A Changing Land (34 page)

Sarah sat in one of three chocolate-brown armchairs in Frank Michaels' waiting room. Arriving twenty minutes early for the meeting with Jim Macken had done little to quell her nerves and she fought the urge to bite an already ragged thumbnail. Through the wide glass window a glimmer of colour began to spread itself across the city, slowly diffusing the monotone office building street scene from white to a musty grey. It was a rather washed-out morning sky, similar to the exhaustion edging through Sarah after a sleepless night in a strange bed. Every time sleep chanced to claim her, Anthony's face appeared, disintegrating any thought of rest. Sarah replayed yesterday morning repeatedly until she had calculated the length of their brief embrace and Anthony's forceful breaking of it. She felt queasy and her head ached from what Shelley termed a relationship event post-mortem. She rubbed at the fine skin around her eyes and looked again at her watch. It was one thing to be fighting to retain Wangallon, quite another to have to physically leave it to save her.

When Jim Macken and his solicitor finally arrived they all sat quietly at the conference table as Frank offered coffee and his secretary placed a jug of water and four glasses in the centre of the table. There were lined notepads and brand new pencils before each person while Frank had a thick manila folder at his place. Sarah noted with dismay Jim's swollen jaw with its yellow slash of a bruise and a thin line of purple beneath his left eye. The injury appeared recent, as was Anthony's. Tony Woodbridge caught Sarah's eye and smiled.

Within minutes an argument over Jim's overt demand for a share of the contents of Wangallon Homestead caused Sarah to slam her fist on the table in annoyance.

‘I thought if we all met in neutral surroundings we may well be able to come to some sort of amicable agreement,' Frank Michaels said. ‘Let us agree first off that there will be no claim to the contents of Wangallon Homestead.'

Tony Woodbridge had a poor way of showing his displeasure. He rubbed the dark-haired back of his hand with his stubby nails, the action making a rasping noise, and then ruffled the hair above his ear, a shower of dandruff falling on his charcoal-grey suit. ‘My client doesn't need to hear this preamble. We have a legal case here, Mr Michaels.'

‘Quite. However, so does Ms Gordon should she decide to contest her grandfather's will.'

‘Contest the will?' Jim said, his anger rising. ‘She can't do that, can she?' His head swivelled from his solicitor back across the blond expanse of wood to Frank.

Frank continued. ‘If Ms Gordon decides to contest there is every possibility that your client may well lose and he would then be required to pay legal costs for both parties.'

‘Is that true?' Jim asked his lawyer. His father and their Scottish solicitor, Mr Levi, had never mentioned that any of this could happen.

Tony Woodbridge spoke placatingly. ‘Such occasions do occur, however I believe you have a very strong case.'

‘A strong case,' Jim repeated. ‘In Scotland it sounded like a done deal.' He listened as Frank Michaels listed all the factual reasons that could be presented on Sarah's behalf in a court of law. Apparently Sarah could contest based on the length of time she lived on Wangallon, her management of the property and her family's longstanding attachment.

‘Of course no case is clear-cut as I'm sure Mr Woodbridge has explained,' Frank continued more pleasantly. ‘Should we end up in court we will use any number of measures to cement our case.'

‘Such as?' Mr Woodbridge asked.

Frank took a sip of his black coffee.

Tony read from his own pile of copious notes. ‘The use of emotive elements such as, “Sarah's brother dying in her arms on the property, the floods and droughts the family has withstood –”'

‘Certainly those areas are of interest and of course nowhere has your client been in sight during these tumultuous times, and' Frank twirled his blue enamel pen in his fingers, ‘the fact remains there is some concern as to your client's actual parentage.'

‘What?' Jim stuttered.

‘Come, come, Frank,' Tony Woodbridge tutted. ‘This is meant to be a conciliatory discussion.'

‘Well it's all hearsay at this point, however we would require a paternity test,' Frank continued. ‘In fact the court would demand it.'

