A Man For All Seasons (9 page)

They entered the wood just past the church, via a small stretch of open land called a common. It was very quiet. The only sounds were the suctioning of the horses feet in the boggy ground and the soft blowing of their labour. Pollyanna stopped so abruptly that Dresden literally bumped into her.

“Sorry,” Seraphim whispered, raising a gloved hand. “Look.”

Not more than twenty metres away in a small glade of saplings, a herd of deer stood frozen. They watched wide-eyed, long ears waving gently, their heads high. Then a large doe snorted and turned tail, and like a flock of birds the rest followed, tails bobbing, away and out of sight.

“Oh, lovely,” said Seraphim.

“Lovely,” Chad echoed, as he watched her exquisite profile. His eyes caressed the long sweep of her jaw, the immaculate bones of her cheek, and the straight, strong lines of her nose emphasised by the black cap of dark hair. Then it dawned on him. “You're not wearing a helmet.”

She glanced at him then, the picture of guilt and rubbed the perfect nose with one small hand. A gesture that was both endearing and young. “I don't know what's gotten into me! I feel positively wicked this morning.” She made a small moue of concern with her mouth and lifted her eyes to him. “You won't tell Daddy, will you?”

He opened his mouth to reassure her. But then he remembered her words from earlier. “I'm really going to see Julian.”

He hardened his heart, determined to try to develop a little more distance between them. “It's none of my concern,” he said. Some of the vitality fell from her face and she looked away. He felt like a blister on bushman's backside, but forced himself to remain quiet.

She nodded and pushed her horse on.

She rode silently and he sensed her hurt. His misery waxed as her shoulders slumped a little, but he told himself it was for the best. He had to survive too.

This time he made no attempt to challenge her. All the joy in the day seemed to have seeped away. He knew he was at fault but he didn't know what else to do.

They crossed a narrow bitumen road onto another bridle path. The hedge that flanked the left-hand side was bereft of leaves and looked as if it had been dusted with icing sugar during the night. A large red brick house covered in ivy stood amidst smooth lawns. Two black Labradors lumbered down to the fence line, tails wagging and fat bottoms wiggling, as they barked half heartedly.

Seraphim laughed and in the stillness, the sound showered around them in a fluting arpeggio. Then she turned and said something. She seemed strangely excited, her eyes as wide and seeking as the doe in the woods. But he didn't catch her words.

“Sorry, what was…” Chad began.

By way of an answer a large, cold wet lump of mud smacked him in the forehead. In a matter of seconds he was liberally splattered in smelly goo. Brushing the slop from his eyes, his sight cleared and he realised that Seraphim and Pollyanna had surged well ahead.

Beneath him Dresden tensed. Before the horse could even think about a buck Chad booted him up. Keeping him on a short rein, he allowed him to accelerate. Ahead, the track widened and began to climb. As he watched, Seraphim stood in her stirrups and crouched over her horse's neck jockey style.

She glanced back and her words carried clearly this time. “Hurry up, slow poke.”

He couldn't suppress the grin that spread across his face. Cheeky woman. This time he wouldn't let her win so easily.

By now Dresden was completely wired. His hold on the bit spoke of a determination to nail the opposition. Chad didn't argue and let him go. The young horse accelerated and raced up the hill. Within seconds they'd covered the gap and Chad pushed his way level with Seraphim. For one brief moment they were eye to eye. She glanced over at him, eyes shining and lips parted, then Dresden surged past and away, his superior strength and youth no fair match for the older mare.

It was only as he began to pull up his steaming steed, that Chad realised what it was she had said before she took off. She had yelled, “Mind the mud.” It had been a calculated and deliberate ploy. Punishment.

Question was, for what, exactly?

Ten

By nightfall he was none the wiser. She'd been subdued all the way home; occasionally glancing at him, the hint of a smile about her full mouth, and making no secret of her amusement at his disreputable state. But she remained otherwise aloof.

