Miles Off Course (31 page)

R
owland had barely finished breakfast when the housekeeper came in to say that there was a gentleman to see him. Clapton had apparently
accompanied Wilfred to his meeting with O’Shea. Hoping that it was Clyde, Rowland stepped into the drawing room.

“Babbington! Hello… what are you doing here?” Rowland greeted his fellow Dangars director with blunt surprise.

“Just paying my respects, old man. I heard you’d been found. Jolly pleased to hear it.”

“Quite pleased myself,” Rowland replied carefully, unsure of how much Babbington knew.

“I say, you’ve been injured.” Babbington was looking at the sling.

“Not seriously. I thought you might have headed back to Sydney by now.”

“I will be quite soon; I was hoping to have a chat about the Lister vote.”

“The Lister vote?” Rowland invited Babbington to take a seat.

“It was all in your board papers.”

“Yes, of course.” Rowland tried to remember what he’d done with the papers.

“As you have no doubt read, Dangars holds an option over the Lister franchise.”

Somewhat deceitfully, Rowland nodded.

“The option must be exercised by the first of April or it lapses and Lister is free to sell its licence to the highest bidder.”

“I see.”

“The fact of the matter is, old chap, I don’t think Dangars is in a position to take up the option. I’ve been through the books… the company has not the financial
strength to take on such an investment.”

Rowland was curious. To his recollection Babbington had been a great champion of the Lister pumps and generators. “I was of the impression that you were rather excited by
Lister.”

“This has nothing to do with the quality of Lister products, Sinclair. There is no demand at the moment… Dangars has so far survived the financial downturn but we cannot continue as
if it were still the twenties.”

“So you don’t want Dangars to exercise its option?”

“Precisely. It’s the only rational path.” Babbington leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Can I count on your support, Rowly?”

“I’ll have a look at the board papers… again… and I’ll talk to Wil.”

Babbington studied him. “May I speak plainly?”

“Please do.”

“I understand that Wilfred has been… an invaluable mentor since you joined Dangars, but I believe that you are now ready to trust your own judgement. Your brother is a very capable
man, but he is from a world where loyalty dictates decisions of business. That world has changed… we cannot simply support Lister to our own detriment. That is why young men like you bring
an essential objectivity to the board. Can I urge you, Rowly, to step outside your brother’s directive in this matter and act in the best interests of Dangars.”

“It’s always been in the best interests of Dangars for me to take Wilfred’s advice,” Rowland said coolly, not entirely sure if he should be offended, but feeling
irritated nonetheless.

Babbington took a measured breath. “I too have an elder brother, Rowly. I have always respected his opinion, valued his experience, but there came a time when I became my own man, and I
like to think he respected me for it.”

“I’m very happy for you, Babbington.”

“I have always considered you to have a great future in business.” Babbington stood. “I look forward to seeing you make your own mark on the commerce of the nation.”

“Indeed.” Rowland stood too, glad that Babbington seemed to be leaving. It was all rather odd. “I’ll walk you out to your motor,” he said, holding open the front
door.

It was later that morning when Edna stepped out, restored after rest and breakfast. Rowland and Harry Simpson were both leaning on the rail which surrounded the verandah, deep
in earnest exchange. There was a closeness to the conversation, a confidence between the two men. Rowland’s face was in his hands. Simpson spoke quietly, his shoulder squared up against
Rowland’s, their backs to the house.

Edna’s smile faded as she approached them. “What’s wrong?”

Rowland did not look at her.

“Miss Higgins,” Simpson said uncomfortably.

“Good morning, Mr. Simpson. What’s the matter with Rowly?”

“I’ve got to go see a man about a dog.” Simpson replaced his hat upon his head, nodded to Edna and left.

“Maybe we should follow him,” Edna said, as she took Simpson’s place at the rail. “See if we can’t save that poor dog.”

Rowland smiled, but still he seemed unable to meet her gaze. To Edna, who was accustomed to his eyes upon her, it was unsettling. A flutter of panic as she wondered if he’d remembered. She
forced courage and asked again, “What’s wrong, Rowly?”

Finally he looked at her.

“Harry told me, Ed—what happened in the cave.” The words came in a rush of remorse. “God, I’m so sorry…”

Edna moved backwards just slightly, startled by the fact that he should be ashamed. “Why did he… What did Mr. Simpson tell you, Rowly?”

Rowland turned to face her now. “That he woke up to find me forcing myself on you.” He flinched as he said it. “I’m sorry, Ed, I truly apologise. I don’t know
why… I would never…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Rowly.”

“There’s no possible excuse…”

“You were delirious, you had no idea what you were doing.”

“I…” He stopped.

“Do you remember?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

Edna placed her hand firmly on his arm. “Rowly darling, stop. I won’t have it. It wasn’t your fault. I should have been more careful… you were very ill.”

“I couldn’t have been that flaming ill if I was…”

Edna shoved him. “For pity’s sake, Rowly, it wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

He almost laughed. “You tried to ravish me then?”

She smiled, and reached up to turn his face towards hers. Wistfully, she remembered what it was like to kiss him. “Stop looking like that. Nothing’s broken.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve forgotten it, and you can’t remember it at all.”

