by Cathryn Hein
He couldn’t remember much of the interior from his first visit except that it was a weird combination of mess and Scandinavian style, like a saddlery crossed with an IKEA store. Tack and riding gear were strewn from one end of the two-bedroom cottage to the other, perfuming the air with leather, neat’s-foot oil and saddle soap. Photographs of horses and grinning people he didn’t recognise perched on every cleanly designed birch-coloured shelf, while the walls showcased what looked, to his inexpert eye, like some excellent landscape paintings. ‘The decor’s thanks to my grandmother. Nan loves anything modern,’ Mark Kingston had said by way of explanation when he spied Lachie’s confused expression. ‘The mess is courtesy of Brooke.’ Neither he nor Mark felt comfortable invading Brooke’s space, especially in her absence, and they’d rushed the inspection. Not that it mattered. Lachie would’ve taken the job even if the place were a rat-infested hovel.
His fingers tightened on the wheel. Christ, he hoped Brooke had gone as Mark promised. The last thing he wanted was the boss’s spoilt brat of a sister watching his every move. He knew the sort. He’d encountered enough of them at university. Stuck-up little rich girls, with private-school accents and designer clothes, who smiled at him with perfect teeth and promise in their eyes. Girls he knew from hard experience it was safer to avoid.
A dark-blue older-model Land Cruiser was parked in the wide gravel space between the house and an ageing but sturdy-looking machinery shed containing a John Deere tractor and a range of hay-making equipment. He halted alongside it, experiencing a foolish flush of relief that he’d taken out a loan and bought a new car to replace his old Holden ute. The dented beast had served him well but its tired engine had become unreliable, and the new Hilux looked more professional. Something, he suspected, that mattered in a place where billionaires bought and sold properties and horses on whims.
He opened the door, Billy hurtling out and racing around in ecstatic yappy circles before scampering to the nearest fence post to sniff and cock his leg.
‘Billy!’ Immediately the dog returned to his side. Lachie bent and touched his head in approval. A month ago the dog wouldn’t have paid a scrap of attention. Billy’s former owner, Lachie’s late grandmother, had been too wrapped up battling kidney disease, further complicated by diabetes, to teach him obedience. Having – for the second time in his life – told his father to shove it, Lachie had moved in with her while he scouted for a professional position, and had itched to train the dog. But between working his guts out for a local farmer and tending his grandmother, plus all the other household chores, he hadn’t had the time. At least the young terrier, despite his hyperactivity, had given her affection and joy in her last days.
A screen door banged. Lachlan looked up to see a rangy, dark-haired man a bit older than him descend the steps.
‘Jesus,’ he said, eyes widening as he looked Lachie up and down. ‘Mark said you were a fair lump of a lad but I wasn’t expecting a giant.’ He held out his hand. ‘I take it you’re Lachlan Cambridge. I’m Angus, Mark’s brother. Sorry he couldn’t be here. Some drama with a syndicate.’ He grinned. ‘Nothing unusual there, which is why I try to keep away from that side of things.’
Lachie shook his hand, returning the smile, and appreciating Angus’s firm grip and the deep lines around his eyes, the sign of a man who laughed often. ‘Everyone calls me Lachie,’ he said. He glanced up at the sky, vibrant blue despite the cold wind. ‘Great day for it.’
‘Yeah, although a change is on its way. It’s supposed to be miserable for the rest of the week.’ Angus cast an amused glance at Billy. The terrier sat with his legs flopped to one side and his head cocked as though listening in. ‘Clever-looking dog.’
Lachie scooped the Jack Russell up and ruffled his head. ‘This little rat is Billy.’
‘He’ll have fun around here.’ Angus scratched the dog’s ears. ‘Plenty of mice and bits of hoof to chew on, although keep him away from Brooke’s horse Sod. He’s liable to get stomped on.’
At the mention of Brooke an alarm went off in Lachie’s head. Mark had said his sister was moving herself and her horses to Sydney, intimating she needed to be closer to family, hence the property requiring a new manager. A plausible-enough explanation, which was why Lachie had ignored his gut when he toured the house the first time. It wasn’t the home of someone preparing to leave.
