Piping Her Tune Page 9

  “I’ll be pleased to get in the saddle again. I miss riding.”

  “Then you’ll be handy to have along. I realize it’s no use asking Fiona. What about you, Abby?”

  She shook her head. “Sorry, I don’t ride.” Just another damn thing I can’t do. When did we ever have the money to buy a horse? Of course it was a sure thing that superwoman Myers would be at home astride a horse.

  “No worries,” said Ellen. “I’ll be driving out with lunch so you can see them work in the yards. We’ll have an early night, for it’ll be a big day.”

  By the time Abby finished her shower, she discovered Fiona in bed already asleep. Abby’s mood had lightened a little as she settled under the blanket. Time she put aside her feelings of inadequacy to enjoy the rest of the visit. It might be a road less travelled, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t fit in. She was a quick learner. Just as she was about to drift off, Fiona began to snore. She gritted her teeth. Victoria’s description had been apt: the woman sounded like a foghorn. Fiona continued without a break, gaining momentum until Abby felt that the room was actually vibrating.

  She tiptoed over and rolled the Scot on her side. The respite only lasted minutes. Fiona gurgled and flipped back over and the bellowing began again. Then Abby remembered seeing a couch in Victoria’s room. Time for desperate measures. As quietly as she could, she stripped the top sheet off her bed, grabbed a pillow, and crept to Victoria’s door. She sizzled out a relieved breath to find it slightly ajar. The curtains on the bay windows were tied back and the full moon pooled a soft glow over the bed. Victoria lay curled up, her back to the window. Relieved to see that she hadn’t imagined the couch, Abby stretched out and tucked the sheet around her.

  A kookaburra’s laugh, raucous and loud, woke Abby. By the faint light that stole over the windowsill, she guessed it was around five thirty—time to beat a hasty retreat. She glanced over to the bed. Victoria faced towards her now, still asleep under the brightly coloured doona. Her face in repose seemed younger, more vulnerable. Abby’s heart gave a lurch; she pushed back an overwhelming urge to go over and stroke the cheek that nestled against the pillow. She knew she should go but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She lay there dumbly, with the cushion to her face. And then it was too late.

  The dark eyes opened and looked straight into hers. For a moment neither spoke. In those unguarded seconds, Victoria’s face lit up in welcome, but the look quickly disappeared. An amused, slightly sardonic expression settled in its place. “So, she does snore after all, does she? I wasn’t a whinger as you intimated.”

  Abby’s good humour vanished. “I said I didn’t hear her night before last, not that you were a whinger.”

  Victoria shrugged. “Same thing. Now you better get back to your room before Fiona wakes up. I’ve got my reputation to think of.”

  “Huh! You can go in with her tomorrow night. I’m having your bed.”

  “That’s not an option. She can have this room. I’ll have a word with her.”

  Some lingering traces of anger remained as Abby nodded her thanks. She gathered up her bedclothes and without another word, walked off. Victoria’s soft laugh followed her out the door.

  * * *

  Victoria, dressed in her German Sonne Reiter jacket and jodhpurs, made a bit of a fashion stir at the breakfast table. Abby managed a mumbled hello before she ducked back to her meal. Fiona gave the outfit a nod of approval.

  “My, you do look smart, Vic. What sort of horse did you have?” asked Ellen.

  “A thoroughbred mare retired after a few years on the racing circuit. I was even a member of the Sydney Ladies Riding Club for a while.” She grinned. “Hence my rather flamboyant clothes. They’re probably a bit much for out here but I thought I could get some more wear out of them. I’ve had them hanging in the cupboard for years.”

  Bill chuckled. “A ladies riding club doesn’t exactly sound like you, Vic.”

  “God, no, not my scene at all. We even had to ride around with a coin between the knees to keep our balance. ‘The proper English way of riding,’ they called it.”

  “I’m sorry I’m not giving you a more spirited animal after hearing that, but the horses have already been taken up in the truck. You’re going to be riding old Major, a pretty steady fellow. Eat up. We’d better be off soon; the boys are there waiting.”