Sarah knew this was part of Frank's plan. It would either delay proceedings or bluff Jim into a reduced settlement. Yet even she thought the test was a little much, after all, everyone accepted Jim as her father's son.

‘I don't want my mother dragged into this.' Jim's fist hit the table for emphasis, sloshing coffee from his cup.

Frank nodded. ‘I quite understand your protectiveness towards your mother, Jim.'

Tony Woodbridge lay a calming hand on Jim's shoulder. ‘Paternity to my mind is not an issue,' he looked furiously at Frank, ‘but my client is only too happy to comply. Consider it a necessary evil, Jim, one that will ensure your entitlement.' He looked at Jim. ‘I'll contact Mr Levi in Scotland and he can inform your mother that a blood test will be required.'

‘You are aware, Jim, that this case could go on for years? That there is the possibility, however slight, that your own family will be subjected to slander.'

Sarah kept her eyes glued on the middle of the wooden table. Frank sure knew how to bait a client.

‘Slander?' Jim repeated.

Frank hunched his shoulders. ‘It happens.'

Tony Woodbridge scratched the back of his hand, coughed politely as if clearing his throat. ‘Let's keep everything above board shall we?'

‘Of course,' Frank agreed smoothly, ‘we can talk if you drop all claims to the house contents and stock.'

Jim and his solicitor conferred in whispers. Sarah crossed her fingers, strained to hear their words. Finally, Jim nodded.

Tony Woodbridge sat back in his chair. ‘My client is in agreement to drop his claim towards the contents of Wangallon Homestead and the livestock. This is a gesture of goodwill on his part for the contents are of a historic nature and therefore valuable. However my client is cognisant of the importance of these material possessions to his half-sister, Sarah. Similarly he renounces any claim to the stock. In return my client requests his inheritance as stipulated by the late Angus Gordon.'

Frank swallowed the urge to tell the pugnacious Woodbridge to go to hell. Currently he felt they had the edge. Sarah, to her credit, remained cool following her initial outburst while Jim
appeared decidedly uncomfortable. Such character differences were of major importance when it came to deciding whether court was a viable option. Frank figured Jim only had fifty per cent of the fight in him that his half-sister had. Maybe the Gordon genetics weren't that strong in the boy? Frank poured himself a glass of water and took a slow, calculated sip. ‘And if we decide to contest? How does your client feel about that? He would in the short-term no doubt prefer to return to Scotland, albeit empty-handed.'

‘You offered a payment plan.' Jim's voice was slow and meek.

Sarah recalled their conversation at Wangallon the night Jim flatly refused her offer and she in return had practically thrown him out of the homestead. It had been a harebrained scheme on her part. The sum needed to pay Jim out was too large. Even a payment plan would require the sale of assets.

Frank intervened. ‘Ms Gordon is not in a position to offer this.'

‘Why the hell not?' Jim asked.

‘Then it would appear we have reached somewhat of a stalemate,' Tony Woodbridge observed. ‘If your client has insufficient funds to fulfil the terms of her grandfather's will, then I would ask that thirty per cent of the property known as Wangallon be advertised for sale within two weeks. Mr Macken is entitled to his inheritance and once he is in receipt of the funds he will return to Scotland. There will be no further claims on the estate once Mr Angus Gordon's wishes are fulfilled and my client is prepared to sign documentation to that effect.'

‘No,' Sarah said quietly. Her fingers closed around the gold fob watch in her hand.

‘Excuse me?' Tony Woodbridge rubbed the back of his hand ferociously.

