Territory (18 page)

‘It was fun,' she smiled as she returned his embrace.

Paul Trewinnard had witnessed the exchanges between man and wife from the very beginning. At first he'd thought Terence wished to humiliate Henrietta, and he'd felt annoyed and protective. But when Henrietta had taken the riding helmet off and shaken those glorious chestnut curls free and curtsied and blown kisses to the crowd, he'd decided that it must be some sort of game they played. A game of one-upmanship. And now, watching Terence toast his wife and embrace her as he clinked glasses with the Dutchman, Paul felt strangely disillusioned, he had not thought of Henrietta as a person who played games. How naive of him, but then he was not experienced at marital game-playing, his own marriage hadn't had time to get that far. He joined in the toast to
Henrietta's success. It was their marriage after all, what business was it of his, he told himself as he fought off his vague sense of disappointment.

Following the gymkhana events, the Aboriginal stockmen gave an exhibition of horsemanship, Jackie Yoorunga leading the troops. At a flat gallop, he swung down from the saddle, took two steps beside the horse, leapt back in the saddle, then swung off again to the other side, repeating the exercise a number of times. Then he swung under the horse's belly where he clung to the girth strap, and was suddenly once more back in the saddle. Even by stockmen's standards, Jackie was the most remarkable of horsemen.

As dusk gathered, those who were not camping out for the night took their leave, most of them returning to Darwin with the promise that they'd be back the next day, but the crowd numbers did not decrease. If anything they swelled with the arrival of the serious racing fraternity. Those owners and riders with the earnest intent of winning settled their horses down for the night at Bullalalla so they wouldn't have to travel the animals on the day of the races, then they themselves prepared for a party. It appeared a tired racehorse was a crime, but a tired jockey was perfectly acceptable.

Tarpaulins were spread on the ground as families laid out the provisions they'd brought, many pooling their resources. Women buttered bread and shovelled potatoes into the coals of the two large cooking fires, whilst on smaller fires billies were boiled to brew tea. Men handed around bottles of beer, or tots of rum, and all the while the smell of roasting beef wafted tantalisingly over the entire racecourse.

Two large pits had been dug, and the fires erected in them had been lit at dawn. By mid-morning they had been reduced to hot coals, and the two carcasses of beef donated by Bullalalla station had been steadily turning on
their spits for the past eight hours. Now, people were encouraged to simply hack off what they wanted.

‘You'll stay and eat, surely,' Terence said to Henrietta's friends as they took their departure.

‘It smells wonderful, but no thank you,' Paul spoke for the others, he was driving them back to Darwin and they'd agreed it was time to leave, ‘It's been an extraordinary day.' He shook Terence's hand.

‘Most extraordinary, I agree,' Foong Lee also shook Terence's hand, as did his son Albert.

Henrietta, watching closely, was relieved to see Terence return their handshakes. ‘You must come back tomorrow,' he insisted.

‘I would be delighted,' Foong Lee replied. He had heard Terence's comment upon their arrival and he had appreciated Henrietta's defence, but Foong Lee always put racial discrimination down to ignorance and, as he secretly felt superior to ignorant people, he wasn't in the least bothered. Besides, it was to his advantage to return the following day, he was very much looking forward to the races, and the big betting opportunities they promised.

The feast continued well into the night. People gorged themselves on the beef, children held chunks of bread under the dripping carcasses to catch the fat, ignoring the fruits and salads their mothers had prepared. Finally, everyone having sated themselves, youngsters were put to bed and adults gravitated to each other. Someone in one bunch had a banjo, someone in another a mouth organ and they joined forces, others gathering to sing along or clap in time to the music. The man on the mouth organ struck up a polka and a circle was formed, spontaneously creating a dusty dance floor in the dying light of the fires and the many kerosene lamps which hung from nearby trees and tents. Men boisterously grabbed women and whirled them about as the crowd clapped along to the rhythm.

Henrietta had been disappointed when Paul and Aggie had left. She hadn't realised how much she'd come to depend on their company, they really were her only friends, she thought. She'd visited the tent to check on Malcolm, wondering whether she might use the baby as an excuse to bow out of the evening altogether but, upon Terence's instruction, Nellie and Pearl were taking turns to look after him so it was hardly a valid excuse, and she knew he wanted her to mingle.