  At the yards, Bill passed Victoria a handheld, two-way radio. “Take it so we can keep in contact. The blokes will muster the flats while you and I will see what’s at the range dam. The summer’s been dry so there’s not much grass up in the hills. By the time we get there, the stock should be at the water. We’ll bring what cattle are left there down to the yards.”

  Victoria pulled herself up into the saddle. The chestnut gelding was a big horse, some seventeen hands high and quiet as a church mouse. As he plodded along sedately, she seethed. Steady wasn’t the best word to describe Major’s pace. Lethargic is more like it. She would have loved a sprightlier animal; at any rate, she barely kept up with the cattle. She prodded Major along and cracked him with a switch every so often to keep her mount from falling asleep. By ten o’clock the heat was so stifling and oppressive; Victoria hoped the dam wasn’t far away. Perspiration trickled down her back and her buttocks ached. It was hard work keeping the horse moving and he had such an uneven gait.

  Finally, over a ridge, the dam came into view. Victoria squinted in the over-bright sunlight as she looked at the cows crowded around the water’s edge. Many had calves at foot. Flies swarmed around her face when she pulled Major to a stop to wait for directions.

  “Go round to the right. I’ll take the left side and we’ll push them into a bunch,” Bill called out.

  Victoria nudged her mount, happy to see Major come to life with the activity. The cattle were quiet; those at rest lumbered to their feet with little protest. Dust puffed up in explosions of red talc as they edged the herd together, then urged it past a corrugated-iron tank to an open wire gate on top of the slope. Three eagle hawks on the bank, rose with a flurry of wings as the cattle trotted by. The smell of nature hung in the air, and the sails of the windmill clanked in the slight breeze.

  “Right, let’s take them down,” said Bill as he wheeled his horse into a trot.

  The cattle moved quickly along a well-worn path, and it wasn’t long before the other herd on the flat came into view. It was just past one o’clock when the last of the cows dived through the yard gate.

  The other three women were already there, waiting in the shade of a group of gum trees near the ramp. Victoria felt like clapping; it was lunchtime—she could get off the damned horse at last. Her bones creaked in protest as she dismounted. The morning had been the longest stint she’d ever had in the saddle and she wasn’t exactly a spring chicken anymore. She gave the others a nonchalant wave, ignoring her aching muscles. She refused to give Abby the satisfaction of seeing her in pain.

  “Tuck in, girls,” called out Bill. “There’s still a lot to do.”

  After lunch, the calves were drafted off the cows and the branding commenced. Dust whirled as the first calf ran up the crush. Bill slammed the calf-cradle shut to pin it in place. The branding iron hissed through the hide and the smell of burning hair reeked in the air. While Victoria and Abby looked on, Fiona made mewing sounds of disapproval. As the steer was castrated and dehorned, she began to look sick. Bill winked and threw a testicle on top of the branding plate to cook. He offered the ‘bush oyster’ for the Scot to eat and she turned a dull shade of green. For the rest of the afternoon, she sat in the truck.

  The last calf was through two hours later; Bill turned off the gas and wiped his hands on his jeans. “I’ll clean up here and the boys can take the cows away. We’ll wean the bigger calves. Can you ride Major home, Vic? We’ll need him in the morning. I’ll follow after I finish. The girls can go via the main road to shut the gates.”

  Victoria looked with longing at the truck, her aches more acute now that she’d cooled down. “No pr
oblem, Bill. I’ll see you all at the house.”

  With a superhuman effort, Victoria crawled back into the saddle. Major started off sedately enough and then a slow current seemed to spread through his body. Victoria could sense his quivering excitement build as he realized he was headed home. He broke into a canter and, before she could gather her wits, he launched into a full gallop. As he tore down the winding track, thoughts of coins between the knees never entered her head. All her strength was needed to keep her balance. She pulled frantically on the reins. The horse clamped more aggressively on the bit and tugged her forward.

  A gully came into view. With an enormous leap, he cleared it in one bound. For an awful moment, Victoria defied gravity before she smacked back into the saddle. Her tailbone shrieked. She wished desperately that she could turn into a butterfly and just flutter away.

