Blackpeak Station (4 page)

Chapter
FOUR

Charlotte leaned back in the saddle, stretching weary shoulders. The string of ewes and their lambs reached on up the spur, their cries smothered by the heat of the afternoon sun.

It was only the beginning of January, but already spring was a distant memory, the grass of the lambing blocks eaten low. It was easy work driving the mob up to the new grass on the tops. The dogs trotted busily up and down, almost daring the ewes to straggle. Those that did were pounced on quickly, black and white shadows circling to leap from the tussock in front of the sheep and send them flying back to their mates.

This solitary drove was one of her favourite chores, a
day’s ride alone in the empty hills, with the valley stretching below and not even the sound of an engine to break the high country peace. She’d never understood how Nick — or anyone else — could find it boring.

The heat had died down, dispersed by the cool breeze of evening, when she closed the last gate behind the advancing mob and turned for home. The breeze was drying the sweat on her face and back, and she took off her hat to let it do its best with her plastered-down hair. The dogs fell in behind her ambling horse, panting hard. But the trip down was quicker. The sun was behind them, and the scent of home in their noses.

Coming down onto the flat, Charlotte could see Jen riding into the home paddock, rider, horse and dogs
gilt-edged
silhouettes as the sun dipped behind the hills. Her own horse whickered softly, picking up his pace on the easier ground, eager for rest and a feed.

Outside the tack shed, she eased herself stiffly out of the saddle, feet unsteady on the ground. She tacked down old Archie, gave him a quick rub over and turned him loose in the paddock, where he lost no time in getting his head down to graze. She was looking forward to dinner herself — and bed even more so.

In the kitchen, Jen was already stretched out in her usual chair by the range, her head back and her legs resting on a stool. She looked up at Charlotte with a groan.

‘Not long till dinner, girls,’ promised Kath, busy at the electric stove. ‘Just waiting for Matt.’

Charlotte took the chair on the other side of the range, knocking Jen’s feet aside so she could share the stool. A chorus of neighing from the paddock outside drifted in through the open windows.

‘That’ll be him.’

‘Thank God,’ Charlotte sighed. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Hey,’ said Jen, when Matt walked in some minutes later. ‘You look like I feel.’

‘I think I feel worse than I look.’ Matt collapsed into a dining chair.

Charlotte and Jen looked at each other. ‘Nah …’

He managed a grin. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘You have some trouble?’ Charlotte asked, rising with some difficulty as Kath began to serve up the chops. Rex looked up from his newspaper.

‘Nothing much,’ Matt assured them. ‘Got a couple stuck up Halfway Creek, but they came out no worries.’

After Kath had cleaned up and she and Rex had gone home, Matt yawned and said he was off back to his place for a shower.

‘Coffee?’ Charlotte asked. Jen nodded. Charlotte put the jug on to boil and Jen slouched back into her armchair.

Charlotte studied her surreptitiously. She suspected that Matt had a bit of a crush on Jen, unlikely as that might seem. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Despite first appearances, Jen did tend to inspire a weird kind of devotion — the dogs would do anything for her, and Charlotte was starting to feel a bit that way, too. Maybe it was because Jen gave the impression of caring so little about herself — she was who and what she was, and that was all the self-analysis she needed. She was pretty easy to talk to, as well. Charlotte carried the coffees across and thought how odd it was — odd but nice — to have such a friend out here.

The last of the dusk was fading when they heard an old diesel motor pull up outside. Charlotte groaned. ‘Who the hell can that be?’

‘Maybe it’s the Sallies,’ said Jen, without moving. ‘Tell them we gave at the office.’

Charlotte pulled herself up enough to look through the window, and gave a small shriek. ‘Christ, it’s Rob Caterham!’

‘Who?’

‘The accountant.’ Ignoring Jen’s confusion, Charlotte looked down at her filthy shirt and riding pants and sniffed quickly under her arms. ‘You talk to him — I’ve got to have a shower!’

