Ahmed had a covered waggon, and he had circled each side with his wares, mostly bright shifts and dangling baubles to wear with them.
At first Jane thought it was a waste of time, that there could be nothing here, then both she and William saw the long, fresh pink cotton number together, more simply made than the heavily beaded offerings beside it, in fact quite a possible dress, Jane had to admit.
`It's not Pierre Balmain,' said William.
`Nor, I expect, David Jones,' Jane smiled.
`Will it do?' he asked.
`So long as it doesn't offend you.'
`If it does, I'll only look the once,' he promised. He told the Afghan to wrap it up.
They did not come back into Farley that night, where, Mr. Marriott said, the swing doors would be swinging overtime. Instead they sat in the cool green room and talked Territorian. How interesting it all was, Jane thought, listening intently.
The next morning she put on the floral jersey she had brought and went into the big event. It was, she found, like nothing else on earth, it was completely, wildly, fascinatingly different, and she enjoyed every moment, even when William Bower said of her red ochre hair, for the stirred-up dust and covered that part of Jane as well as everywhere else, a laconic : 'I know now why my uncle signed you on as his strapper.' He nodded to her head. 'After a name like Rusty, how could he help it?'
`Rusty was short for Russell,' she reminded him.
`Yet probably a favourite colour with my uncle, too.' `But I'm not red. Perhaps faintly inclined that way in a
natural state, but still far from titian.'
`Who said such a nice thing of you as titian?'
'So long as it's a removable colour that's all that concerns me,' Jane said plaintively.
come out in the wash,' William assured her. 'Have you seen around?'
I've bought six lucky tickets and been unlucky six times, had a cornet of fairy floss, a
`Had tea?'
'Not yet.'
'Come on, then.' He put the tips of his fingers under her elbow and led her to the tent, where great urns of strong brew awaited, toppling piles of corned beef sandwiches, wide wedges of sultana cake.
Jane was intrigued with the jockeys, already parading up and down, not the professionals who had flown up from the cities for the main events, but the local offerings for the minor races, wearing everything on their heads from ten-gallon hats to crash helmets, and instead of breeches had put on shorts, chaps, jeans, even in one instance waist-high wading boots.
William told Jane that Ruthven was down for the Downs Cup, the main event. 'Ambitious of me ... of us,' he corrected that at once. 'You've no idea of the aristocrats he'll have to meet.'
'It'll be experience at least,' said Jane.
'That's all I'd bet on if I were you,' Bower advised.
He was entirely wrong, as he said proudly, if regretfully, an hour later.
'Had I known that Ruthven had that in him .'
For Ruthven was first away from the barrier, led all the way, came in an indisputable leader.
reckon that boy was born for the mulga,' William glowed. He looked at Jane, then grinned. 'But someone else was not. You're Eve in ochre, Miss Sidney. If you want to wear that pink creation tonight you'd better tone down your colouring a little. Shall we leave now to give you time to soak?'
'The Marriotts are still here,' she pointed out.
`I reckon we can run to a hiring. In fact' ... serious now ... 'between us at the very minute we could buy the taxi. Do you know what that stake was?'
`No.'
`Then take a breath.' He told her, and it was so incredible she stared open-mouthed at him
`That's true. Now you know why I wanted a spinifex sprinter, the prizes to say the least were rewarding. If you'll close your mouth long enough to rattle off some arithmetic, Miss Sidney, you'll see that your fifth entitles you to
`I'm rich,' Jane said unbelievingly. 'Not exactly, but you are comfortably placed.' He looked at her sharply. 'It could make all the difference, couldn't it? You could step out of the show right now. With the extra sum I'd pay you for your now valuable share you really could be that rich woman.'
`No, thank you.'
`Going for more?'
She hesitated. She had been going to say, as she had said before, 'I'll wait for the D's first, see them settled.' But all at once she knew it was not just that, that it was She fastened her teeth on her bottom lip to stop her making an audible sound of discovery, for she had just discovered an entirely mad, an entirely impossible, incredible thing. She had discovered—and she would not believe it—that when it came to this man, to this great, overbearing, overwhelming,
over-everything hunk of
`I should say you're going for more,' he drawled. No, Jane knew, I won't. I won't.
