A Man For All Seasons (23 page)

Suddenly she became aware that Chad had spoken to her. Ashamed of her self-absorption she tuned in.

“Tom should be there early, he's got a race at ten.”

Tom was the jockey. Their race was at two in the afternoon. “Good,” she said.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Seraphim realised that they were both attempting to hide their individual anxieties from each other. Noting the set angle of Chad's jaw she decided to try and share.

“The Huntsman's very relaxed, isn't he?” she tried tentatively.

Chad put down his fork full of fried sausage. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said that The Huntsman is very relaxed this morning.”

For moment he didn't reply and Seraphim wondered if he'd taken in her comment at all.

Then he nodded. “I know. Hopefully he'll liven up when we get to the track.”

So that was it. Chad was worried the horse wouldn't develop enough of an adrenaline rush to stay with the field.

“It's only his first day, it's not the end of the world if he doesn't do his best,” she lied valiantly. But the tight knot in her abdomen that had insinuated itself directly above the baby, contracted sharply. She couldn't submerge her conviction that, after months of work, not just her self-respect but also the future of the yard were at stake. Everybody knew it.

But then Chad took her by surprise. “You're right. It's not the end of the world. Even if he comes in stone motherless last, we'll be fine. The three of us.”

Prone to tearful outbursts at the best of times, Seraphim had no hope of stemming the flood that followed. She'd cried the day before because she'd forgotten to buy cellotape at the shops. The gift she'd secretly bought Chad in Toowoomba the previous week had to be tied up in string.

Apparently unperturbed by her latest hormonally challenged episode, Chad handed her a tissue. He grinned down at her. “Happy?”

She sniffed. “Yes.”

“Come on then, let's do it,” said Chad decisively. “You get ready and I'll load up.”

Just the thought of her new outfit, waiting on the wardrobe door, perked her up. Chad pecked her on the cheek and disappeared outside.

After a hasty shower Seraphim pulled on the new lacy pants and matching bra. She paused in front of the mirror and observed herself curiously. She ran a hand down her belly, still as concave as it ever was. Restrained by the bra, her boobs were definitely bigger, but otherwise her figure remained unchanged. With a small pat to her tummy she pulled the emerald green, silk skirt off its hanger and wiggled into it. The matching tailored jacket cinched in around her waist, and draped just over her hips.

Black heels, gloves and a huge wide brimmed hat sealed the deal. Black kohl liner, blush and pink lips added a touch of glamour. Satisfied, she grabbed her beaded jet bag and set off.

Behind the shed the F250 had been hitched to the long body of the gooseneck trailer. As she rounded the corner she heard the heavy clump of horse's feet up the ramp. She felt a small shiver of excitement course down her spine and suddenly all her fears were washed away. This was it. The day had finally arrived.

A long whistle of appreciation wafted on the gentle morning breeze. It was Chin; for once without his radio and walking easily on his injured leg. “Who's the lady?” he said.

“No ladies here,” she replied.

“Now there, I'd have to disagree,” said Chad, who'd come up behind her.

She leant back against him, relishing the feel of him.

He squeezed her softly. “You look as good as your cherry cheesecake tastes,” he murmured in her ear.

Delighted by the impact created by her chosen costume, she turned around until she faced him. “I do believe that's a compliment.”

He flushed a little beneath his swarthy tan. “Maybe.”

“Better get a move on, you two,” said Chin.

Regretfully Seraphim pulled away. “See you later Chin.”

“Good luck,” said Chin.

Seraphim followed Chad to the cabin and climbed into the passenger seat. The engine roared into life and the huge rig slowly pulled away, and onto the bitumen. Country music blared from the speakers and Seraphim and Chad sang, somewhat tunelessly, along.

Every few hours they had to stop so that Seraphim could do a pee, mostly at pubs or garages, but occasionally al fresco. Neither could eat any of the delicious picnic that Seraphim had so carefully prepared the night before, but both drank tea from a thermos. They spent the time planning for the baby.

“Course, he'll have to start rodeo pretty early. We'll get him on the poddy calves soon as he's big enough to stand,” said Chad, enthusiastically.

Seraphim nearly choked on her tea. “She will start dressage when she's three, on a safe and reliable pony.”

“Girls can do rodeo,” said Chad reasonably.

With a mammoth effort of will Seraphim reined in her angst. “Boys can do dressage,” she said lightly. “You wait and see, Daddy will back me up when he comes out to see his new grandchild.”

“Oh, you reckon?”

Her lips twitched for a moment, but she managed hide the smile behind coffee mug. For the time being she was willing to let it go.

With inevitable slowness they rolled past big country, sleepy towns and crumbling sale yards. In his mobile home, The Huntsman peered happily through his window and rested a back leg.

By the time they made it through the wide entry of the racecourse Seraphim felt ill not with morning sickness but with nerves. Thankfully Chad seemed pretty much together and sent her off to place a bet while he sorted out the horse and chased up the jockey.

The track stretched out, acid green after the recent rain. Crowds bustled and hummed, the air filled with the pungent smell of beer, hot chips and horse. Although she had been to the races a few times in England, Seraphim hadn't been ready for the fizz of excitement that coursed through her blood as she placed a heavy bet on The Huntsman. This was Chad's horse. Her own special project.

As she stuffed her betting slip into her purse she bumped into someone. Instinctively she began to apologise, but her words where smothered as Nanny M enveloped her in a hug. Jacob Peterson smiled at her over Nanny M's shoulder. Seraphim smiled back, happy to see the elder couple together.

