by Holly Ford
Charlotte stared at the tabletop, mortified but also a little disappointed.
‘What a shame,’ her mother was saying. ‘Oh well, another time it is, then. I won’t be back until Christmas Eve, but you could always drop in on Charlotte if you’re passing.’
Passing? Charlotte closed her eyes. It was over two hundred kilometres back to his office.
‘We don’t get a lot of company out here,’ Andrea blathered on, getting up to fuss with the cake tins. ‘I’m sure she’d be pleased to see you, wouldn’t you, dear?’
Reluctantly, Charlotte looked up. Rob was smiling at her, a steady, open, blue gaze. She felt a surge of confidence.
‘Sure.’ She smiled back. ‘You know — if you’re passing.’
‘I’m sure I will be,’ Rob said softly. ‘Sometime soon.’ He raised his voice. ‘Thanks very much for the tea, Mrs Black — I’d better get on my way. I think I’ve still got about three hundred k’s to cover.’
‘Bloody hell,’ said Nick, walking in the door just as Rob’s truck disappeared down the drive. ‘Who was that? Are they shooting another calendar here or something?’
‘That,’ said Charlotte, unable to prevent a grin, ‘was the new accountant Townsends have hired. They’ve sent him out on a recce.’
‘Yeah?’ Nick raised his eyebrows and grinned back. ‘Time you started taking an interest in the books, Charles.’ Helping himself to a muffin, he began rifling through the pile of mail on the kitchen table.
Charlotte leaned forward. ‘Any more applications?’
‘Looks like another three,’ he handed the envelopes across. ‘Here you go — this is your job now.’
Blackpeak had been a shepherd down since the spring muster, and the position was proving hard to fill. Though Rex never complained, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, and Charlotte hated asking him to help pick up the slack. Their remaining shepherd, Matt, was doing the best he could, and now that she was back full time and Nick was down for the holidays, they had a little breathing room. Still, with the autumn muster coming up, she was getting desperate. The first two letters didn’t look any more promising than their predecessors, and Charlotte’s heart sank. She ripped open the last envelope.
Now this was more like it. Six years managing a station in the North Island — entirely different country, of course, but it was more experience than any of the rest of the applicants had. He was young, though. Only twenty-four. Charlotte frowned. A manager since he was eighteen? That sounded a bit suspect. She glanced at the name at the bottom of the page. Jennifer Thorpe. A woman? Well, why the hell not? Maybe Jennifer Thorpe’s story wasn’t so different to her own.
Jennifer arrived at Blackpeak the following week in a beaten-up double-cab ute with a team of dogs crated on the back. The back seat was piled with what looked like all her worldly goods, and Charlotte wondered if she might have been living in it. Her curly blonde hair wasn’t exactly what you’d call immaculate, her face was completely unmade-up, and she wore ill-fitting jeans and a baggy fisherman’s jumper that hung off her tall frame. She did look fit, though, and her hazel eyes were sharp and clear — almost intimidating, in fact, Charlotte thought, looking into them across the kitchen table.
Having made Jennifer a cup of coffee, Charlotte had no idea what to do next. Should she ask her some questions or offer to show her around the place first? Questioning her first seemed rude, but if Charlotte started showing her round, would Jennifer think she’d got the job already?
‘Well, what would you like to know?’ Jennifer’s voice was confident — peremptory, even. She didn’t smile.
‘Um. Tell me a bit more about your last job?’
‘Like I said in my letter, I ran a place up in the Wairarapa. It was my father’s farm, but he was … ill. He couldn’t do anything round the place himself, so I left school and took over as soon as I could. When he died, the place got sold up. So here I am.’
‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ There was an awkward pause. ‘What did he die of?’
‘Cirrhosis of the liver.’ Jennifer was matter-of-fact. ‘He was an alcoholic.’
Okay … she should probably come up with another question now. Quick. ‘So what made you sell?’
‘I didn’t — the bank did. The place had got pretty run down by the time I took it over. He’d let stock numbers drop, and there wasn’t the money for fertiliser to build them back up again. My father tried to solve the problem by putting all his savings into a finance company, and when it went under he lost the lot. In the end I found out he’d mortgaged us up to the hilt, and after he died, the bank called them all in, and that was the end of the story.’
