A Man For All Seasons (2 page)

Wally smiled. “We'll nip in through the old orchard, it's quicker.”

Chad hurried to his host and found he was actually half in and half out of a doorway. Tucked into the flint façade, the tiny doorway would have been hard to spot, even in daylight.

The rear of the house loomed above them. In the gloom Chad could just make out black shrubs and garden beds and a large body of water glistening softly in the distance. They followed the hard path, shoes clicking loudly in the silence. Only the whisper of the wind in the foliage could be heard. Chad felt a surge of homesickness and a desperate desire for his beloved property. For the familiar shrill of the cockatoos and the rhythmic call of the frogs. A bit of tropical heat would've been welcome too.

As he stepped across the threshold into the kitchen his last wish was granted. The heat hit him like a solid wall. A huge blue cooking range poured out enough warmth to grow a crop of cotton. And probably bananas too. Sitting at a large pine table, two women looked up in surprise and paused in conversation. Both seemed mildly alarmed by the intrusion and started to get up.

“Sorry ladies, just taking a short cut,” Wally said. “Please, don't get up.”

Both women visibly relaxed and sank back down. “Greetings, Sir Wally,” said the elder of the pair.

Chad looked at his host in surprise. Blimey. 'Sir' Wally. What was that all about then?

“Greetings, Moira. Greetings, Shelly,” said his host easily. “I'd better get young Chad here sorted. We'll see you at dinner.”

The women nodded and smiled. The younger of the two, not much more than a girl really, eyed Chad keenly. With the complexion of a peach and a Cleopatra hair cut, she was very pretty. Raising one eyebrow at him, she winked. It made him feel uncomfortable, but he nodded politely and hastened after Wally, keen to escape. There was an oddly familiar aroma in the kitchen; subtly sweet. But Chad couldn't place it. He shrugged it away; it wasn't important.

They hastened down a dim, narrow corridor painted a nauseous institution green, and through a heavy door. Chad found himself in an enormous foyer. A chandelier hung in shimmering splendor, splashing light onto the exotic mosaic floor. A flight of stairs swept upward, wide with elaborately carved banisters. The pale cream walls were adorned with dark oil paintings; rows of flaxen-haired men and women cavorted gaily through the ages. One portrait dominated.

To the right of the staircase a huge canvas stood alone. Against a midnight blue background, dressed in a gossamer white gown with her dark hair sweeping gently across one high cheekbone, was Seraphim. In one hand she held a white dove, which she regarded with serious black eyes.

She was the most beautiful thing Chad had ever seen. He felt a strange sense of awe. But his practical manner soon poked its nose into his emotions. How the hell had Walter Driscoll produced such a raving beauty? She must be adopted.

He jumped slightly as his host slapped him heartily on the back.

“Stunning or what?” Wally beamed, his eyes also resting upon the portrait. “Can't take much credit of course. Takes after her mother.”

Chad nodded. He pondered on the quirkiness of genetics. He'd bred enough racehorses and cattle over the years to learn that gene pools could do strange things. For a brief moment he wondered about his own genetic make-up but, just as swiftly, pushed the thought away. With one last lingering glance at the painting he followed his host upwards.

When he was finally deposited into his allocated room he sincerely hoped he'd be able to find his way back to civilisation. He had only a vague impression of his surroundings. Narrow corridors, blue carpet and heavy, faded curtains had dominated, along with paneled doors with bright gold handles.

“Hope you're comfortable here. The bathroom's just down the way,” Wally said, indicating to his left. “It's four thirty. Dinner is at seven. Drinks at six in the snug. Now I suggest you try to stay awake as long as possible to get a handle on the jet lag. I'll send someone up just before six to show you down. Let me know if there's anything you need.”

Chad reassured Wally that he was fine.

“Jolly good,” he beamed. He turned to go, then paused and looked over his shoulder. “Oh yes, we generally dress for dinner. Thought I'd better mention it.”

