‘Hugh will send them packing.’
‘But if they start insisting Calypso belongs to their boss he’ll say she belongs to you.’
‘Oh!’
‘You’d better warn him.’ He stepped around her.
‘I can’t. He and Rod are out riding. Hugh never takes a phone with him. He’ll be out for another hour. I think Rod was riding Calypso so she won’t be there. None of the house staff or my mother know a thing about the horses and Mama won’t be up yet. She wouldn’t talk to them even if she was and the staff know not to talk to anyone about anything. They sign a nondisclosure agreement when they’re employed.’
While she was speaking, Oliver walked along to Arch Rival’s stall and began checking her injuries. ‘Let’s hope they give up,’ he said over his shoulder.
Krista called Brenda, who wouldn’t ask awkward questions, and gave her a brief rundown of the situation, finishing with, ‘If they turn up, don’t tell them anything. Say you don’t know anything about the horses and don’t let on Calypso is mine.’
‘I don’t know anything about the horses and Viivi will give them short shrift. You’d better get back here soon too.’
Krista joined Oliver. ‘Is she all right?’
He straightened and ran his hand over the horse’s back. ‘Yes, she’ll be fine. It’s all minor injuries. She wants her breakfast.’
He didn’t give any indication she should leave so after a moment’s indecision, Krista followed him to a small room at the end of the shed, which housed feed bins, two saddles, bridles and a collection of halters and ropes. Oliver picked up two large buckets and ladled measures of chaff and grain into them. Four bales of hay were stacked against one wall. The smell of horse mingled with leather and dried grass. Not unpleasant. Krista stood watching from the doorway.
‘I don’t know why I’m covering up for Angus,’ she said. ‘Or why you are, for that matter.’
‘I don’t like being bullied and I’m not covering for the guy. I don’t have the horse they want.’
‘But you know who does. Me.’
Oliver hefted the buckets and walked back to Arch Rival’s stall. She whickered in anticipation as he poured the mix into her feed bin.
‘Yeah, well,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t going to set those two onto you.’
‘Why not? You think I’m involved in whatever it is, don’t you?’
He continued outside to where his horse was waiting impatiently, straining over the fence then stamping its foot and turning in a small circle.
‘Calm down, Billy boy,’ he said. It stuck its head into the bin before he’d finished pouring the feed and he pushed it away. ‘Wait a minute, greedy.’
The horse wheeled away in impatience.
He quickly emptied the bucket. Job done, he turned.
‘Look. Yesterday I didn’t know what to think. Today … well, it’s pretty clear you know as much as I do, which is next to nothing, and your bro … stepbrother,’ he amended, ‘has cleared out and left you holding the baby. I reckon you should call the police.’
‘I can’t do that. Hugh would be furious. Anyway, what would I say? No-one’s done anything illegal as far as I know.’
Oliver shrugged. ‘Are you going to tell your stepfather?’ He started towards the storeroom. Krista followed. She was like a dog trailing after him. Annoying him? Hard to tell.
‘I asked him what Angus was up to yesterday and he brushed me off. Said he’d take care of it.’
‘So he knows what’s happening?’
‘I don’t think so, but he wouldn’t tell me even if he did. To him I’m a brainless bimbo and Angus can do no wrong.’ Try as she might she couldn’t keep the wobble from her voice. It shouldn’t hurt but it did.
Oliver stacked the empty buckets and closed the door. His eyes flicked her way, lingered for a moment. ‘Come and help me feed the patients,’ he said.
‘What patients?’
Lines crinkled the tanned skin around his eyes and mouth as he smiled. ‘Come on.’
He took her into the surgery building, through the waiting room. Posters about dental care for pets, flea and tick treatment, grooming, snake identification and a large poster of dog breeds adorned the walls. The receptionist’s counter held more flyers with information about pet care and also upcoming community events. She’d never been part of a community. Never belonged anywhere.
Oliver disappeared through one of the side doors and down a corridor to the rear of the building. It was larger than it appeared from the front. The room she stood in had cages along one wall, mostly empty but for two sad-looking dogs and a sleepy cat.