Now, as she was whirled off her feet, she didn't have time to miss Paul and Aggie. She was the queen of the bush polka, the men all eager to dance with the boss's wife who was such a good sport.

‘I told you you'd be the belle of the ball,' Terence said, joining her by the track railings. She'd begged off the next polka and had left the crowd in order to catch her breath.

‘You don't mind, do you?' she asked. He'd seemed so involved with the bunch of men gathered around the fire, drinking and regaling each other with stories, that she hadn't been aware of him watching her. Henrietta sensed a strangeness in his mood and, following the afternoon's episode, she felt she was walking on eggshells, unsure what he expected of her.

‘Of course I don't mind,' he replied just a little too brusquely.

‘I won't dance with them if you don't want me to.'

‘Oh for God's sake, Henrietta,' he snapped, ‘don't be servile, it doesn't suit you.' Terence was also confused. He wasn't sure what it was that he wanted. He had been proud of her this afternoon, certainly, what man wouldn't be proud of a wife like Henrietta? When she'd won her race and the crowd had bellowed its approval, he had derived great pleasure from the knowledge that she was his. And tonight, although he hadn't enjoyed watching her in the arms of other men, he'd been proud to see them all queuing up for a dance. Under normal circumstances they
wouldn't dance with the boss's wife, no matter how good looking she was, they'd be too inhibited. They were relaxed in her company because she'd shown herself to be a ‘good sport', several of the men had said as much to his face. Terence was in a quandary. He didn't wish to break her spirit, but she trod a fine line. How much leeway should he give her?

Henrietta herself was in a state of utter bewilderment. Earlier in the day she'd been too outspoken, now she was too servile. What did he want? He was a mercurial man and she had learned to accept his mood swings but if only, just now and then, he could talk to her, offer some reason. It was as if he was toying with her, playing a game. If they could only talk openly, she thought, and for once she decided to confront him.

‘Terence …' She hesitated momentarily as she looked at him in the dim glow from the nearby lamp which hung on the railing. Then, what the hell, she thought and she blurted it out. ‘I wish you wouldn't play games.' She tried desperately to read the reaction in his eyes as she said it.

‘What games?' There seemed to be no reaction whatsoever.

‘The gymkhana event this afternoon,' she said, ‘why did you …' But he didn't give her a chance.

‘I don't play games, Henrietta, you should know that by now.' Still no reaction, and he was not angry, his eyes were not dead. But they were very serious. ‘I never play games,' he said, and perhaps there was just the touch of a warning in his voice.

‘Then if you're displeased about something, why can't we
talk
about it,' she continued desperately, ‘why can't we
talk
instead of …'

‘But we
do
talk, my darling!' He smiled as he imitated her emphasis, ‘we
are
talking! And as I said before, and I'll say again now,
I was very proud of you this afternoon
!' He kissed her lightly on the lips, still smiling. ‘And I'm
very proud of you tonight. Now,' he continued, changing the subject completely, ‘have another dance if you like, but I want you to go to the tent in the next half hour or so, the men have a lot of grog in them and things can get a bit rough.' He took her by the arm and started walking slowly back towards the crowd. ‘I'll get my kit from the tent now so I don't disturb you, I'll be sleeping under the stars tonight.'

She looked at him uncertainly. Another game? Some sort of lesson? Was she to sleep alone as a form of punishment? But there was humour in his smile as he added, ‘I'm expected to get a bit drunk with the boys, the boss can't be seen to sleep in a tent.'

‘Of course.' There was to be no talk, she realised. ‘I'll go to bed now, I'm tired,' she said, ‘I don't want to dance anymore.' Henrietta knew that no further mention would ever be made of today's gymkhana event.

