Jeremy, red and breathing hard, found himself with an arm about a slender figure that was clinging to him, shrieking at him, ‘She won, she won . . . the darling won!’
He blinked, went redder, pulled away.
Alfie didn’t mind, even though there were tears in her eyes. Her gasping was joyful: ‘Wasn’t it wonderful!’ She saw Nan staring, grabbed at her, kissed her. ‘I never felt so excited. Aren’t you excited?’
Nan smiled her comfortable smile. Still, the Lily Lagoons people were hugging each other. Alfie got into it. She came out of the huddle to see Jeremy heading for the gate by the Judge’s Stand, leading onto the course, and in process of being opened. She asked those about her, ‘Is he going to bring her in?’
They all answered, Yes. She looked at Nan. ‘Could I go with him?’
Nan smiled. ‘Da’s all right. I t’ink.’
Alfie raced after the bulky fawn-clad back, caught up with it beyond the gate. Jeremy, watching his heaving champing champion returning from the little distance to which her terrific momentum had taken her, turned on finding someone at his side murmuring, with evident trepidation: ‘I took the liberty. I did so want to be in this part of it . . . I . . . I asked your wife.’
He stared at her for a moment, so that she dropped her own eyes. He asked, ‘What did you ask her?’
‘If it would be all right for me to come.’
‘All right for whom?’
She caught his arm: ‘Oh, please, Jeremy!’
‘I’m not objecting, girl. I’m just surprised.
‘That your wife should be so sweet?’
‘I hate that word used about Nan.’
‘I’m sorry.’
He persisted, ‘It always sounds like condescension.’
‘I said I’m sorry.’ She was still clinging to his arm.
He didn’t shake her off as usual.
As Golden Girl came up, Jeremy said first to grinning Darcy, ‘Good on you, lad.’ Darcy giggled. Then Jeremy touched the sodden tossing neck of the mare, saying, ‘Poor old girl . . . all that to prove what everybody knew you were . . . but it’ll be nice to remember when you see your colts and fillies training, eh?’ The mare, quite distressed, shoved her head against him as if to weep. There was no room in it for two clinging females. Alfie had to let go. Jeremy led the mare through the gate, then let her go to stand and wait while Darcy rode through to the Saddling Paddock for the Weighing-out, after which the mare, if declared the winner on the Numbers Board, must be presented to Patron and President.
‘Why did you say that?’ Alfie asked. ‘Won’t she race again?’
‘Another race like that would kill her. Only a colt can do it more than once. She’s had her shining hour. She can now settle down and become a mother and lead a normal life.’
‘Half her luck,’ said Alfie.
Jeremy, watching for the numbers, seemed not to hear. Then up went Golden Girl’s number; and there in a moment was Darcy riding back. As Jeremy took the horse’s head again, Alfie caught the bridle on the other side.
Jeremy seemed not to notice the act, in fact was looking up at the grandstand, where there was a little knot of women about the weeping Mrs Trotters, whose colt had been second favourite; but in a moment he asked, ‘Why half her luck . . . on account of her settling down, or the shining hour?’
‘I guess the shining hour.’
‘Don’t you think you’ll get yours?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Then let’s hope you recognise it and are content with it and don’t go hunting greedily after more . . . like poor old Mum Trotters up there. She got it with the Cup last year and the inner circle this one . . .’
‘How would you know which is your shining hour?’
‘I don’t know . . . I haven’t had one . . . yet.’
‘Do you expect to?’
He shrugged. ‘You mustn’t expect . . . only hope . . .’
Such was the effect of this tête-à-tête across the champion’s blowing nose, at least upon those who had a grandstand view of it, as the mare was double-led to the grandstand, that even the relict of Piggy Trotters was checked in her grieving for not having the hours shining for her always; although in the case of the Widow Trotters, it might have been her sensing of withdrawal of the interest of those who had been comforting her. Dead silence reigned in the grandstand, even while the common herd, whatever its closest members might be thinking, did the proper thing by clapping. Then the President bethought himself of the niceties and clapped; and appropriately the elite joined him — except for the most elite of all, his Lady Mother, who sat behind him, so wooden of face and form that it was impossible not to notice her amongst the applauding others, impossible for the two pairs of eyes, the grey and the black, on either side of the horse’s head, not to meet her hard blue stare. Jeremy blinked and withdrew his eyes on the instant. Not so Alfie. She clung to the blue eyes for as long as they deigned to regard her, which was long enough for her to get her revenge with an elfin smirk.
