by Holly Ford
‘Good news,’ Mark announced on the phone a few hours later. ‘You’ve got your water.’
‘Already?’ Tess was surprised. She’d expected more resistance. ‘All of it?’
‘We’ve got a legal opinion,’ Mark said, sounding pleased with himself, ‘that it falls under the current allocation. “Normal rights,” she says. Broken Creek’s always been able to take that much. They just never bothered, that’s all. As far as our counsel’s concerned, that water is ours.’
‘And if somebody downstream has a different opinion?’ Tess asked dubiously.
‘Then they’d better lawyer up and get themselves a court date. By the time they get a decision, the irrigation will have paid for itself anyway.’
It would? ‘Are you sure?’
‘That’s the potential I see,’ he said, ‘when I look at your new model.’
Tess felt a little skitter of triumph. He liked it, then.
‘I knew you’d come up with something.’ She could hear the smile in Mark’s voice. ‘Well done. I’ve already spoken to Reese at Arvon, and he’s in. Come the end of the season, you’ll have six hundred dairy cows headed your way. He says he can look to double that next winter. And that’s just Arvon – I haven’t talked to the other units yet.’
‘Hold on there,’ she laughed. ‘There’s a limit to how many cows we can feed.’
‘Maybe,’ Mark said. ‘Outside, anyway. But what about inside?’
Housed dairy? It was the logical end to her plan. Graziers all over Australasia were doing it. But somehow, when she’d suggested dairy support for Broken Creek, Tess hadn’t seen that coming.
‘The infrastructure costs would be huge,’ she pointed out.
‘So would the payout.’
‘Getting consent,’ Tess pressed on, ‘would be a nightmare.’
‘I don’t know,’ Mark said. ‘You’re in the middle of nowhere there, at the end of the day. It’s not like people are going to see it. There’s nobody around to complain about the smell, or the noise, or the mess on the road. It’s the perfect place for it, in a way.’
In a way, yes. She supposed it was. Tess tried to think of something to add.
‘It’s alright,’ Mark soothed. ‘I know you’re still squeamish about cows in sheds. I’m talking long term. If at all.’
So it wouldn’t be on her watch, was that what he was trying to say? He was right. Shutting cattle inside made her nervous. Grazing animals, in her opinion, were made to move. On the other hand – Tess cast her mind back over the last few days – the way the wind pummelled this valley, a batch of low-country cows might be glad of a shed. At least they wouldn’t blow away.
‘Let’s get through this first winter,’ Mark said, ‘then we’ll see where we are.’
Or rather, he and the station’s permanent manager would see. What Carnarvon did at Broken Creek after she left was absolutely none of her business, Tess reminded herself. Instead of sitting there arguing long-term animal husbandry methods with Mark, her job right now was to get going on the new fences for the river block and start shopping for baleage.
Through the open kitchen window, she heard the crunch of tyres on the gravel outside. Dammit. The irrigation guy was early again.
‘Is there anything else we need to run through right now?’ she asked Mark.
There was a slight pause on the other end of the line. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing that can’t wait.’
‘Okay.’ Tess peered through the window. ‘I’d better go. The designer’s here.’
•
Beside the final gate on the river block, Tess waited for the dust of the engineer’s ute to settle before she followed him back up the road. As she drove past the brassica paddock, Mitch was just closing the gate behind the quad bike. So he was back, then.
Pausing, he raised his hand to her. Raising her own in return, Tess drove on, bypassing Mitch, a conversation she had no idea how to begin, and her fear that she hadn’t been as tough on him and Nate as she needed to be. That Nate had no intention of talking to his best mate, and unless she did something to put a stop to this crazy situation herself, the two of them were going to carry on as they always had.
Beside the implement shed, a flash of yellow caught her eye. Turning into the yard, Tess pulled up next to Nate’s ute. She found him amid a nest of tarps behind the tractor in the far bay, squatting in the spidery, beaten-up hull of what appeared to have been a jet boat.
‘Going fishing?’ She tilted her head, surveying the wreck.
Nate looked up from the engine with a grin. ‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘If I can get it going.’
