A Man For All Seasons (22 page)

Seraphim took a couple of unsteady steps forward. “Nanny M, what on earth are you doing here?”

Twenty-four

Chad watched in amazement as Seraphim swooped on her Nanny, crying and laughing. Disorientated he turned to his neighbor.

“Jacob, it's good to see you. If a little unexpected.”

Jacob grinned and pushed his hat back to reveal a receding hairline. In his late seventies, Jacob Peterson was fitter than many men half his age. His pale blue eyes glittered with amusement as he shook hands. “Got a call from the police in town. Mrs Evans here arrived on the bus this morning, but your phone was out. I said I'd bring her out. Apparently she's been travelling for more than twenty-four hours. Caught a flight via Singapore, and managed a bus connection to town.” Briefly the older man looked at Nanny M, an expression of respect etched on the deeply trenched lines of his face. “Quite a lady,” he stated.

Chad appraised Nanny M and had to concur with his neighbour's assessment. Despite a gruelling journey, the old lady seemed remarkably chipper, her grey hair brushed and her cotton top and pants uncreased.

“Come in, have a drink,” said Chad to Jacob.

Jacob shook his head. “I've got to get back to check on the stock.”

Chad didn't try to persuade further. His neighbour's property bounded the river. Stock, weakened by drought, became easily bogged in dams and riverbeds following heavy rain. They shook hands.

“Thanks again,” said Chad.

“Good to meet you, Mrs Evans,” said Jacob.

Nanny M finally released her grip on Seraphim. She smiled. “The pleasure's all mine Jacob, but please, call me Moira,” she said.

Chad caught Seraphim's eye over the diminutive woman's head in time to witness a wide-eyed expression of shock. He grinned. Apparently he wasn't the only one to pick up on the undeniably flirtatious quality in Nanny M's demeanor.

With one last wave Jacob drove away.

A silence descended on the little group. For a minute Chad felt a little unsure but then knew exactly the right thing to say. “Cup of tea Nanny M?”

“I'd kill for a cuppa,” said Nanny.

Chad grabbed her suitcase and heaved it up the stairs in the women's wake. Once inside he busied himself making tea and rustling up a packet of biscuits. He felt a little shy as the two women chattered like a pair of apostle birds.

He settled the steaming mugs on the table and stood back, a little hesitant to break into their circle.

Nanny M looked at him. “Sit boy, sit! Don't hover; it puts me off my tea.”

Chad sat. Opposite him Seraphim grinned broadly, obviously amused by his discomfort.

For several minutes he drank his tea and listened as Nanny filled them in on her journey. He was stunned to hear it was her first and only overseas flight. An epic journey by anyone's standard. But he was no closer to understanding the cause of this escapade. To his relief Seraphim finally asked the question.

“Nanny, it's simply marvellous to see you,” said Seraphim, “but why, exactly, have you come?”

For one ridiculous moment Chad half expected her to say that she'd run out of her favourite herbal cigarettes and had come to acquire some personally.

Nanny M sipped the dregs of her tea and eyed him with an expression of exasperated amusement. “Well, it's really his fault.”

Chad stared in indignant denial. “Why? What did I do?”

Nanny rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and took Seraphim's hands in her own. “Honestly dear, he's a nice boy, but not terribly bright, really.”

Seraphim glanced at Chad, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Nanny, I must disagree, Chad is very smart. Look at this place. He's done that all on his own, to say nothing of…”

But Nanny cut her off. “Yes, yes, I'm sure he's done well enough dear, but I spent hours trying to give him a bunch of clues about the family's skeletons but he just didn't get it at all.” She patted Chad on the shoulder. “I don't think a career as a policeman is on the cards for you.”

Now it was Seraphim's turn to look confused. “What are you talking about? What skeletons? We don't have any.”

Nanny laughed. “Of course you do, it's always been right under your nose dear, all the time.”

Seraphim's pale skin had flushed pink. “If that's so then perhaps it's time you explained yourself.”

Nanny M sighed and pointed a finger at Chad. “I showed you.”

Showed him? What on earth did she show him? His brain felt as if it had been frozen. But then a slight thaw set in. “What, you mean the paintings?”

Nanny M smiled victoriously. “Oh, well done!”

Seraphim glared at them both. “Paintings? What paintings?”

“The family portraits,” said Nanny smugly.

Seraphim looked even more bemused. “But what about them?”

Nanny continued, “Because they explain your mother's antipathy to your relationship with young Chad here.”

Chad looked at her, none-the-wiser. “They do?”

Nanny clicked her tongue at him, not even trying to hide her irritation. “Yes, of course. Think back to great-great-grandma, the toast of India, and then to her daughter. Spot the obvious mistake.”

But it was no good. Feeling unbelievably stupid Chad had to admit defeat. He had no clue as to what the old lady was referring. He glanced helplessly at Seraphim, and felt a little reassured when her expression remained as blank as he felt.

But then Seraphim sat bolt upright in her chair as if she'd been infused with an electric volt. Her eyes opened wide and she uttered a single syllable. “NO!”

At this point Chad felt as if he'd explode with frustration. He slammed his fist on the table. “Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?”

Both women jumped visibly.

Seraphim's eyes, wild and bright found his. “Brunette,” she said.

Nanny M clapped her hands together. “Well done, Miffy!”

Seraphim placed a trembling hand on his. “In all the portraits around the gallery everyone is fair. Really, really blonde and blue-eyed, until great-grandma. She is dark, exotic almost, you could say.”

This still made no sense to Chad. “But so what, her father was probably dark.”

Nanny leant toward him, the blue eyes alive with mischief. “Precisely!”