‘Charlie! You can’t—’

But Charlotte was gone. Having showered at something close to the speed of light, she rummaged frantically and without success for a clean pair of jeans. Settling on the least grubby pair, she drenched them with Andrea’s Christmas perfume to hide the competing odours of dog and sheep — then, catching a whiff of herself, wished she hadn’t. When she finally made her reappearance in the kitchen, it was in a pair of old tracksuit pants she’d found in Nick’s room and a baby pink t-shirt her aunt had sent from London three years ago because she’d thought the colour might suit her. Charlotte had never agreed, but at least it was clean.

Rob was deep in the vagaries of the wool market with Jen. He looked up as Charlotte walked in, his blue eyes crinkling. ‘Hello.’

‘Hi!’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘I thought I heard a car pull up.’

‘I hope I’m not disturbing you. I hadn’t realised it had gotten so late.’ Charlotte glanced at the clock on the wall. It wasn’t even eight-thirty. ‘I was on my way back from Cromwell,’ he continued, ‘so I thought I’d drop in. Since I was … passing. See how you were.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘So I see.’ He grinned.

‘Would you like a coffee? Or a glass of wine?’

‘Well … if you’re having one.’

Deciding she was, Charlotte got three glasses out and fetched a bottle of Andrea’s pinot gris from the back fridge. The first glass settled her nerves. The second had her thinking how surprisingly comfortable it was, sitting there chatting to Rob. By the third, she was really enjoying herself. Rob wanted to know about all the things she was actually good at talking about — merinos and micron counts, fertility rates and pasture.

It was past ten o’clock when Jen yawned conspicuously and let it be known that she was calling it a night. As they heard her ute crunch away, Rob stretched out his long legs and fixed Charlotte with his wide blue gaze.

‘Well,’ he said softly.

‘Indeed,’ said Charlotte.

‘Are you going to bed too?’

‘Not yet.’ She tried to match his suggestive tone, but before she could stop it, a huge yawn escaped. It had been a long day.

Rob laughed. ‘I’d better get going. You need your sleep.’

Resisting the urge to say,
please don’t
, Charlotte walked him to his car. The breeze had turned chilly, and she shivered in the dark, staring up at the unclouded stars. He opened the door. She stood beside him, feeling awkward, hoping he wasn’t just going to get in and drive away.

When he bent to kiss her, she was so relieved that at first she barely felt anything else. Then it got deeper. But before she really had time to start kissing him back, run her hands through that silky blond hair, he was gone, the car door between them.

He leaned his arms on the steering wheel, looking down at her from the Land Cruiser’s seat. ‘Have dinner with me next week?’

‘Okay.’

‘Okay.’ She thought she saw him smile in the dark. ‘I’ll call you.’

Charlotte watched him drive away. She waited until she could no longer see his tail lights before going back inside. She put the wine glasses in the dishwasher and turned it on, and then, curling up at last in her bed, fell instantly asleep.

The next day brought more droving, and the next, as Blackpeak’s ten thousand merinos were taken up to their summer grazing. Each day, the sun grew hotter, turning arms and faces to a deep bronze and bleaching any last trace of green from the grass. Charlotte’s mind, however, was less peaceful. With no company other than sheep, dogs, horse and her own thoughts, she found the latter turning all too often to Rob Caterham and the depressingly silent telephone. Maybe he was calling during the day and not leaving a message? For the first time, Charlotte began to wish the station had cell phone coverage — finally, she could understand why Nick would drive for over an hour to find a spot where he could check his phone.

On Thursday night they gathered at the homestead to crack open a few beers in celebration of the end of the drove and the busiest time in the calendar — the back of the summer work was now broken. The wool clip and wethers were sold, the winter feed was in, and nothing had gone wrong.

It was Matt who answered the phone. ‘Hey Charlie! It’s your lover!’

‘Hello,’ said Charlotte, slightly breathless from beating Matt with a tea towel.

‘Hi,’ came Rob’s very welcome voice. ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I’ve been tied up with an audit all week. You still on for dinner?’

‘Sure.’ She tried not to sound too eager.

‘Great. How about tomorrow night? I’ll pick you up.’