Sarah looked directly at Jim. ‘No, I'm sorry. I cannot accept that a stranger can demand a share of something he has contributed nothing to. If it's proven that you are indeed my half-brother,
Jim, and you're that desperate for money – I assume because you're either incapable or too lazy to earn your own – then I can probably raise a million dollars, although I'm staggered at your lack of pride and stunned by the greed of your entire family.' Sarah paused. ‘If, on the other hand, you proceed with this trial I will spend every last dollar I have fighting you and if you lose you will have to pay my court costs as well.' She leant forward in her chair. ‘Take more than what I offer today, Jim, and I swear I will despise you for the rest of my life and haunt you after my passing.' Sarah clutched at the fob watch. ‘That is my promise.' Sarah stared stonily at Woodbridge and Jim and then sat back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. She knew the ramifications of the ultimatum she'd delivered.

Jim opened his mouth to speak and then, thinking better of it, sat quietly. Tony Woodbridge scribbled on his legal pad.

Frank shuffled his papers. ‘There is the state of Angus Gordon's mental faculties at the time he wrote his will. Having suffered a near death accident only weeks before it could easily be argued that his mental capacity had been somewhat diminished.' Sarah had just edged them closer to a day in court.

‘I want the thirty per cent that belongs to me,' Jim said flatly. ‘If
our
grandfather was happy enough to leave part of his beloved place to a jackeroo then I'm sure I'm entitled to my share.'

Tony Woodbridge smiled. ‘Precedent, I have always relied on such basics.' He smiled at Sarah, cleared his throat. ‘If we go to court I would be entitled to bring to light certain facts. A prominent pastoralist you may be, Ms Gordon, however all I need do is establish the doubt in the jury's mind that by contesting your grandfather's will you are not being fair and reasonable in the eyes of the law. To do that I would argue that your attitude could be the result of a history of somewhat dubious activity that has occurred in your family.'

Sarah laughed. ‘What? Is this a joke?'

‘No joke, I assure you. Some of your property was purchased
through dubious activities. There are links to stock theft, illegal dealings and some rather shadowy speculations regarding an acquisition in the early 1900s. Although probably hard to prove, it makes for interesting discussion.'

‘And you were there were you, Mr Woodbridge, in the 1900s?' Sarah asked. If she were a man she would have punched him in the nose.

‘Defamation is a serious issue,' Frank countered. ‘I doubt your client would have the funds to pursue a second court case.' Frank looked pointedly at Jim.

‘If you could let me finish,' Woodbridge complained, ‘any information that reflects on the character of Ms Gordon would, I imagine, be quite admissible.'

‘You are drawing a fine line,' Frank intervened.

Woodbridge puffed out a breath of air as he collected his papers and shuffled them into a neat stack. ‘And your client's offer is not acceptable, despite the passion with which it was delivered. We will have our day in court and we will win.'

Sarah stood, her hands clutching at the fob watch. ‘We shall see,' she said icily.

‘Oh Frank, what the hell do we do now?' They were back in Frank's office, sipping coffee and feeling glum. ‘And what is this crap about dubious activities Woodbridge is talking about?'

‘Forget it, Sarah. The man's an arse of the tenth degree. He loves to send a rocket out to a feisty opposition.' Frank looked across at the young woman with the great burden on her shoulders, wondering how it had befallen her generation to right the wrongs committed in the past. ‘It would seem we will go to court.'

Sarah thought of the sprawling acreage that had been in her family for generations and mentally mapped out the property. Every
single paddock held a story, told of the lives of those that had gone before hers. There was not one part of it that wasn't valuable in terms of productivity. Not one speck of it that wasn't important to the past and future life of Wangallon. Sarah knew she should be considering her only other option, to sell and pay Jim out. ‘You do understand, Frank, why I have to pursue this?'

‘Think it over.'

‘I have.'

‘Go home. I'll advise your father that he needs to have a blood test.'

‘Unless Jim comes to the party, Frank, we won't be settling out of court.'

Hundreds of kilometres away, people not of Gordon blood were heading out to work to manage the land left in her care. It was not right, Sarah thought flatly. Her grandfather should have known better, should have done better. Everything about his life revolved around the continuation of Wangallon. Why then would he risk everything their family had built over the decades by recognising her father's illegitimate child? It didn't make sense.