Slowly they zigzagged their way through the mass of people to the stands and through to the owners section. As they settled into their seats a field of racing horses thundered by, colours bright, the jockey's faces mud splattered.

Seraphim chattered to her companions but later had no recall as to the content of the conversation. Finally Chad joined them, eyes glittering with excitement and anticipation.

“Ten minutes,” he told them.

It was the longest ten minutes of her life. Hand-in-hand they waited. Finally the small talk dried up and the four of them sat, eyes glued to the distant starting barrier. Nanny procured a pair of binoculars from her voluminous raffia handbag and handed them to Seraphim.

Several minutes were wiled away while Seraphim and Chad fiddled with the heavy glasses, focusing and refocusing the lens. Then a tinny voice announced the impending race and Seraphim stood and leant forward to try and see as much as possible.

“What if he won't go in the barrier,” she panicked.

“He'll be right,” said Chad soothed.

And, of course, he was right. A pistol shot rang out and the horses burst out and streaked down the long side. Closely bunched together it was impossible to discern The Huntsman's place. Seraphim's hands shook like a palsied dog as she tried to train the binoculars on the galloping field. Finally the distinctive red, black and yellow of Chad's silks came into focus.

“He's third!” she squeaked.

With bated breath they watched the huge bay horse stretch out and pull his way into second. For half the distance it seemed as if the horses were at a standoff, but then in the final quarter, The Huntsman began to accelerate away, pulling past the grey and gaining on the leading chestnut.

Seraphim heard someone screaming. It took several seconds before she realised it was herself, yelling like a banshee, willing her horse home. With wings on his hooves he flew past the finishing line.

With a shriek of triumphant delight Chad grabbed her hands, his eyes a deep whiskey hue, dark with emotion. “You did it Seraphim. You bloody well did it!”

Inevitably she disintegrated into tears, laughing and crying simultaneously.

“No,” she said, breathlessly, “we did it Chad. The both of us, together.”

Twenty-six

It was a long but wonderful journey home. For his part, The Huntsman snoozed and guzzled hay, singularly unimpressed by the glitz of the day.

When they'd finally dissected the race down to bare bones, drank a cup of tea and finished off the vol-au-vents, they relaxed a little, switching on the radio. Seraphim looked at the cup perched at her feet and picked it up. “It's lovely, isn't it?” she asked needlessly

Chad grinned. “Not bad.”

She loved the way he played things down. She knew that her own ecstatic state was matched measure for measure by his. It just wasn't in his nature to make a fuss. A slight flush warmed her face as she recalled her own uninhibited response. She really must stop crying. But that was enough. Tears began to slide down her face, seemingly of their own volition as she recalled how lucky and how happy she was.

A hanky landed in her lap. “Happy, huh?”

She blew her nose. “Some,” she said, taking in deep breaths to try and create some semblance of a well balanced human being.

“I got several inquiries about taking on new horses for training,” said Chad casually.

With a determined effort she blew her nose again. “You're kidding!”

“No. When I told them about your input people were very interested. It seems you might just have started something.”

For several moments Seraphim digested this momentous news.

Chad started again. “Of course, I explained how we couldn't really help them out at this stage.”

For a moment Seraphim felt like a sink whose plug had just been pulled. Disappointment spread like osmosis through her. “Why?”

Chad took his focus from the windscreen for a second and glanced at her. “Well, you can't really do too much. At least not until the bub comes.”

And then she realised it was time to present Chad with her secret gift. She'd planned to wait until they were home, but this seemed like the opportune moment.

She bent awkwardly and fished around beneath her seat. Her fingers closed around the cool, crisp wrapping paper and she drew the parcel out.

“Pull over,” she said.

Without question Chad began to indicate and pulled over onto the broad grassy verge. Obviously expecting her to make a pit stop, he was surprised when she handed over the bulky, soft gift to him.

“What's this?” he asked.

“Open it.”

Slowly the strong, brown fingers pulled off the string and pulled apart the paper. He looked down at the smart new jodhpurs with an expression of complete bemusement on his face.

Seraphim swallowed a giggle. “Do you remember the promise you made to me?”

Chad looked blank, whilst she could practically hear the cogs grinding and grating away in his brain. “Sorry,” he said finally, “refresh my mind.”

“Well… you said that if The Huntsman ever came first in a race, you'd take up dressage.” She leant over and kissed the hard line of his jaw. “Congratulations… you're about to learn.”

And his face dropped as he obviously recalled the conversation. “But…”

She raised an eyebrow.

“You can't really expect…”

“I most certainly do. That way you can do the basics with any new horses until I'm back in the saddle.”

“I'm not wearing those,” he said, poking the jodhpurs as if they were infested with red-backs.

Seraphim smiled softly and rested her hand lightly on her belly. “Fair enough,” she said, knowing full well that the battle was won.

The engine roared into life and they slipped back onto the bitumen.

“And I'm never going to wear a helmet,” said Chad firmly.

“No, of course not,” she agreed. After all, they had the rest of their lives to work out the finer details.

Jenny Brigalow

Several years ago, whilst recovering from a back injury, I enrolled in a correspondence course on writing romance. Three months later I finished my first novel. Not Shakespeare, for sure, but still all mine. It was a magic moment. I haven't stopped writing since.