‘That’s Joey, he’s feeling a bit sorry for himself. He’s been desexed,’ he said indicating a Dalmatian. ‘He’s going home today.’
‘Poor boy.’ The sorrowful brown eyes gazed at her reproachfully but his tail gave a tiny thump when she stroked his head through the bars.
‘And this is Tiger, he had a tooth out.’ A kelpie with a swollen jaw wagged his tail at the sound of his name.
The ginger cat barely lifted its head. ‘Poor old Ginger Megs has a brain tumour. I’m going to tell the owners today. She’s paralysed down one side of her body and she’ll have to be euthanised.’
‘How sad.’
‘Yes, it’s the worst part of the job. But she’s nineteen and wouldn’t survive an operation so major.’
Oliver washed his hands then prepared two bowls with food. ‘Could you give these to the dogs, please? Red one is Joey, blue is Tiger. He’s on mush. I’ll take care of Ginger Megs.’
Krista did as she was told, carefully depositing the bowls inside the cages without letting the occupants escape. Not that they tried. Their breakfast was more interesting.
‘Do you have many animals staying over, usually?’
‘It varies. I never know what’s going to come through the door.’
‘It must be really interesting.’
‘I love it.’ He led her back to the reception area.
‘Have you been here long?’
‘Nearly five years.’
‘How do you manage by yourself?’
‘I could do with an assistant, actually. It’s getting to the point where I need another pair of hands. Margie is on reception from eight till one, and till five some days. A local girl, Sandy, comes in to help, mainly in the afternoons. If I’m doing a difficult surgery I call on Rob Blackwell from Willoughby to help out. We share a vet nurse. She comes over on surgery days. You can wash your hands in the sink,’ he added.
Krista turned on the tap. ‘I met Sandy yesterday at The Grange. She’s nice.’
Sandy’s comment about Oliver’s number one eligible bachelor status made her stifle a laugh.
‘She is.’ Oliver handed her a towel. ‘What’s funny?’
‘Nothing.’ She glanced at the clock hanging over the door. Six-fifty. ‘I’d better go.’ Oddly, she’d much rather stay, but Oliver would be busy. He was probably waiting for her to leave.
‘Yes, I have to go out on a call.’
‘This early?’
‘It’s one I had to put off because of yesterday’s accident.’
‘Oh right. I’m sorry.’ He didn’t sound cross but she felt guilty, which was silly.
‘It’s not your fault.’
‘No but …’
‘Krista, don’t take the blame for something your stepbrother has done.’
‘I …’
‘I’ll open the gate for you.’
‘Thanks.’ Defeated, she followed him outside.
He unlocked the padlock and swung the gate wide.
‘See you later,’ he said but it was the usual casual goodbye, not a promise, not an expectation or a desire for more contact.
‘Goodbye.’
‘Arch Rival can go home today if you can organise it.’
‘Oh. Yes, of course. I’ll let you know.’
‘Leave a message with Margie at reception.’ He smiled blandly.
‘Right, thanks.
’ She stood for a moment. Was there more to say? She felt there was, but what? She had to leave. Right now. He was waiting. He was in a hurry. But he wasn’t moving either.
‘See you,’ he said and turned away.
Chapter 4
Krista drove back to The Grange more slowly than she’d left. She approached the house half-expecting to see the red ute with the float parked by the stables, but it wasn’t and all was quiet.
She left the car in the shade and went into the house where Lola ran to meet her with the usual burst of yapping.
‘Shut up.’
In no mood for such a shrill greeting, Krista ignored her and headed for the morning room and more coffee. Dappled sunlight streamed through floor-to-ceiling windows onto the slate floor, masked by the leafy trees in the garden outside. Deceptively simple but wildly expensive Scandinavian blond wood chairs with red and white cushions and a round table, along with potted flowering plants and sketches of horses on the wall, gave the room a casual, comfortable air. Brenda sat alone, eating toast.
‘Hello, what’s been going on?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Krista took a seat and poured herself coffee.