As soon as she got to the homestead she soaked, scrubbed, shampooed. When at last she emerged, the tub wore a bright red rim, but Jane was her usual colour. Perhaps a little pinker from her long immersion, but it suited the rosy cotton. She regarded herself in the mirror and thought she looked rather nice.
The Marriotts arrived, dressed, too, then they all left in
the biggest of the cars for the Farley social event of the year.
Jane was impressed with the appearance of the barn, which had received much more attention than sweeping and dusting. The local ladies had adorned it in trailing ferns, native ti and flowering vines. With paper lanterns and balloons it became as festive a hall as any city offering, and Jane went approvingly in behind the Marriotts ... then stopped.
At the other end of the barn was a replica of her pink cotton. She dodged behind Bob Marriott so as not to embarrass the wearer just as a third pink cotton danced by.
Well,' remarked William Bower by her side, 'Ahmed at no time said it was an exclusive model. Want me to drive you back?'
To change into what?' Jane sighed.
Mrs. Marriott broke eagerly in : 'Ever since last night I've been thinking, Jane.'
`Good for you,' said her husband admiringly.
`Be quiet! I've been thinking, Jane. You see, I saw you in your negligee last night. So many girls now are wearing them for social events as well as home relaxation, or so my fashion mags tell me. You could, you know.'
`Well, one thing,' admitted Jane ruefully, can't wear this.' For a fourth Ahmed creation had appeared. Followed by another pink. Then another. Ahmed must have won himself a considerable discount for accepting an entire batch of pinks.
`Come on, then,' William Bower said.
Back at the homestead, Jane took a long searching look at the garment. It was, as Mrs. Marriott had said, very possible. Also, she had done this sort of thing before back home. That buttercup brocade, she recalled, she had worn it to---
`What do you think?' she asked William Bower, holding up the article.
But it on,' he said.
Jane did. It was deep cream and it fell softly in a straight line to her ankles. It had a deep décolleté and no sleeves, but she felt it did not have a nightie look. She added shoes, beaded bag and went out to the room along the polished green floor, her heels making little clicks.
He was standing by the french window, looking out on the night, and surely no nights, thought Jane, were more beautiful than Centre nights, with their overdone stars and their big ... melon-big ... moons.
`Well?' she asked.
He turned around.
He looked at her. And looked. It took such a long time that Jane found herself squirming, found herself wanting to cry out not 'Well?' but 'WELL !'
Then, still looking, but what sort of look it was, amused, unamused, mutual, Jane did not know, for she found she could not look back to find out, he said : 'I think its original purpose is best, Miss Sidney.'
`You mean ' Now Jane did look at him, looked
angrily at first, and then—
`Yes, I mean that,' William said in a quiet voice.
CHAPTER SEVEN
BACK once more at Plateau, Jane found h
erself less work-harassed than before. San Marco had been passed on to appropriate hands for specialist preparation for the better class provincials, and eventually, Jane suspected, a forthcoming Southern cup; Ruthven, having shown his rugged preferences, was being further toughened up at another of the Bower satellite studs—one, William Bower told Jane, dealt in similar conditions to the conditions, or lack of, that the Downs had provided. This left only Gretel, later to be mated, in Jane's hands, so Jane had only one girl and one orphaned foal to attend. She knew that her leisure period would be brief, in fact only till next week when the three D's emerged from quarantine, so she took the opportunity, seeing she was not even required for the twins, Kate still eagerly retaining that position, to explore her new surroundings.
She did it on Gretel, and the pair of them enjoyed the runs across the flats, and, upon occasion, the cautious (for Gretel was a stranger like Jane was) descents of the easier sections of the cliffs.
Several times Tim called upon Jane for veterinary assistance, since Jane was at present the sole Bower member literally not run off her feet. It was that period of the year (Down Under version) when a stud, always busy, becomes near-hectic.