And then it finally clicked. “You mean your great-great-grandma had a… ”

Seraphim and Nanny nodded in unison.

“Yes,” said Seraphim, “what we'd call… a bit on the side.”

“A local, you might say,” said Nanny.

Stunned, Chad sat back and looked from one woman to the other. “So, you're saying that the great-grandmother was…”

“Part Indian,” said Seraphim, finishing the sentence for him, her face ablaze with triumph. “And of course, that's why mummy is having kittens. She thinks that our children will be dark skinned and the family secret will be well and truly out of the bag.”

Chad sagged back in his seat. “Bloody hell.”

For several moments a silence descended upon the table as each of them took time to digest the implications of this revelation.

Finally Chad had to ask. “But Mrs. Evans, why didn't you simply tell Seraphim?”

Nanny M looked scandalised. “Well, you see, I was Mr Driscoll's nanny before I was Seraphim's. I promised I'd never tell. And I haven't. You guessed.”

Chad grinned at Seraphim who smiled back. “So, what now?” he said.

Seraphim reached across the table and gripped his hand. “I'll cancel my flight until Nanny's ready to go home, then I'll go and have a chat with Mummy about our future. I feel confident that she will have a change of heart, and will embrace our relationship wholeheartedly, especially when I tell her that our babies will be a lovely cappuccino colour and extremely fashionable.”

For a moment Chad didn't know what to say. Babies? Plural? How did that get into the conversation? He didn't know that he was ready for babies. Bravely he overrode the burning desire to pinch himself. Reality seemed to be slipping away. “Babies?” he said.

“Of course dear,” said Nanny. “Why do you think I'm here?”

Startled he looked at Seraphim. “You're not…”

For a moment she looked extremely unsure and bit her lower lip. She brushed a loose strand of her from her cheek. “Well,” she stammered, “I don't know. I mean… I'm a little late perhaps… but I put that down to jet lag and stuff… I guess it's possible…” and her voice petered away. Then her eyes grew as wide as possums. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “Oh Chad, would you be terribly upset?”

Now there was a million dollar question. Would he be upset? A baby? It was a scary idea. Pale as a moonlit statue Seraphim watched him; he could almost feel the emotions bubbling and flowing out of her. And then relief flooded him. This wasn't any old baby! This was his baby and Seraphim's baby. It would be his first real family since his childhood. It would be a tiny life to love and fill the gaps in his hungry heart. More than anything, it was a future. For the both of them.

“I'd be apprehensive, I'd be excited, and I'd be a bit scared,” he said, “but no, I wouldn't be upset.”

To his horror Seraphim collapsed onto the table, head cradled in her arms, and began to sob. He looked at Nanny M mortified, but she just smiled softly at him. Apprehensively he arose from his place and made his way around the table. He hunkered down beside her and placed a hand gently on the pale crescent of the nape of her neck. “What's the matter?”

She lifted a water-logged face. “I'm just so h… happy,” she hiccupped.

As he cradled her gently against his chest, he thought for one tiny frame of time, that he saw his mother's face looking in through the kitchen window. And she smiled.

Twenty-five

Inside the stable block the atmosphere was wound tighter than high tensile wire. Seraphim sewed a plait firmly into place and paused to check on progress.

“What do you think?” she asked anxiously, nervously smoothing The Huntsman's glossy neck.

“Weird, but smart,” answered Chad.

She glared at him, daring him to start. They had argued endlessly for a week about the presentation of the horse at his maiden race. Chad had laughed when she'd told him she intended to plait him up for the big occasion, telling her he'd be the laughing stock of the racecourse. She replied that the smirks would soon be wiped off the faces when the horse romped home to win by several lengths. Finally they'd compromised; they'd plait the mane but not the tail.

Thankfully The Huntsman seemed unaffected by the occasion, standing still, bottom lip flopping idly. A wave of nausea rolled over Seraphim. She willed it to go away and began another plait. Thankfully the roiling turbulence in her abdomen subsided. At four weeks into her pregnancy, morning sickness had become all day sickness. A rubber band broke and shot directly into Chad's eye. He swore softly.

“Sorry,” she said. Her fingers felt like sausages. She couldn't remember ever feeling this nervous before a dressage competition. Despite the fact that The Huntsman had racked up some fantastic times at his barrier trials her nerves were rawer than chopped liver. It was an indication of how important the animal's success had become to her.

Another band busted and flew out of sight. It was her turn to curse. Chad silently handed her another. She smiled gratefully.

He smiled back. “Don't worry, he'll be great.”

Grateful for the reassurance she relaxed a little. Fifteen minutes later she was done. She let out a long sigh of relief and stepped back to take a look. As her eyes travelled over the massive muscles, the glistening mahogany coat, the licorice black legs, mane and tail, she felt a surge of satisfaction. If nothing else, he looked the part.

“Looks bloody good,” said Chad, as he threw a brand new cotton rug over the horse's broad back.

Amused she peeked at him beneath demure eyelashes. “If I could just do the tail…”

Chad just looked. Still, a girl had to try.

“Right we've got about an hour for breakfast and to load up,” said Chad.

Seraphim nodded, checking and rechecking that she'd picked up all the needles. Finally satisfied, she gave The Huntsman a grateful hug and followed Chad out of the loose box.

As they made their way back to the house her head buzzed with the endless mental lists that she'd prepared, ticking off each item one by one. Saddle and bridle were already in the truck, along with water buckets, brushes, hay, saddle clothes, jockey's colours, sweat scraper, hoof pick, spare head collar, surcingles and spare rug. Hastily she tacked her sewing kit onto the end, for emergencies.