.’

  ‘I see.’

  Tess poked a mottled blue and pink big toe at a piece of moss growing between the yard’s pavers, and Sophie realised her aunt wasn’t wearing any boots. Tess must have come straight over after hearing from her father. She tried to remember if parliament was sitting, but couldn’t. She hoped it was; otherwise, unless she placated Tess now, the next visitor she received would be Ian Dixon.

  Buck snorted and pulled against his lead. Sophie stroked his neck. He was becoming bored and probably cold. She lifted up the saddle flap and unbuckled the girth, then pulled the saddle off and took it into the tack room. Tess followed her.

  ‘You don’t have to worry. Aaron barely speaks to me,’ said Sophie over her shoulder as she placed the saddle on a wooden horse. She picked up a bucket of brushes and turned to head back outside, but Tess guarded the door. Outside, the dogs whined.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Sophie, trying to brush past. ‘Buck’s getting cold.’

  Tess’s eyes were hard on hers. ‘Just remember he’s a Laidlaw. Imagine if the press discovered the country’s future agriculture minister’s daughter was hanging with a criminal.’

  ‘Aaron’s not a criminal. And besides, you can’t stop me. Not any more. I’m immune to your stupid games.’

  ‘Just like your mother. Selfish. You don’t care who you hurt by your actions.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  She gave Sophie a penetrating look. ‘Isn’t it? I’d say you and your mother have caused enough damage to this family without adding any more.’

  With her barb well and truly lodged, Tess stepped back into the yard and, giving Buck a wide berth, walked off to her ute, bare feet slapping on the pavers.

  When the Toyota had disappeared down the lane Sophie sat down on the step, shaking – but not from the cold. The heelers sat at her feet staring up at her. It wasn’t until Del put a paw on her knee in doggy comfort that the tears came. Maybe Tess was right. Maybe she was selfish.

  But for how long would she have to keep paying for the mistakes of the past?

  The bed was a snarl of twisted sheets when Sophie woke the next morning after a restless night, and her mood didn’t improve when she ventured outside. Tess had left the gate to the hayshed paddock open. Fortunately, it was only the pasture hay the cattle had gotten into, not the lucerne hay, but that was bad enough. Tess and her father had let the paddocks degrade years before, and even with all the work Sophie had done renovating them with careful summer grazing rotations, Vanaheim, like everywhere else in the south-east, still suffered a summer and autumn feed deficit. Hay remained a valuable resource.

  The last thing she needed was more grief. The eventing season was at its peak, and in just over two weeks’ time, she would compete across the border at Lake Ackerman, the biggest and toughest competition of the year. It wasn’t pony club, it was professional. Chuck was entered in the two-star class, while Buck, who was not quite at the same standard, was competing in the one-star. The dressage tests were demanding, the cross-country jumps huge and the showjumping course technically difficult. Winning required concentration and skill.

  She reversed a box trailer up to the lucerne stack and put on a pair of leather gloves. Her breath steamed, but she left her coat off. She’d warm up soon enough.

  Over a cup of tea in the warmth of Hakea Lodge’s kitchen, Aaron had agreed to train Costa Motza in exchange for lucerne hay. The price of lucerne had skyrocketed because of the northern drought, and it would take little of Sophie’s own stock to honour the commitment. Since she’d taken over management, Vanaheim’s lucerne crop had almost doubled. Provided Tess kept the hayshed paddock gate closed, lucerne was something of which she had plenty.

  Taking the lucerne to Hakea Lodge, she felt her spirits lift. When she pulled into the yard, Aaron appeared.

  ‘You should have yelled. I would’ve come and given you a hand,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’d actually set foot on Dixon land?’ said Sophie, smiling at him. The moment she’d turned in the drive her ill-temper had faded and she had been filled with anticipation. She told herself it was because she was seeing Rowdy and Costa Motza, but she knew that was a lie. She wanted to see Aaron.

  He crossed one arm in front of his chest and held a finger to his mouth, feigning deep contemplation. ‘Cheap lucerne’s hard to come by, you know. Plus your old man’s not around, and your aunt’s probably still sleeping off her excesses. So, yeah, I reckon I could set foot on Dixon land.’