There were seven top-class stallions ready for siring, and every day floats arrived from far distances, some even from interstate. Records had to be kept, and to make it more time-consuming, at Bowers the hopeful mares were agisted free until after their pregnancy tests. It all made for more work again.
On top of this, the yearling sales were being arranged.
They would not occur for some time yet, but Jane appreciated from her Surrey days that they took a lot of planning, a lot of pre-determination and pre-selection ... and a few tears. Or it had been tears of goodbye for her. For dear old Rusty, too, she had often suspected. It was strange, Jane pondered, that however much you disciplined yourself on what had to be, you could not successfully discipline your heart. She recalled, and still felt a pang, Little Down's sadness over their parting with Village Square, Eastern Night and Darcy.
She wondered if William Bower, too, experienced tugs. She knew that he would have scoffed at the idea, even possibly repeated that 'pony high priestess' of his and Gair's, but she had caught him out several times on 'boys' and 'girls' and 'fellows', on observed unrehearsed looks, and she was not sure he was the strict business man he tried to appear.
He certainly wasn't when he sought Jane out one evening.
'A sale tomorrow,' he said abruptly.
hope you do well.'
'Thank you.' There was a tinge of impatience in his voice at her formal reply.
'Did you require my help, Mr. Bower?' Jane asked, still formal.
'Yes. You're not doing anything special, are you?'
'Only exercising Gretel. Maureen seems to be coping as far as Tim is concerned.' Jane said that a trifle tetchily; she had been a little put out at the vet's obvious satisfaction with Maureen.
William Bower nodded disinterestedly. 'It's Fair Honey,' he said. But this time with interest.
'Oh yes.'
'You know her?'
Jane nodded. 'A pretty golden girl with a
'Yes, with a nasty-looking scar on her hip. Up till now Fair Honey has discouraged buyers with that hip, as soon as
she goes into the sale ring and they see that scar they're frightened off.'
`How did the scar occur?'
`Honey cut the hip when she ran into a salt trough on a sheep property. It was before I got her.'
`Then you weren't frightened off.'
`I liked the girl at once. I mean the filly.'
Jane felt like adding : The mutual look?' but forbore. `She's not that now, though, is she?' she said instead. 'Not a filly?'
`No. Fair Honey has had two very successful foalings. And that's what's concerning me.'
`Yes, Mr. Bower?'
`Because the catalogue hasn't been altered as I intended to alter it, Fair Honey is once more down for sale. Only this time her success as a mare could have leaked out, and there could be bids.'
`Can't she be withdrawn?'
Too late. I've always made it a strict rule to stick to my programme.'
Jane nodded. 'Then what do you want me to do?' `Bid, too,' he said.
`For myself or for you?'
wouldn't put you to that expense.'
`But if it wasn't such an expense?' Jane had had a thought.
He looked at her searchingly, but found nothing there. `Just bid,' he advised.
`I still don't understand it; isn't the sale a yearling one?' Fair Honey was halfway now to two figures in age, Jane judged.
The yearlings are months ahead. Even not being acclimatized yet you should know that. No, tomorrow's sales are just that. Sales,' he said gloomily.
`I'll bid,' Jane promised, taking pity on his gloom, remembering how she had felt on countless occasions. She added : 'If it's necessary.'
Again he gave her that curious look, found nothing once more, so left.
Jane went down to Fair Honey. She was an exceedingly pretty mare, and perhaps because of this received more attention than usual from the female strappers. Her coat was perfection, and Maureen ... or Kate? ... had worked on the scar until it was a very small flaw in the diamond.
But, said Jane to the mare, it's going to be a very discernible flaw, Honey.
It seemed strange to do things in reverse, to take the shine off instead of put it on, but that was what Jane worked at. She could not entirely diminish the gloss, as Honey was in excellent condition, but she did manage a discouraging lacklustre through untidy disarray to the shining gold coat. The scar showed out much more with the hair combed revealingly away from it. Jane even considered highlighting it by means of a cosmetic pencil, but she felt she could not cheat too much.
