A Changing Land(75)
Frank looked her directly in the eye. ‘Sarah, I’ve seen no budget or projections. Banks just won’t lend money willy-nilly, you know, and until your cattle sales start and your shearing proceeds come in next month, you haven’t got a great margin to be playing with. And if we go to court it will be expensive. Have you seen any costings for the development?’
Sarah shook her head. Matt had mentioned the inordinate sum of $200,000 plus.
‘Well we don’t want to place Wangallon in financial difficulty or put the bank offside. I suggest you tell Anthony that you’ve spoken to the bank and that they’re not willing to support the project. In the meantime I’ll see if they’re happy to increase your overdraft in order to pay for the work already done. Sarah looked peaky. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’ Frank walked over to the cream sideboard and poured water from a plastic jug. ‘Here.’ He passed Sarah the glass and perched himself on the edge of his desk. It was unfortunate to have to take such a hard line, yet quite frankly Anthony’s clearing of Boxer’s Plains could have serious ramifications, not least of all to his own family firm. ‘Look, I’m not saying the development can’t be done at some later stage, if both of you are agreeable to it. After all, increasing productivity through selective clearing increases the value of one’s asset base. Although I am extremely surprised Anthony didn’t present his plans and budget to the bank.’
Sarah took a long sip of water. It was room temperature and, unlike the sweet rainwater of Wangallon, tasted of chlorine.
‘Once you have contacted Anthony and clarified why the clearing has to stop we can concentrate on this inheritance tangle. The development project can be revisited properly next year. But not on Boxer’s Plains.’
‘Why not?’
Frank adjusted his reading glasses on his nose. He was convinced this part of his body was also shrinking with age. ‘Because the block is already extremely valuable in terms of grazing potential.’ Which was true. ‘Choose an area on the eastern boundary.’
Sarah could only imagine Anthony’s response: A directive on where he could and could not develop, coming from a solicitor.
‘My dear, you have just sat there and complained about a lack of teamwork and not being consulted about the development. And I agree with you.’
Sarah looked down at her short oval fingernails, at the pale moons that extended from beneath the softness of her skin.
‘You must explain to him why this decision has been taken.’ Frank returned to his chair and the comfort of the padded cushion that eased his bony backside. ‘By the way, Sarah, Matt Schipp was employed by your grandfather. He is on Wangallon to keep an eye on things as you well know, so if you have any concerns management-wise, speak to him.’
Sarah nodded. If Anthony knew half of the control mechanisms in place she doubted whether his commitment to both her and Wangallon would have lasted beyond the reading of her grandfather’s will. ‘I guess Matt told you about the development?’ Frank gave a dip of his chin. ‘Well now he and Anthony are arguing.’
‘The man signed a contract. Matt isn’t going anywhere.’ The girl had the look of a startled deer about her which reminded him that for all her on-farm capability, she was only in her mid-twenties. ‘Now you’re here for advice, so here it is. You have two options. One, sell thirty per cent of the property to pay out your half-brother, or two, sell ten or fifteen thousand acres elsewhere. With that sale the bank would happily finance the rest of Jim’s entitlement.’
‘Sell?’ Sarah repeated. She had come here for help.
Frank lay his long knobbly fingers on the top of his desk. ‘This will only get more stressful and Wangallon is a large property. ‘Fulfill the terms of your grandfather’s will and get on with your life, Sarah. It’s the only logical solution. And stop that development on Boxer’s Plains.’
Sarah gulped at the water. She felt like she was going to be sick.
The first thing one noted when sighting the Crawford’s homestead was the impressive lawn that surrounded the building. Established fruit trees were arranged in a grid formation to the front right of the house while a generous patch of herbs sat squarely opposite. The remainder of the substantial space was bare of trees, although immaculately maintained and surrounded by a startlingly white picket fence. The house itself was imposing, rectangular in design, of the same mud brick and plaster construction as Wangallon Homestead, but, Hamish concluded, probably one-third larger in size than his own home. Resting his hands on the pommel of his saddle, Hamish shifted forward a little, the action freeing the cramp in his right calf muscle.