‘God, that’s terrible.’
‘Yeah, it wasn’t the best.’
‘So what made you decide to come south?’
‘Bit of a whim, really. The ferry was close. It seemed like a good idea to get away.’ Jennifer sat forward suddenly. ‘Look. I know it doesn’t sound like the best track record in farming you’ve ever heard, but I know what I’m doing and I work hard. Just give me a chance. You won’t be disappointed.’
Charlotte weighed her options. Jennifer Thorpe had to be better than nothing, didn’t she? And besides, there was something about her — an air of unflappable, no-nonsense capability.
‘Okay, Jennifer.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘When can you start?’
‘How does now work for you?’ She smiled back. ‘And you can call me Jen. Everybody does.’
‘Jen. All right. I guess I’d better show you round, then, since you’re going to stay.’
After a tour of the bay shed and the silage pits, they drove over to the yards, where Rex was taking blood samples from this year’s crop of replacement rams. Approaching that oh-so-familiar plaid back bending over the rails of the stock race, Charlotte felt oddly nervous, as if she were the one trying out for a job. She’d asked Rex to sit in on Jen’s interview, but he’d just shaken his head in that easy way of his and said, ‘You’ll know if she’s right. You don’t need me.’ Now here she was, with a shepherd employed on not much more than a whim. Her first real decision for Blackpeak Station. Was Jen ‘right’?
‘Rex?’
‘Gidday.’ Rex released the lamb and stood up, rubbing his back, to look Jen over.
Introductions complete, the three of them leaned on the rails and surveyed the pen of fat, wrinkled lambs.
‘Configuration looks good,’ offered Jen.
‘Getting there,’ Rex nodded.
‘You sampling for EBV?’
‘Just footrot so far. Still estimating breeding value the poor man’s way.’ Rex tapped a finger under his twinkling eye.
Jen nodded back, with just a hint of a smile. ‘Sometimes the old ways are best.’
‘You might be right there.’ Looking up from the sheep, Rex appeared to give some thought to a spot on the far horizon. ‘Nothing wrong with looking for new ways, though. Never know what tricks an old dog might learn.’
As Jen walked back to the ute, Charlotte shot a quick glance at Rex.
‘Yep,’ he said. ‘She’ll do.’
Andrea and Nick arrived from Christchurch that evening, along with a shower of rain. Leaving a car full of shopping to Nick, Andrea hurried for the kitchen, a magazine held over hairdresser-glossy hair. She looked even blonder.
‘Oh, let me get inside! What a day … Hello, darling, how are you?’
‘Fine,’ said Charlotte, but her mother was already inside. Nick followed, festooned with Ballantynes bags. He was wearing fashionably battered jeans and a butter-soft v-neck sweater. Looking at him, and at Andrea dusting the rain off her new black cotton trenchcoat, Charlotte became conscious that she herself hadn’t bothered to shower and her own jeans were giving off a powerful aroma of wet sheep.
‘Looking good, Charles,’ noted Nick, with a grin. ‘Hey, Kath!’
Kath, who had agreed to take over at the homestead in Andrea’s absences — ever-increasing now that Andrea had bought a place of her own in Christchurch — turned fr
om the sink to give him a hug.
Nick turned. ‘And I guess this must be Jennifer — is it?’
‘Jen Thorpe.’ Jen got up from the armchair beside the range and shook his hand.
‘Sorry! Jen, this is my brother Nick, and this is my mother … Mum, Jen’s the new shepherd, she just started today. We’re all having dinner — Rex and Matt are on their way up.’
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Black.’ Jen held out her hand to Andrea, who was looking as if someone had just told her there was a pig flying by outside.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you were hiring a girl?’ she hissed, as soon as she caught Charlotte alone.
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘Does Rex know?’
‘Jeez, Mum — of course he does. And he’s fine with it.’
‘There’s something odd about her.’ Andrea pouted. ‘The way she looks.’
