Snowy River Man

by Lizzy Chandler

  The boy’s lower lip trembled. ‘What about morning tea?’

  His heart contracted. Nick had seemed fully recovered, but maybe he wasn’t out of the woods yet.

  ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  ‘Okay.’

  Feeling as if he was abandoning his son, he followed Sandra along the inner courtyard to the old coach area. Her office was almost obsessively tidy, with stacks of neat files, not a thing out of place. There were very few items of a personal nature — no pictures, no inspirational cards, just a tiny stuffed fluffy white dog sitting next to her computer monitor, its pink tongue lolling out.

  Sandra rounded the desk and picked up her notepad.

  ‘A woman from the Snowy River Gazette called asking for your comment on the proposed brumby culls,’ she said.

  ‘What proposed culls?’

  Sandra blinked. ‘She didn’t say. I thought you’d know.’

  He shook his head. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Stefan Eriksson’s secretary called,’ she said.

  ‘And?’

  She shrugged. ‘He wants you to call back. I left the number on your desk. He also sent you a fax.’

  The adjoining door to his own office was open, he saw. Unease snaked down his spine. He’d marked his email ‘Urgent’, not ‘Private’. Hadn’t the solicitor ever heard of using a scanner and emailing the document?

  ‘Right,’ he said, his jaw hardening. ‘I’ll get on to that now.’

  ‘One more thing. I’ve gone over the proposed changes you want made to that tender. You might like to take another look at it to make sure it’s okay.’

  ‘Thanks, Sandra.’ He strode to the adjoining door, then pulled himself back. ‘And thanks for all your help this week. It hasn’t been easy. I don’t know how I’d have coped without you.’

  She frowned, the first sign of discomposure he’d seen from her.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, turning away. ‘You’re right. It’s been a difficult week.’

  Jack closed his office door and reached for the landline. He got through to Eriksson’s secretary, a young bloke he’d only ever spoken to on the phone.

  ‘It’s sorted now, Mr Fairley. Sorry to trouble you,’ he said. ‘Apparently we have two Yarrangobilla files in the name of Delaney here. One from Eriksson Senior’s time. Only the second one is related to Katrina. I’ve found the papers you asked for. I’ll copy the page with the signature and send it down as soon as we get the banking details you need. The other matter, about the hospital, will probably take time.’

  Jack frowned. Two Delaney files? ‘What’s in the first file?’

  ‘Technically, that’s confidential. But I can tell you, it has nothing to do with you. It’s been inactive for years.’ The secretary rang off.

  Jack hung up and stared into space.

  Sandra appeared at the door, carrying a sheaf of papers. ‘Here’s the final draft of the proposal, Jack. I’ve marked the places where it still doesn’t address the tender requirements. Remember, it is due tomorrow.’

  He breathed out and held out his hand. ‘I’d better take a look at it now.’

  * * *

  Once Jack disappeared toward the house, Wayne scuffed his boot into the dust.

  ‘Listen, Katrina,’ he said. ‘What I said about Jack yesterday playing the field. Truth is, there have been plenty of women after him, but he hasn’t shown the slightest interest. Until now, maybe.’

  Katrina looked down the hill toward the river. ‘He must have loved Ann-Marie very much.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  Baulking at his cynical tone, she glanced at him. ‘You don’t sound convinced.’

  His sunny face was shadowed by a frown.

  ‘When my uncle, Ted Harrington, died, he left his share of Yarrangobilla to Jack, on the understanding that he and Ann-Marie would get married. Until then, Jack was only part-owner, like his father.’

  ‘You’re not saying Jack married Ann-Marie for her money?’ Katrina tensed at the implication. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Why was Jack’s cousin telling her, a virtual stranger, even if he believed it? That wasn’t just indiscreet; it was disloyal.

  ‘I’m saying, he shouldn’t have married her, end of story. Not when he didn’t love her.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, her heart thumping, only partly from indignation on Jack’s behalf.

  ‘She told me before she died.’