‘Would you like eggs? Toast?’
‘I had a croissant earlier.’
‘That’s not enough.’ Brenda frowned. ‘Gemma,’ she called.
The maid appeared.
‘Scrambled eggs, please, for Krista.’
‘Of course, anything else?’
‘More coffee, I think. Thank you.’
‘It’s like being in a hotel, staying here,’ Krista said.
‘I know. Hugh likes his familiar routine wherever he goes. What happened this morning?’
‘Angus has gone, did you know?’
‘Gone where?’
‘I don’t know, but he’s packed up and disappeared. His bed was empty when I went to wake him.’
Brenda drew in a deep breath, released it slowly. ‘That’ll go down well.’
‘I know. Is Hugh back yet?’
‘No. I wonder if Rod knows.’
‘Probably not. Angus would have snuck out after they left and I was in the pool. His car’s gone. I had a quick look when I left this morning.’
‘Those men haven’t turned up. Who were they?’
‘One was called Tony Griante. The other one looked like the enforcer—all muscles and tattoos but no brain. They were scary.’
‘I doubt they’ll confront Hugh.’
‘Maybe not. I’ve no idea who their boss is but he’d be something to do with gambling, for sure. Angus must owe him a lot of money.’
‘Hugh will be furious.’
‘So will Mama. It’ll spoil her party if the Mafia turns up.’
‘Are they Mafia?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not up on who’s who in the world of crime. Angus goes to casinos, though, so who runs them?’
‘Biker gangs have a lot of control.’
‘They didn’t look like bikers.’
‘Why would they want a horse?’ asked Brenda.
Krista waited while Gemma slid a plate of eggs in front of her and topped up her coffee from a fresh pot.
‘Thank you.’
Gemma cleared away the used toast plate and knife and withdrew.
‘I’ve no idea,’ Krista said. ‘But Angus clearly tried to palm off Arch Rival as Calypso. Maybe he promised them a horse instead of money he doesn’t have.’
‘And when he crashed he didn’t turn up for the exchange,’ Brenda said.
Krista nodded. ‘So they came to get her and didn’t find her. But they know where she comes from. Here.’
‘Is that horse worth very much? I mean it wouldn’t be anywhere near a million, would it?’
‘Don’t know but I doubt it. Hugh wouldn’t have given her to me if she was.’
‘You’ll have to tell Hugh.’
‘I tried to but he brushed me off. I should leave too. Leave him to deal with it. He said he would.’
‘I doubt he knows exactly what Angus has been doing but doesn’t like to admit it. He thinks putting him out here running The Grange is keeping him out of trouble.’
‘Big fail. He has a massive blind spot where Angus is concerned.’
The eggs were done perfectly with a creamy texture she could never manage. Krista ate a few mouthfuls, debating the wisdom of bringing up the next subject.
‘Mama and Hugh don’t seem very happy together. Are they, do you think?’
‘Krista, I can’t discuss that sort of thing.’
‘No, I know but they seem to fight all the time.’
‘This party is a strain. Viivi is always tense when she’s organising something, you know that. She didn’t want to have it out here and she hates the heat. Always has.’
‘I know. Why did they choose to have it here?’
‘It was Hugh’s decision.’
And what Hugh said went. Like son, like father. The women in their lives were to be seen and not heard; decorative, smiling, obedient but silent. Why did Viivi gravitate to men like that? Was her first husband, Krista’s father, the same? She’d never know. He died in a fiery crash on the Formula One circuit when Krista was three. The newspaper clipping she’d read years later said ‘An up-and-coming Finnish racing driver, Ilke Laatonen left a beautiful young widow and small daughter’, but didn’t say the widow was accustomed to mixing with the wealthy aficionados of the European circuit and determined to stay there. He left most of his money to his little daughter in a trust fund. Perhaps he knew his young wife had expensive tastes and her daughter would always come second.