Carefully, he placed Billy on the ground, taking a moment to gather himself. ‘Brooke’s still here, is she?’
Angus’s grimace gave him the answer.
‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to live with her.’ Angus pointed past the barn and yards to where the drive split and ran parallel to the main road. A simple whitewashed stone building with a blue Colorbond roof and guttering sat at the base of a rise. ‘She’s moved into the old dairy.’
‘Okay,’ said Lachie. It wasn’t, but it was too late to back out now. He was here and there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d return to Forbes and his old job. Or go crawling back to Delamere. Not yet, anyway.
Angus nodded in understanding. ‘It’ll be all right. Brooke knows the deal even if she doesn’t like it. Besides, if Mum and Mark get their way she won’t be here for much longer. Come on, I’ll give you a hand with your gear.’
Used to moving around, Lachie had packed light. It didn’t take him and Angus long to load up. Angus held the cottage door open with his foot to let him enter first.
‘Stay,’ Lachie ordered when Billy tried to follow them inside.
‘It’s all right. He can come in if you want. Brooke allowed her collie inside when he was alive. Used to shed hair everywhere but she didn’t care. She loved that dog. She loves all her animals.’ Angus stared across the yard, and it was clear his attention had slipped elsewhere. ‘Too much sometimes.’
Lachie suppressed a sigh. Why was it both Kingston brothers couldn’t stop talking about their sister? Mark had been no different, although his tone held none of the affection Angus’s possessed when discussing Brooke. Mark made her sound like an uppity cow who needed toeing into line, whereas Angus seemed to feel sorry for her. Whatever she was, he’d have to deal with her. Something Lachie wasn’t looking forward to one bit.
The house had changed from his last visit. While the decor remained the same, with its incongruous pale colours and contemporary fixtures, all the photos had disappeared. Also gone was the horse paraphernalia. No saddlery hung over the backs of the kitchen chairs, no bridles from doorknobs. Not even a hair-covered brush, mud-splattered boot or scuffed helmet sullied the scrubbed birch surface of the kitchen table. Now the cottage looked more like an IKEA catalogue than ever, and he couldn’t help thinking how sterile it felt.
‘You don’t have much gear,’ Angus remarked when they’d dumped his bags in the main bedroom, also fitted with pale birch furniture.
Lachie shrugged. ‘Since the house came fully furnished I figured I only really needed clothes, a few books and my laptop.’ That wasn’t entirely true, but Angus didn’t need to know that was pretty much all he owned. Except for Tamsyn’s ring, which he still couldn’t bring himself to sell, and the Toyota, which mostly belonged to the bank. Four years of uni had sucked most of his savings, even with the part-time work he’d picked up, and money had been tight at Delamere, especially once Lachie had convinced his brother Nick to go to uni. Still, he wasn’t about to complain. If missing out on a few luxuries meant Nick had a future, then it was worth it.
His heart clenched a little as he thought of his poor mum, now with both her boys living away from the district, but when Lachie told her about Mark’s job offer she’d urged him to go. Minette didn’t want him wasting his degree or his life, not after all he’d achieved. He’d nearly done that once already, when his teenage impetuosity saw him storm from home. She wouldn’t let him do it as a man.
Sad as it was, Lachie’s grandmother’s death had freed him, and given it’d take one hell of a father–son reconciliation to get Lachie back at Delamere, a return to the farm was off the agenda.
At least in the months since Lachie had been living with his grandmother, his mother had known a bit of peace instead of suffering through the endless arguments he and his father couldn’t stop themselves from having. Lachie loathed seeing her eyes reddened, wide and liquid, her lip trembling with worry, yet his father always knew which chain to yank when it came to his son’s temper. Lachie prided himself on his steady nature but Harry Cambridge had a way of making a volcano erupt in his gut. He wouldn’t put his mother through that again.
‘You had a look round with Mark, didn’t you?’ asked Angus as they returned to the kitchen, breaking Lachie from his thoughts.
‘Only a brief one. Mark didn’t have much time.’
The corner of Angus’s mouth twitched a wry smile. ‘Probably too scared he’d run into Brooke.’ Catching Lachie’s look, he explained, ‘They don’t get on.’