Chairman and Patron rose from their special seats, came down the short flight of stairs, at the foot of which horse, rider, leaders, halted. Colonel Chivvy thrust his hand out to Jeremy, saying in clipped tones, ‘Congratulations, Sir . . . great horse . . . great race . . . heartiest congratulations.’ Then, even to the amazement of the lady herself, he thrust the hand at what he may have taken for a girl strapper — and, by jove, a pretty one, said a roguish light in his faded eye — and added in that military tone: ‘And you, young lady.’ The eyes swept swiftly up and down her neat if grubby figure in reconnaisance. Then he looked up at Darcy: ‘And you, Jockey . . . damn good show!’ and reached for the saddle-coloured hand. ‘And, of course, you, my beauty!’ He stroked the mare’s nose. Then he stepped back, to let Martin Delacy do his stuff.
Martin did and said much the same, with the exception that he utterly ignored Alfie. He said to Jeremy, ‘Grand little filly, Father. I’ve never seen a mare run a better race. Will you race her again?’
Jeremy replied amiably enough, ‘Not likely, Son.’
‘I didn’t think so. But we might expect some of her blood, I hope.’
‘Yes, Son.’
Alfie caught Martin’s staring eye as she turned with the turning of the horse by Jeremy; and again that impish smirk, so evident as to make the young man turn red.
She kept her grip on the bridle right through the press of congratulating from the common herd, amongst whom there were lots of familiar faces: Eddy McCusky arm in arm with Kitty Wyndeyer and both somewhat under the influence, it seemed — Fergus Ferris, with his arm about a pretty silly-looking little thing, Miss Chivvy, the Colonel’s daughter, Finnucane and his Bridie, and his son-in-law Con, in that order as they could get from behind the bar — even Barbu Ram, and some little fellow in a turban and dark glasses who was not noticed at all. Fergus and Eddy and a number of other boys kissed Alfie, till she was covering her face, but certainly not with annoyance, judging by the glowing of her eyes and her high colour and her giggling. But although as many hands as could reach touched the mare or grasped Darcy’s hand, so few sought the hand of the one responsible for it all, he sometimes called the Scrub Bull.
They came through the press to the stables. There was Nan. Jeremy let go the horse to take her in his arms and kiss her. She smiled happily, turning her smile on the suddenly blank-faced Alfie, asking, ‘You have good time, eh, Missus?’
Alfie took a moment to conjure the smile and the answer, ‘Oh, yes, thank you . . . dear . . . it was marvellous.’
From a stable nearby came some fluent bad language. Jeremy chuckled, addressing Alfie, ‘If you don’t want to learn all the swear-words in the language, you’d better trot along. That’s my half-brother, Jumbo. He’s always a bad loser.’
She glanced in the direction of the stream of filth, murmuring. ‘Poor Jumbo!’
‘Oh, it isn’t so much a matter of hurt pride, but of wasted sacrifice.’
‘Sacrifice?’
; ‘He’d’ve been off the grog for a whole week getting ready for this.’
‘You’re wrong there. According to official information, since he’s been made foreman of the McCusky ranch at Sweet Creek, he’s been drinking very little.’
‘Indeed! We’ll tonight’ll prove how permanent the cure is. He starts making things hideous just as everybody else is beginning to settle down after the Ball.’
‘Will you be going to the Ball?’
‘No . . . I never attend any of the official functions.’
‘So I heard.’ She was staring at him.
He looked relieved when he saw Frank coming, said quickly, ‘Well, here’s your man come to collect you. You won’t want to be mixed up in the rest of it. What you need most will be a long drink and a bath. See you later, eh?’ He more or less shoved her into the arms of smiling Frank, who led her away towards the parked Rolls Royce.
