A Changing Land(103)
‘Of course I care. But what did you expect me to do? You’re sitting there accusing me of wanting control and your actions don’t exactly scream teamwork. And for heaven’s sake, Anthony, no costings? No projections for the bank? What, are you stupid?’
‘Clearly I am.’ From the kitchen bench Anthony pulls a sheaf of papers. ‘There are the projections.’ His finger stabs at each piece of paper as he sits them on the kitchen table. ‘And there is the documentation. And yes I was stupid because I did it for you and for Wangallon.’
Sarah looked at the paperwork. ‘My god, you used your own money? The money from your share of your family’s property? You never said anything.’
Anthony stared at her. ‘You never gave me the chance.’
‘That’s because –’
‘That’s because you just kept saying no, like a bloody tape recorder. God forbid if anyone, anyone should try to take the Gordon mantle away from you.’ He picked up his wallet. ‘You forget, Sarah, that I was only trying to help.’
‘Where are you going?’ She touched him on the shoulder. ‘Anthony?’
He turned to face her. ‘I’m having dinner at the pub. I can’t do this anymore.’
‘You can’t do it anymore? I’m the one who’s been seeing solicitors and fighting my half-brother.’
Anthony shrugged. ‘Well you didn’t listen to me on that score either. Good luck.’
‘Good luck? Geez, Anthony, what’s got into you?’
He opened the back door. ‘Reality.’ Then he was gone.
In the kitchen Sarah sat near the Aga. He’ll come back. She cushioned her head with her arms on the kitchen table. He will come back, she whispered. Hadn’t her grandfather told her that same thing many years ago? Everyone came back, they couldn’t help themselves; Wangallon got into your soul.
That night Sarah dreamt of Wangallon. She hovered above the countryside, darting down like an eagle hawk to inspect dams and fences, swooping low over grassland to check sleeping ewes and resting cattle. She breasted the wind and let it carry her high into the stratosphere and then folded her wings against the updraft to plummet down to where men on horseback walked a single trail. The men carried their need to protect Wangallon like the rifles slung across their thighs, carefully but with determination. When she awoke in the pre-dawn Sarah understood this necessity – there was much to lose. And there was something else that unexpectedly came to her: the tin chest that contained her great-grandfather’s ledgers was in her grandfather’s massive wardrobe.
‘Is it not too early for you to be wandering about?’ Hamish addressed the lone figure stalking the garden as the first tinges of light illuminated the eastern sky. Claire was dressed only in her chemise and wrap. He took his wife by the elbow and together they walked the perimeter.
Claire ran her fingers across the top of the white paling fence, feeling the sharp prick of splinters in her soft skin. The fence divided their two worlds as perfectly as any boundary. ‘This is a pleasant fiction,’ she said evenly as her slipper-encased feet stepped over twigs. ‘Have you tired of me, Hamish? Do you wish me to leave?’ It was the only feasible solution unless they could come to some form of understanding.
‘I will be away for some days.’ Hamish steered her towards the length of bougainvillea hedge that was now large enough to block the westerly winds.
‘Do me the courtesy of an answer,’ she said, patting at her lacklustre hair.
‘I have tried to ensure your happiness, yet it is undeniable that we have grown apart.’ The fine leather of his boots kicked at a fallen branch. ‘You came here as a young carefree woman. I wonder what became of the person I admired.’
‘So you do not love me?’
Hamish breathed in the earth about him, imagined the being of his land rising and falling in sleep. ‘I have, during my lifetime, Claire, utilised whatever means at my disposal to carve out a place for myself in this new world. You have benefited from my efforts.’
‘I do not deny that.’ Her fingers clutched a little tighter at the shawl about her shoulders. ‘You loved me once, I think. I remember your smile, your body next to mine for weeks on end.’ She glanced coyly at his weathered profile. ‘I think perhaps you liked the idea of love, of being loved. Or maybe you just like possession.’ Claire felt him stiffen at her words. ‘We have a divide between us, husband, one made gaping by your single-minded interest in this great property you have created.’ Claire placed the slightest of pressure on his arm. ‘Your obsession with Wangallon has led you away from the comforts of hearth and home, from the wife who would welcome gentle conversation. We could bridge the divide between us if –’