by Holly Ford
By six o’clock they were saddled up and ready to go. They moved the mob out, Matt riding near the head, Charlotte following behind it. Soon, as the sun got higher, the ride would become hot and sticky again. Dust, not dew, would rise from the cattle’s hooves, and tempers would flare, man and beast. But for now, it was magic. And Charlotte could honestly say it wasn’t until the cattle were safely set on the river flats that she had much of a thought for anything else — even Luke Halliday.
‘Where on earth did those come from?’ Still caked with dust and sweat, the smells of horse, dog and cattle rising from her trousers, Charlotte stared at the roses. There were plenty of them out in the garden at this time of year — but not like these. Not twelve perfect, long-stemmed, dark red roses.
Kath raised her eyebrows. ‘They’re for you.’
‘Seriously?’ She’d never been sent flowers before — if this was a new drench promotion, she was impressed. ‘Who are they from?’
‘Prince Charming, we presume,’ said Jen sourly, sauntering in from the garden. ‘Or should that be the wicked merchant banker?’ She paused. ‘I’m pretty sure that’s rhyming slang, you know.’
‘You think Luke sent them?’
Jen shrugged.
‘They must have come on the bus,’ said Kath, looking misty-eyed. ‘They were a bit wilted when I found them with the mail, but they’ve perked up since I changed the water.’
‘They’re beautiful.’ Charlotte tore open the card.
‘Aren’t they?’ said Kath, sounding as proud as if she’d sent them herself.
I miss you, Charlotte read, in a florist’s loopy handwriting. Love, Luke. Clutching the card in a grimy hand, she floated towards the door. ‘I’m just going to have a shower,’ she said to the room in general.
In the bathroom mirror, she gazed at her reflection. Her face was covered in brown dust to halfway up her forehead, which was white where her hat had been. There was the odd speck of cow dung here and there, and a couple of black smears where she’d wiped her face with the back of her hand. She grimaced. Luke might not miss this quite so much. She turned the shower on.
Charlotte had floated home from her Cup Week rendezvous with Luke in a haze of love, the Hilux’s tyres barely seeming to touch the ground. But Jen had soon pricked her bubble.
‘Rob called three times,’ she’d announced, as Charlotte walked into the kitchen.
Charlotte’s stomach had turned. Rob. And she’d been doing so well these last few days. ‘What did he want?’ she asked Jen nervously.
‘What did he want?’ Jen looked taken aback. ‘Um, maybe to say hello, see how you were?’
Charlotte’s eyes slid down.
‘Right …’ Jen’s voice was icy. ‘So how are you, Charlie? Have a nice time?’
She’d been dying to tell Jen all about Luke — and the Crompton deal for Blackpeak as well — but she’d gotten the feeling it wasn’t the time. ‘Good,’ she’d said, ignoring Jen’s sarcasm, and scuttled off to unpack in the privacy of her room.
That night, in the office, she’d picked up the phone to call Rob. But she definitely couldn’t talk to him tonight, not after what had happened that morning … Besides, what was there to say? It was beyond over now. And in ten more days, he’d be gone for good. She’d never see him again, probably. Oh no, here it came again. That pain in her chest. She’d pushed it away. No point going there. Charlotte had put down the phone and tried to think of something else. Maybe Luke would call.
The next day, she’d told Jen all about Michael Crompton and the buyout of Blackpeak. But she’d left out the part about Luke. And the following week, when Charlotte was organising the calf muster, it was Matt she’d asked to go with her.
When the offer came in from Crompton, she’d hesitated again. She really did need Rob’s advice. Maybe she could just email it to him? No, she told herself sternly, she couldn’t. In the end, she’d managed to get up the courage to call.
Rob had been sweet at first. ‘Hey, you … good to hear your voice. How’ve you been?’
But when she’d explained about the deal, there’d been a long and uncomfortable silence on the other end of the line. ‘When did all this happen?’
‘A couple of weeks ago.’
‘Right.’ Another silence. ‘Look, the thing is, Charlie, I’ve already handed your account over to Steve. And Townsends can’t help you anyway. It’d be a conflict of interest. Nick’s our client — we can’t advise both parties to a sale.’
Oh.
He’d sighed. ‘You’ll need to get your own lawyer, too. If you like, I can send you some names.’
‘Okay. Thanks.’
‘Charlie?’
‘What?’
‘I’m glad it’s all working out for you.’
‘Thanks.’
Hanging up the phone, she’d stared at her computer screen for a while. Why did she feel so bad? Things were working out for her. Weren’t they? She was just a few phone calls away from owning a share of Blackpeak. Of course they were!
But as the days had passed with no word from Luke, she’d felt more and more ashamed of herself. What the hell had she been thinking? She’d never even had a real conversation with the man, and yet she’d … well, that was the problem really. Despite all her logic, it was hard to stop thinking about exactly what she’d allowed Luke to do and how expertly he’d done it.
For God’s sake, forget about it, she’d ordered herself, as she crawled into bed the night before the cattle muster. And for three days, she had.
But now, he’d sent flowers. Out here — that wasn’t easy. He missed her. And he’d put Love, Luke on the card. Now she didn’t need to forget him. By the time she’d finished her shower, Charlotte had decided she should make the next move.
Shutting herself in the office, she dialled Luke’s cell phone number. It rang interminably. She sighed, waiting for voicemail to kick in.
‘Luke Halliday.’ It was him. His voice — peremptory, flat — fuelled her nervousness.
‘Hi. It’s Charlotte.’ For a horrible second, she wondered if she might have to supply a last name as well.
‘Charlotte!’
She breathed a sigh of relief — his tone had changed completely.
‘How are you?’ His voice dropped an octave. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I got your flowers. They’re beautiful.’
‘I’m glad they made it — the florist had her doubts.’
There was an awkward pause.
‘They got here fine,’ she said, for lack of anything better. ‘Kath picked them up with the mail. I’ve been away with the calf muster.’
‘So when are you back in Christchurch?’
‘I don’t know. We’re pretty busy at the moment.’
‘Why don’t you come up this weekend? A friend of mine’s having a party — great guy, you’d love him. And then we could have Sunday all to ourselves.’
Her insides melted thinking of just what that would involve. But it was no use. ‘I can’t. We’ve got two hundred calves to mark, the hay to get in, and we’re mustering next week.’
‘I thought you said you’d just done that.’ Luke sounded sulky.
‘That was cattle, this is sheep.’
‘So when will I see you?’
Charlotte gripped the phone. That was the question, of course. ‘Look, it’s not that I don’t want to. But I can’t get away whenever I feel like it. I usually only get up to Christchurch once a year.’
There was a stony silence on the other end of the phone. Oh God, she thought, I shouldn’t have lectured him. ‘Why don’t you drive down for a weekend?’ she asked soothingly.
Luke snorted. ‘You’re not the only one who’s busy, kid.’
She cast around for ideas. ‘I could come up for the sales, maybe.’
‘Shopping?’ There was a dangerous edge to his voice.
Charlotte couldn’t help but smile. ‘No, the stock sales in February. I’ve got a few thousand sheep to replace.’
‘I can’t tell you what I’ll be doing in February.’ He sounded disgusted. ‘Look … let’s just leave it.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘That maybe you should give me another call when you’ve sorted your priorities out. I don’t think I like the way they stand at the moment.’
Charlotte felt her jaw drop, and re-clenched it firmly. ‘Fine,’ she said quietly, and pressing the end button, put the phone back in its cradle.
She was walking out of the vet’s the next day when she saw Rob. Her stomach clenched. He was dressed for work, looking — as he always did — slightly wrong in a suit and tie, the wavy gold hair she’d run her fingers through so many times tossed by the wind. Charlotte watched his face change as he saw her, too. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then, with what looked like a bit of an effort, he smiled.
‘Hey, Charlie. How are you?’
‘Good.’ She tried not to look into the familiar blue eyes. Oh, she hadn’t thought she’d feel this bad. It was hard work not to touch him.
He bent to stroke Fly’s head. ‘Been in the wars, eh girl?’