The Lily Lagoons people, with a number of friends, were just settling down to their own Cup Banquet when the lurking dogs and plovers warned them of intrusion. Those of the household who were not black and preferring to enjoy themselves in the more natural way of sitting on the ground, were at a large trestle table set out under the high-sailing half moon, the stars, and a couple of hanging electric globes. The provender was a couple of huge domestic turkeys, with sweetbucks, pumpkin, and other trimmings, a great fruit pie with cream, all sorts of dessert stuffs, and champagne, wine, beer. The friends were the Toohey Family, three or four down-country cattlemen, and the Jumbo Delacys, amongst them, Jumbo himself, and, miraculously, sober.
It was a dark-clad figure coming down the hill — a Lady, so breathed the sharper-eye — and soon, more softly, ‘Mitchis Elfie!’
Alfie was wearing the Race Day rigout, the willow-pattern china thing, as soon as she came into the bright circle of light. Jeremy and Nan rose to meet her, he greeting her, rather shortly, ‘Hullo!’
She wasn’t smiling, as a true intruder would be, but looking even anxious. She said, ‘Sorry to butt in . . . but I wanted to see you . . . importantly.’
‘Take a seat . . . have a drink.’ He reached for glass and champagne bottle. Nan was getting a cane chair. Alfie said she wouldn’t sit down, adding that she had something she wanted to tell Jeremy — in private, if he didn’t mind. That Jeremy did mind somewhat, he showed with the reluctance with which he excused himself from his company. As they headed away towards the crossing, he said with a hint of a chuckle, ‘I’d’ve thought a fire-eater like you would have braved the she-lion in her den.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Gone to the Big House banquet. As a Committee Member you were entitled to.’
She looked at him. ‘Did you really expect me to go?’
‘No . . . of course not. But Finnucane asked you to his, I suppose?’
‘Yes . . . but I didn’t go . . . because of what I want to tell you about.’
He halted as they reached the causeway, looking back at his camp as if to remind her of his responsibilities. ‘Fire away.’
‘Just before we were to go in to eat, that man Gilling, the Head Bookkeeper from the Station . . . he’s Treasurer . . . came and said he wanted to talk to me privately . . . and I left Frank and the others. He said he’d come to get the list of names I had of the people I’d sold the Golden Horseshoes to. I was surprised . . . because when I gave him the money yesterday, he told me to keep the list . . . because I’d be helping the Patron with the drawing. He even told me to be careful with it. I reminded him of that. He said it was Lady Eaton’s orders.
‘Oh!’
‘I got mad at that . . . but didn’t know what to say. I just said, “I can’t give them to you now. I’m with my husband and friends.” He was quite nice about it . . . said he’d collect it from me later . . . and went off. I couldn’t go back into the lounge. When Frank came looking for me, I told him, and said I wanted to see you . . . and he could take that darling-of-the-regiment girl of his to the dinner instead of me.’
‘Poor Frank!’
‘He understood how I felt. Don’t you?’
‘You asked for it, you know. I think I mentioned that this morning. This social business has very strict rules. I’m surprised to find you take it seriously.’
‘I’m taking it seriously on account of you.’ He looked at her quickly. She went on: ‘Of course she’s doing it on account of my association with you.’ Jeremy dropped his eyes, expostulating with a groan. She insisted, ‘It’s true. Everybody says so.’
‘Who’s everybody?’
‘Well . . . Betty and Charlie . . . and Fergus and the others . . . talking about the lunch-time business. It is true, too. Didn’t you see the way she looked at me when we went up to the grandstand with the horse?’
‘I never see her.’
‘Well, she sees you.’
He asked shortly, ‘What’s it you want to talk to me about?’
‘I’m not going to give up the list.’
Again he looked at her. She was staring up into his eyes, her own dark eyes looking very wide in the moon-pale pixie face. Looking away again, he asked, ‘Is that wise?’
‘You asked me why I didn’t go into the lion’s den and defy her. I’m going to do it in the Dance Hall.’
He whistled softly to the distance, then asked, ‘What’s Frank think of that?’
‘I didn’t ask his opinion. I simply said I was coming to you.’
‘What d’you want me to do . . . give my blessing on what I think’s a piece of folly?’
‘No . . . give me courage to do what you’d do yourself.’
Again he looked at her. She went on rapidly: ‘You’ve always defied them in their stupid arrogance. It’s what you’ve done’s inspired me to do the same.’