  ‘Wow. Who’d have thought?’

  He grinned. ‘Don’t be cheeky. Seriously though, Soph, I’ll give you a hand next time.’

  She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but it’s probably best if you do stay away. I don’t want to risk Tess bumping into you.’

  ‘Why? What’ll she do to me? ’

  ‘Nothing. It’s more a case of what she’ll do to me.’

  His expression hardened, and Sophie wondered what he was thinking. Probably that she was too pathetic to stand up for herself.

  Aaron insisted on unloading the trailer himself and Sophie let him. Ten bales wasn’t much and she wanted to see Rowdy before starting on the other horses. As she approached the stable, Rowdy whickered at her and her heart warmed.

  ‘Hey big fella. How are you today?’ she murmured as she stroked and kissed his nose. ‘Did you run fast this morning?’

  Rowdy bobbed his head and she laughed. She ducked into his stable to give him the once-over. Unlike the other horses with their sand-based yards and corrugated-iron three-sided shelters, Rowdy had a warm, timber-lined stable and a floor laid down with thick straw. It reflected his importance to the yard. Only stars were given a stable.

  Unable to help herself, Sophie checked the bedding, but the box had been expertly mucked out and any damp or soiled straw replaced. Unlike the rest of Hakea Lodge, Aaron kept the yards and stables immaculate.

  She returned her attention to Rowdy, planting kisses on his nose and scratching at the spot behind his ears she’d discovered he adored. Rowdy rubbed his lips against her cheek, returning her kiss.

  ‘You wouldn’t be coming on to me, would you now?’ she asked him in her usual horsey blather. ‘I bet you are. You know who your new mistress is, don’t you? You know she’s a sucker for big brown eyes and long lashes.’

  ‘I suppose that rules me out,’ said Aaron, leaning over the half-door.

  She smiled into Rowdy’s neck. Aaron had no idea. Right now, she felt very partial to blue-eyed blonds. She turned to him with her head tilted to one side, assessing him. ‘I don’t think it’s so much the eyes, more the lack of that lovely horse smell.’

  ‘I dunno about that,’ said Aaron, sniffing the sleeve of his jumper. ‘Every woman I’ve known has complained about it.’

  ‘Not me. I love it.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I don’t think there are many women in the world like you, Soph.’ He pointed at Rowdy. ‘If you’ve finished with lover-boy there, do you want to go for a ride?’

  ‘Sure. Who do you want me to grab?’

  ‘You can take that brown filly in the second yard, Casalinga. She’ll give you a nice ride. She’s one of Tony Johnstone’s,’ he said, referring to his main owner, ‘and she’s a little cracker, too. That’s who Costa Motza will be up against if you decide to run him over two thousand metres.’

  Sophie looked at the filly. She was gorgeous, but still underdeveloped. �
��You’re having me on. That weedy little thing doesn’t stand a chance against my boy.’ She turned back to Aaron. ‘Who are you taking?’

  ‘Psycho.’

  ‘But I can ride Psycho.’

  Aaron shook his head. ‘Nah, you look knackered enough. And you’ve another one-day event on Sunday.’

  Under Sophie’s thick jumper, goosebumps crept up her back in delicious tingles. ‘You remembered.’

  He gave her an amused look. ‘Of course I remembered. I’m worried sick you’ll fall off and I’ll lose my rider.’

  They rode out in the clear cold morning. Psycho snorted and chewed his snaffle, but gave Aaron a much easier ride than he’d given Sophie.

  Casalinga was, as Aaron promised, a delight. She settled into a smooth trot to which Sophie barely had to rise, and although her ears swivelled as she caught the sounds of Sophie and Aaron’s conversation, she remained steady.

  ‘I didn’t realise your dad was such a good trainer until I saw all the photos,’ she said as they turned up into the firebreak. ‘I never heard about that side of him.’

  ‘You wouldn’t,’ said Aaron.