  But her mind soon emptied of everything except the need to hang on. She yelped as the horse scraped past a sharp branch overhanging the road. A knee of her jodhpurs ripped apart. Victoria moaned. Her imported pants were ruined, the right leg flapped like a piece of washing in a hurricane. Eyes closed tight, she clung on desperately. She heard the horse’s strident breathing and smelt the stench of his sweat as she was forced lower over Major’s sloping back. Victoria felt like Ichabod Crane with the Headless Horseman hot on her heels. As her body slipped sideways, she abandoned her grip on the reins and clutched the pommel with both hands. It took all her remaining strength just to stay upright. She was overcome with blind terror and for the first time in a very long time, Victoria prayed. She burbled out her acts of contrition and pleaded for salvation.

  Miraculously, with an abrupt shudder and loud blurt, her mount stopped. Shaking badly, she opened her eyes to find they were at the front gate of the house. She dismounted awkwardly and jelly-wobbled into the house. Nobody was home—she’d beaten the truck back. With as much speed as her screaming joints allowed, she went upstairs to change. Unable to find any painkillers, Victoria drank a large scotch from the decanter on the sideboard and went out onto the landing. With enormous relief, she lowered her body into the squatter’s chair. The canvas sling sagged. Almost immediately the car drove in.

  “Hello, Vic. Back already?” asked Ellen in surprise.

  Fiona gaped and Abby looked impressed.

  Victoria’s laugh rippled on the wind. “Oh, I’ve been back for ages. Nothing like a bit of a gallop to end the day.”

  Chapter Ten

  Abby appeared at the door of the patio. “Can I get you anything, Vic? You must be tired.”

  Victoria stared at her in surprise. Did she just detect warmth in her voice? Abby had abbreviated her name too. Was she actually offering an olive branch? That ghastly ride had obviously gained Victoria some brownie points. “A cup of tea would be nice.”

  “Right you are. I’ll pop into the kitchen and make you one.”

  Five minutes later Abby appeared with a cup and a piece of chocolate cake and after depositing them on the small table, she patted Victoria’s arm. “Call me if you want anything else.”

  “This is more like it,” murmured Vic.

  After she finished her afternoon tea, Victoria decided to go to her room to look over the prospectus she intended to present the following morning. Reluctant to push Abby’s sudden goodwill any further, she attempted to rise, but found it impossible with the canvas so low to the ground. Her muscles were lead, her tailbone on fire and her joints had seized up like an old engine without oil. Why the hell did I choose the ruddy squatter’s chair to sit in? There’s no way I’m going to ask Abby to pull me out of it. I’ll have to wait for one of the others.

  Patience, though, had never been Victoria’s strong suit. Within ten minutes she called out for Abby to bring down her briefcase. The younger woman marched out almost at once. “There’s no need to yell. You’ll wake the others. They’re having a rest. I’ll get it after I finish my phone call.”

  A stab of jealousy shot through Victoria. “Chantal again, is it? Tell her to get a life.”

  Abby bristled. “My personal affairs are no business of yours. You’d do well to remember that. And as for Chantal, she’s charming and considerate, things you are definitely not. Take a lesson out of her book.”

  “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I’m your boss and you will respect me.”

  “You’ve got to earn my loyalty first. I’m not one of your office toadies.”

  Victoria wished she could get out of the chair. She was at a distinct disadvantage with Abby towering over her. “Just get me the damn briefcase.”

  “After I’ve finished my phone call.” Abby wheeled round and stalked back into the house.

  Ten minutes later she reappeared and dumped the case on her lap. “Wanker!”

  Bill, grinning sympathetically, pulled Victoria out of the chair; every muscle in her body protested. “I understand how you feel. I suffer if I haven’t been in the saddle for a length of time. I’ll get you some anti-inflammatories. You’ll be fine by tomorrow if you take them every four hours, so go and have a rest.”

  After she swallowed three tablets, Victoria tucked the packet into her pocket and navigated the steps. Pain hampered her progress. She clutched the banister to take the weight off her aching joints and pulled herself up step by step like a swimmer doing the Australian crawl. By the time she reached her room she was sweaty and shaking. Gingerly, she eased onto the bed to wait for the medication to kick in.