Of course this irked him no end even as he tried to tell himself it was for the best. Wasn't this exactly what he'd set out to do? Create some boundaries. Why then, did he feel so cheated? It was the very devil of a thing.

In the yard he'd copped a good-natured ribbing from the lads over his filthy appearance. By the time he'd put away his tack, there'd been no sign of Seraphim. He tried to quash down his disappointment.

He spent the rest of the day and the evening closeted in Wally's den, thrashing out the finer details of Can't Take a Trick's impending transportation. With Chad's flight due to take off the next day just after nine in the morning, there was much to do. Every time someone entered the room Chad looked up, unable to resist the secret hope that it would be her. But it never was.

They ate off trays. Wally, obviously well pleased with himself, disappeared at eight. “Be back in a minute. Got you a surprise.”

The surprise turned out to be a six-pack of real Four X beer. Manna from heaven. But Chad's delight waned as he clutched the familiar stumpy bottle in his hand. Dear God, it was room temperature! Nearly warm. But he thanked his host profusely and drank anyway. How he got through the bottle he'd never be able to tell. It was amazing what you could do when you had to.

At ten the door opened. Almost by way of reflex action Chad looked up, ever hopeful. This time he was rewarded.

“I'm just off to bed,” said Seraphim, crossing the room to give her father a hug.

Lucky bastard, Chad thought grumpily.

“All packed?” asked Walter.

She nodded. “Pretty much. I've just got to pick up some Ambre Solaire in the morning.”

Chad wondered what that was. Maybe it was some sort of posh perfume. It'd probably scare the horses. Preferring not to advertise his ignorance he said nothing.

She turned to him, and observed him without smiling. “Goodnight, Chad.”

“Goodnight, Seraphim,” he replied. It seemed to him that she spoke volumes in the saying of nothing at all. Glumly he reflected that maintaining a polite distance wasn't going to present a problem at all.

Later that night he couldn't sleep. His brain buzzed with the prospects of returning home, the imminent arrival of Trick, and of course, Seraphim.

He tossed around, punched his pillows and wrestled with his quilt. But it was hopeless. Sleep evaded him and seemed less likely by the minute. He recalled the other five beer bottles, nestled snugly in the huge fridge in the kitchen. They'd be icy cold by now. The more he thought about them the more desirable they became. He sat up. A couple of nice cold beers would be just the thing.

He got up and flicked on the light. It was half past midnight. Flinging on his jeans and a singlet, he set off as quietly as he could.

On his journey down to the kitchen he didn't see a soul. The house dozed about him. By the time he reached the kitchen door those small bottles of beer were at the forefront of his mind. A small token of home. A small wet pool of comfort. He swung the door open, somewhat abruptly, and snapped on the light.

It was hard to say who got the biggest scare, himself or Nanny M. The poor old lady leapt to her feet, her chair flying backwards in her haste.

“Sorry!” Chad gasped. “I didn't know you were here.”

But she didn't answer. Instead she bent down and began to search around the floor. Looking up, her mouth was a straight line of annoyance. “Well, aren't you going to help, you great lummox!”

He raced over to her and glanced around hastily. What the hell was he looking for? But, to his relief, she murmured softly and stood up, something small held delicately between her fingers. At first he thought it was a cigarette, but as the musky aroma enveloped him, he goggled in surprise. Without a doubt the little white haired old lady was smoking a joint.

She wiggled her fingers at him and smiled. “I don't sleep well you know. It's my age, of course. Shelley, the little dear, gave me these herbal cigarettes.” She paused and took a small puff. “Very relaxing.”

And then he knew she was utterly clueless. A bubble of laughter filled his throat. He beat a hasty retreat to the fridge and hid behind the door to hide the shaking of his shoulders. Tears rolled down his cheeks and he nearly choked with the effort of containing his amusement. After half a minute of feigned searching, he grabbed a bottle and slowly shut the door.

Somewhat more composed, he screwed off the lid and tipped the smooth, cold liquid down his throat. By God, it was good!