  His words sank in. Could it be true? She had always wondered how Jack could have made love to her the way he did if he loved another woman. But if he hadn’t loved his fiancée, why had he become engaged? Unless what Wayne implied was correct. Pain made her stomach clench. If so, Jack wasn’t just a user: he was a mercenary user. He’d abandoned her not because he didn’t desire her, but because he desired Yarrangobilla more. He’d betrayed both of them, her and Ann-Marie.

  And here she was, letting herself be seduced into imagining some spiritual connection between them, dreaming that maybe there could be something between them, despite the hurt, despite the past. What an idiot she was! He didn’t care about her. He’d told her why he wanted her there — to help Nick. He wanted to use her to protect his child.

  ‘Hey,’ Wayne said gently. ‘It’s probably none of my business, but —’

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘It is none of your business.’

  Nick came racing out of the house. ‘Morning tea’s ready, Katina. Mike said to find you.’

  The boy did a quick about-face and headed back inside.

  Wayne frowned. ‘Listen, what I said about Jack, maybe there is a bit of sour grapes on my part. I do resent him a little. But I’m right about Ann-Marie. She deserved better. And, my guess is, so do you.’

  * * *

  Katrina was relieved to find Jack nowhere in sight when she went into the kitchen. Nick was sitting alone, a plate of coconut and chocolate slice on the table in front of him.

  ‘Daddy had to go into his office to do some work.’

  ‘That’s a shame. But it leaves more slice for us, doesn’t it?’

  The boy’s smile wasn’t convincing.

  She poured herself a cup of tea, wondering whether Jack often got tied up with work. Judging by his son’s disappointed expression, she guessed he might. Either that, or Nick was lonely for company.

  After draining her tea, she said, ‘How about showing me those old photos in the library, Nick?’

  His expression brightening, he jumped out of his chair. ‘Okay. There’s heaps of stuff in there.’

  He was right about that. The library overflowed with books, curios and antiques.

  He opened an old dresser and pulled out a stack of ancient photo albums. He insisted she sit next to him on the cracked leather couch while he leafed through one of the oldest ones, with stiff cardboard pages. Fascinated, Katrina looked over his shoulder, scanning the photos, examining the names and dates that appeared in flourishing fountain pen beneath each print.

  It was like looking into a time capsule.

  ‘These are my an-sisters,’ Nick told her proudly. ‘We go back hundreds of years.’

  Page after page showed the severe, care-worn faces of the pioneering men and women who had settled the alpine country. Some were portraits, people in their Sunday best. Others captured dusty men droving mobs of sheep and cattle, tree-felling, bridge-building and horse-breaking. Women stood with weather-beaten faces, children hiding in their long skirts. Happy snaps of picnics, men in white playing games of cricket in dusty paddocks, black children playing by the creek, white babies in bonnets peeping from carriages, and old men in rockers sitting on verandas.

  All facets of life, from birth to death.

  When they came to the end of that album, Nick pulled another from the pile. This one was more recent and had colour photos with fewer identifying captions beneath. Katrina recognised Gwen Harrington as a much younger woman, sitting out on a garden chair, laughing with
a handsome young man. Ann-Marie’s father, Katrina supposed, judging by the young Gwen’s rapt expression.

  ‘Who’s this, Nick?’ she asked, pointing the handsome young man. ‘Is that your mother’s father?’

  ‘No, my dad’s. This one’s my mummy’s.’ He pointed to another photo of a thin young man dressed in cricket whites. The man was good looking, but had none of Jack’s father’s cool intensity. Beneath him was printed the caption, Ted, and a date. Behind him stood a dark-haired young girl, her face in shadow.

  ‘Who’s that, I wonder?’ she murmured. One of the household help probably. No doubt the wealthy Harringtons had servants in those days.

  As she stared at the girl, Katrina’s vision began to swim. Suddenly, she could see Ted Harrington here in this room, with the dark-haired girl. An inexplicable fear filled her, choking her breath. She could feel the girl’s terror and shame. She let the album fall on her lap, shaken by the intensity of the vision.

  Nick wriggled off the couch.