Oh dear god. Tess blinked as realisation hit. Did he think he was going to put C.J. Mackersey in that thing? Was he insane?
‘I was supposed to fix it about twenty years ago,’ Nate went on, ‘but I guess I got distracted.’
‘What happened to it?’
‘Mitch and I took it out. We’d been watching the jet sprint champs on TV.’ Hopping out, he slid under the trailer, shoved an arm up the intake and pulled out a clump of dried gorse. ‘We got a bit carried away.’
Tess studied the name still legible on the gouged fibreglass. ‘Kate?’
‘My mother. Bob named it after her.’ Nate peered into the intake again. ‘She couldn’t stand the thing. The noise drove her nuts. She said it was the only thing worse than his helicopter.’
There was a clatter of stones as he inserted his hand. She watched a mouse make a stealthy escape from the other end of the unit.
‘There’s a gorge upriver,’ Nate said, climbing back into the hull, ‘where the trout haven’t seen the tip of a rod since I trashed this thing. I thought I might introduce them to C.J. MacMillions.’
‘Mackersey.’ Tess wasn’t amused.
‘Right.’ Removing what looked like a nest from the engine bay, he glanced up, the familiar gleam growing in his eyes as he registered the look on her face. ‘I’ll pretty it up, don’t worry.’ He delved into the engine again.
‘I saw Mitch up the road,’ Tess said.
‘Yeah.’ Nate gave her his full attention. ‘He got in yesterday.’
There was a pause.
‘I’ve got his leave forms in the truck,’ Nate said. ‘I was going to drop them up this afternoon.’ He brushed off his filthy hands. ‘You want me to grab them for you now?’
She shook her head, hoping her relief didn’t show on her face. ‘This afternoon’s fine. Good, actually. There are a few things we need to go over.’
‘Okay.’ Nate’s voice was even, but she knew him well enough now to hear the wariness in it. He glanced at the engine, then the battered plastic watch on his wrist. ‘How does four o’clock sound?’
‘See you then.’ Turning, Tess walked back to the HiLux. Safe inside it, she closed her eyes briefly. They were taking her seriously. Thank god for that. Not that she got off on ruling by fear, but keeping Nate McAdam a little scared of her was safer for everybody.
•
‘She’s in the office,’ she heard Stan say, some hours later. Tess checked her watch. Ten past four. When she looked up again, Nate was standing in the doorway.
‘Come in,’ she told him, pushing the cheap plastic chair back from the desk.
He stepped inside, his eyes moving over the room.
‘Everything okay?’
‘Sorry.’ Nate gave a little shake of his head. ‘I just haven’t been in here in a while.’
Now there was a surprise.
‘Here you go.’ He laid a sheaf of papers down on the desk beside her hand.
Tess leafed through them quickly.
‘That much?’ She looked up at Nate. According to this, Mitch had used up all his leave for the last five years. ‘He goes away that often?’
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘But neither of us could remember back that far, and given the situation, Mitch thought this was fair.’ Nate paused. ‘He took what he needed to take, and as far as he’s concerned, he isn’t owed a day more. Okay?’
In the ensuing silence, she followed Nate’s gaze to the open wardrobe.
‘While we’re in here.’ She got to her feet. ‘I found this the other day.’ Tess pulled out the beagle tin. ‘Some personal stuff. You might want to take it.’ She looked at the crowded shelves. ‘I don’t know if there’s more.’
‘Sorry.’ With what looked like the force of old habit, Nate ran his fingers over the beagles’ fur. ‘Bob and I would have cleared all that stuff out, but they wouldn’t let us in here.’
‘They?’
‘The forensic accountants.’
Oh. Tess looked away. ‘Well,’ she said, a little more briskly than she’d intended. ‘If you want to go through it sometime, you’re welcome.’
‘You’re not worried I’ll shred the evidence?’
‘No.’ If he could find any in there, she’d be impressed. Tess returned his smile. ‘I trust you.’
There was a creak of external springs as Nate sat down on the bed. She watched him work the lid off the tin.
‘God.’ His eyes, full of amusement, rose to her face. ‘You looked at these?’
