Silver in the Sun Read online

  ‘I should be able to handle that side of things,’ Ian said, and then added hastily, ‘once Rhona shows me the systems you’ve set up, of course.’ He didn’t want Leo to think he was a know-all.

  ‘Well, I’m relieved. I’m not saying the computer isn’t the way to go, it’s just that it’s not my game. That aside, being able to call up all the sheep records so easily is a huge improvement. I’m not such an old fogey that I fail to recognise that. You can measure fleece weights and tell which ram is leaving the best progeny. Big factor when you’re selling rams,’ Leo explained.

  Over dinner, which began with a light vegetable soup followed by steak and then fruit salad, the conversation veered away from rural subjects for a while as Leo sought to discover more about Ian’s background.

  ‘So you went to Harrow. Good school?’

  ‘Some people say it’s one of the best in Britain. Harrow and Eton both have their champions. Winston Churchill went to Harrow. He might have been as unhappy – at least in his early years – as I was. I always felt quite out of place,’ Ian said.

  ‘How did you finish up?’ Leo asked.

  ‘Oh, I topped my year,’ Ian said quietly.

  ‘Phew!’ Leo whistled, ‘I knew you did well … Actually, I wasn’t thinking so much of your results as whether you came to terms with being there.’

  ‘I never felt at home. And this isn’t meant as a criticism of Harrow because I wouldn’t have been at home at any school. I just couldn’t imagine myself in the armed services. That’s where lots of my classmates were headed. Harrow has a special course to prepare you for an army career. My grandfather was a general and he was knighted for his military contribution but he understood that I wasn’t like him. I’m too much like my father, Mr Blake,’ Ian said.

  ‘So why did your father insist that you spend time in Australia? Why couldn’t you have gone straight to university?’ Leo asked.

  ‘He wanted me to experience the Australian side of our family history, I guess. To see what life on the land might be like. I don’t know, maybe to give me more options. He wasn’t to know that Uncle Jack would leave me Kanimbla.’

  ‘It seems to me that you’re in the fortunate position of having a choice of careers. If you don’t like the land you can go back to England and do something at Cambridge, and you’ve got a home there into the bargain. Looks like you’ll never be short of a quid,’ Leo said.

  ‘I realise that having money is important and that it makes a difference to one’s lifestyle, but it isn’t my top priority. I’m much more interested in doing something that makes a contribution; that’s what will really give me satisfaction,’ Ian said.

  ‘That’s a very mature point of view,’ Leo said.

  ‘My grandfather always encouraged me to do something I feel passionate about. I’ll admit there are all sorts of other things I could do – like completing the research my parents began. But Kanimbla has been left to me so I’m honour-bound to give it a try.’

  ‘I think I understand,’ Leo said. ‘Judy and I went through this with Rhona. She was far too brainy to do just any job. We let her have her way and now she has a PhD and I don’t know what else. I wouldn’t say she’s any happier than Joanna with her three kids and her cattle-mad husband, but she’s doing what she wanted to do and we didn’t stand in her way.’

  Ian realised how difficult this decision must have been for Leo, and admired him. He also found himself hoping that the opportunity to meet Rhona might arise before long. She sounded interesting.

  After dinner, Ian and Leo moved into the study where Mrs Heatley put a pot of tea on the hearth and left them. The study was a biggish room and apart from the bookshelves lining two walls, the furniture included a comfortable brown leather settee and two matching lounge chairs. There were large framed photographs of merino rams and ewes and splendid horses. In one corner stood a long desk on which there was a computer, scanner, copier and fax machine. A telephone and reading lamp sat on a separate, heavy writing desk. The fireplace was a massive affair, capable of handling large logs. Ian liked this room and looked forward to spending time in it. He had begun studying a science degree externally soon after arriving at Warren, and this would be a pleasant room in which to continue his studies.

  Leo took a sheet of paper from his shirt pocket. ‘Here’s a mud map of the property – you’ll need to know the full layout of the place to find your way about.’ Leo paused for a moment before resuming. ‘Let’s start with people. Ben Fielder looks after things around the homestead, feeds and shoes the horses, and feeds the dogs. He’s an old bachelor and very reliable. He lives in a small cottage near the stables.

