nodded, his mouth choked with scone and melon jam, the heat of being cut short quickly fading from his face.
‘Bloody oath,’ he said easily. ‘They all buy vegies from our garden, and there’s always a bit of work about if I want it to bring in a few extra quid.’
Derwent looked at Noel steadily. ‘Are you interested in the permanent job then?’ he said slowly. ‘Sounds like it would be right up your street.’ Veronica shot him a quick look and frowned because this was the first hint that he did not really want the job himself.
‘No bloody fear,’ Brinkley spat decisively, shaking his head to emphasise the point. ‘I don’t wanna work for any bastard permanently. I’ll do a few days when and if it suits me, but I got me own place to run. It’s not so big and grand as the Symons’s empire, but we make better use of the land we got, and the big water hole in the creek means we always got water fer irrigation. We do orright,’ he added firmly. Sarah smiled and Derwent looked disappointed.
After they finished their tea with the family, Derwent and Veronica drove across the old bridge that spanned the creek, following Brinkley’s clear directions to the cluster of buildings that marked the Symons’s homestead. Veronica had liked Sarah at once and she hoped she would be seeing more of her in the future. She longed for a mature woman to replace the strength and guidance she had received from her mother. When they arrived at the homestead, Derwent left her in the truck while he went to inquire about the job, thus giving her time to study the surroundings. She liked what she saw and was about to follow him into the house to make sure he gave a good account of himself.
Before she could move a tap on the truck window brought her eyes back from wandering about the farm and she looked into the pretty dimpled face of a young woman. ‘Hello, I’m Sybil Symons,’ the woman said cheerily. ‘The male masters sent me to invite you in for a cup of tea. They are giving your poor husband the third degree.’ Veronica smiled as she introduced herself before climbing stiffly from the truck. Sybil took in her slim figure and pretty face with envy; she was a little on the plump side herself.
‘My house is over there,’ Sybil said pointing. ‘My husband is number four in the Symons’s son assembly line, and we have three kids. I spend a lot of time at the old homestead during the day. The old lady is rather ill, and I like to keep her company and help out where I can, until my kids get home from school.’ She continued to chatter away as she led Veronica into the house.
Inside the spacious and well-furnished old home she saw Derwent sitting nervously in a deep lounge chair facing an old man across a small coffee table. The old man rose as she entered the room. ‘Hello, my dear,’ he said, looking her up and down. ‘You are a beauty, if you will permit an old man to comment.’
She smiled warmly. ‘Please do,’ she said, ‘Though I must look a wreck, we’ve been on the road for a while’.
‘It has not detracted from your beauty, I assure you,’ he said charmingly. He cleared his throat. ‘We have been talking to this husband of yours about the job we have on offer, so far he fits our needs very well. But this is a permanent position, or as permanent as anything is in this life, of course.’ He suddenly remembered his manners and waved her to a chair. Sybil went off to make some tea. ‘But we want the lady of the manor to be happy with the arrangements as well,’ Nigel continued when she was seated. ‘There will be the occasional bit of work for you as well, in the busy times, and I need someone to keep my ailing wife company and to see to her little needs, I...’ Nigel paused when he saw that she was not concentrating on his words. He followed her line of vision and saw Lennie standing in the doorway, loaded with a map board and an armful of record books.
Lennie’s eyes were on Veronica, he seemed mesmerised, like a bird under the spell of a snake. She had felt her heart leap for some unknown reason when she saw him enter the room. Now their eyes locked for what seemed like a long time. Nigel cleared his throat again and Derwent looked disdainfully at Lennie. ‘Ah,’ Nigel said. ‘This is my son Lennie. He is the administration manager of this farm. Lennie has taught an old man to regard a farm as a business you see. In the old days we tore down a few trees, ran on a few head of stock or threw in a crop and hoped for the best. But it is more scientific now, or at least it is on this place, thanks to Lennie.’ The old man was clearly very proud of his son. ‘This is Mr Byrne’s wife, Veronica,’ Nigel said to Lennie. ‘I have been outlining her part of our proposal to her.’
Lennie entered the room and sat down at the low table, he seemed a little nonplussed and Derwent grinned, looking from Lennie to Veronica with amusement. He’d seen this reaction from men before and it reminded him of how beautiful she was, a fact that somehow escaped him when he was mad at her for organising and directing his life for him. ‘And how does it sound, Mrs Byrne?’ Lennie asked quietly.
‘Wonderful,’ she said, and Lennie visibly thrilled at the sweetness of her voice. He pretended to study the books in his hands until he regained his composure; his father regarded him quietly, noting his reaction to the girl. ‘We will pay eighteen pounds per week and an annual bonus based on your performance and the success of the season,’ Lennie said authoritatively. ‘There is a good cottage across the courtyard. It’s partly furnished, and I believe you have quite a lot of your own belongings with you to make up the difference.’
‘When we are not in harvest or planting mode, the hours are from eight until five, five days a week. We want to keep the job as close to normal work conditions as we can. We supply meat and milk, and the lady of the house will be expected to nurture the hens, for a reward system that can be worked out with my father.’
Lennie smiled and she warmed to him as he relaxed. ‘My father likes his chooks. Well, what do you think?’
Derwent looked quizzically at Veronica and she smiled happily. ‘When do we start?’ she said as a dark look fell unnoticed across Derwent’s face. Lennie grinned and opened one of the books he had been carrying and began to take down their details.
That was almost two years ago. Now her first feelings had been confirmed and she had come to love the place dearly. Derwent had not been as taken with the place as she had been, but he seemed resolved to give it a go. He began to drink more than she liked, and she suspected he was a little more than just friendly with one or two of the local women, but his open boldness and recklessness hid his deep insecurities from all but her.
She knew that she had almost bullied him into the job here and she was therefore tolerant of his behaviour because it suited her to stay here, but there were times when she thought of giving up on the marriage and leaving him. But where would she go? To leave Derwent would be to leave the farm, and she could not bear such a thought. From the first day she had felt her heart welding to the place, almost as if she owned it herself.
She had even considered having a fling of her own in a wrong-headed attempt to balance the books, but none of the men she had met stirred any desires within her, except Lennie. But somehow she could not bring herself to allow any more than a platonic relationship with him because if she did, and she knew she could if she wanted to, there would be no turning back. And something inside her wanted her relationship with Derwent to continue as a sort of refuge from too much change. It was familiar to her and part of her could not bring herself to admit defeat. She wanted things to continue as they were, frozen in time.
Her frequent long walks across the paddocks took her through the bush and down to the nearby creek where she discovered so many beautiful and private places to sit and be alone. In time she almost forgot that Derwent was her husband at all, he became just another family member who shared a house with her. She saw little of him and found herself not caring where he was, who he was