‘One or two,’ Tess admitted. ‘Before I realised it was private.’
Nate flicked through the photographs. ‘My grandmother was a dance instructor,’ he said, ‘before she got married. Mum started when she was just a little kid. I’m not sure how much choice she had, but anyway, she kept it up for a while.’ He looked up. ‘It’s how she ended up meeting my dad, actually. She was making a few extra bucks helping out with dance classes while she was at teachers’ college, and he walked in. He’d signed up for lessons to impress some girl.’ He flashed a grin at Tess. ‘I guess that didn’t work out.’ Pulling a photograph from the pile, he studied it. ‘But he and Mum did.’
‘She’s beautiful,’ Tess said.
‘Yeah.’ Nate put the photograph down. ‘She was.’
‘Is that your dad she’s dancing with?’
‘God, no,’ he laughed. ‘That’s a guy she used to compete with when she was in high school. Dad was never that good. They did love to dance together, though. Mum and Dad, I mean. I can remember being a little kid, sitting up having dinner, and the two of them doing the tango round the kitchen table.’ He shook his head. ‘Dad in his work socks, straight off the tractor.’
‘And she taught you to dance,’ Tess guessed. ‘Your mum.’
‘She missed it,’ he said quietly, ‘after Dad died.’
Tess blinked.
‘Sorry.’ Nate pressed the lid back on the tin. ‘I don’t know why I’m telling you this.’ He stood up. ‘What was it you wanted to go over?’
‘Fencing,’ she managed, making an effort to banish the imaginary string orchestra accompanying the picture of Nate and his beautiful, tragic mother. ‘I can’t see any invoices. Which contractor do you use?’
‘We’ve always done it ourselves.’ He gave her a measuring look. ‘What is it you need?’
‘It’s too big a job,’ Tess frowned. ‘The whole river block.’
Nate frowned too. ‘We just fixed up those fences last year.’
‘We need to reconfigure the block for the irrigators,’ she explained. ‘Most of the old fences will have to be cleared. The shelterbelts too.’ A lifetime’s work demolished, in other words.
His eyebrows rose. ‘You’re planning to irrigate the whole block? What with?’
‘Come through.’ Tess motioned him into the hall. ‘I’ll show you.’
In the dining room, she slid the irrigation design across the table to him.
Nate’s breath whistled out through his teeth. ‘That’s a hell of a lot of fodder you’ve got growing there.’
‘We’ll need it,’ Tess smiled. ‘We’ve got guests on the way.’
‘Guests,’ he repeated.
‘We’re turning the block over to dairy support this winter.’
Nate’s eyes flew up. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You can’t.’
She stared at him. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Dairy? Here? You’re kidding, right?’
Tess sighed at his look of horror, the same look every sheep and beef farmer got when the D-word came up.
‘Dairy support,’ she repeated patiently. ‘Dry stock.’
‘At how many a hectare?’ Nate demanded. ‘The ground here can’t take dairy stocking rates.’
‘The soil here is ideal,’ she countered. ‘Light, free-draining—’
‘Draining where? Straight into the groundwater. What’s left of it’ – he swatted the diagram of the pivot line with the back of his hand – ‘after these things have finished.’
‘We can mitigate the leaching,’ Tess began.
‘I might not have paid too much attention at school,’ he said, ‘but last time I checked, mitigate meant to make something less bad. Less bad isn’t good.’
‘Do you have some kind of genetic aversion,’ she snapped, her own temper kicking in at last, ‘to this place making money?’
‘No,’ Nate snapped back. ‘I want it to make money. I want it to still make money in thirty years. I want my grandkids to be able to make money here. I don’t want to leave them a saltpan and a toxic ditch—’
‘Right now, you’re not leaving them anything at all,’ Tess said. ‘You’re not going to be here in thirty years, and neither are your grandkids.’ The look on his face made her wince, but she refused to back down. He needed to hear this. He, and every farmer like him. ‘You don’t make a profit today, you don’t get a tomorrow. All you get is shoved out of the way by people who are willing to do the things you wouldn’t.’ Tess softened her tone a little. ‘Either way, it gets done. The end result is the same. The only difference is who banks the cheque.’
