FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (37 page)

‘Steady on, Sas. It would have been nice to have discussed it first, I have to admit.’

‘I had to make a decision quickly at uni, Mum, and you were out there in the scrub. And anyway, no matter what you might have said, I still would have left.’

‘Sas, I just want what’s best for you. I want you to have choices in your life.’

‘That’s exactly why I’m doing this.’ Saskia led her mother to the railing where they leaned comfortably. Sas picked Greta up and perched her on the top railing, holding onto her. ‘I’ve only deferred uni for a year, I’ll go and get my degree if this year out doesn’t work. And this just seemed too good a chance to miss. I’ve set this whole horse deal up here, the admin and money side of it as well as finding the horses, getting them used to the trail — which I also laid out — ’

‘What about Colin?’ interjected Queenie. ‘He just spells trouble.’

‘Mum, I know there’s some sort of feud between you two, but he helped me out because we’re family. It was a sheer accident that I ran into him and Dina on the coast and when I told him I was sick of uni, wanted to work with horses, he offered me this. I’m helping him out too.’

‘What’s his involvement with this place?’

‘He’s the manager; Bruce runs the day-today side of things. Colin still lives over at the coast but stays here most of the week. He spends weekends with Dina and has meetings with her father and their associates. I don’t know much about that side of things.’

‘Dina’s father is involved with this place?’

Saskia glanced in surprise at her mother, who seemed horrified. ‘Alfredo Camboni? Yeah, he owns it. But he doesn’t have anything to do with it; Colin says he’s not interested in it — he’s too tied up in the casino they’re building.’

‘My God, I knew it! What goes on here? This is probably a cover for some money-laundering operation.’

Saskia burst out laughing. ‘You’re being paranoid. Mum. Come on, look around. There’s a horse I want to show you. Come and look in the stables first.’

Saskia gave her mother a tour of the stalls and stables; then, with Greta dashing ahead, they went down to the paddock where Toffee was kept. Queenie let out a low whistle as she saw the beautiful bay thoroughbred canter across the grass. ‘That’s a great looking horse. Can he race?’

‘He has a few problems. It’s a long story, I’ll tell you about it over a cuppa.’

‘Heavens, what is that child doing, Saskia? Get her back, she’ll get hurt.’

Tiny Greta was running on her short chubby legs across the paddock towards the giant racehorse. ‘It’s all right. Mum, I’ll go get her, but the little monkey does this all the time.’ Saskia ducked between the rails and hurried after Greta.

The child stood still in the middle of the paddock as Toffee trotted swiftly to her and stopped in front of her. Greta walked up to the horse and gave it a hug around its knees; her
head didn’t even reach up to the horse’s body. Queenie’s heart was in her mouth, hoping the child wouldn’t move behind the animal, willing Saskia to hurry. But the horse seemed to know Greta was a little person who was to be treated with gentleness. Toffee hung down his head and Greta grabbed his mane behind his ears; then Toffee lifted his head, arched his neck and swung the little girl high in the air. He lowered her back to the ground and barely had her feet touched the ground than he lifted her into the air once more, her squeals of delight echoing around the paddock.

‘Again, Toff!’ she cried.

‘That’s enough, Greta,’ said Saskia, plucking the little girl from the horse’s neck. Toffee tossed his head, shook his mane and cantered rapidly away as Saskia led Greta back to the fence to where Queenie was shaking her head and laughing.

‘I hope you didn’t teach her that, Sas!’

‘No, Greta and Toffee invented that game. I have to watch her all the time. But it’s strange, she sometimes gets in the yard with half a dozen horses and pushes them around by their front legs, getting them into place, but they all do what she says and are very careful with her.’

‘Animals seem to know to take care of the baby of a species,’ said Queenie as she took Greta’s hand, leading her back to the Gadens’ house.

‘I’m not a baby,’ pouted Greta.

‘No, you’re a bossy boots,’ laughed Queenie, ‘and I’m glad I don’t have Saskia’s job, I
couldn’t manage all those horses
and
you, Greta! But it does seem like a nice sort of job nonetheless,’ she added, looking lovingly at her daughter.

‘I’m happy here,’ said Saskia returning her mother’s affectionate look.

‘Good,’ declared Greta, closing the subject.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Tango was troubled. He sensed there was more behind his recent conversation with Queenie than she was revealing. The journey to recover the bulls had obviously drained her and she had been under constant strain since TR’s accident. Now she was planning to move ahead with setting up the fellmongery and revitalising the old tannery. But he suspected there was something else she wasn’t telling him. As always when he wanted to think. Tango went down to the stables.

Tubs of blazing bright geraniums stood around the flagstone courtyard by the horse stalls. Tango wandered through the stalls, murmuring to the horses, breathing in the sweet smell of fresh hay. In one of the breeding boxes a thoroughbred broodmare was lying down resting, her swollen belly showing she was close to term. Tango read the vet’s check written on her chart by the door
showing all was in order. The foal, sired by Sweet William, was due in two days. Peering inside he saw the magnificent chestnut mare had company. Dennis, the injured young jockey whom TR had befriended in hospital, was seated on the straw by the mare. His wheelchair was by the wall.

He glanced up and saw Tango. ‘Just keeping her company. I reckon she’s missing her stablemate and she seemed a bit stressed.’

‘Good idea, Denny. How’s it going? You settling in okay?’

‘I am. I manage to keep pretty busy too . . . despite the chair. I’m real grateful to you and TR for giving me this job. I’ll pull me weight as best I can.’ The crippled boy looked down at the mare, and stroked her neck. ‘I know I’ll never ride again, but it’s real good to be around the horses.’

‘I know what you mean. I’ll catch you later, Denny.’