‘Cow kicked her in the shoulder,’ Charlotte explained. ‘She’s lucky — nothing broken, just badly bruised. Bit of rest, they say, and she should be good as new.’
‘You know I’m leaving tomorrow.’ Rob straightened. ‘I thought you might have rung to say goodbye.’
She studied the pavement. ‘I was going to.’
‘Right.’
They stood in silence. She ransacked her brain for something to say.
‘Well — I’d better get going. Take care of yourself, okay?’
Charlotte watched him turn, and start to walk away.
‘Don’t go.’
He turned back. ‘What did you say?’
She swallowed hard. ‘I said I’ll miss you.’
‘I miss you now.’ He gave her a sad half-smile. ‘Goodbye, Charlie.’
As he walked on, she opened the door of the ute and climbed in, the tears running down her cheeks.
Chapter THIRTEEN
Charlotte could feel the afternoon sun burning her forearm as she bumped across the paddock towards the homestead. To either side of her, bales of hay squatted on the stubbly grass, tarpaulins over their crests to protect them from the worst of the rain. But there had been no rain so far, and the hot, dry wind that had roamed the valley for the last week was already turning the bales from green to gold.
Another couple of days, she thought, and they could start bringing it in. She smiled to herself. Hay was like an offering to the weather gods — the more you managed to make of it, the less you always seemed to need it.
She parked the truck by the dog kennels, empty except for a despondent Fly. The whiskery black and tan face looked up at her pleadingly, but Charlotte shook her head. ‘Four weeks to go, girl.’ She checked there was water in the bowl and got a couple of biscuits from the shed. Fly was convalescing, after all.
The wind brought the sounds of the calf-marking up from the yards — barking dogs, swearing voices, and the frightened bellowing of the calves for their mothers. Charlotte checked her watch. Three o’clock. If she hurried, she could save Kath a trip and take smoko down.
Rex and Jen were already sitting in the shade of Jen’s ute when she pulled up.
‘How’s it going?’
Reaching for a scone, Rex mumbled through it, ‘Not bad.’
‘Sixty-odd to go,’ said Jen, more clearly. She selected a piece of fruitcake and looked it over with a critical eye. ‘You know, it’s a wonder we’re not all twenty stone thanks to your wife, Rex.’
Shoving away a slobbering beardie, Charlotte helped herself to a scone. Behind them, the penned calves yammered and stamped. Rex tipped out the dregs of his tea and eased himself up off the ground. ‘Well, better get back to it, I suppose.’ The dogs emerged, panting, from under the ute to take up their positions.
‘Need a hand?’
‘No, we’re pretty right here, I think.’
‘Okay.’ Charlotte got up. ‘I’ll head back up. There’s a message to ring Carr — he must be ready to get his hay in.’
Rex grinned. ‘You going to make Matt’s day?’
‘Suppose I should.’ She swung back into the cab. ‘Something to cheer him up when he gets back tomorrow.’
Glencairn had recently acquired a Swedish backpacker, Siri, who Matt had his eye on — not that he was alone. Having called Carr and arranged for Matt to drive over the following night and help with the hay, and for Owen to come back with Matt and return the favour — and having received the customary invite to Glencairn’s woolshed party in the process — Charlotte made a cup of tea and sat down in the office.
The scent of jasmine drifted through the open window, and a horsefly banged stupidly against the raised half of the pane. The occasional clump of weeds flying skywards betrayed Kath’s presence in the border below.
She opened her inbox. There was one from her mother and one from Nick, both headed ‘Christmas’.
‘What is it, dear?’ called Kath, as Charlotte laughed.
‘Just an email from Nick — he’s coming down for Christmas.’
‘Oh, lovely.’ An airborne clump of couch grass rained soil against the glass.
‘Yikes,’ she said, reading further.
‘What else does he say?’
‘He’s bringing Flavia. And Mum’s coming, too.’
As she flicked back to her inbox, a new message popped up. Charlotte stared at it. Michael Crompton. With a feeling of dread, she opened it — yep, it was just as bad as she thought.
‘Now what?’ asked Kath, hearing her groan.