‘I didn’t hire her to put on lipstick.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with looking your best. It wouldn’t hurt you to put on a bit of lipstick now and again — I don’t suppose that nice accountant came back, did he?’
Charlotte was saved from reply by the clunk of dinner plates hitting the table. The meal, she thought, was a great success. Kath’s roast mutton, as ever, was excellent — as a child, Charlotte had eaten as many meals as she could in the Macdonalds’ kitchen, a calm and Cuisine-free zone. And apart from Andrea, everyone else seemed to get along. Jen listened to Rex, laughed with Nick, and even flirted with Matt before showing Charlotte up by helping with the dishes.
Rex laid a hand on her shoulder — his highest form of approval — as he and Kath headed home for the night, and Charlotte went to bed feeling pretty pleased with herself. It looked like she had got it right.
Chapter FOUR
Charlotte leaned back in the saddle, stretching weary shoulders. The string of ewes and their lambs reached on up the spur, their cries smothered by the heat of the afternoon sun.
It was only the beginning of January, but already spring was a distant memory, the grass of the lambing blocks eaten low. It was easy work driving the mob up to the new grass on the tops. The dogs trotted busily up and down, almost daring the ewes to straggle. Those that did were pounced on quickly, black and white shadows circling to leap from the tussock in front of the sheep and send them flying back to their mates.
This solitary drove was one of her favourite chores, a day’s ride alone in the empty hills, with the valley stretching below and not even the sound of an engine to break the high country peace. She’d never understood how Nick — or anyone else — could find it boring.
The heat had died down, dispersed by the cool breeze of evening, when she closed the last gate behind the advancing mob and turned for home. The breeze was drying the sweat on her face and back, and she took off her hat to let it do its best with her plastered-down hair. The dogs fell in behind her ambling horse, panting hard. But the trip down was quicker. The sun was behind them, and the scent of home in their noses.
Coming down onto the flat, Charlotte could see Jen riding into the home paddock, rider, horse and dogs gilt-edged silhouettes as the sun dipped behind the hills. Her own horse whickered softly, picking up his pace on the easier ground, eager for rest and a feed.
Outside the tack shed, she eased herself stiffly out of the saddle, feet unsteady on the ground. She tacked down old Archie, gave him a quick rub over and turned him loose in the paddock, where he lost no time in getting his head down to graze. She was looking forward to dinner herself — and bed even more so.
In the kitchen, Jen was already stretched out in her usual chair by the range, her head back and her legs resting on a stool. She looked up at Charlotte with a groan.
‘Not long till dinner, girls,’ promised Kath, busy at the electric stove. ‘Just waiting for Matt.’
Charlotte took the chair on the other side of the range, knocking Jen’s feet aside so she could share the stool. A chorus of neighing from the paddock outside drifted in through the open windows.
‘That’ll be him.’
‘Thank God,’ Charlotte sighed. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Hey,’ said Jen, when Matt walked in some minutes later. ‘You look like I feel.’
‘I think I feel worse than I look.’ Matt collapsed into a dining chair.
Charlotte and Jen looked at each other. ‘Nah …’
He managed a grin. ‘Thanks a lot.’
‘You have some trouble?’ Charlotte asked, rising with some difficulty as Kath began to serve up the chops. Rex looked up from his newspaper.
‘Nothing much,’ Matt assured them. ‘Got a couple stuck up Halfway Creek, but they came out no worries.’
After Kath had cleaned up and she and Rex had gone home, Matt yawned and said he was off back to his place for a shower.
‘Coffee?’ Charlotte asked. Jen nodded. Charlotte put the jug on to boil and Jen slouched back into her armchair.
Charlotte studied her surreptitiously. She suspected that Matt had a bit of a crush on Jen, unlikely as that might seem. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Despite first appearances, Jen did tend to inspire a weird kind of devotion — the dogs would do anything for her, and Charlotte was starting to feel a bit that way, too. Maybe it was because Jen gave the impression of caring so little about herself — she was who and what she was, and that was all the self-analysis she needed. She was pretty easy to talk to, as well. Charlotte carried the coffees across and thought how odd it was — odd but nice — to have such a friend out here.