Lachie kept his mouth shut. Involving himself in a Kingston family feud wasn’t on his agenda. Ever. He had enough trouble dealing with his own.
‘I don’t know where she is,’ continued Angus over his shoulder as he pushed open the screen door. ‘Brooke should be the one to show you around. She’s the one who’s been running the place, after all. Never mind. You’ll just have to put up with me as tour guide. Come on, I’ll show you the stables.’ Angus took off in long strides towards the barn.
Lachie followed, shoving his hands in his pockets and hunching against the icy wind while Billy trailed with his nose to the ground and his black-tipped tail waving like a metronome.
‘She’s probably up at Andrew Chiang’s,’ said Angus as he caught up. ‘Those two are as thick as thieves. Been that way since they were kids. Everyone expects they’ll announce their engagement one of these days but Brooke insists she’s not interested.’ Angus grinned. ‘Be the only girl round here who isn’t.’
Lachie had no idea who he was on about. ‘Can’t say I know him.’
‘You probably don’t, but you’d know of his family’s company, Herbal Heaven.’
Lachie’s eyebrows shot up. That was one company he’d definitely heard of. They were one of the biggest brands in Australia’s multi-billion-dollar alternative-medicine industry.
Angus nodded towards the rugged horse in the yard. ‘That’s Sod, one of Brooke’s showjumpers. Complete nutjob, so best to keep out of his way.’
Lachie followed Angus into the barn through a side door, whistling for Billy, who was sniffing dangerously close to Sod’s yard. Despite the shed’s swept concrete slab, a large grated drain running down the centre and not an animal in sight, the smell of woodchips, manure and horse dominated the air. Four vacant stables, two on each side, occupied one end of the shed. A pristine tack room, with a front wall of steel grille, its heavy-locked door gaping open, took the right-hand centre space. The interior walls were lined with timber, and every one of its hooks and saddle mounts contained a piece of equestrian equipment. Stacked on the floor beneath were square plastic tubs, each labelled: ‘bandages’, ‘leads’, ‘boots’, ‘brushes’, ‘hoof care’ and so on. Alongside the tack room was a feed locker with huge galvanised-steel bins and a floor you could eat off. Two high-stacked, powder-coated metal shelves stretched up the side wall, one filled with supplements and veterinary supplies, the other with neatly folded horse rugs.
‘Impressive, isn’t it?’ said Angus. ‘Brooke’s a total grub around the house but she keeps this place spotless.’
Lachie peered in to one of the stables. A dense bed of woodchips covered the floor. It looked so comfortable he could imagine sleeping on it himself. ‘Much better than the place I worked at before uni, that’s for sure.’
‘That was out Orange way, wasn’t it?’
‘Yeah. Only a small stable, but Noel trained the odd winner.’ He also drank and gambled too much but that was a whole other story. Anyway, Lachie was grateful for the time he’d worked there. If it weren’t for his stint at Noel’s and the experience it gave him with horses, he probably wouldn’t have this job.
He left the stable and inspected the feed-locker shelves, picking up worm pastes, liniments and wound treatments.
‘Mark told you that you don’t have to worry about the horses’ veterinary care, didn’t he?’ asked Angus.
Lachie nodded. It was one of the first things he checked when Mark phoned him about the position. While he had enough confidence to run the farm side of things, taking care of thoroughbreds worth hundreds of thousands – possibly millions – of dollars made him break out in a sweat.
‘But we still expect you to keep an eye on them. Won’t take much effort. There are only half a dozen here now and with the exception of Pompey Girl, who’ll be coming back into work in the spring, they’re all long-termers. Just give them the once-over a couple of times a day to make sure they’re happy and healthy, and if you spot a problem contact us straightaway. If you’re uncertain, ask Brooke, and if for one second you think it could be serious, phone the vet. The number’s by the phone along with all our contact numbers.’
‘Thanks. Hopefully I won’t need it.’
He left the feed locker and headed to the other end of the shed. Parked to one side, looking more like a luxury motorhome than horse transport, stood a dark-blue high-cab horse truck. Its tyres shone with black, its paintwork unscratched. Even the aluminium fittings sparkled with newness. Opposite, also dark blue but bearing the ravages of use, was a smaller aluminium float. Both trailers sported the gold Kingston Lodge Racing logo.