  ‘Next there’s Jim Landers, who is the overseer and stud master here. Jim’s a bottler, looks after all the stud sheep – everything from preparing the sale sheep to artificial insemination. Jim’s got a great wife in Karen, and they have one child. Billy’s nearly three – I think you’ll like him.

  ‘There are three jackaroos – Peter Cross, Ted Beecham and Gerald Bradshaw. Peter is the senior jackaroo and he works mainly with Jim Landers but they all do anything that’s going. They’re not bad blokes but, like most young men, they play up a bit from time to time, usually when they get a belly full of beer. They live in the jackaroos’ quarters and there’s an old shearers’ cook who gives them their meals. That’s Jack Greer. If you want to learn anything about inland fishing, Jack’s the fellow to ask.’

  Leo paused and gave his young boss a keen look. ‘Got all that?’

  Ian nodded. ‘So far, so good.’

  Leo continued. ‘Then there’s Norm Higgins, our station hand or boundary rider or whatever you like to call him. Norm’s a cousin of Helen Donovan at the Murrawee store. He used to be a butcher but got sick of it and asked your uncle for a job. Norm’s been here about ten years. His wife Kathleen is all right too. Norm is almost as keen on fishing as Jack Greer. They’re always talking about the ‘big ones’ they’ve caught. Norm and Ben kill and cut up all the meat we use,’ Leo said.

  ‘That’s handy. Norm being a butcher, I mean,’ Ian said.

  ‘Very. He makes sausages for us, too – they’re the best! Now we come to Leigh Metcalfe,’ Leo went on.

  ‘Ah, yes, Mrs Donovan talked about him earlier,’ Ian said eagerly.

  ‘Leigh lives right up in what we call the gorge country. It’s nothing like the New England or Monaro country, but it’s fairly spectacular. He’s on a rise right above where the river breaks out of the gorge on to our plain. It’s a beaut spot. When you see what Leigh has done there, you’ll understand what I mean. I should explain that Top River was once cut off from Kanimbla. The chap that bought the land built the house Leigh lives in, but he did no good – went broke, actually. Your people (that was before your uncle came here) bought it back. It’s not far from an old shack that was built many years ago. That shack is on a dirt track that connects Top River with Bahreenah and the main western road,’ Leo explained.

  ‘So what does he do up there?’ Ian asked.

  ‘He looks after the top end of Kanimbla. But he does more than that. He’s also our resident dingo expert and helps to keep them in check – otherwise we might not be able to keep running sheep. If that happened, and it’s happened elsewhere, we’d have to go over fully to cattle,’ Blake explained. ‘Leigh’s got a dog that’s almost human. Unreal, Shelley is. He’s a German shepherd – we used to call them Alsatians in the old days – and he can smell dingoes a mile off.’

  ‘I see,’ Ian mused. ‘Mrs Donovan told me that your daughter has a very high opinion of Leigh’s literary abilities.’

  ‘Who am I to argue with a PhD?’ Leo grinned.

  ‘Is Leigh a full-time employee?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Not exactly. I pay him on the basis of two days a week. He lives rent-free and gets his fuel and meat for nix. If we need him for more than two days in a week, I pay him casual rates. In his free time, he writes and does a bit of bird-watching. He’s just about a walking encyclopaedia on Aust
ralian birds. Especially parrots,’ Leo explained.

  ‘Does he live alone?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Leigh doesn’t like being around people. He went up there mainly to get away from them. He tried to get your uncle to let him buy fifty acres around the house and river,’ Leo said.

  ‘What did Uncle Jack say?’ Ian asked.

  ‘He said he’d think about it. I told Jack that while we owned the house Leigh was beholden to us, but if we allowed him to buy it, he could thumb his nose at us. I’m not saying that he’d do that but he could,’ Leo said.

  ‘What’s he like?’ Ian asked.

  ‘I suppose a lot of people would describe him as a bit strange. He either talks a lot or doesn’t talk at all. It depends on the company. My wife gets on well with him and reckons he’s handsome in a rugged kind of way. Rhona says he has a magnetic personality when he makes the effort. I’ve never had any trouble talking to Leigh but I stick to basics.’

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’ Leo said with a frown.

  ‘It was just something Mrs Donovan said,’ Ian answered casually.