Chad nodded reassuringly but his mind ticked over rapidly. Dress for dinner? Well, that was a bloody mercy!

He waded through the thick green carpet to the wide double bed covered with a deep gold duvet. Dark burgundy curtains covered a broad expanse of window and the fern green walls were hung with prints of racehorses. To his relief, his battered suitcase and backpack sat on the bed. He smiled ruefully as he inspected the furniture which consisted of a dressing table, wardrobe and chest of drawers in matching red timber with flared legs. His belongings would probably fit in one drawer.

An ornate carriage clock ticked steadily on the mantel of a fireplace. There was no fire, but the room was incredibly warm. He shed his jacket and jumper and pushed back the curtains. After a few minutes fumbling he managed to slide the heavy window upwards. A gush of cold air blasted into the room. But he barely noticed, for directly below him was the indoor arena. Seraphim and the chestnut stallion were just exiting through the doorway, illuminated by the lights behind her.

He realised she was taller than he'd thought, the top of her head almost reaching the big animal's wither. Her light, musical voice carried on the stiff breeze as she chatted to the horse. Only the odd word was clear. He was spellbound.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or maybe it was the influence of some ancient instinct, for she suddenly looked up. She was too far away for him to see the expression in her eyes, but the smile was unmistakable. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and he smiled back.

She lifted her hand and waved. He returned the gesture. Long after she'd disappeared into the dark he stood immobile, oblivious to the rapidly dropping temperature around him.

Two

Seraphim sat amongst the bright pillows piled on her bed, hair wrapped in a thick blue towel, slender body shrouded in a deep blue terry towelling robe. She sat cross-legged, the receiver of a phone pressed to her ear and an expression of amusement lifting the corners of her generous mouth.

“Well, what's he like?” asked Jessica, her old school chum and fellow dressage enthusiast.

“Honestly Jess, I don't know. I've barely set on eyes on the man.”

Jess tutted loudly. “Honestly Miffy, you must have had some impression. I know you're engaged but that doesn't render you deaf, dumb and blind!”

For a moment Seraphim's spirits dropped. Engaged. It worried her that she didn't feel some great rush of joy, or excitement, or well… something, at the prospect. She forced a small chuckle of amusement. “All right. If you go for the strong, silent type, with face hair, he's your man.”

“Sounds yummy,” said Jessica. “Does he look like a cowboy? Do you think he'd wear spurs in bed? Can I come visit?”

Seraphim grinned. Really, Jessica was utterly transparent. It was one of the things she loved about her. “I'm sure he'd be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“Brilliant. Hey, did you hear the latest?”

“What's that then?”

“Well Sarah D'Lacey got it from her mother, who heard it from her best friend, whose neighbour happens to be old Mrs Featherstone; told her that Julian has split up with Georgia.”

Seraphim stiffened and her delicate hand gripped the phone until her knuckles whitened. The colour drained from her cheeks and her body stiffened like a Gordon setter on the scent. “You're kidding?” To her relief, her voice sounded reasonably steady, not betraying the heaving turmoil of emotions within.

“No,” said Jessica, “I'm for real. Apparently she left him for a scuba diving coach. All brawn and no brain.”

Seraphim was riveted. “Do you think he'll come back?”

“No, I don't think so. Apparently he's involved in some big corporate deal now.”

Seraphim's head was spinning. There was so much to digest and she needed some time to take it all in. “Sorry Jess, I have to go.”

She placed the receiver carefully back down into the cradle.

Julian has split up with Georgia.
The words echoed around her head, bouncing off her skull and ricocheting to her heart. Julian Horden, second cousin on her mother's side, was single. At last.

She moved swiftly to her bureau drawer and fished around under her carefully folded clothes. Her hand found the photo's soft edge and she pulled it out. At once her eyes caressed the faded image, from the crown of golden hair, to the vivid blue eyes, prominent nose and hollow cheeks. The mouth was full and sensitive, soft as feather down. Her forefinger brushed down the cool surface. How long had she loved him? She paused to calculate. Several minutes later, she gave up in disgust. Really, her math was shocking. But she must have been about fourteen when she felt the first stirrings of passion.