Lachie pointed at the truck. ‘That’s what I’ll be driving?’
‘Occasionally perhaps, when we transfer more than two horses, but it’s more likely you’ll be using the float and Brooke’s new Land Cruiser.’ He slapped his palm against the truck’s side. ‘You should check it out later. It’s a cracking set-up. Dad picked it. He thought it’d be better for Brooke than another gooseneck. Although God knows when she’ll get her act together enough to use it. The way things are going Mark will probably have the truck sold first.’
Lachie gave Angus a sharp look, alerted by the exasperation in his voice. Something was going on here, although he had no idea what. He tried to think of a way to probe but before he could, Angus ushered him out of the shed.
‘Come on, I’ll show you around the rest of the place.’
They took the Hilux, driving down lanes bordered with more timber and coated-wire fences. Not a twist of barbed wire or ring-lock fencing existed on the property, and not a fence post stood crooked nor a wire unstrained. Even the gates hung even. It wasn’t a huge farm, only a hundred and forty hectares, but Lachlan knew a property in this area even that small wouldn’t sell for less than seven figures.
Horses dotted the paddocks, enjoying the lush grass. Whatever his assumptions about Mark and Angus’s sister, he couldn’t deny she’d taken great care of the property. The pastures were a vivid green, showing no sign of disease or nutrient deficiency. As he drove, Angus talked about each of the horses, describing their careers and the reasons they were out of work. Some Lachlan had heard of, while the names of others rang no bell.
Towards the river, on the fertile alluvial flats, the small paddocks gave way to unfenced lucerne stands and plantings of forage oats. Angus indicated for Lachie to pull up and they stepped out to walk through the plants, Angus explaining the farm’s management as he went. ‘We renovate the stands on rotation, switching between lucerne hay production, silage, and oaten hay, which we sell. This one’s nearing the end of its life, but it’ll be up to you to choose when to replace it and what with.’ He pointed further along the river flat, towards another bright green stand. ‘That one only went in last year. A new semi-winter active variety called Abacus that’s performed well in local trials. Brooke seems to be pretty happy with it.’
Aware of the variety, Lachlan nodded. He’d tried to convince his father to sow a paddock at Delamere with it but the old man deemed the older and cheaper varieties good enough, despite their lower yields and poorer disease resistance.
They
walked the flats, Angus quizzing Lachie on his haymaking knowledge and nodding his approval when Lachie acquitted himself well. Having escaped Delamere at eighteen, Lachie wasn’t an expert by any means, but he’d absorbed enough from his father to get by. And in the five years between leaving home and going to uni, between myriad unskilled casual jobs, he’d worked a few haymaking seasons for other famers – although when it came to some of the cowboy operations he’d endured, it was more a case of learning how not to do things.
The crops inspected, they drove back towards the paddocks. At a gate halfway along the lane, Angus asked him to stop. Lachlan followed him out of the ute, Billy close on his heels. Leaning over the gate, Angus stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. A dark head immediately poked up, ears pricked and nostrils wide. In a second the horse was trotting towards them.
Not until he came closer did Lachie notice the tiny round pony cantering alongside, its black forelock so thick and long it was a wonder the animal could see where it was going.
Grinning, Angus turned to him. ‘Say hello to Venus and Poseidon. Venus is the pony, although she has grand ideas of being a racehorse.’
Lachlan laughed as the black-and-white Shetland belted ahead of its lovely-looking equine mate, bucking and snorting like a red-blooded stallion.
Despite Venus’s best efforts, her stumpy legs proved no match for the flowing stride of the big dark bay. Arriving first, the horse stopped at the fence and blew air on Angus’s face before nuzzling him with affection. ‘This is the love of Brooke’s life, Poddy.’ Angus ruffled Poddy’s forelock. ‘And he’s a big sook.’
Lachlan held out his fingers for the animal to sniff and caught sight of the horse’s closed eyelid and sunken eye socket. ‘What happened to his eye?’
‘Poor bugger lost it in the accident. Brooke keeps him away from the others because they pick on him, especially Sod. She bought Venus to keep him company.’