  Leo gave Ian a hard look before answering. ‘If you heard that Leigh and Rhona were having an affair, then I can tell you that they weren’t. I told Leigh that if he so much as laid a finger on Rhona, he was out on his ear. He assured me that he hadn’t touched her and that he wouldn’t. Rhona and I had a big row about it. She can be a real pain,’ Leo said tightly.

  Ian was beginning to feel more comfortable with Leo and wanted to find out as much as he could. It was clear that there was a lot more to this district than merino sheep. ‘Couldn’t she have told you to mind your own business? I mean, your daughter is a grown woman and is quite probably involved with men in Sydney.’

  Leo didn’t seem put out by the directness of Ian’s question. ‘I don’t doubt that she is, but I don’t have to work with them. I didn’t want my daughter being seen as another scalp on Leigh’s belt, especially right after Trish Claydon had been sleeping with him. Women are only a game for Leigh. I wanted better than that for Rhona.’

  ‘Have you read any of Leigh’s work, Mr Blake?’ Ian asked, changing the subject.

  ‘Some,’ Leo answered. ‘I read one of his novels and some of his poems. There’s some I like and some I don’t. Important-looking people have been out here to talk to Leigh, so he must rate fairly high. You’ll probably get on very well.

  ‘Well, that’s the team, Ian. Now I’ll tell you a bit about the country. We grow some oats and lucerne for the stud sheep. We use the river for irrigation. We’ve got an allocation of water and we use most of it. So far we haven’t had a problem with salinity but some places have. Of course they’re a fair way from here and every place is different.

  ‘Basically, we’re trying to produce a nice-handling, medium wool on a big-framed sheep. By that I mean a well-crimped, soft wool that micron tests finer than it looks. I’ll get Jim Landers to talk to you about the stud side of things but I suppose that after your stint at Warren you’ll probably have a fair idea of the basics of merino breeding. Warren used to be one of the great stud merino areas,’ Leo said.

  ‘I got a crash course,’ Ian smiled. ‘Mr Murray was very helpful and I picked up quite a lot. But I’ve got a great deal to learn.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry too much about that. Some people catch on very quickly. It depends how keen you are. Now this is what I’ve arranged for tomorrow. We’re going to have morning smoko down at the shearers’ quarters. Everyone will be there at ten to meet you. That’s everyone but Leigh. He won’t come in, but we’ll be seeing him after lunch tomorrow. Lunch will be here. You can poke about the house in the morning, maybe have a look at the horses, and pick me up just before ten,’ Leo said.

  ‘Sounds good,’ Ian agreed.

  ‘There’s one other thing. I mentioned your uncle’s dog, Gus. You’ll need a dog and I suggest you take him,’ Leo said.

  ‘What is he, kelpie or border collie?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Gus is a kelpie and a damned good one. A MacLeod kelpie. Your uncle and I went down to Merriwa in New South Wales to look at a top ram and we saw this young dog that David MacLeod had going fairly well. We bought the ram – for a lot of money, I might add – and Jack asked David whether he could buy Gus too. So David sold him the dog. When Jack was killed I took him over. You couldn’t have a better dog. He’ll work anything from a chicken to a bullock, but Jack used him mostly to hold small mobs of rams when clients came to inspect them. It made him feel like a dinky-di stockman when sheep clients praised his dog.’

  ‘How old is Gus?’ Ian asked.

  ‘He’d be about seven now. He’s a great casting dog. David has bred for cast in his dogs – unlike here where it’s quite flat, they need good casting dogs in their high country. They still use horses there. Motorbikes have ruined casting ability in sheepdogs, though you can’t deny that bikes have their place,’ Leo said.

  ‘So who’s this David MacLeod? Are his sheep as good as his dogs?’

  ‘As good as you can get.’

  ‘Are we still buying rams from him?’

  ‘We bought two and used them in artificial insemination programs. They brought our wool up a lot and fined down the micron too. Big-girthed rams they were,’ Leo answered.

  ‘But this isn’t fine-wool country,’ Ian noted.

  ‘No, it’s not. But we’ve been trying to produce a super-medium wool rather than wool just on the strong side of medium. We’ve just about achieved that and maintained the size of our sheep,’ Leo said. He looked at Ian closely, sensing that the young fellow knew more about sheep and wool than he was letting on. ‘So you know a bit about wool?’