R
owland looked up from his notebook as Wilfred and Clapton walked in. Edna was coiled on the couch beside him with the paper, reading aloud the
articles that caught her eye or amused her. It was a moment before she noticed they were no longer alone. She unfurled her legs and sat up hastily.

Wilfred cleared his throat. “Miss Higgins.” Removing his hat, he looked her up and down. “I’m pleased to see you’ve recovered from your ordeal,” he said, with
nothing but his actual words to indicate that he was in fact pleased.

“Why thank you, Mr. Sinclair.” Edna smiled at Clapton who stood rigidly beside his guest. “Mr. Clapton has been most kind to accommodate us so well. Hot and cold running water
seems positively miraculous after the last few days.”

Clapton puffed, gratified, and nodded in acknowledgement. “Piped from a tank over a mile away, you know. We at Australian State and Mortgage have always felt that homestead living should
not require one to abandon the conveniences of civilisation.”

“An admirable sentiment, Mr. Clapton,” Edna agreed.

“How’d it go, Wil?” Rowland asked. While he too appreciated the plumbing, he was anxious to find out how his brother had fared with O’Shea.

Wilfred frowned, glancing pointedly at Edna.

Rowland ignored him, but Edna stood. “I might take a walk about your garden, Mr. Clapton, if you’ll excuse me gentlemen.”

Rowland smiled faintly. Wilfred had an old-fashioned aversion to discussing any form of business in front of women. Edna’s polite exit may have seemed deferential but Rowland had no doubt
she would simply eavesdrop from behind the door.

“O’Shea and I have come to an acceptable arrangement,” Wilfred said finally.

“That’s it?”

“What did you expect, Rowly—pistols at dawn?”

“No… but…”

“I’ve hired most of the men who joined the search to see to things up here. We’ll be cutting out a thousand head from O’Shea’s herd. They’ll need to be
rebranded properly and we’ll also need to rebuild the hut you burnt down.”

“Any sign of Moran?” Rowland asked, electing to avoid an argument about who burnt down the hut.

Wilfred shook his head. “Afraid not.”

“We’ll keep looking,” Clapton assured him. “The police are sending men up from Albury to continue the manhunt. I’ll be taking a personal interest in it
myself.”

“More than happy to leave it in your capable hands, old man,” Wilfred said, nodding. “We should get moving, Rowly. I’d like to reach Gundagai before dark and we have
still to retrieve your paraphernalia from Rules Point.”

Rowland sighed. Apparently his car and his friends were paraphernalia. “I’ll get Ed,” he said. As they had arrived at Pocket’s Hut as fugitives with nothing but what they
were wearing, there was no need to pack.

He left Wilfred talking to Clapton and stepped out onto the verandah. He expected to find Edna lurking nearby, but the verandah was clear. He found her eventually near the stables with Harry
Simpson. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest and, even from a distance, Rowland could tell the conversation was heated. From her part at least. Simpson was scratching his head—he
looked both abashed and amused. As Rowland approached, the exchange fell silent.

“What have you done, Harry?” he asked, grinning.

“You heading off then?” Simpson replied, nodding towards Wilfred’s Continental which was idling at the front of the house.

“Yes… aren’t you coming?”

“Naw… I’ve got cattle to muster.”

“You’re going back out?” Rowland was surprised, and uneasy. Moran had not yet been apprehended.

“The new blokes that Wil’s taken on seem pretty sound, Rowly. That chap Jim Jones is a good hand. I want to finish the job.”

“But Moran…”

“He won’t risk coming in again,” Simpson laughed. “Wil’s summoned the Graziers’ Association.”

Rowland smiled. “Wouldn’t underestimate them, Harry.”

“I’m going to say goodbye to Mr. Clapton.” Edna turned to Simpson and, after looking at him reprovingly for a moment, she held out her hand and smiled warmly. “I’m
really pleased to have met you, Mr. Simpson. I do hope we’ll meet again often.”

Simpson took her hand in both of his. “Likewise, Miss Higgins. You look after yourself.”

They watched Edna walk back towards the house. “So why was Ed dressing you down, Harry?”

“Miss Higgins believes I’ve been speaking out of turn.”

For a moment Rowland was perplexed and then, “Oh, this is about the cave… No, I’m glad you told me.” He frowned. “At least I could apologise, for what it was
worth.”

“I didn’t tell you so you could feel bad,
gagamin
. Just thought you and Miss Higgins should talk.”

“We did.”

“And…”

“I apologised. She was gracious and insisted we never speak of it again.”

Simpson sighed loudly and shook his head. Rowland’s eyes were still on Edna as she stopped on the verandah to stroke a cat.

“Wil’s convinced that girl’s going to make a fool of you, Rowly.”

“Yes, I know. He’s probably right.” Rowland dropped his eyes to the ground as he tried to explain. “Edna’s got plans.”

“They don’t include you?”

“They don’t include being Mrs. Sinclair.”

Simpson shrugged. “Who could blame her?” He smiled broadly. “You know I had a dog called Edna once, bitzer, entirely untrainable… wouldn’t sit, or come or
stay… did just what she pleased…”

“Did you shoot her?” Rowland asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer.