But it seemed he hadn’t. When they pulled up, women emerged from the house, men appeared from the yard, kids appeared from everywhere.
‘They called a working bee,’ Scott said, limping across to the car on his crutches and tugging open the back door to make sure for himself that his grandmother was in one piece. ‘They said you had enough on your plate, Meg. And they knew you’d left the hay till after Christmas, so they brought slashers and they’ve done three whole paddocks. They’re bringing in the last of it now.’
‘You’re kidding,’ Meg whispered, but she was staring across to a hay shed which had stood almost empty this morning and now looked three-quarters full. ‘In what-four hours?’
‘We can work when we want to.’ It was Jenny, coming forward to give her friend a hug. ‘We were thinking we’d help after Christmas but when this happened I said to Ian, why not now?’ She cast a curious glance at William. ‘She needs looking after, our Meg.’
‘I do not,’ Meg said, revolted.
‘She doesn’t,’ Scott said and Jenny grinned and hugged him as well until he turned scarlet in embarrassment.
‘Okay, she doesn’t. As long as you and Letty stop doing darn fool things when she’s not around,’ Jenny retorted.
‘I’m going to be around,’ Meg said. ‘I’ll try and find a job locally. I… I don’t want to be away any more. But for now…thank you all so, so much. I’m incredibly grateful. But I need to get Letty inside. She needs to sleep.’
‘I’ll carry her,’ William said but one of the neighbours stepped forward and lifted Letty from the car before he could.
‘We’re local,’ he said to William, quite kindly, but firmly for all that. ‘We look after our own. Cows are on their way up now, Meg. You want some help with tonight’s milking?’
‘You’ve done enough,’ Meg said.
‘This guy’ll help?’ It seemed everyone was looking at William.
‘He’s promised to.’
‘Is he any good?’
‘At milking? He has untapped potential,’ Meg said and people laughed and gathered their kids and said their goodbyes and left.
Meg tucked Letty into bed and fussed over her. Scott limped over to the cow yard and William followed.
‘We should start,’ Scott said.
William looked at the brace on Scott’s leg and said gently, ‘Is that okay? That you help with milking?’
‘It has to be. I’m tired of waiting for it to heal.’
‘So it’s not okay.’
‘Meg and Grandma fuss that if my leg gets kicked we have to start over again. But I’ll be careful.’
‘Or not. How about you supervise while I do the hands on?’ William eyed the mass of cows pressing against the yard gate. He eyed the waiting bales. Nothing to this. Except…Maybe you had to do stuff to the vat for pasteurisation or…or something. He didn’t want to waste a whole milking. ‘Do you know how this works?’
‘Course.’
‘Then you give me instructions and leave me to it.’
‘I can help.’ Scott squared his shoulders. ‘I know I was dumb trying to put that Santa up. I never dreamed Grandma’d try and fix it. But I’m not completely helpless. This leg’ll soon be better. I can look after them.’
William looked into his drawn face. He saw reflected horror from this morning’s accident. He saw the unmistakable traces of years of pain and he saw tension, worry, the pain of being a kid without a dad, an adolescent trying desperately to be an adult.
‘I know you can,’ he said softly. ‘If you must. But I’m at a loose end right now, and it seems everything else is taken care of. So you sit on the fence and tell me your plans for your car restoration and in between plans you can tell me how to turn this milking machine on and let these girls get rid of their load.’
Scotty must be exhausted. Meg arrived at the dairy, back in her milking gear, and one glance at her little brother told her he was close to the edge. Physically, he was still frail. This morning would have terrified him and, with all the neighbours here helping, his pride wouldn’t have let him stop.
She wanted to grab him down from the fence, hug him and haul him off to bed. But he was talking to William, who appeared to be underneath a cow, and she knew that pride still played a part here.
‘So you two reckon you can run this place without me?’ she enquired and William emerged from behind the cow and grinned.
‘Nothing to this milking game. I’m about to add Milker to my CV.’
‘How is he, Scotty?’ she asked and then corrected herself. ‘Sorry, Scott.’
‘You can still call me Scotty if you like,’ her brother conceded. ‘In private.’
‘In front of William’s not private.’
‘No, but he’s okay.’
That was a huge concession, Meg thought. There’d been a few guys in her past-of course there had-but Scott had bristled at all of them. He’s okay. Huge.
‘Just because he bought you bits of cars…’ she managed, feeling choked up.
‘No, he really is okay. Is Grandma asleep?’
‘Almost,’ she said and here was a way to let him off the hook without injuring any more of that fragile manly ego. ‘She wants to say goodnight to you. Do you reckon you could stay with her while we milk? I’m still a bit worried about her.’
‘Sure,’ Scott said and slid off the fence and again she had to haul herself back from rushing forward to help. ‘Watch William with those cups, though. Four teats, four cups. It’s taking him a bit of time to figure it out.’
‘Hey!’ William said, sounding wounded, and Meg laughed and watched her little brother retreat and thought this was as good as it got.
But it was so fleeting. Tomorrow or the next day, William would be gone.
It was okay. This was the right thing to do. She had no choice but to resign. A PA, hopelessly devoted to her boss? That was pathetic and she knew it.
She glanced at him and thought, dumb or not, she was hopelessly devoted. She had no choice but to get as far from William as possible.
‘He’s a great kid,’ William said and she flushed and started milking and didn’t answer.
‘You don’t agree?’ he asked after she’d cupped her first cow.
‘Of course I agree.’
‘But you’re not talking.’
‘It’s been a big day.’
‘But it’s normal again now,’ he said gently. ‘Though it’s a shame you felt the need to change. I liked your dress.’
‘I’ll wear it again tomorrow.’ She gathered her emotions and told them firmly to behave. Two days max and he’d be gone. ‘Tell me about Pip and Ned. Do you have Christmas gifts for them?’
‘I do.’
‘What?’
‘Bubble guns,’ he said. ‘Battery powered. Ten bubbles a second and they’re seriously big.’
‘You sound like you tried them out.’
‘Why wouldn’t I?’
Whoa… The thought of W S McMaster with a bubble gun… ‘Whereabouts did you try them out?’
‘On my balcony. I sent bubbles over Central Park.’
She giggled. Then she remembered he was going home and she stopped giggling.
‘Meg?’ he said softly from behind a cow.
‘Yes?’
‘Reconsider.’
‘Quitting?’
‘Yes.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Not negotiable,’ she said. ‘Being your assistant means being aloof.’
‘You were never aloof.’
‘I was aloof in my head.’
‘And you’re not now?’
‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘Can we keep on milking?’
‘Of course we can. As long as you keep on thinking about reconsidering.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Don’t think can’t. Think of all the reasons why you just might can.’
‘That’s a crazy thing to say.’
‘Resigning’s a crazy thing to thin
k.’
Only of course she was right and it was non-negotiable. They both knew it.
They finished milking, they cleaned the yard, they worked in tandem and mostly they worked in silence. Then they headed inside and ate the last of the trifle and bread and ham in that order because Letty and Scott were both deeply asleep and it didn’t seem to matter what order they ate in.
William thought back to Christmas Eve meals he’d had as a child. Christmas had been an excuse for socializing, which meant huge parties of very drunk people. Because it was Christmas his parents had insisted he be part of it. At Christmas they had to pretend to be a family.
Here…for the past two days they’d lived on Letty’s vast trifle and chunks of the huge Christmas ham and fresh bread and butter, eating as they felt like it, and it had felt… okay. Sensible. Delicious, even. But not…right?
The world seemed out of kilter somehow, William thought as he washed the dinner dishes and Meg wiped beside him. It felt so domestic, and domestic was something he’d never felt. Doing the washing-up with his PA was weird. All of today had been weird.
He’d lost his PA.
He’d lost Meg.
‘We have the Internet back on,’ Meg said as she put away the last plate. ‘There’s a phone connection in the attic-I use the attic as an office when it’s not a spare bedroom-so you can catch up on the outside world before you go to sleep.’
‘And you?’
‘I’m checking on Millicent and then I’m going to bed. Christmas or not, it’s still a five a.m. start. Goodnight, William.’
‘Do you want help with Millicent?’
‘She’s not looking much different to this morning. I doubt if anything’s happening tonight. Goodnight,’ she said again, and she took the torch and headed out through the back door. The day was ended.
He’d check the Internet. He’d see what was happening with air traffic. He hadn’t even checked today; maybe it was resolved.
Maybe he could leave.
Meg had already left.
Maybe things were happening tonight. She’d started again. Millicent was back to being uncomfortable, or more than uncomfortable, Meg thought. Her tail was constantly high, her back was arched and her eyes told Meg that she was in pain.
‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Meg told her, fondling her behind the ears, scratching her, letting her rub her big head against her chest. This cow had been raised as a pet. She was a big sook and Letty loved her.
A normal dairy farmer would go to bed now, set the alarm and check her in a couple of hours. But, when she stepped back, Millicent’s eyes widened in fear. Meg sighed and went back to the house and fetched a folding chair, a lantern, a book and a rug.
‘Happy Christmas,’ she told Millicent as she settled down to wait. ‘You and me and hopefully a baby for Christmas. We should do this in a manger. Or, at the very least, at the bottom of the haystack.’
But Millicent wasn’t going anywhere. Trying to move her now would only add to her distress and the night was warm enough.
‘Who needs a manger, anyway?’ Meg muttered and glanced upward to where a thousand stars glittered in the clear night sky. ‘This is where babies should be born. So get on with it.’
Millicent rolled her eyes.
‘I know, sweetheart, it’s hard,’ Meg said. ‘Or I don’t actually know. I’ve heard it’s hard. You should have its daddy holding your hoof.’
She was being ridiculous.
She was thinking of William. The book she’d brought out to read was a romance. She and William. Having a baby. William coaching her through…
‘Well, pigs might fly,’ she muttered and tossed her romance aside and snuggled under her blanket. ‘We’re two single ladies, Millicent, and we need to get on with it together. You do your bit and I’ll do mine.’
There’d been a last minute offer to the air traffic controllers. The union officials had deemed it worth considering and had sent out urgent contact to its members. Because this was Christmas they’d vote online. If enough members voted by midnight, planes could start flying as soon as tomorrow morning.
Great. He might get home almost by Christmas, he thought. He’d gain a day flying from Australia to the States. If he left on Christmas Day, then he’d arrive on Christmas Day.
He could give Ned and Pip their gifts. He could see them again; take them out to dinner, maybe. Leaving Meg?
She was his employee. His ex-employee. So what was the problem leaving her?
No problem at all.
He intended to help with milking at five. He needed to go to sleep.
He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought of…
Meg.
He thought of Meg for a long time. He tried to think of anything but Meg but she was superimposed, like a veil through which he saw everything else.
Or maybe…maybe everything in his life was a veil and Meg was behind. The only substantial thing.
What sort of crazy thinking was this? Where was the logic? Furious with himself, he threw off his covers and paced over to the attic window.
Two o’clock. The stars were amazing.
There was a light in the paddock beside the dairy. A faint light from a lantern. Someone was beside it.
Millicent? Was she calving?
Meg would be down there, making sure things were okay.
What business was it of his? He didn’t know the first thing about birthing calves. He’d be no help at all.
But, now he knew she was there, doing nothing was impossible. He’d help if he could, he thought grimly, and then he’d leave.
He tugged on his overalls and headed downstairs.
What sort of life was this? Meg had been awake since five this morning. She’d be asleep on her feet, he thought as he made his way across the yard towards the lantern, but then he thought of all the times he’d demanded she stay up late, that she be awake for an early flight, that she continue until the work was done.
That was different. She was Miss Jardine then. He paid her to work when he worked.
He had three PAs. He thought of them now, and thought how hard did he work them? They never complained.
He paid them not to complain.
But, for the first time, he felt a niggle of guilt. He treated his employees fairly; he made it clear at the outset what he expected and he paid well. He had a loyal and long-serving staff because of it. But his demand that they stay impersonal…
His PAs told him what he needed to know about his staff. But his PAs themselves… Miss Darling, Mrs Abraham, Miss O’Connell? He’d have to look up their staff profiles to find out what their family background was.
What was happening to him? His staff were turning into people. And you got attached to people. Do not get attached to people you pay.
Meg was messing with his head, that was what it was. The sooner he was out of here, the better.
Only she was in trouble. As he neared, he could see…
Millicent was down, flat on her side, her body arched and her neck stretched up as if straining to the limit.
Meg…yes, it was Meg…was lying behind her, a dark shadow behind the light. He could see a mat laid out to the side, a couple of buckets, rags, ropes…
‘Problem?’ he asked as he came up beside her and she didn’t react. He looked more closely-and discovered why she didn’t react. She was hardly in a position to concentrate on anything but the cow.
What was she doing?
‘What’s happening?’ he asked, squatting beside her.
‘Dystocia,’ she said, gasping. ‘I can’t.’
She was lying flat, hard against Millicent’s rear. Her arm…
‘Dystocia?’
‘Birth problems.’ She sounded as if she’d been running. ‘First calf. Bull was too big and now this. I knew it. I can’t…’
‘What can’t you do?’ he said, feeling helpless. He’d never seen a birth. He never wanted to see a birth.
Obviously, he was going to see this one.
&
nbsp; Or more than see. ‘Maybe you can help,’ she gasped, and he thought maybe he should head back to his nice safe attic right now. Only a coward would run.
He surely felt like a coward.
‘You’re stronger than I am,’ she gasped and he thought, uh oh.
‘Can we call the vet?’
‘He’s away until after Christmas. He warned us.’
‘Surely there’s more than one vet.’ He was taking in the whole scene now and, as he did, Millicent strained. Her whole body heaved and Meg moaned, and moaned again.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I can’t…’ She gasped, not able to continue until the contractions subsided. Then… ‘Yes, we need a vet but we only have one locally. And the calf’s leg’s tucked backward instead of forward, meaning there’s a ridge of shoulder stopping the birth. So I need to get the head back in the birth canal so there’s room to turn it. But I can’t. I don’t have the strength.’ She pushed and pushed again-and then seemed to make a decision. Her arm was suddenly free. She dunked it in the nearest bucket and looked up to him. ‘Can you?’
‘Can I what?’
‘Push the head back far enough so you can get the leg forward.’
He felt as if someone had punched him. Milking was one thing, but this? ‘You want me to…’
‘I’m not strong enough,’ she said simply. ‘Please.’
‘You think I…’
She wasn’t listening. ‘Rip your shirt off-it’ll be ruined. Shove your arm into the disinfectant and I’ll lubricate it. Hurry, before the next contraction.’
‘You want me to…’
‘Just do it,’ she snapped and he was hauling his shirt off, thinking…thinking…nothing.
He dunked his arm in disinfectant. Meg wiped it and then started lathering him with some sort of jelly. He felt too winded to object.
‘Lie flat,’ she told him. ‘If a contraction hits, don’t try to do anything except stop the head coming further forward. But the foreleg on the right is lying back instead of hoof-forward. You need to push the head back far enough so you have space to feel the foreleg and tug it forward. There’s no way she can get the calf out with it back.’
Christmas with her Boss Page 12