  ‘My grandfather was a director of a woollen mill in Bradford,’ Ian said. ‘I’d go through the mill with him sometimes, during school holidays, and I guess I picked up a bit there. I can’t say I know a lot about wool in Australia, but Mr Murray was a great help at Wongarben. He was very critical of the way Australia has promoted its wool. I don’t know the subject well enough yet to say whether I agree with him, but I’m inclined to think he was right,’ Ian said.

  Leo poured himself another cup of tea. ‘We don’t have much to do with that side of things, though Kanimbla has contributed a lot of money in wool levies. I’m not interested in agri-politics. There’s those that are and good luck to them – someone has to look after the growers, or the politicians would walk all over them. Now, about tomorrow. I’ll get Ben Fielder to meet you at nine and show you around the stables and other buildings.’

  Ian nodded. ‘When are you expecting Mrs Blake?’

  ‘That’s a good question. Another few days, I’d reckon,’ Leo said. ‘No doubt she’ll take the chance to visit the art gallery in Toowoomba on her way home. Judy’s a bit of an artist herself.’

  ‘You must both have dinner with me,’ Ian said. ‘I’ve seen some of the great paintings in the London art galleries.’

  ‘Judy would like that, and if you can talk art, so much the better,’ Leo grinned.

  ‘What about your daughters? How often do you see them?’ Ian asked.

  ‘Joanna and her family visit us two or three times a year. Rhona might come once, although since she’s been helping on the computer she’s been coming every six months or so,’ Leo said.

  ‘I’m wondering whether they’d like to come when we put on this function you suggest I give. They probably know a lot of the neighbours and might like to meet up with them again,’ Ian suggested.

  ‘That’s a nice idea. Joanna and Rick would probably come. Their two older kids are away at boarding school,’ Leo said. ‘But how it would fit in with Rhona’s movements I wouldn’t have any idea. She’s a lecturer at Sydney University. She gets sabbatical leave sometime in the near future and knowing her she could be headed for Peru or Africa or anywhere. Kanimbla wouldn’t be high on her list of priorities, Ian.’

  ‘Let’s work on that proposition anyway. You could get Mrs Blake to talk to Rhona
. If she comes, she can go over the computer programs with me,’ Ian said.

  ‘Good idea. I’ll get Judy to work on her.’ Leo stood up to leave and then turned back to Ian. ‘There’s one more thing I’d like to nail down. Your uncle was always referred to as Mr Richardson, never Jack. You’re probably a bit young to be called Mr Richardson, but I don’t want anyone taking liberties with you because of your age. Have you got an opinion on the matter?’ Leo asked.

  ‘I’d prefer they call me Ian. Just Ian,’ he replied. ‘I’m sure the men you’ve got working here wouldn’t be here if they didn’t meet with your approval. You had my uncle’s trust and you have mine, Mr Blake.’

  ‘Thank you, and for what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be all right. We’ll settle for Ian and see how it goes. Oh, and one last thing. If you’re keen to keep up your studies, you should have plenty of time. The staff do all the hands-on work. Your main job will be to familiarise yourself with the merino stud and to get to know our main ram buyers,’ said Leo.

  ‘That’s a relief. As to how I’ll shape up here, only time will tell. Time is the best judge of most things.’

  After driving Leo home and before retiring for the night, Ian went out on to the long front verandah. The exterior lights were on, and bathed the grounds in a warm light. The lawn was extensive and stretched to the bank above the river. The gum trees growing along the bank provided a contrast to the lower Australian natives and other shrubs that grew in profusion around the lawn. A large gazebo contained a barbecue and a sink, and wide benches on which to lay out food. On the far side of the lawn the swimming pool was surrounded by buff-coloured paving, and at the river end of the pool, a low table and chairs sat in a small, covered area.

  Ian walked across the lawn, stood beneath a gum and looked down at the murmuring river, its surface glowing silver in the half-moonlight. Then he turned and looked back at the gardens. This was, he concluded, a beautiful spot – a kind of Eden set in the midst of a much less idyllic landscape. He imagined what it would be like here when guests covered the vast lawn and some of them swam in the pool. The gazebo would be full of food and drink and, as dusk closed in, this would be a magical place. He walked slowly back to the verandah to find Mrs Heatley watching him.