‘Don’t be silly, it’s way too far to come. I’ll meet you in town.’

‘All right then — say seven thirty? Come to my place and we’ll go from there.’

‘Okay.’

‘You know Matipo Street? I’m number 10.’

‘See you there.’

Hanging up the phone, Charlotte was confronted by four eager faces.

‘Tomorrow night, seven thirty, his place. Anything else you want to know?’

‘His place?’ said Matt with a grin. ‘That’s the oldest trick in the book!’ He ducked a fraction too late.

Jen leaned in the bedroom doorway, her eyes flitting over a mess of epic proportions. There were clothes all over the bed and floor, in the middle of which Charlotte stood in her dressing gown, wet hair escaping from its clip and dripping down her shoulders.

‘Don’t you have to leave in half an hour?’

‘God.’ Charlotte eyed her alarm clock. ‘What about this?’ She held up her black tunic.

‘It looks like you’re off to a funeral.’

‘I was last time I wore it.’

Jen smiled apologetically. ‘Do you really not have another dress? What’s that hanging up in there?’

Charlotte glanced over her shoulder. ‘Summer uniform.’

‘Unbelievable. Come with me.’

Charlotte trailed hopefully down the hall. With Andrea and Nick away and Jen up at the homestead every night,
it had seemed to make sense that she move out of the spartan shepherd’s cottage and into one of Blackpeak’s many spare rooms.

‘Here we go!’ said Jen, retrieving something small and floaty and black from the furthest recesses of the old oak wardrobe. ‘Try this on.’

Charlotte turned it around incredulously. ‘Which way up does it go?’

‘Very funny.’

Shedding her dressing gown, Charlotte stepped into the dress and slipped the halterneck up over her head. She looked in the mirror. A drape of silky fabric skimmed her breasts before plunging nearly down to her navel. The rest of the dress stopped not far below that. ‘I can’t believe you wear this.’

Jen laughed. ‘Ah, there’s more to me than meets the eye, you know.’

‘Not wearing this there isn’t.’ Charlotte twisted her head. ‘How does it stay on?’

‘There’s a zip at the back,’ Jen advised. ‘I’ll get it.’

Charlotte giggled. ‘I feel like I’m on
How To Look Good Naked.
’

Jen raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t think you’ve got too many worries there. Come on, let’s find you some shoes.’

Charlotte pulled up outside 10 Matipo Street some two and a half hours later. She turned the ignition off, but it seemed somehow beyond her to open the door. It was, she excused herself, her first date in over a year. She hadn’t even been off the station for a couple of months, so it was no wonder she was nervous. She took a deep breath and got out, battling to keep the dress down to mid-thigh. Rob’s door opened at her
first knock. Oh God, had he been watching her sit outside?

‘Hi,’ he smiled. The dress registered, and there was a moment’s silence. ‘You look … lovely. Come in — what can I get you to drink?’

‘A glass of wine?’

‘Bubbly okay?’ Walking round to the kitchen, he pulled an expensive-looking bottle out of the fridge.

‘Lovely, thanks.’

‘Have a seat.’ He gestured at the breakfast bar as he poured. Charlotte eyed the stool nervously. She wasn’t sure the dress was going to make it up there, but she did her best to comply.

‘Watch out,’ she warned, as the bubbles mounted in the glass.

‘Sorry.’ Rob grinned. ‘Got a bit distracted there.’ He handed her the wine. ‘Now, I’ve got a bit of a confession to make — I checked out a couple of places to eat, and, well … I decided I’d make dinner here. If that’s okay with you. Unless you had your heart set on fried rice or a burger.’

Charlotte’s mouth watered a bit at the thought of takeaways. But she was impressed. And relieved — she’d never live it down if anyone she knew caught her dressed like this.

‘Anyway,’ Rob went on, in a lower voice. ‘We can relax a bit more if we stay here. Nothing like a room full of clients to ruin an evening.’

‘Mmmm.’ She watched his long fingers run down the stem of his glass. ‘So what are you making?’