A Changing Land(53)

Inside the homestead they walked through the kitchen and living areas, Jim pausing at the entrance to the dining room to sweep the room with his eyes. The silver gleamed on the mahogany sideboard, the chandelier sparkled and the various side tables, lamps and oil paintings gave off an aura of aged elegance. Having grown up with her family’s possessions, Sarah appreciated the years of toil that had led to their accumulation whereas Jim was stepping into a world completely different to his own. Having him to stay in the homestead was her first mistake.

‘Who’s that?’ He pointed to the large oil above the sideboard.

‘Hamish Gordon. He founded Wangallon.’ Sarah shivered, there seemed to be a chill in the room. She rubbed her forearms briskly. ‘The other is his second wife, Claire.’

‘She’s a good-looking woman.’

‘They say she managed to civilise Hamish, at least for a while.’

‘Meaning what?’

Sarah hunched her shoulders. ‘If you’d stayed at the pub you would have heard any number of stories.’

They continued through the homestead, passing the reading room and music room before turning left from the main hallway. For some reason Sarah decided to put Jim in the oldest wing of the house. The plaster was cracked and crumbling in spots and the dry seasons combined with the earth’s movement caused the house stumps to push and pull at the floorboards so that any remainder of a flat surface was in memory only.

‘What’s through there?’ Jim pointed at the end of the hallway where a faded blue and green tapestry of the Scottish Highlands hung.

‘It used to lead out past the dining room through to the original covered walkway to the cook house.’ Sarah gestured to a bedroom door. ‘Sorry if it smells a little stale. It needed a bit more of an airing.’ Her apology was automatic and borne more out of politeness than concern. Drawing aside the velvet duck-egg blue curtains, a stream of light entered the room. Everything was blue, the walls, carpet, even the bedspread. It had been her grandmother’s favourite room for she and Angus followed the habits of their forefathers and kept separate bedrooms. Before Jessica, Hamish’s second wife, Claire, claimed it until her untimely death in an automobile accident.

‘Nice,’ Jim commented, gazing out the French doors leading out onto the verandah. ‘You must have thought Scotland very basic.’ He dropped his bag on the floor.

‘Actually I loved Scotland. Your houses are built to withstand the cold. Out here we have large spacious rooms to fight the heat.’ He was standing with his back towards the French doors, the wintery light of early afternoon silhouetting his solid build.

‘You can have a tour of the property in the morning.’ Sarah wanted to add that she hoped it may stop him from making any hasty decisions. ‘I’ll get Matt to take you out.’

‘This is difficult. I still remember the day you left. All this seems surreal.’

Sarah took a step back. ‘Yes. It does.’

‘We were friends once.’

‘Jim, what do you expect of me? You’re only here for your inheritance, otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered coming. Your letter said it all.’ He was staring at her, scrutinising her as if trying to understand the person before him.

‘You’ve grown hard, Sarah Gordon.’

‘I’ve grown realistic, which I should, don’t you think, considering the circumstances.’ Opening a camphor wood chest she took out a thick woollen blanket, setting it on the end of his bed.

‘I thought this would be easier, that you would appreciate my situation.’

‘What? When you don’t appreciate mine?’ She turned on a gold and cream bedside lamp. ‘You know nothing about Wangallon or my life here.’

‘Perhaps not, but I do own a thirty per cent share and I would have thought that even you, Sarah Gordon,’ he emphasised the surname, ‘would appreciate that.’

Sarah rubbed automatically at a smear of dust on the dresser. ‘You come here after discovering you are related and expect a grand welcome and a golden handshake. Where have you been during the last one hundred and thirty plus years of Wangallon’s life?’

‘That’s a damn unfair thing to say. After all it was your father who decided to keep everything secret.’

‘Oh I see, and you were conceived through divine intervention and your mother was physically forced to keep the truth of her child’s father a secret. Please don’t have the audacity to stand there and tell me it’s my father’s fault. Your mother obviously never had any intention of revealing who your father was and Dad didn’t even know your mother was pregnant when he left Scotland.’ Sarah’s chest heaved. She could have said much more, although Jim was already looking shocked. ‘You didn’t know that?’