 

The Bullalalla Races were in full swing and Terence was in his element. It was a rough, tough day, a men's day, as horses thundered down the track, big money changed hands and the odd fight ensued over placings. Buff Nelson had to break up one heavy dispute and, as the boss of Bullalalla, Terence was called upon to be judge, referee and linesman all in one. He called the race a draw and the matter was settled, but not before the protagonists had laid into each other and scored a couple of heavy punches apiece, much to the crowd's enjoyment.

Foong Lee and Albert were cleaning up in the betting stakes. Foong Lee had a good eye for horseflesh and was down at the track, keenly inspecting both horse and rider before each race, and placing his bet at the very last minute.

Paul Trewinnard was betting very little. He enjoyed a gamble as much as the next man, but he enjoyed Henrietta's company more, so he remained seated beside her in
the grandstand. He noted that, although her husband was revelling in the day, the gaiety seemed to have gone from Henrietta.

‘It's a tiring business, the Bullalalla Races,' she smiled by way of explanation.

Henrietta was annoyed and frustrated. She'd thought long and hard as she'd tossed and turned in the tent last night, comfortably enough bedded but unable to sleep as she'd listened to the men's drunken guffaws grow louder. She was annoyed with herself for not having forced her confrontation further, and frustrated because she knew, if she had, it would have led nowhere. Terence would always close her out, a fact which she found depressing.

Now, for Paul's sake, she tried to shake herself out of her mood, not wishing to be poor company.

‘Will you place a bet for me, Paul?'

‘Of course.'

‘The race after this. Jackie's riding Florian.' She gave him a grin. ‘I suggest you put money on it too, it's a surefire combination.'

As Paul went down to the track to place the bets, he recalled Aggie's words. She had not accompanied them today, but when he'd dropped her at her house the previous night, he'd mentioned Henrietta and the gymkhana episode, not by way of gossip, he'd wanted a female point of view. Aggie had been very positive in her opinion.

‘They weren't playing a game,' she'd said. ‘Terence is a tyrant, and he'll wear Henrietta down if he can.' It was the voice of experience, Aggie knew only too well what it was like to live with a tyrant. ‘She needs us, Paul. She needs her friends.'

 

‘Come on Florian! Come on Jackie!' Henrietta and Paul waved their hats in the air and screamed at the tops of their lungs. It wasn't necessary, Florian led from the moment the field took off, and he crossed the finish line a
full body length ahead of his nearest contender. Henrietta and Paul collapsed in each other's embrace as happy and excited as school children.

Jackie cantered by the grandstand. Standing in the stirrups, he saluted Henrietta who jumped up and down as she waved back. Paul poured two cold beers and they toasted their win, he once more delighting in her exuberance. A woman like Henrietta should never be unhappy, he thought.

Aware that this evening promised to be a far more raucous affair than the previous night, Henrietta was grateful when Terence suggested she take Malcolm home.

‘It's just like the old days,' he said happily. ‘They're drunk already, and there'll be fights before long, it's no place for you and the baby.' Terence was delighted, the races had been a phenomenal success.

Henrietta readily agreed. Most of the families with young children were packing to go home, to leave the final evening to the men and those bent on a night of rowdy dissipation.

Nellie helped her settle Malcolm into the Landrover. She and Pearl were camping out for the night, and Terence was already drinking with the men around the spit.

‘You want me to come with you, missus?' Nellie asked.

‘No, of course not, Nellie,' she said, ‘you stay and have a good time, you've earned it.'

Then she said goodbye to Paul. He was about to head back to town and she wondered whether she should ask him to the homestead for a drink, she would have liked to talk to him. She wasn't sure why, perhaps just to wind down, it had been a hectic two days. But it would be a good hour and a half out of his way and it was already dark.

‘Goodnight, Paul,' she said, ‘thank you for coming.' She kissed his cheek warmly, wishing she could tell him how
grateful she was for his company, the day would have been miserable without him.

‘Thank you for asking me,' he said. ‘Are you all right to get back to the homestead? It's over an hour's drive and it's getting dark.'

‘I think so,' she laughed. ‘I drove trucks in the war, you know.'

‘Of course,' he said, ‘I knew that.' She didn't need him at all, but he wished she would ask him home for a drink. Just a drink and a bit of a talk. He so wanted to be in her company.