A Changing Land(144)
Bullet and Ferret were barking, the sound of vehicles and people carried through the still air. Toby Williams lifted Sarah effortlessly into his arms.
‘You’ll be right, girl. We’re here now.’
As the clearing grew smaller, Sarah clutched at Toby’s arm. Over his shoulder she watched the fox walk the length of the wrecked homestead’s verandah before sitting, quietly contemplative. The clearing emptied of people.
‘What do you mean the lad’s not getting the money?’ Robert threw his jacket across the table, scattering the local newspaper and the uncleared luncheon dishes. ‘Bloody solicitors. No doubt the Gordons have employed some big time lawyer. A barrister perhaps, or a Queen’s Council. That would be right. They start off like us. Oh yes and everyone admires them for what they’ve achieved.’ He stamped his socks on the rug. ‘Left the North they say; made a fortune in the new world. Well I tell you they’re no better than the bloody English.’ He threw his cap on the couch, rubbing his chin vigorously. ‘A bit of money and they think they can tell everyone how high to jump. Well, not me,’ Robert stabbed at his chest with a rampant thumb, ‘no, not me. We’ll get ourselves a flashy estate man. We’ll join the fray and the cost be damned. By the time I’ve finished with the likes of Sarah Gordon they’ll wish they’d played fair.’ Robert glared at his wife, the vein in his neck pulsating like a thick worm.
Maggie busied herself by picking up the machinery catalogues Robert spent half the morning reviewing, and placed them on the table. She hung up his jacket and cap, folded the newspaper and set about tidying the luncheon dishes.
‘How can you be so damn disinterested, Maggie?’
She wiped her hands on her apron. ‘He’s not entitled to the money. He’s had a second opinion from a good man in Sydney and he just won’t be getting it.’
Robert scratched his head. ‘But how? I don’t understand how that could happen? Do you?’
Maggie looked her husband squarely in the eyes. ‘No, Robert, I don’t.’
‘What the blazes happened? It was a done deal, Maggie. I’ve signed the papers for the John Deere tractor, ordered the laying hens and the material for the new henhouse. What happened?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I can’t tell you more than I know, Robert dear.’
Robert ran his stubby fingers through his hair. ‘I told Lord Andrews we didn’t need his contract. I’ve signed the papers for the tractor. I told the lads down the pub.’
Maggie touched her husband’s shoulder. ‘You must ring them, Robert. Tell them there was a mistake, that you can’t be buying these new things.’
‘I’ll be breaking the contract. The finance company will make me pay.’ Robert sat heavily on the couch. ‘And I’ve nothing to pay with.’ He looked at her. ‘We’ll be ruined.’
‘You must blame the Australian law, Robert. That good Mr Levi will help us.’
‘It was him that told us it was a done deal.’ He covered his face with his hands. ‘I’ll never be able to show myself again. I’ll be the laughing stock of the North.’
‘No you won’t be, Robert. People will understand.’
Robert squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll do you right, Maggie. I’ll find out the cause of it and set our family square again.’
Maggie kissed her husband lightly on the cheek. That was exactly what she was afraid of.
Maggie took the box from the seat of her car and tucked it under her arm. There was a sleety mist coming in from the east and the halo around the waxing moon was a transparent white. She slipped around the corner of the pub and turned on the torch. The tourist signpost was instantly illuminated some feet away and she quickly found the trail and began the walk to the ruin. Her lace-ups slipped in the dewy vegetation as she slid towards the stream and then she was crossing the rocks, climbing the stile and trudging uphill to where everything had begun. The moon shadowed her progress as she mounted the incline, her torch beaming a path through the springy turf until the scent of the ocean was in her nostrils and the outline of the ruin rose starkly against a void of blue black sky.
At the entrance to the ruin Maggie sat on a crumbling block of stone, cradling the box in her lap. Propping the torch up, she untied her laces and removed her shoes. She lifted the lid and tipped out the running shoes. They were beige and yellow. At the time she’d had her eye on a pair of white and black ones, however these ones were the very best and although she was almost a whole pound short, the shopkeeper in Thurso let her buy them. Even he’d heard that Maggie was going to be a great runner.