He looked away again, hooking a thumb in his belt. She seized the hand. ‘If I give those things up to her, I’ll give her a victory . . . not only over me, but over you. We’re both in this. Let’s finish it together . . .’
‘Now, look here!’ He tried to get his hand free; but she clung to it.
‘No, Jeremy . . . don’t let me down. See me through it.’
‘How?’
‘Come to the Cup Ball with me.’
‘Oh, hell!’
‘I’m not asking you to do anything . . . only be there to back me up . . .’
‘You have a husband . . .’
‘It’s you that counts. If you’re there it’ll be not just a piece of folly, as you called it . . . not just one woman refusing to be bossed by another . . . it’ll be an act of defiance against the arrogance that woman stands for.’
He dropped his head, so that the moonlight glinted on the silvery mane.
‘I understand now why you broke with her. People’ve said it’s your arrogance. I know now that she’s a woman ruthless for power, and only wanted to use you to get it . . . and that she represents a class . . . and . . . and . . .’ She finished breathless.
He said with a sigh, ‘You know I never go to that silly Ball. I never could go now.’
‘Not just to collect the Cup?’
‘I haven’t done that since it’s become what it virtually is now, a Vaisey condescension . . . not for the best part of ten years . . .’
‘Yet you run your horses in the races and collect the cups!’
‘Where else would I run my horses . . . for what else would I breed ’em?’
She said angrily, ‘That sounds like compromise to me . . . and I thought you didn’t compromise?’ He was silent. She said, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right. Life is half compromise, no matter how one strives for complete integrity. Didn’t you go from the red raggers in Town to the squatters in the bush . . .’
‘For material for my book about what rotten bastards they are . . .’
‘Who?’
‘Most Australians.’
He chuckled. ‘I like that.’
She said eagerly, ‘Well come to the bloody Ball . . . just to get the Cup. That
’ll rock ’em for a start. Then I come in and refuse to give up the things I was entrusted with till I met you. Can’t you see we’re in it together?’
He sighed, ‘Only too clearly, my dear . . .’
‘Oh . . . you’ll do it!’ She shot up on her toes and kissed him fairly on the lips.
He pushed her away, muttering, ‘Here . . . that’ll do.’ When she started babbling again, he interrupted: ‘Leave it at that. I want to get back to my people. Come on. Come and join us.’
As he set off she grabbed his arm, swung into his stride, murmuring, ‘Oh, Jeremy!’
He growled, ‘Don’t jump to conclusions. I’ll have to think about it.’ And he freed himself.
They came back to the table to find everybody busy eating, except Nan, who although she smiled her usual smile, was watching big-eyed. Jeremy said to her, ‘She’s going to eat with us. Some sort of row with the committee.’ Then to the beaming Alfie, ‘There’s a seat next to Water Lily.’
Alfie didn’t seem to care where she sat, so pleased was she with herself; so much indeed as soon to infect the company with her gaiety, talking about the wonderful food, fun she’d had at the Compound with the kids and everybody, her experiences as a munjong rider while recently out on the stations: ‘I had to eat my meals off the mantelpiece for a week!’ When some giggled and others stared uncomprehending, she asked, ‘You know what’s a mantelpiece?’ Nan, squealing with laughter, explained to the ignorant ones. They whooped and slapped their thighs with mirth. Not so the rather grim-faced Mullaka. And Nan, for all her merriment, was still watchful.
Then the neighbours’ dogs and the plovers sounded off again. It was Frank this time. They sat him down. He was his amiable self, ready with his laugh, but watchful like Nan. So it went on — till suddenly a burst of brassy music up at the pub. All looked, to see the glint of brass in the moonlight and Finnucane’s glare, and surging people — Roll Out The Barrel . . . pom-pom, p’pom-pom, pom-pom — and there was the Military Band marching along the road towards the Dance Hall. Yet another innovation brought about by the stirring times, and probably the fact that Colonel Chivvy was Patron. The call to the Ball in former times had been merely the appearance of the Elite coming from the Big House in their cars. Almost all of the Lily Lagoons people and their friends leapt up to go witness the wonder of it. The plovers cursed; the dogs barked and howled; far away the dispossessed cockies were giving their opinion of it.
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