by John Marsden
He went to say something, but I wouldn’t let him. I kept talking. I thought I knew him pretty well. I was dead sure that when it came to the crunch, if he had to choose between sacrificing Ralph and Sylvia and sacrificing himself, there was only one way he would jump.
‘I suggest you tell them that if they’re still here tomorrow I’ll have the police in, to investigate the theft of my timber and the theft of my furniture. And I’ll ring A Current Affair and ask them up here, for a story about an orphan who’s been ripped off by the people who were meant to be protecting her interests. On the other hand, if Ralph and Sylvia are out by five o’clock they might just get lucky, and avoid seeing their names in the newspapers.’
That was all. I’d finished. I’d covered everything I’d thought of, everything I wanted to say. I leaned back in my chair, my hands spread flat on the table so he couldn’t see them trembling, and waited.
Finally he said: ‘I told you the other day you were very like your mother. By God, I was right about that.’
He got up. ‘I’ll go and see them now,’ he said. His voice was subdued. ‘I’ll see what can be done. But, well, if you’re absolutely set on this, I suppose I’ll have to find a way to make it happen.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I didn’t particularly want to see Matthew Kennedy that afternoon, but it just so happened that I went for a walk along the same stretch of road I’d seen him on the day before, and at about the same time. I mean, it’s a free country. I can walk where I want, when I want, and if some conceited guy on a horse happens to want to ride there too, well, it’s a big country as well as a free one, so I guess there’s room for us both.
The main reason I went that way was that despite my courage in dealing with Mr Carruthers I was so terrified at what I’d done, and what the consequences might be, that I virtually hid for the rest of the day. I desperately didn’t want to see Ralph and Sylvia, and if the choice was between them and Matthew Kennedy, I’d settle for Matthew Kennedy.
I knew it was really gutless to leave it all to Mr Carruthers. I remember hearing some saying once about people who make the bullets but then get other people to fire them. That was me all right. But I felt like I’d done enough for one day. No way could I have handled any more drama.
I’d gone past the point where Matthew had left me the day before, and had just about given up and decided he wasn’t coming—not that I cared one way or the other—when I heard a brisk rat-a-tat-tat from behind.
‘Winter! G’day!’ he said, slowing the horse to walk alongside me. He was on the chestnut again. ‘How’s it going? Ready for a riding lesson?’
‘I’m not taking any riding lessons thanks very much. And certainly not from you.’
‘You don’t know what you’re missing. I’ll have you know I got third in the under-ten Novice at the Christie Pony Club, a few years back.’
‘Who was under ten? You or the horse?’
‘Well, both of us actually.’
We went a bit further, neither of us speaking.
Then Matthew said: ‘Hey, are you all right? You look kind of stressed.’
‘Thanks. That’s what a girl always likes to hear, that she’s looking her absolute best.’
Usually he was the one laughing. This time I was trying to put him off by being funny, and he was determined to be serious.
‘Hey, you really are upset about something aren’t you?’
‘What are you, the school counsellor?’
He swung himself off the horse, without even stopping him properly, which seemed pretty impressive. Holding the reins, Matthew walked alongside me, peering closely at my face. I’d forgotten that this was what I’d wanted, to meet him on equal terms. All I could think was how terrible I must look.
But I had to say something. So I told him: ‘I just sacked Sylvia and Ralph.’
I think apart from anything else I wanted reassurance that I’d done the right thing, that I hadn’t made some horrible mistake and turned a couple of aging and devoted servants out into the harsh winter. I was scared that Sylvia and Ralph might be the most popular people in the district.
Matthew buckled at the knees. Only for a moment, but he really did stagger. Then he recovered. Slightly.
‘You what?’
‘You heard me.’
‘You sacked Sylvia and Ralph?’
I didn’t answer.
‘All by yourself? What, you just went up to them and said, “You’re fired, get out”?’
‘I got the trustee to do it.’
‘I can’t believe it. My God, you really are something. The other day, when you went for me on that track through the bush, I thought, “Wow, this girl is running on nuclear power”. I was right about that. My God. You sacked Sylvia and Ralph. This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever heard. They’ve been there ten years. You’ve been here three days and you sack them. Wait till I tell Dad.’
