A Changing Land (19 page)

Jim took a sip of his beer and cradled the glass in his hands. A fire flamed brightly beneath a long mantlepiece upon which decorative pieces were carefully arranged; two large painted eggs belonging to some type of prehistoric bird that were mounted on gold stands, a pair of vases and a fancy clock. Sarah was twiddling with the stem of her wine glass as Anthony returned with another log for the fire. He dropped it atop the burning wood, a scatter of sparks flying out.

‘Be careful of the carpet,' Sarah reminded him, turning her attention from the wine glass to a spot on her jeans. Jim watched as she rubbed at the denim with a determined finger.

They were sitting in the drawing room. One wall held a large hand-painted Chinese fan encased in glass, which was highlighted by a single spotlight above it. Apparently the item had been purchased by Hamish's first wife, Rose, from a travelling hawker in the late 1850s. To Jim's thinking it should have been in a museum. It was faded in places and fly-spots dotted one side
of it. Sitting his beer down on a flowery drink coaster he tried to find a more comfortable position in the plush burgundy velvet of the deep armchair. He was exhausted. Sleep had eluded him for most of the night and when he did manage to doze off he awoke to the sensation of someone standing at the end of his bed. Of course such imaginings were ridiculous, but the image of a tall barrel-chested man with the crinkled face of a raisin was not something his own subconscious had offered up before. Nor was Jim particularly used to waking at dawn to find his few belongings strewn about the bedroom. Although he was not one for believing in ghosts, Jim admitted last night may have been his first introduction. With less than steady hands he took another sip of beer. That same room was waiting for him tonight.

Jim glanced up at the eleven-foot ceilings and crystal chandelier, his sleep-deprived mind less than calm as he digested the recent news that the man sitting opposite him also owned a thirty per cent share in Wangallon. So much for their solicitor's research; Mr Levi had said nothing of a long-time employee who'd managed to ingratiate himself with Angus Gordon.

‘So who makes the final decisions when it comes to running Wangallon?' Jim asked when the room's silence reached the uncomfortable threshold.

Sarah crossed and uncrossed her legs.

‘Everything is done jointly here,' Anthony began. ‘We have weekly planning meetings with our stock manager, Matt, who you met earlier.'

An obvious frown shadowed Sarah's face. She took a sip of white wine.

‘Right,' Jim said slowly. Sarah was looking a touch uncomfortable. ‘So does that work?' No one rushed to answer him. ‘I mean, you're the Gordon, Sarah. Don't you get the final say?' By the expression crossing Sarah's face he had hit on a rather delicate subject.

‘The management team works fine here, Jim. Besides,' Anthony
moved from standing next to an oval mahogany table stacked with photographs and expensive-looking figurines, ‘maybe Sarah hasn't had a chance to tell you, we're engaged. I'll get you another beer, mate.'

For a moment Jim wasn't sure he had heard correctly. He looked directly at Sarah's left hand as Anthony left the room.

‘Oh, I don't wear the ring unless we're entertaining or I go to town. Jewellery in the bush can be a bit dangerous if it gets caught in anything.'

‘When?' Jim knew it shouldn't matter.

‘After I came back from Scotland.'

‘I see.' While he managed to develop a crush on Sarah during her short stay in Scotland, Sarah had already been in love with Anthony. And hadn't Anthony made things neat and tidy for himself.

‘So what did you think of the property?' Anthony returned, refilled Jim's beer glass and positioned himself on an ancient-looking wooden chair. Another family heirloom, Jim guessed, assessing both the extent and limitation of his inheritance. A thirty per cent share in the land was his, yet he wondered about his rights to the old homestead and its valuable contents.

‘There's a lot of it and it looks the same to me.'

Sarah's mouth dropped open in amazement. ‘I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in you two sitting here and discussing Wangallon like you're mates. This isn't exactly a social visit.'

‘Aye, you're right there, Sarah.' Jim drained his beer. ‘I want my inheritance, the full amount in cash.' If he believed there could be a modicum of friendship between him and his half-sister, he was wrong. There was too much at stake.

Sarah turned white. ‘But we have to keep the property together, Jim.'

‘Why?'

‘Why?' Sarah repeated the word, looking at him as if he was an idiot.

‘I'm sorry, Sarah, but I've no ties to you or Wangallon.'

‘But you could move into West Wangallon Homestead,' she began. ‘Couldn't he, Anthony?' Anthony's broad back was turned in her direction. He was gazing out the wide casement windows at the gathering darkness. Sarah turned helplessly back to Jim. She'd had no opportunity to discuss any of this with Anthony. He'd returned late again and left at dawn. She bit her lip. Her only option was to make Jim realise the importance of keeping all the country together, to explain to him Wangallon's significance to the Gordon family, of which he was now a part. She could not bear to see one acre of the property sold. ‘We would teach you everything about the property, pay you a partner's salary, you would have a car, be involved in management decisions …'

Jim put his beer glass down. ‘You honestly believe I want to stay here?'

Sarah spread her hands, palms up. She was desperate. ‘Why not?' She gave a weak smile of enticement. She didn't want Jim Macken here any more than he wanted to stay.

‘No,' Jim said with finality. ‘Just give me my share.'

Sarah steadied herself by taking a sip of her white wine. ‘We can't afford to buy you out.'

‘I don't need to know the details.'

