the kitchen table, a half drunk can of beer in his hand and four empty soldiers lined up to his left. Sarah opened her mouth to speak.
Anthony shook his head and lifted his hand in silence.
‘That’s not very democratic, Anthony,’ Sarah replied, pulling her arms and head free of the thick navy cable jumper. It was damn hot in the kitchen. The old Aga was going and she was a fierce old woman who puffed smoke through cracks when she got over-heated. Sarah sniffed at the fumes gathering in the room. She’d only arrived back from the coast this morning and Anthony had ensured they’d barely talked, by making himself absent.
‘Here’s my summation of events.’
‘Great.’ Sarah sat at the table, rubbing her hands to warm them. Anthony never had been very good at holding his alcohol.
‘I waited for you to come back after Cameron died, waited for you after your engagement to Jeremy fell through. Hell, I’m still waiting for you to marry me.’ He took a sip of his beer and then sat the can on the table as if it had become distasteful. ‘Your father and I waited for you to get over Angus’s death and then –’ Anthony clicked his fingers – ‘ta da, suddenly you decide you aren’t involved enough in Wangallon’s management, suddenly you decide you want to be in charge.’ Anthony collected the beer cans and deposited them with a tinny crash on the sink. ‘But it gets better. Knowing there’s a recalcitrant half-brother floating around in the ether, poor old Anthony decides to rescue the situation. He devises a sure-fire way of making Wangallon more productive, so that when, and I emphasise when, a portion of the place has to be sold to pay out said half-brother, Wangallon will survive. But does Sarah listen to him? No. In fact Sarah pulls rank and has a chat to the bank. I bet that was an interesting conversation. Did you tell them it was me putting Wangallon’s affairs at risk? Did you tell them it was my fault, that I’d been overspending and now an increase was needed on our overdraft? I’m wondering, does Sarah know how offensive that is to me? Does Sarah even care how offensive it is to me?’
‘Of course I care. But what did you expect me to do? You’re sitting there accusing me of wanting control and your actions don’t exactly scream teamwork. And for heaven’s sake, Anthony, no costings? No projections for the bank? What, are you stupid?’
‘Clearly I am.’ From the kitchen bench Anthony pulls a sheaf of papers. ‘There are the projections.’ His finger stabs at each piece of paper as he sits them on the kitchen table. ‘And there is the documentation. And yes I was stupid because I did it for you and for Wangallon.’
Sarah looked at the paperwork. ‘My god, you used your own money? The money from your share of your family’s property? You never said anything.’
Anthony stared at her. ‘You never gave me the chance.’
‘That’s because –’
‘That’s because you just kept saying no, like a bloody tape recorder. God forbid if anyone, anyone should try to take the Gordon mantle away from you.’ He picked up his wallet. ‘You forget, Sarah, that I was only trying to help.’
‘Where are you going?’ She touched him on the shoulder. ‘Anthony?’
He turned to face her. ‘I’m having dinner at the pub. I can’t do this anymore.’
‘You can’t do it anymore? I’m the one who’s been seeing solicitors and fighting my half-brother.’
Anthony shrugged. ‘Well you didn’t listen to me on that score either. Good luck.’
‘Good luck? Geez, Anthony, what’s got into you?’
He opened the back door. ‘Reality.’ Then he was gone.
In the kitchen Sarah sat near the Aga. He’ll come back. She cushioned her head with her arms on the kitchen table. He will come back, she whispered. Hadn’t her grandfather told her that same thing many years ago? Everyone came back, they couldn’t help themselves; Wangallon got into your soul.
That night Sarah dreamt of Wangallon. She hovered above the countryside, darting down like an eagle hawk to inspect dams and fences, swooping low over grassland to check sleeping ewes and resting cattle. She breasted the wind and let it carry her high into the stratosphere and then folded her wings against the updraft to plummet down to where men on horseback walked a single trail. The men carried their need to protect Wangallon like the rifles slung across their thighs, carefully but with determination. When