He'd been her partner at her debutante ball. He'd been twenty-two then, she seventeen. All night he'd been charming and attentive and she'd been smitten.

A fortnight later he'd announced his engagement to Georgia Washington. Everyone loved Georgia; she was a 'good sport'. She was also smart, employed in something or other to do with law, and loaded with old-fashioned family money. Oh yes, everyone loved Georgie Girl. Everyone except Seraphim. She loathed her.

And then two years ago, he'd gone. Flown to Australia to some distant planet called Queensland, and Seraphim's dreams had finally turned to dust. She'd thought she'd got past it. After all, wasn't she engaged to Barry?

Slowly she uncurled and pulled the towel from her hair and observed herself in the long mirror. Her classically lovely face stared back, but she didn't really see herself. Julian and Georgia had split up. She could barely get her head around this momentous fact.

The wall clock chimed the half hour and she jumped. Reluctantly she slid off the bed. She didn't want to go to dinner. She wanted to stay in her room alone with her thoughts. She wanted to explore this development and all its possible ramifications. The thought of spending a long evening making polite conversation seemed utterly dreadful.

With a critical eye, she examined the long lavender dress hanging ready for her to wear. It had been chosen by her mother, as usual. Suddenly Seraphim felt a surge of resentment. She was a little disturbed by this flush of anger. After all, her mother knew best. But the more she looked at the dress the more irritated she became. It was a dull dress.

In a rare flash of spirit she turned to her wardrobe, opened the door, and ran her eyes slowly down the long row of gowns. Initially they skipped across the black dress but then she paused and went back, lifting the dress carefully out and looking at it. It had been an impulse buy at a Dior fashion parade. Her mother had said that it was far too revealing for good taste.

Made from the finest of micro wools, the dress fell in soft draping folds to the floor. Simple in design, its chaste appearance went out the window when viewed from the rear. It was backless. The soft folds plunging to the panty line, daring and chic. Seraphim loved it but had never worn it, fearing her parents' disapproval. And, if she were honest, her fiancés too.

Still she hesitated. Unsure, anxious even. Inside her chest a small flag of defiance unfurled. Why shouldn't she wear the dress? After all, she was nearly twenty and not a child.

Then, before she could change her mind, she stepped into the filmy folds and zipped up the side, turning to inspect the result. It was so elegant. Sexy, even. She turned and peered awkwardly at her back. Her pale pink knickers stood out in an ugly line.

“Pooh,” she muttered. Then she lifted the silky skirt and whipped her undies off. The soft material shimmied back down over her hips and thighs with a soft sigh.

With shaking hands she twined her hair into a twist, high on her head. She added a touch more lipstick and, a little breathless at her own daring, pulled on black high heels, barely recognising the vision of sophistication reflected before her. With a long, shuddering sigh and a small toss of her head, she set off for the dining room.

Everyone was already seated at the long walnut table, its splendid polished surface hidden beneath a white damask cloth. Tapering candles burned brightly in their silver candelabras and jostled for space amidst silver cutlery and clusters of glistening crystal glasses.

As she entered the room, the soft hum of voices faded and she felt her soul cringe beneath the weight of several pairs of judgmental eyes. Immediately she spotted her fiancé, his eyes wide as an owls behind the thick lenses of his glasses. His expression betrayed nothing, but she could have sworn that the end of his long nose seemed somehow more pinched than usual. It irked her, though why this should be so, she wasn't quite sure.

Her mother swooped upon her and instantly she felt ridiculously gauche.

“Darling, didn't I put out the lavender?”

Seraphim squared her shoulders, momentarily aware of the soft caress of air down her back. She had a sudden urge to look down at her crotch, terrified that her bush would be glaringly obvious beneath the fine, black material. She crossed her hands in front of herself instead. “I just felt like the black tonight.” She was pleased that her voice carried clearly, without any trace of the jitters.