‘That’s not the only difference.’ Nate was standing very straight, his expression unreadable now.
‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It also determines who gets to decide how and when things are done.’
He nodded slowly. ‘Dave Talbot,’ he snapped.
‘What?’
‘If I needed a fencing contractor, that’s who I’d use.’ He paused. ‘Was there anything else?’
Tess shook her head.
‘Then I’ll get back to work.’ Turning on his heel, he walked out.
He’d forgotten his tin. Tess fought the temptation to have the last word. It wasn’t nice to kick a man while he was down. If that’s what he was. She eyed Nate’s departing back with caution.
As it disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, she looked at the design lying on the table, her heart thumping. It was a good plan, she reminded herself. A perfectly reasonable, environmentally responsible plan. It was just a bit of light dairy support, for god’s sake. Where the hell did he get off acting like she was the fucking Lorax? She pushed the thought of Mark’s wintering sheds aside. The future was no more her business than it was Nate’s. The phone started to ring.
‘Tess?’ Stan appeared in the doorway, and she realised, uncomfortably, that he must have heard the whole thing. ‘Phone for you. It’s Mr Holland again.’
In the kitchen, she reached for the phone as if it was the bottom rung of a ladder back to sanity. ‘Mark.’ Tess pressed the phone to her ear. ‘Hello.’
Eight
Waiting on the verge, Tess watched the jet boat bump down the road, rocking in the grip of its rusty trailer. As he passed her ute, Nate raised a finger from the tractor’s wheel in the most economical of greetings. If he’d jabbed it up the other way the sentiment couldn’t have been much clearer.
They’d barely spoken a word to each other all week, and she knew she had only herself to blame. She’d behaved badly. Unprofessionally too, which was worse. They’d both said things they shouldn’t have, sure. But if Nate had started it, she’d certainly leapt in and finished it off, and now that the heat of battle had cooled, Tess wasn’t proud of her knife work.
As a result, her working relationship with her stock manage
r was on the rocks, and that was worrying Tess on pretty much every level. Including how much it worried her – too much and not enough, all at the same time. Too much, because she couldn’t put it out of her mind. And not enough, because she wasn’t prepared to roll up her sleeves and fix things. The truth was, she was still angry. Angry in a way she’d never been with a colleague. A reckless, fuck-you, see-if-I-care kind of fury that refused to listen to reason.
As the bogged-up boat hull disappeared down the drive to Nate’s cottage, she felt like raising a couple of fingers herself. Of all the stupid, pointless things he could do with his spare time. Slamming the HiLux into gear, Tess pulled back onto the road.
•
‘How’s the jet boat coming along?’ she asked brightly, the following Friday night.
Across the kitchen table, Nate looked up from his beer. A blustery southerly breeze had driven the end of week drinks she’d been dreading inside, and the change of venue had only served to increase her discomfort.
‘Good,’ Nate said.
For a while, Tess thought that was going to be the full extent of his effort. But at least he’d turned up this time, instead of making some lame excuse about an appointment in town, so she supposed she should see that as progress. She wasn’t too evil to have a beer with this week. Outside, a rogue spray of rain spattered over the window.
‘You should come and take a look,’ Nate added, at length. ‘See if you think it’s fit for the VIP tour.’
‘It’s looking sweet,’ Harry put in.
‘I can’t believe you finally fixed that thing,’ Mitch said. ‘Shame Bob isn’t here—’ Breaking off, he shot an apologetic look at Nate. ‘He’ll be glad to know you’ve got it going again.’
Nate smiled. Thank god for that. She was beginning to think his face was broken. He checked his watch.
‘Speaking of going’ – Nate pushed back his chair – ‘I’d better take off.’
‘Nate’s got a hot date,’ Harry grinned.
Oh. For a blindingly awkward second, as she and Nate both tried to look elsewhere, their eyes met. Tess straightened her spine, hoping it might ease the odd constriction she felt in her chest. ‘Have fun,’ she said.