  ‘No. All I was ever told was that he’d lost his licence for horse doping.’ She paused, torn between wanting to ask and not wanting to hurt Aaron with a reminder of the past, but the words seemed to blurt out by themselves. ‘But I just don’t understand why he’d do that when the yard was so successful.’

  Aaron kept his eyes straight in front of him, as though he couldn’t bear to look at her. Sophie bit her lip.

  ‘God, I’m sorry, Aaron. Foot in mouth disease, as usual.’

  ‘He wasn’t a horse doper.’

  Sophie stared at him. Of course he was. Rodger Laidlaw had been warned off the track for life. Everyone knew that. It was public record. She didn’t know how to respond.

  ‘He never did anything, Sophie. He was a good man.’

  ‘But … so why did he lose his licence?’

  ‘He shouldn’t have.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘You don’t have to. You just need to know that Dad was a good man and a great trainer.’

  Sophie stared at her hands, thinking of her mother and how, except for her suicide, Sophie still believed she could do no wrong. Her memory had transformed her mother from sinner to saint when, rationally, she knew neither guise was the whole truth. In reality, Fiona Dixon was simply a flawed woman, an adored mum who’d given Sophie life and then taken away her own.

  ‘You must have loved him very much,’ she said.

  ‘Not enough, Soph. Not enough.’

  Sophie understood exactly what he meant.

  Six

  The horses stamped. Rowdy pawed at the half-door of his stable and whinnied. Costa Motza hung his head over the rail of his yard and stared up the drive, the skin around his big brown eyes furrowed with worry. Psycho paced, snorting and tossing his head in agitation. Even the normally unflappable Pollyanna stood quivering at her gate, waiting.

  Aaron shook his head. Since Sophie started working at Hakea Lodge two weeks ago, it was as though a spell had fallen over the yard, enchanting his horses. He stood on the verandah with his mug of tea, watching their excitement build. Rowdy called out. Loudly. Costa Motza joined in. The ears of the other horses all pointed toward the drive. A contagious shiver went around the yard and, despite his outward show of indifference, Aaron felt it too.

  The Range Rover slowed to a halt and Sophie stepped out of the car wearing tight navy jodhpurs, short boots, shiny black gaiters and an old dark blue and grey poloneck jumper. Aaron liked that jumper. It turned the smoky grey of her eyes vivid. She blew a kiss at Rowdy, waved at Aaron and walked around to the rear door of the Range Rover. From the back, she retrieved a red plastic bucket and carried it into the feed room.

  Aaron took a sip of his tea.

  A few seconds later, Sophie emerged and returned to the car. Smiling her cheerful morning smile, she approached the verandah carrying a big plate.

  ‘Anzac biscuits,’ she said, waving them under Aaron’s nose before disappearing into the kitchen.

  He shook his head, smiling. Tuesday it had been lamingtons; on Monday, caramel slice. Tomorrow it would be some other sweet snack.

  It hadn’t taken Sophie long to discover that riding racehorses built a big appetite. In the beginning, Aaron had made her Vegemite sandwiches for morning tea, but one morning, when she’d asked him for jam instead, he discovered she had a terrible sweet tooth. He’d bought chocolate biscuits for her after that, but she’d fretted about how much he was spending on catering for her and announced that, from then on, she would bring something for them to share over morning tea.

  The next day, she’d turned up with a fruitcake. Two days later, when the cake was gone, she’d bought buttery scones from the local bakery, complete with jam and cream, and soon it was Aarons turn to worry about the trouble Sophie was going to for their morning teas.

  In the end, when Sophie started waking up with the sparrows to watch Rowdy and Costa Motza’s trackwork, his dilemma was easily resolved. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, Aaron invited Sophie to join him for breakfast in Hakea Lodge’s kitchen. They’d drink steaming cups of sweet tea, listen to the morning news on the radio and discuss the horses’ performances in between mouthfuls of sausages and eggs on toast.

  It wasn’t only him Sophie was spoiling. Every day, the horses were favoured with a treat. Sometimes it was a bucket of carrots she’d share out before leaving for home. Other mornings she brought apples. The week before, Aaron had caught her feeding the horses peppermints.