  ‘I need to go,’ he said, rubbing his stomach. ‘Will you stay here, till I come back, Katina? I can show you the ballroom upstairs. Did you know we have a ballroom? They used to have big parties there in the olden days. You won’t go anywhere, will you?’

  ‘I’ll be right here,’ she said, grateful to have a moment alone.

  As he raced out the door, she tried to calm her breathing, but it didn’t work. Panic welled up inside her. This was what she had been afraid of. Her psychic gift coming unbidden, disrupting her waking life. She had been kidding herself, thinking she was safe, rationalising because part of her had wanted to stay at Yarrangobilla.

  The heightened physical awareness she felt around Jack had only been a start. Now she was beginning to tune into things that had nothing to do with her, ghosts from the past. Where would it end? If she wasn’t careful, the old cycle of sleeplessness might start up again. She had to get away.

  ‘Nick abandoned you already?’

  She jumped. Jack had entered the room without her noticing. He stood at the base of the couch.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you were so engrossed.’ He tilted his head to inspect the album on her lap. ‘What’s so interesting?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she said, setting it aside. She didn’t want to look at the photo of the servant girl. She didn’t want to be drawn in again. By the photo or by Jack.

  ‘Katrina, I know you’re anxious to get back home, but…’

  ‘But what, Jack?’ She didn’t like the sound of that.

  He regarded her carefully, then strode to the bay window. ‘Nick hasn’t said any more to you, has he?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Why don’t you come down to the lake with us after lunch to meet Murray Tom? I don’t think he had anything to do with Nick wandering off from the showground, but I’d still like your opinion. It’d mean delaying your trip till the morning.’

  ‘I can’t stay, Jack,’ she cried, feeling shaky. ‘I have to go home.’

  ‘It’d mean a lot to me.’

  Years of anger and resentment bubbled to the surface. It would mean a lot to him! Was he the only person he thought about?

  ‘Tell me, Jack,’ she began, her stomach knotted. ‘Just exactly how does the son of a manager of Yarrangobilla end up inheriting the entire property?’ The question was out before she knew it.

  His stiffened, his shoulders pulled back. ‘Wayne’s been talking to you, has he?’

  She couldn’t deny it.

  ‘I thought so.’ He scowled and took a few restless paces. ‘What did he say? That I only married Ann-Marie for her money?’

  The door opened. Sandra stepped into the room, clutching a piece of paper. ‘Excuse me, Jack?’

  He turned, growling, ‘What is it?’

  ‘I need a second witness for your signature,’ she said.

  Jack took the document, scanned it a moment and looked at Sandra, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘The fax came from Eriksson and Eriksson,’ she said, as if by way of explanation. Turning to Katrina, she added, ‘I thought Ms Delaney might be able to do it?’

  ‘Of course,’ Katrina said, getting up off the couch.

  The interruption was a relief from her churning feelings. She already regretted confronting Jack with what Wayne had told her. It was none of her business.

  Jack leaned over the coffee table and signed the paper with a flourish. Without meeting Katrina’s gaze, he handed her the pen and paper, his expression almost pained. Was he upset with her because she had raised the subject of how he had obtained Yarrangobilla?

  She bent down and signed her name next to where it said ‘witness’.

  Her simple ‘K Delaney’ looked rather immature in comparison with Jack’s strong, confident script. Yet seeing their two names there together, on an official document, stirred something inside her, making her feel linked to him in some way.

  ‘Thanks.’ Sandra took the piece of paper and headed for the door.

  ‘I’ll see you in the office in a minute,’ Jack said to her retreating back. He turned to Katrina, his manner distant.

  ‘So will you come with me and Nick to meet Murray Tom?’

  She stiffened. Was he going to ignore her question entirely? Without even defending himself?

  ‘Katrina?’

  She should say no. She had to go. So what was she waiting for? Why wasn’t she walking through that door? Jack looked so out of place in this room, with his lean muscles, his horseman’s stance and scuffed boots. His bearing spoke of the outdoors, of the mountains and the rivers. Was that why she found it so hard to go? Because of him? Had she let herself fall under the same spell that had made her act so rashly seven years before?