It took Viivi just one year to find a replacement in husband number two, Italian fashion entrepreneur, Marco Van Zetti. Five years later she was on husband number three, American billionaire, Jason Hodges. He had the effrontery to leave her for a younger woman, one of many he had on tap, but a woman who wanted children. Viivi always made it clear one child was plenty and she’d already done that.
For a few years she decided three husbands was enough, she’d remain single. Then along came Hugh Littlejohn, big and boisterous with an attractive Australian accent and most importantly, lots of money. For teenage Krista it seemed, for a while, he could possibly be the father she’d never had. But he wasn’t. He was generous and kind but his son Angus was his priority. She sometimes wondered what it would have been like had she been a boy.
This marriage had lasted longer than any of the others but it was creaky.
Brenda said, ‘Don’t worry, Krista. Viivi won’t walk out on him. They’re flying to Tokyo on Monday. She loves Tokyo.’
‘Tokyo? I didn’t know that.’
‘Oh yes, it’s been in the calendar for weeks. Hugh has meetings there and then they’re skiing in the Japanese ski fields for two weeks.’
‘Are you going with them?’
‘Yes. Excuse me. I have to get to work.’
Krista finished her breakfast slowly, enjoying the quiet. Lola came in and sat by her chair. What were they doing with Lola while they were away? She couldn’t go with them or she’d be quarantined for ages when they came home. Perhaps she’d be staying in the Sydney house. Or here.
‘You could become a farm dog,’ she said, looking down. ‘Running about outside.’
Lola panted and stood up, wagging her tail.
‘Do you want to go outside?’
The wagging increased. Krista pushed her chair back. ‘I need to go upstairs first.’
Five minutes later, she and her excited little follower stepped out onto the lush, manicured green of the back garden where a man in a battered straw hat and khaki shorts was moving slowly along a row of rosebushes in full magnificent bloom, clipping and tidying and dropping the refuse into a wheelbarrow.
Lola raced across the grass and back again then stopped and rolled over, to jump to her feet and start running again.
‘Good morning,’ Krista said.
The man gave her a cursory glance. ‘Morning.’
‘The rose
s look beautiful.’
‘Helps if you’ve got water,’ he said. It sounded vaguely like an accusation.
‘Where does the water come from? Is it town water out here?’
‘Hardly. Wouldn’t be allowed to water the garden if it was. Water rationing,’ he said when he saw she didn’t understand. ‘Only house use and hand watering the garden. You probably don’t have to bother in the city.’
‘Yes we do,’ she replied, stung by the implication city people guzzled more than their share of the water. ‘We had very strict rationing a few years ago.’
‘It’s bore water here and tank water for the house.’
‘Do you live in Taylor’s Creek?’
‘Yeah. I come out here every two weeks but there’s some big do on so the boss wanted extra done.’ He spat into the grass.
‘The garden looks lovely.’
He scanned the area. ‘It’ll do, I reckon.’
‘Do you know Oliver Johnson, the vet?’
‘Why?’
‘No reason, I met him yesterday, that’s all.’
He squinted at her from under the hat. ‘He’s a good bloke.’
‘Yes.’
Gemma, the maid, appeared on the wide, slate-covered terrace. ‘There’s a truck out the front with the marquee and chairs,’ she said. ‘I can’t find Brenda.’
‘I guess they go out here,’ said Krista. She smiled at the gardener but he’d already returned to his job.
She called, ‘Come on, Lola. Fun’s over.’
***
Krista didn’t see Hugh until lunchtime so busy was she with the disposition of multitudes of white chairs and tables. Fortunately Brenda appeared with a table arrangement plan and instructions as to the position of the marquee, so it all had to be done only once by the taciturn pair from the hire company. According to them their job was delivery. not erection of the marquee and tables, which Krista had assumed was the case. A phone call to the boss and the offer of extra cash changed their minds but not their attitudes.
Viivi wandered through the garden in time to see the final chairs put in place and to exclaim how pleased she was that at least the guests wouldn’t be left standing for hours, but that some of the tables need to be moved.
‘Could you take care of it, please?’ she asked the nearest of the two delivery men.
Where There Is Smoke Page 6