  The horses’ reactions to this unusual treat had her laughing so hard she’d had to grab at a rail to hold herself upright. Psycho kept raising his head in the air and curling his top lip like a randy ram that had just sniffed a ewe. Costa Mozta was leaning so far over the top rail of his yard, his rubbery lips extended and wiggling like an elephants nose as he tried to reach for the packet, that he was in danger of falling over. Rowdy had cocked his head to either side like a connoisseur thinking up superlatives to describe the taste, before flopping out his tongue and waggling it as if it needed airing.

  Aaron had shaken his head and walked away grumbling about rotten teeth and dentist bills, but the sight of her laughing so joyously made his heart feel too big for his chest.

  ‘You’re turning my horses into a bunch of spoilt sooks,’ he said.

  ‘Is that a complaint?’

  He didn’t answer. He couldn’t complain because the horses had never been happier, and even Costa Motza’s gallops had improved, although not enough to warrant him being nominated for next month’s Harrington Gold Cup. Ever-optimistic Sophie had had to admit defeat there, though her faith that the horse would one day win a race remained unwavering.

  Yesterday, as they’d stood together at Harrington Racecourse, shivering in the post dawn light with grim drizzle falling around them, Sophie had promised Aaron it was only a matter of time, before going on to tell him that the dopey white-socked chestnut needed extra work to get his fitness levels up. He could probably do with more corn in his diet and she was thinking of ordering some blood tests to check for trace element deficiencies. He’d regarded her with a combination of amusement and mild exasperation, and had to bite his tongue to stop himself reminding her who held the trainer’s licence. Sophie was taking Costa Motza’s training very seriously. But then it appeared that for Sophie, when it came to the horses, everything was serious.

  Aaron indicated Rowdy with his chin. ‘You can take out the big fella this morning.’

  She nodded, but her grey eyes were bright and, as she looked over at the banging, stomping horse, her cheeks bloomed a pale rose. It wasn’t just excitement, it was something else. Something, for all its insanity, Aaron could only describe as infatuation.

  He stared at her, irritated, and found himself resisting the urge to give her a good shake. She might think Rowdy was God’s gift, but at the end of the day, he was still just a bloody hors
e.

  They rode out into yet another frosty morning, the horses’ bits jangling as they chewed and worked them in their mouths.

  ‘Have you seen the dapples on Rowdy’s hindquarters?’ asked Sophie. ‘He must be in peak condition. Funny how you don’t see them on lighter coloured horses. Chuck gets them when he’s feeling really well, too, but they look prettier on Rowdy because he’s so dark.’

  Aaron gave the horse a sour glance and said nothing.

  ‘Remind me to bring the clippers over and I’ll clean up his mane a bit.’ She rubbed at Rowdy’s neck. ‘Can’t have a handsome boy like you looking untidy now, can we?’

  ‘He’s a racehorse, not a show pony.’

  ‘I know, but I want him to look his best.’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Sophie, just leave him alone.’

  Sophie went quiet and Aaron could tell from the quick looks she threw him that she was wondering what was wrong with him. If she asked, he wouldn’t be able to tell her. He didn’t know himself.

  They were halfway up the firebreak before Sophie spoke. ‘Aaron, have I done something wrong? You’ve hardly spoken to me and you keep looking at me as though I’m infected with a contagious disease.’ She turned away and stared into the pine forest. ‘Just tell me what I did wrong so I don’t do it again.’

  ‘You haven’t done anything wrong.’

  ‘Could have fooled me.’

  ‘It’s not you, Soph.’

  She turned back to him. ‘Then what is it?’

  What was he meant to say? That he didn’t like the way she looked at Rowdy? That he was developing an irrational dislike for a horse? She’d think he was nuts, but he had to give her some excuse for his dour mood. He shifted in the saddle. ‘I’m just not used to having someone in the yard all the time.’

  She blinked, as if she knew he wasn’t being honest and his lie had stung. ‘What about Danny?’