‘Michael Crompton wants to bring his family down for the weekend.’
‘Michael who, dear?’
‘Crompton — you know, my new’ — Charlotte sighed to herself — ‘business partner.’
‘Not this weekend?’
‘No, in two weeks’ time.’
‘Well, that should be all right, shouldn’t it? Things will have quietened down by then.’
‘Yeah, I suppose.’ She sighed again. ‘But what are we going to do with them all?’
‘How many of them are there?’ Kath sounded alarmed.
‘Well, just the four — but two kids …’
‘Oh, they’ll be fine. Take them for a ride on the quad bike and let them pat some animals and they’ll think they’re in heaven.’
‘You reckon?’ She wasn’t so sure.
The Cromptons arrived, as expected, just in time for lunch on the second Saturday in December, putting their helicopter down in the home paddock. A woman in her forties was first to extricate herself, surveying her surroundings with an expression not dissimilar to that Neil Armstrong might have worn on his first moon walk.
Erica Crompton wasn’t quite the trophy Charlotte had been expecting, but, perhaps feeling her lack of natural assets, she was exquisitely — if inappropriately — dressed and made-up. The sun caught the diamonds on her fingers as she smoothed back her perfectly highlighted blonde hair and began to make her way cautiously across the grass, trying not to sink in her heels.
Two children, dressed with similar attention to detail, followed in her wake, continuing the fight they’d obviously started during the journey. The boy, Jack, paused to wrinkle his nose and declare loudly, ‘It stinks here!’ Erica ignored him. ‘Mummy!’ he screeched, pulling on her hand ‘It stinks here! Doesn’t it, Mummy? I said it stinks here!’
‘It’s a farm, Jack. It’s supposed to smell.’
‘But why, Mummy?’
‘Hello.’ Erica spoke above the whining of her son with practised ease. ‘You must be Charlotte. I’m Erica, Michael’s wife, and this is Jack — don’t, please, Jack — and that’s Bella over there.’
‘Nice to meet you,’ said Charlotte valiantly, following Erica’s gaze to where Bella was swinging on the gate to the horse paddock.
‘Bella’s pony-mad,’ said Erica. ‘I told her she might be ab
le to ride here?’
‘Me too!’ shrieked Jack. ‘Me too, Mummy!’
Charlotte suppressed a shudder. ‘The station hacks are pretty strong — they’re, er, not used to kids.’
‘Oh, Bella’s a good little rider, I’m sure she’ll be fine. She has lessons.’
Crompton appeared out of the sun like the cavalry.
‘Hi, Charlie. Met Erica, have you? Good. And of course, I don’t need to introduce this guy, do I?’ he laughed.
She blinked.
‘Hello, Charlotte.’ Luke stepped casually out of Crompton’s shadow. ‘How’ve you been?’
‘Mummy, when can I ride the horses?’ demanded Bella, sidling up.
‘You’ll have to ask Charlotte.’
A painful tugging on her hand distracted Charlotte from Luke’s appraising stare.
‘When can I ride the horses, Charlotte?’
She snatched her hand away with unthinking violence, then managed to force a smile. ‘We’ll talk about it after lunch.’
‘I want to talk about it now!’
Crompton ruffled his daughter’s hair. ‘Now, Bella, Charlie said after lunch. You can ride the horses then.’
Charlotte closed her eyes briefly. ‘The homestead’s this way.’
‘What’s a homestead, Mummy?’
‘It’s a house, Jack.’
‘Why doesn’t she call it a house, then?’
Escaping to the bathroom before Kath served up the pavlova, Charlotte discovered Jen already in residence there.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Hiding — what does it look like?’
They stared at each other. Charlotte sat down on the edge of the bath.
‘I’m not going back in there, Charlie.’
‘You have to.’
Jen shook her head. ‘No, you have to. They won’t miss me.’
‘Oh no you don’t. If I have to, you have to.’
Jen closed her eyes and started to laugh. ‘My God, have you ever seen such monsters? And what on earth is bloody Luke Halliday doing here?’
‘Buggered if I know.’