‘You insensitive bastard,' Sarah said angrily, rising.

‘Hey, Sarah, cool off.' Anthony tried to lead her back to her seat but she shrugged him off.

‘Fine, fine.' She ran her fingers through her hair, pacing the room. ‘What about a payment plan? You know, a cash sum every year for say –'

‘What? Ten years, twenty years? I don't think so, Sarah. What is the point of dragging this on?'

‘But why? Why are you doing this?' Even as she asked the question Sarah knew the answer. He didn't know the history of Wangallon. He had no concept of those who'd lived and died in
its creation. It was just a commodity to him. He was too ignorant to appreciate what he was intent on destroying. ‘You are no longer welcome at Wangallon.'

‘Sarah!' Anthony said loudly.

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Get your things and get out.'

Jim stood. What did she intend to do? Leave him under a tree? ‘I'll be staying until I meet my father, Ronald.'

‘Ronald has no interest in meeting you,' Sarah seethed.

‘Mate, look,' Anthony began. ‘Why don't you move into the pub?'

‘Don't mate me.' The one thing Jim knew he would not be able to tolerate was any interference from Anthony.

‘Fine, work it out yourself,' Anthony retaliated.

‘You can bunk over in the jackeroo's quarters,' Sarah finally relented. ‘I'll telephone Jack and let him know you're coming. When you walk out the back door, you'll see the lights in the distance. It's about a mile. You Scots are used to walking across the hills and dales, should be a doddle for you.'

‘Was that really necessary?' Anthony asked when they were alone.

They were sitting in the kitchen, eating a hastily prepared dinner of leftover steamed chicken with lettuce and tomato. Sarah speared a piece of chicken and chewed on it sullenly. She was in no mood to justify her actions. ‘I hear the work is still going on over at Boxer's Plains.'

Anthony, finishing his own meal, drained his beer. ‘I don't think tonight is the time to be discussing this.'

‘And when should we be discussing it, Anthony? When you have succeeded in wiping out some of our prime grazing country or when our costs escalate from your broadacre farming
enterprise and the bank telephones and says, “I'm sorry, but we have a problem”?'

Anthony tried not to take offence at the curt anger in her voice. ‘Jim is going to be the problem.'

Sarah shook her head. ‘You think?' She carried their plates to the sink.

‘Hey, I am on your side, Sarah. The Boxer's Plains project is being done specifically so that we can increase our productivity and therefore our income. Jim is legally entitled to his share and when that happens we will have less country and the same amount of debt to service.'

Sarah dropped the plates loudly in the sink. ‘Unlike you, I don't consider Jim's claim to be a done deal.'

Anthony sighed. ‘Legally and morally it's the right thing to do.'

‘And when did you decide to become a beacon for human rights?'

Jim walked through the kitchen in stony silence, his bag thrust over his shoulder. They listened as the back door slammed shut with a bang that shook the plate of chicken on the sink.

‘Where are my bloody boots?' Jim questioned angrily, his voice loud.

Bullet's bark answered. Sarah allowed a grim smile to settle on her lips.

‘This is turning into a debacle.' Anthony shoved a split piece of wood into the Aga's firebox.

‘You're telling me. I'm sorry but I don't understand what I've done to deserve your sneaking around with the Boxer's Plains thing. While I'm starting to understand the reasons for the new development, I'm hurt and disappointed in the way you handled it.'

‘I know,' Anthony brushed his hands free of dirt. ‘I just couldn't see any other way of doing it. Wangallon has always been predominantly grazing and I knew you would want to keep it that way.'

‘Of course I want to keep it that way. We're not bloody farmers,
we never have been. I don't know the arse-end of a scarifier from a set of harrows. And I'm not inclined to learn.'

‘Change can be good.'

‘Not if it's not required,' Sarah replied quickly.

‘You can't stop Jim, you know.' Anthony drew his eyebrows together. ‘The law is
the law
, Sarah.'

She stared back at him with the stirrings of the flinty gaze he'd grown accustomed to seeing in her grandfather. ‘Maybe if you'd strained yourself to come home at a decent hour last night we could have had some sort of a plan worked out. Instead you deserted me.' The hot water splurted into the sink where it bubbled with dishwashing liquid. Sarah began washing their few dinner things.

Anthony recalled the comforting fug of the hotel with its billow of cold air every time the door opened to allow another stray in. Anastasia cooked him up some sausages for dinner and he'd managed to snavel the corner seat near the wood-fire heater. Later she'd joined him and they'd shared a glass each of rum and warm milk. The evening reminded him of what his life had become and what it could have been and now he felt guilty for it. He wanted to wrap his arms around Sarah, tell her he cared, ask her not to do anything rash. Although from the resolve that was showing in the set of her jaw he figured now was not the time for talking.

Sarah threw a tea towel over the draining dishes and pulled the plug from the sink. ‘I may not be able to stop Jim, at least not immediately, but I can make things very difficult for him.' She looked pointedly at Anthony and walked stiffly from the room.

Anthony cringed. Sarah was setting herself up for a mighty fall.

Sarah tiptoed into the bedroom and began packing an overnight bag. Anthony had left one of the bedside lights on and the glow was bright enough to choose a couple of crisp white shirts, a pair
of clean jeans and a tailored navy blazer with smart gold buttons.

‘What are you doing?' Anthony sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. ‘Geez it's freezing in here.'