Nanny M smoked contentedly at the window. Chad finished his beer. Just as he was about to bid her goodnight, she stubbed out her smoke and bent over to pick up a torch. “Come on,” she said. “There's something I want to show you.”

Surprised, but curious, and unwilling to give offence he complied, following the little woman out of the room.

As they travelled he became a little disorientated in the torchlight, but recognised the large front foyer by its mosaic floor. It was the room with the stunning portrait of Seraphim.

But Nanny set off down the long side of the room. He followed her, politely viewing each dark oil painting, mostly portraits of deceased relatives and their family pets. Although there was no denying that the blonde, blue-eyed folk were singularly attractive people, Chad was not overly thrilled. The beer had begun to have its effect, and his bed called out to him.

By the time they'd worked around the room, his concentration had plummeted. He gave the last half a dozen pictures a cursory glance. But when Nanny's light fell upon the last, biggest picture, he stopped. Even in the dim light, the soft complexion and classical lines of Seraphim's face shone out like moonlight upon a lake. He felt she could almost have stepped out of the painting and walked with him, out of the house and into the night. He wished she could.

It took him a moment to realise that Nanny M was whispering to him. He bent down closer.

“… so you see dearie,” she was saying, “when they say that great-great-grandma was the toast of India, they weren't exaggerating.” The old woman began to laugh softly then.

Chad hadn't a clue what she was babbling on about. He nodded politely but felt sure she was a bit muddled. Not surprising really, under the circumstances.

“Are you hungry dear? I'm a bit peckish myself.”

Lost for words, Chad shook his head.

“Well, I'll leave you to it then. You just remember what I've told you.” She patted him on the arm gently. “Up the stairs, turn left. You're room is the third door on the left.” And then she set off, leaving Chad staring after her foolishly. What the hell was that all about?

The light bobbed along the floor for a while and then stopped. Nanny M's voice carried with startling clarity across the room. “Shelley says the best herbal cigarettes come from Australia. Apparently the plants grow like weeds. You never know, I might come over one day and make a bit of a holiday of it.”

He chuckled softly to himself as he made his way carefully up the stairs. Luckily it was another clear night, and moonlight flooded through the huge windows above the stairwell. He paused and looked out at the night sky. The moon was familiar, big and round. But the sky seemed strangely empty of stars. Those that were visible were unfamiliar; a poignant reminder of how far from home he really was.

He turned the corner into the dark and bumped solidly into someone coming the other way. Did no one sleep in this house?

“Sorry,” he said.

“It's all right. I'm fine. You just gave me a scare.”

It was Seraphim.

For a long, pregnant moment they were both silent. Chad wondered what she was doing. Then it occurred to him that she may be of a like mind. Possibly she may think he'd been out tomcatting with Shelley. Panic filled him.

“I've just been down to the kitchen, for a drink. Your Nanny was down there,” he said, his words tumbling over each other in his haste to explain.

She laughed softly. “Well, there's a coincidence, that's where I'm headed too, to get some...”

Chad waited for her to continue but after a half minute he realised she'd stopped. “Get some?” he prompted.

“You'll think I'm foolish,” she muttered.

He grinned in the darkness. “Try me.”

There was another silence but the atmosphere felt lighter.

“I'm going to get some carrots, and say goodbye to the horses.”

Somehow it was the last thing he'd expected. For the first time it occurred to him that she held a genuine passion for the equine residents in the large, well run yard. He realised he'd dismissed her as a hobby rider. That he'd classified her as a very nice, thoroughly spoilt, rich young girl, playing at ponies, all because he held no value for her sport.

Suddenly he felt bad. Although he'd have rather died a hundred deaths than admit it, Chad loved his horses too. Indeed, during his rather disreputable youth, the only level of love he'd expressed had been toward his four-legged acquaintances. For the first time since he'd met her, he felt a sense of fellowship, rather than the familiar sense of careful, but distant adoration that he'd been experiencing.