  If only she could believe he was a good man.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, knowing she was getting herself in deeper.

  His eyes flared with satisfaction. He took a step toward the door, then turned back.

  ‘Ted Harrington was a gambler, Katrina,’ he said. ‘He gambled away all his money and left huge debts when he died. Gwen and Ann-Marie would’ve lost everything, Yarrangobilla, all their savings, if I hadn’t taken over the mortgages. I built the house for Gwen across the hill using my own funds. Wayne doesn’t know a thing about it.’

  Her heart knocked against her ribcage. So Wayne was wrong. He hadn’t married Ann-Marie for money!

  ‘I’m sorry, Jack. I should never have listened to him. And I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions, either.’

  He walked to the door, then spoke over his shoulder. ‘You’re not the only one guilty of that.’

  Katrina stared at his departing back, wondering what he meant. Only when the door swung shut behind him did she realise she still didn’t know why he’d married Ann-Marie. Had Wayne got that wrong, too? Had it been in love with Ann-Marie, after all?

  She gritted her teeth, impatient at her own questioning. What did it matter why Jack had married? It didn’t make any difference to her.

  Yet she knew that was a lie. Of course it mattered.

  It mattered, if she was to stop herself from falling for him again.

  * * *

  Jack burst into Sandra’s office.

  ‘What was all that about?’ he asked, striding across to confront her. ‘A “second witness” to my signature?’

  She pouted at the computer. ‘I thought the whole idea was to compare her signature with the one Eriksson faxed down? I just made it easy for you. You should thank me for my initiative. What do you think she’s guilty of, Jack? Fraud?’

  ‘She’s not guilty of anything,’ he said. At least, not to his knowledge.

  ‘Are you sure?’ She frowned. ‘The signatures don’t look all that similar. Here, take a look.’ She handed him both the fax and the paper Katrina had just signed.

  Jack examined the transmission, comparing the two signatures. Sandra was right. The copy wasn’t great, but there could be little doubt of the difference. The extravagant loops on the original agreement w
as nothing like the neat script Katrina had just penned. An uneasy feeling crawled over him.

  ‘Does that look like a “K” to you?’ he asked, showing her the page.

  She leaned over. ‘Maybe. Could be an “R”. Why?’

  Fear flooded his stomach. ‘R’ for Robyn. Robyn Delaney. Katrina’s mother. Could she have signed the papers on her daughter’s behalf? But why? Surely not for the money? What woman would do such a thing to her own daughter?

  The sick feeling in his gut threatened to spiral out of control. If Robyn Delaney had cooked up some scam, giving him Nick in exchange for money, Jack might unwittingly have been party to it himself. Worse. If Katrina contested the agreement, he might lose custody of his son.

  ‘What is it, Jack?’ Sandra asked.

  He resisted the temptation to screw up the fax and toss it at the wall.

  ‘I don’t want you to say anything of this to anyone. Is that clear? No one.’

  ‘Okay, but —’

  ‘No buts, Sandra. This is too important.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Jack, I hope you’re not implying I’ve been less than discreet?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ He took a deep breath. There was no point shooting the messenger. It wasn’t Sandra’s fault that his world was threatening to fall apart. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to jump down your throat. I know I’ve been on edge. Once the tender’s in, why don’t you take a few days off with pay? You deserve a holiday.’

  Several emotions flitted across her face. For a moment, she even looked strangely guilty. Then her expression cleared.

  ‘Thanks, Jack. You’re right. I think we both could do with a break.’

  Jack stepped through the connecting door into his own office and dialled Eriksson’s number. The secretary told him the solicitor was in a conference. He wasn’t able to tell him any news about the private hospital, or give him any name of the person who had opened the bank account into which he had been paying money all this time.

  He leaned back in his chair, anxiety settling in his gut. He wasn’t just afraid for Nick. He was worried about Katrina. If her mother had done what Jack suspected her of doing, the survival of her child wasn’t the only shock headed Katrina’s way.