The last of the dusk was fading when they heard an old diesel motor pull up outside. Charlotte groaned. ‘Who the hell can that be?’
‘Maybe it’s the Sallies,’ said Jen, without moving. ‘Tell them we gave at the office.’
Charlotte pulled herself up enough to look through the window, and gave a small shriek. ‘Christ, it’s Rob Caterham!’
‘Who?’
‘The accountant.’ Ignoring Jen’s confusion, Charlotte looked down at her filthy shirt and riding pants and sniffed quickly under her arms. ‘You talk to him — I’ve got to have a shower!’
‘Charlie! You can’t—’
But Charlotte was gone. Having showered at something close to the speed of light, she rummaged frantically and without success for a clean pair of jeans. Settling on the least grubby pair, she drenched them with Andrea’s Christmas perfume to hide the competing odours of dog and sheep — then, catching a whiff of herself, wished she hadn’t. When she finally made her reappearance in the kitchen, it was in a pair of old tracksuit pants she’d found in Nick’s room and a baby pink t-shirt her aunt had sent from London three years ago because she’d thought the colour might suit her. Charlotte had never agreed, but at least it was clean.
Rob was deep in the vagaries of the wool market with Jen. He looked up as Charlotte walked in, his blue eyes crinkling. ‘Hello.’
‘Hi!’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘I thought I heard a car pull up.’
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. I hadn’t realised it had gotten so late.’ Charlotte glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even eight-thirty. ‘I was on my way back from Cromwell,’ he continued, ‘so I thought I’d drop in. Since I was … passing. See how you were.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘So I see.’ He grinned.
‘Would you like a coffee? Or a glass of wine?’
‘Well … if you’re having one.’
Deciding she was, Charlotte got three glasses out and fetched a bottle of Andrea’s pinot gris from the back fridge. The first glass settled her nerves. The second had her thinking how surprisingly comfortable it was, sitting there chatting to Rob. By the third, she was really enjoying herself. Rob wanted to know about all the things she was actually good at talking about — merinos and micron counts, fertility rates and pasture.
It was past ten o’clock when Jen yawned conspicuously and let it be known that she was calling it a night. As they heard her ute crunch away, Rob stretched o
ut his long legs and fixed Charlotte with his wide blue gaze.
‘Well,’ he said softly.
‘Indeed,’ said Charlotte.
‘Are you going to bed too?’
‘Not yet.’ She tried to match his suggestive tone, but before she could stop it, a huge yawn escaped. It had been a long day.
Rob laughed. ‘I’d better get going. You need your sleep.’
Resisting the urge to say, please don’t, Charlotte walked him to his car. The breeze had turned chilly, and she shivered in the dark, staring up at the unclouded stars. He opened the door. She stood beside him, feeling awkward, hoping he wasn’t just going to get in and drive away.
When he bent to kiss her, she was so relieved that at first she barely felt anything else. Then it got deeper. But before she really had time to start kissing him back, run her hands through that silky blond hair, he was gone, the car door between them.
He leaned his arms on the steering wheel, looking down at her from the Land Cruiser’s seat. ‘Have dinner with me next week?’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’ She thought she saw him smile in the dark. ‘I’ll call you.’
Charlotte watched him drive away. She waited until she could no longer see his tail lights before going back inside. She put the wine glasses in the dishwasher and turned it on, and then, curling up at last in her bed, fell instantly asleep.
The next day brought more droving, and the next, as Blackpeak’s ten thousand merinos were taken up to their summer grazing. Each day, the sun grew hotter, turning arms and faces to a deep bronze and bleaching any last trace of green from the grass. Charlotte’s mind, however, was less peaceful. With no company other than sheep, dogs, horse and her own thoughts, she found the latter turning all too often to Rob Caterham and the depressingly silent telephone. Maybe he was calling during the day and not leaving a message? For the first time, Charlotte began to wish the station had cell phone coverage — finally, she could understand why Nick would drive for over an hour to find a spot where he could check his phone.