‘Righto. I’ll be back in the office this afternoon, got a lot of reports to write up.’

Tango smiled and left. The boy had an uncanny head for figures and was proving quite an asset, doing some of the paperwork and book-keeping that Tango detested.

Tango debated about seeing Mick down at the track but decided against it, wanting to be on his own to think things through. Guneda was running smoothly, the horses in training were coming along well, as were the breeding and stud programmes. But decisions would have to be made in the coming months and Tango hoped TR would be part of that
process. Even if his memory hadn’t returned he would have to start getting involved in the business again. His knowledge and instinct with horses were still intact, he’d shown flashes of that in casual conversation. If they couldn’t have the old TR back then a new TR was going to have to take his place.

With a sudden burst of insight. Tango realised Queenie faced the same problem. It was all very well re-educating a man for a job but how did you resurrect his old emotional life? If we could live life over, would we do the same things? Marry the same people? Fall in love again the way we did before? His beautiful mother, who’d found the love of her life, lost him, then found him again was now facing an even worse kind of loss — no wonder she was feeling insecure and unhappy.

Tango had experienced a few semiserious flirtations and had extricated himself from distraught and desperate partners, but in his heart he knew he was looking for a love that was all-conquering and complete — a love like his parents. Leaning on a white painted railing and watching racehorses Guilder and Barnstorm prance in a field together. Tango made up his mind. As soon as Royal Robes, the chestnut mare gave birth, he would leave for Tingulla. He wanted to see Jenni again.

TR and Jenni were in the swimming pool at Tingulla working through an aqua-exercise routine. The pool had been put in by Queenie and Warwick when Saskia was born and Warwick had insisted on it being oversize so he
could swim long laps for exercise. It was made from natural stone with neutral pool tiles that reflected the colour of the sky. Surrounded by an expanse of green lawn the pool area was screened by trees and shrubs and even a palm or two.

TR stopped to catch his breath, hanging onto the edge of the pool. ‘My legs are aching, Jenni. In fact, they feel like they may drop off.’

‘That’s good. This is the best exercise you can do, TR — it uses all the muscles with no strain.’ She swam over to him. ‘Float for a bit on your back and rest.’

TR floated with his eyes closed. ‘I wish I felt as free on the land as I do in the water.’ ‘You will. Think how far you’ve come in such a short time.’

He opened his eyes and looked at Jenni, thinking she looked no older than Saskia. She wasn’t wearing any make-up, her short blonde hair was damp and it clung to her delicately shaped head. Her neat compact body, sheathed in a yellow one-piece bathing suit, was rounded but boyish, her hidden strength defined in her lean muscles.

‘I owe you a lot, Jenni. You’ve been very patient with a grouchy old bloke,’ TR said with a lopsided grin.

‘It’s my job,’ she answered. ‘And you’re not grouchy — well, not so much now — and you’re certainly not old.’

‘I feel it sometimes. I guess my days of sowing wild oats are well and truly over,’ he joked.

Jenni was standing on tiptoe, the water
above her shoulders. She reached out and touched TR’s cheek. ‘Not necessarily,’ she said softly.

TR swung his feet down to the bottom of the pool so he was standing close to Jenni. He was still holding her hand. They stared at each other for a moment and Jenni saw how long his eyelashes fringing his blue eyes were. Droplets of water sparkled on his lashes and she reached up to his face with her other hand as TR closed his eyes and lowered his face to hers. His lips brushed against hers, then Jenni’s passive mouth burned to life, kissing him back with a force that made him stumble. She wrapped her arms about him and held him close as he began to kiss her back. Jenni’s nipples were hard and erect, thrusting through the thin covering of her swimsuit and jutting into the smooth skin of TR’s chest. He ran his hands down the slinky wet length of her back, one hand travelling over her hips and buttocks drawing her body close to his.

Suddenly he pulled away. ‘No. This isn’t right.’ He fell backwards under the water and sidestroked away from her, bursting to the surface near the pool steps.

Jenni didn’t move. Shivering, she watched him pull himself clumsily out of the pool and flop onto the grass. He buried his face in his towel, fiercely rubbing his face as if to wipe away all traces of her kiss. With tears in her eyes Jenni turned away.

Queenie and Saskia walked arm in arm through the gardens to the Gadens’ house for
lunch. Queenie knew Colin would be there too and she felt sick with apprehension at seeing her brother after so many years.

Ria, Bruce, and Colin were gathered on the patio when Queenie and Saskia arrived. Saskia glanced at her mother and swiftly squeezed her hand.

Colin took the initiative and stepped forward, giving Queenie and Saskia a light kiss on the cheek.

‘Hello Colin,’ said Queenie in a neutral voice.

He stepped back and spread his hands. ‘I’m astounded, you look the same as you did at Saskia’s age.’

‘Thank you. I can see you’ve learned some of that Italian charm,’ said Queenie without changing her expression. Although she appeared cool and calm, Queenie was flustered. The sight of Colin had sent an angry electric current tingling through every fibre of her body. Whatever feelings she thought she’d let go came surging back. Behind the new facade was the same old Colin, though Queenie had to admit he certainly had acquired an attractive, if slightly decadent, veneer of sophistication.

Bruce’s voice cut in on her thoughts. ‘I was thinking that too — you could pass for sisters. Saskia, what do you both want to drink?’

‘Juice for me, thanks.’

‘I brought some white wine,’ said Colin, ‘a Rosemount chardonnay. Queenie, a glass?’

‘Thank you, Colin.’

Ria and Bruce exchanged a swift glance. The
civility was chilling. Ria excused herself to go to the kitchen to see why there was ominous silence from Greta, who’d been left to shell peas.