‘It’s a bit more than three days.’
‘What, four days?’
‘No, no way. Give me a break. It’s a couple of weeks.’
We both started laughing then. Suddenly we were both having absolute spaz attacks. We kept walking but we were in hysterics for about a hundred metres. Eventually we calmed down. Matthew took off his helmet and wiped his face.
‘So, am I the biggest bitch in the district?’ I asked. ‘Is everyone going to hate me?’
‘Are you kidding? For sacking Sylvia and Ralph? Those two are the biggest crooks I’ve ever seen. They’ve been robbing Warriewood blind, from the day they started there. No-one’s going to hate you for giving them the shaft. You’ll get a standing ovation from here to Christie.’
It was my turn to buckle at the knees. Such a tidal wave of relief hit me that it’s lucky it didn’t knock me over. Although Mr Carruthers probably thought I had no idea, I knew what a major thing it is to give someone the sack. Especially when they lose their house as well. We’d watched Tree of Wooden Clogs in Italian classes at school. I didn’t want to be one of those old-style property owners, treating employees like they were markers on a Monopoly board.
‘Listen,’ Matthew said. ‘You look like you’re going to pass out. Why don’t you come back to my place? Have a coffee or something. I mean, it can’t be a lot of laughs for you at Warriewood at the moment, with Ralph and Sylvia slinking around probably thinking they’d like to put a wedge between your eyes and then attack it with a large sledgie. How long before they go?’
‘Five o’clock,’ I said, glancing at my watch.
‘Five o’clock today? Wow. You really don’t mess around. I’d hate to be on your bad side. Lucky we’ve always gotten on so well.’
I blushed at that. I was feeling nothing but embarrassment at the way I’d treated Matthew.
‘I don’t think I can. Come back to your place, I mean. I’m going out to dinner, at the McGills.’
‘What time?’
‘I think he said he’d pick me up at six thirty.’
‘Well, you’ve got heaps of time. And honestly, you’d be better off at our place until Sylvia and Ralph drive off into the sunset in their brand-new Range Rover.’
‘I must admit, that Range Rover did bother me a bit. That’s what first made me wonder about them. I mean, I don’t know much about cars, but I think they’re at least a hundred thousand bucks.’
‘Yeah. Worth almost as much as Hutch here.’ He patted the horse’s neck as we turned around and started back.
‘Is he worth a lot?’
‘Yeah. But not as much as he thinks he is.’
‘He’s a beautiful horse. And you’ve got him in such good nick.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But I wouldn’t like to get on his bad side either.’
‘No.’ He looked at me with new interest. ‘Hey, for someone who doesn’t ride, you’re a pretty good judge. Maybe you have got your mother’s eye.’
‘What do you do with your horses? Breed them? You said you had a stud. Do you race them?’
&
nbsp; ‘Yeah, both. Hutch’s the racecourse star. He’s won two Group Ones. The Summer Cup and the Memsie Stakes. He’s going back into training next week. No more nice bushwalks for you, you big bludger,’ he said, giving the chestnut flank a slap. Hutch didn’t seem too bothered, just rolled one eye at Matthew, and trotted on briskly. Maybe he was thinking of home, and a bucket of oats. I noticed Matthew kept him on the road side, so he couldn’t go for the grass.
‘So anyway,’ Matthew continued, ‘what do you think? Come home and then I can take you back about six o’clock. By then Ralph and Sylvia should be out of the way. Or, better still, we can ring Mr McGill and get him to pick you up from our place. That way you won’t have to go to Warriewood at all.’
‘Are you kidding? Go out to dinner in this stuff?’ I waved a hand at my daggy dusty khaki cargo pants. ‘But thanks, it would be nice to go to your place. I can walk home from there, and get changed. If I leave by five thirty, it should be fine.’
‘Well, the only thing is . . . ’ He hesitated. ‘The thing is, I’d rather take you. Because, face it, if Sylvia and Ralph are still there, and they turn nasty, it could get rough. Imagine if you walk in your front door and find them trashing the place. Writing “Winter Sux” all over your walls.’