  Relaxed again, her thoughts drifted back to the night before, to Abby on the couch, her blond curls shaggy and disordered, her cheeks flushed with sleep. Desire clouded Victoria’s mind. The artist had looked so adorable she’d had the urge to go over and run her fingers down over her face, then climb onto the couch and cuddle in close. She wondered what it would be like to wake up in the mornings beside her—it had been far, far too long since she’d been that close to someone.

  She shook away the thoughts and stretched her legs to test the muscles. The pain had lessened enough for her to stand under a shower to let the water soothe her limbs. Refreshed, Victoria went in to see Fiona. Thankfully, Abby was nowhere to be seen.

  Not feeling up to a prolonged conversation, Victoria dispensed with any preamble and came straight to the point. “I want you to change rooms with me, Fiona. You snore badly.”

  “Nay, do I really? Abby didn’t say anything this morning. She looked like she had a decent sleep.”

  Victoria felt her cheeks heat. “I heard you at the hotel. I’ll sleep in here until we leave, so make sure you book a single room for yourself for the rest of the trip.”

  Fiona frowned at her over her glasses. “It isn’t an excuse for you to continue to pick at that bonnie lassie, is it? She deserves some peace away from you.”

  “You snore like a jet engine,” said Victoria, mirroring her frown, “so don’t dump that rubbish on me.”

  “Huh! Why don’t I believe you?”

  “It’s no damn business of yours how I treat her.”

  “You’re going to get more cooperation out of her if you make an effort to be nicer.”

  Victoria felt the flush deepen and her voice roughened with anger. Her authority was not only diminishing, it was sliding into free-fall. Two days and Abby had her dour assistant wrapped around her little finger. “Just do it, Fiona.”

  * * *

  Though neither woman spoke, it was obvious to Abby when she emerged from the bathroom that something was going on. Victoria looked cranky while Fiona’s brows were knit together disapprovingly. “Anything I’ve missed?” she asked. Without a word, Victoria hobbled out of the room.

  Curious, Abby turned. “What was that all about?”

  Fiona pulled at the material of her slacks, clearly upset. “I have to change rooms. Apparently, I snore.” She gave a beseeching look. “Is it really that bad?”

  Abby patted her hand, feeling pity for the woman and annoyance with Victoria for not being more tactful. “A little. It’s not an insurmountab
le problem though. Just look on the bright side—you’ll have your own room for the rest of the trip. You don’t have to be worried about it,” she watched Fiona carefully, sensing her struggle, “so don’t let it upset you.”

  “It’s not that. It’s Vic. She’s normally so pleasant, but she’s been flying off the handle for very little reason lately.”

  “Pleasant? Huh!”

  “Aye. She’s an excellent boss.”

  “How long have you worked for her?”

  “For twelve years, ever since the company was formed. She’s been very good to me over the years. In fact, two years ago I was sick with glandular fever and she paid for my mother’s plane fare from Scotland.” She pinched her lips with her fingers. “Vic hasn’t always had it easy. People envy her because she has everything, but in the beginning she had to work very hard to build up the company. Success comes with a cost—once on top, the workload increases. She never has time for herself anymore.”

  Her tone was sincere; the woman genuinely admired her boss, Abby realized. “Has she had any lasting romantic attachments?” Once the words were out, she couldn’t retract them as much as she wanted to. Why had she asked such an impertinent question? She didn’t have a clue. The words just spurted out of somewhere.

  “Oh, from time to time she’s had her photo in magazines escorting someone to one function or another, but there hasn’t been anyone special for years. I can’t understand why not. She’s so bright and beautiful. I sense she’s lonely.”

  Abby didn’t stop to analyse why her heart executed a little two-step at this information. “Maybe it’s because no one understands the demands of her work, or if they do, they aren’t prepared to put up with it. I can relate to that. My life is madness most of the time, trying to paint as well as earn a living. I’m always too tired to go out to meet someone. I…” She stopped talking abruptly, embarrassed as she realized what she was doing. She was comparing her life to Victoria’s. It was ludicrous, for they weren’t even on the same planet. Their situations were worlds apart.