The next morning the country sounds of Bowers were punctuated in a way Jane recalled from Little Down. By raucous bid ! By hammer ! Always she had hated the blood sales, and she found she liked them no better now. But if the selling of Barbie, Mr. Six and Mahal upset her, barely knowing them, how much more upsetting must it be to William, who did? She would have liked to have flashed a sympathetic glance at him, but she was keeping an eye on Fair Honey, seeing that her scarred hip was in full view.
`And now, gentlemen, we offer Fair Honey, out of
Jane, taken by surprise, saw that she had not attended enough; she had let one of the grooms take Honey into the sale ring, and on her good side. She went to follow, but it was too late, the bidding actually had begun.
And such a beginning! It was a higher start even than Mahal had attracted, and everyone had had their eye on well-connected Mahal. Feeling a little sick, seeing her Farley Downs' profits vanishing forever, for William Bower would never countenance this expense, Jane went
higher.
The bidder—she could not see him—bid again. Jane bid.
All the attention was on her, standing as she did in the front row, and also, Jane knew from experience, because she was female, reasonably young, reasonably attractive.
Another bid from a retaliating Jane, and then, to her utter horror, even though it was doing what William Bower had asked of her, the acceptance from the auctioneer of that bid. An acceptance of three thousand five hundred dollars for a scarred mare.
Jane edged away from the ring and hurried towards the stables—just, as she had found years ago, as mothers find comfort in children, strappers find comfort in foals. She pushed the door of Wendy's Pride's box, and there, as well as Wendy's Pride, was William Bower. And he was laughing. Not just amused laughter but hilarious laughter.
`Your face !' he said, and laughed again.
`What's wrong with it?' Jane rubbed at her face with her handkerchief.
`Not now. Then. Then when you made that last bid and was accepted.'
`If you think it's funny
`I think it's side-splitting. Your poor worried little face !'
`It was a lot more money than I—than you intended,' Jane said unhappily. 'But what cou
ld I do? I did de-glamorize Honey.'
The worst thing you could have done. If I'd known you had that in mind
`De-glamorization?'
`Is there such a word?' He laughed again. 'The moment I saw Fair Honey come in, saw her dusty coat, I knew all the wiseacres, and believe me most of them there today are that, would be wide-awake.'
`They were,' agreed Jane miserably, 'or at least one was. Does it matter much, Mr. Bower? Does it mean that you'll have to recompense your company for that very big bid I made?'
`No company,' William Bower informed her calmly, `only yours truly in this concern ... except, of course, your fifth of the new lot.'
`Then?'
No, it doesn't matter.' Again he laughed. 'Don't go fretting, Miss Sidney, all's well and all that, and it's brightened up what's usually a saddening affair.'
`Saying goodbye,' she nodded. She asked : 'Who was it bidding for Honey? Do you know him?'
`You don't know?'
`It was someone at the back.'
`And you didn't know?'
`Who was it, Mr. Bower?' For William Bower was moving out of the stable, yet not right out.
`Two thousand,' he called to show her. Then : 'Two thousand two hundred.'
Jane stared across at him. 'You,' she said.
`Yes.'
`But—but why?'
The moment the mare came in I felt the interest, heard the stir, and no one reads a stir more clearly than a stud man. "What's this?" the atmosphere clearly said, "why is Bowers presenting a sale in an unpresentable manner? Watch it, it must be worthwhile." That' ... William gave a nod ... 'was what I received in the atmosphere.
`There were several very affluent buyers,' he resumed. `You wouldn't know them, of course. I did. I decided the only way to put them off was to scotch the thing straight away.' Another bout of laughing. 'So, Miss Sidney, I did.'
was bidding against you!' Jane was not amused.
`Try to look at it this way,' Bower advised kindly, evidently taking pity on her, 'try to look at it as keeping out the big buyers.'
`All I can look at it is from the amused angle, the amusement, no doubt later, of all the stud.'
The Mutual Look Page 13