‘Short-sheeting my bed.’
‘Exactly. See what I mean? It could even get that ugly.’
It was my turn to hesitate. Being looked after was an unfamiliar experience. I wasn’t sure if I liked it. Gradually, living in Canberra, I’d learned to fight every fight by myself, to fly solo. On the other hand the idea of facing Sylvia and Ralph alone, at dusk, in that big empty house, was genuinely scary.
‘OK, thanks,’ I said, privately wondering what the Robinsons would say if they heard that voice coming out of my mouth. That soft, grateful voice. They probably would have looked for the ventriloquist.
‘Look,’ Matthew said, putting his helmet on. ‘I’d better give this big lazy lug a bit of a gallop or he’ll kick the place down tonight. Do you know where our front gate is?’
‘Yeah.’
‘OK. So if you come in there, I’ll have him rubbed down and I’ll be waiting at the top of the drive. Is that OK?’
‘Sure. See you then. Oh . . . and . . . thanks, OK?’
He waved casually and swung himself up onto Hutch, gathered in the reins and cluck-clucked the horse into a canter. When he remounted Hutch I’d been struck again by how big a horse he was. He looked as high as a garage.
I walked on, feeling a little better. Feeling quite a lot better actually. I did a mental search through my repertoire of songs, trying to find something. Eventually I found one.
When you’re out there in the nowhere,
And it’s getting kind of rough,
Don’t be worried, don’t be lonely,
Don’t forget that love’s enough.
Love’s the answer, not the question
Love’s the reason for your life . . .
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Matthew’s father was the funniest, most cheerful man I’d ever met. Everything was a joke to him. When I followed Matthew into their kitchen Mr Kennedy jumped to his feet, picked me up in two enormous arms and gave me a huge hug.
‘Fantastic!’ he boomed. ‘Fantastic! Truly you are a De Salis! I’ve been trying to get rid of those two parasites for years, and you do it in a fortnight. How old are you?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘Fantastic. When I was sixteen I modelled myself on my guinea pig. Hid in my pen and shut up. My God, you’ll be running the country in another twelve months. Do you want a coffee? You probably live on rum and milk.’
‘Coffee’d be nice thanks,’ I said. I liked him instantly, but I feel shy around people who are so extroverted.
‘So how did you get onto the wicked Sylvia’s little rackets?’ he asked. ‘Found a printing press in the cellar, did you? Churning out hundred-dollar notes by the truckful? Or were they respraying luxury cars in the barn?’
‘Ralph’s cleared a big area of timber, halfway up to the lookout,’ I said. ‘He had a mate with him and they were loading it onto a semi-trailer.’
‘Did he, by Jove? They must have thought they could get away with anything. You know, I employed Ralph for a while, years ago, before he and Sylvia got the job on Warriewood. Every time I came back from an interstate trip I’d find another five hundred k’s on the Merc. I think he was running a taxi service for his mates. Sylvia’s the brains behind their little capers though. Ralph isn’t smart enough. He’d have trouble chewing gum while I walked. I mean, speak no ill of the dead or departed, but those two were the Bonnie and Clyde of Christie.’
He poured me a coffee.
‘But that’s terrible about your timber. We take care of our bush around here. There’s precious little of it left. If you like I’ll come up with you and have a look. We’ll see what we can do about regenerating it.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I’d appreciate that.’
‘It’s the least I can do for the daughter of Phillip and Phyllis.’
‘Did you know them well?’
‘Oh yes. Knew ’em and loved ’em. They were special. They were Hall of Fame neighbours.’
‘Is it true my mother died in a shooting accident?’
‘Why yes.’
But again his good humour seemed to fade, and he looked troubled, as he had when I told him about the logging of the bush.
‘How?’
‘Well, one of her dogs knocked a loaded rifle. I don’t know whether she even had the safety catch on, but of course safeties are a mechanical operation, and they’re not reliable anyway.’
‘That’s why Dad’s told me a hundred times not to have a bullet in the magazine until I’m ready to fire,’ Matthew said, pushing a plate of choc-chip cookies towards me. ‘He always quotes what happened to your mother as the reason.’
‘But how could she have done something so thoughtless,’ I asked, ‘with her experience?’
Mr Kennedy shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I’ve asked myself the same question many times. All I can think is that she was so devastated by Phillip’s death that she wasn’t herself, wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘So she was still very upset, all those months later?’
‘Well, yes, almost more upset than when she got the news. At first she kept saying she could accept it because Phillip died doing something he loved, he died in the way he would have wanted. Not that he wanted to die of course. There never was anyone more full of life. But you know what I mean.
‘Anyway, as the months went on I think she started to realise what his death meant. The loss of his friendship, his company; the end of their relationship. No father for their little daughter. The loneliness was getting to her. So I don’t know if she was concentrating too well.’
‘Was I there when it happened? Like, on the spot?’
‘Do you know, I’m not sure. I doubt it, because I think I would have heard if you were. You know how people talk. There would have been a lot of comment about how terrible it was that her little daughter saw the whole thing . . . ’
He paused and looked at me anxiously, obviously worried he might be upsetting me. But I was calm enough. I wanted to know, that was the main thing.
‘You think she was really depressed then?’
For the first time he realised where I was going with this. His mouth opened for a moment and he put down his cup.
‘Oh Winter . . . oh dear. I don’t know what to say. I don’t think it was anything like that. I don’t think . . . ’
‘But there’s something,’ I said. ‘Something’s bugging you. You’re not happy in your mind about it.’
Looking away through the window, not to avoid my gaze, but as though he were trying to remember that day so many years ago, he said slowly, ‘I think it was the way Mrs Harrison acted. Your aunt. I mean, your great-aunt I suppose she’d be. She was there when it happened. She, and Mrs Stone. They were the only ones.
There was something about her, about both of them . . . of course they were terribly distressed, terribly . . . your great-aunt and Phyllis were very close . . . but still, even so, they just shut down so much . . . ’
‘Shut down?’
‘Yes. Look, I can’t put my finger on it . . . ’ He shook his head, briskly, as though he wanted to clear away the confusion of his thoughts. ‘Oh, it was nothing. They were just upset. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making it worse for you than it is already. Don’t take any notice. I’m just an old man having daydreams.’
‘Who’s Mrs Stone?’
‘She was housekeeper for your parents. She works for Mrs Harrison now.’
And that was all I got out of him. A few minutes later I had to say goodbye. It was time for my security guard to escort me home.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The next morning I got a sense of what the departure of Ralph and Sylvia meant in practical terms. Like, really practical terms. Since I got back I’d done enough work with Ralph to have a fair idea of the daily routine. I still hadn’t thought about how to replace him—didn’t have a clue—but I figured that in the short term I could keep the place going OK. I got up at seven fifteen and by a quarter to eight I was outside and ready to work.
The first stuff was easy. Most of the cattle were in good paddocks, but there were three paddocks where Ralph had been hand feeding. I got the biggest wheelbarrow from the barn and dropped a couple of bales into two paddocks and one into the third, where there were only four cows with their calves. There was something very satisfying about it. They got so excited when they saw me coming. All the bellowing and grunting and groaning—it reminded me of boarding school in Canberra. They nuzzled the bales so enthusiastically that they knocked over the barrow. I almost had to push them away so I could cut the twine. In the last paddock I actually lost the twine. The trouble was that the twine was the same colour as the hay, and when it dropped in among the hay on the ground I couldn’t see it at all. At first it was a joke, but after a while I started getting seriously worried. The cattle were munching away with such speed and sheer happiness that I could imagine the twine disappearing down their throat as quickly as the hay. I was combing around on the ground, getting cattle shit on my hands, and cursing the idiot who had tied those bales with yellow twine. I found one length of the stuff, but then a moment later was sure I saw the other one going down the throat of one of the cows, like an Italian momma eating spaghetti. I grabbed for it but all I did was alarm her. She backed away fast and the last bit of yellow was sucked into her mouth.