her clammy skin with his thumb. His own skin was tough and calloused and his tenderness left a scratch of concern where his kiss once was. ‘You will be a great runner,’ he praised her, lifting her clutching fingers free of his arm. ‘One Scotland will be proud of.’
She’d not the heart to tell him that her cherished dream would never eventuate; she’d not yet admitted it fully to herself.
He left the ruin at daylight and Maggie followed his receding figure as if he were a hallucination. Ronald Gordon was the embodiment of many a Scot’s dream. His forefathers, having left during impoverished times, were now equal to many of the lords of England in their Australian holding. They were an example of what could be done. They were what the Scottish youth in the north country aspired to; for Hamish Gordon had accomplished what seemed impossible, why couldn’t another?
Not once did Ronald Gordon look back at her. Not once did Ronald show regret. But she regretted. Maggie sat on a cracked stone slab. Irregular patches of springy turf were interspersed with wind-bared soil. Tiredness was inching its way through her and the thought of the long downhill trek brought tears to her eyes. She thought of the unwanted child borne of her wishing and planning: There was real love there now. She could only hope Jim came home safe and that their lives remained intact. For her mother always believed that one couldn’t escape their destiny. And that was what Maggie was most afraid of.
Sarah strode purposefully along Elizabeth Street. The rising wind whipped her auburn hair into her eyes and mouth and she plucked at the fine strands, blinking at the midday chill. She tasted the grit of smog, listening to the deafening hum of cars, trucks, people and horns as she sidestepped rolling soft-drink cans, paper, people and a small white dog. Instantly she thought of Bullet, of her horse Tess, of the birds, the space, the air. Here Sarah only sublet the space she walked in and even that was curtailed by the width of the pavement and the press of bodies. The cold shadows of a great city emphasised the towering offices and she wished for quiet and space and unpolluted air. Clutching Frank’s parcel to her chest, Sarah walked on until she found a restaurant. She requested a table and then asked to use their telephone. Twenty minutes later Shelley walked into the restaurant.
‘Well this is a surprise,’ Shelley announced, her excited voice cutting through the air as she walked to the window table where Sarah sat. She was wearing a blue and white hound’s-tooth suit with padded shoulders, a short skirt and a silky white blouse. High-heeled white shoes completed the look. She looked very Princess Di. They hugged briefly.
‘Trust you to find this hole in the wall,’ Shelley glanced around the small space, ‘although I like the clientele.’ The restaurant was filling slowly with businessmen dressed in regulation black and charcoal grey suits. Shelley smiled brightly, enticing a couple of admiring glances. Giggling, she patted her carefully coiffed blonde hair and straightened her back. ‘Boring lot. Anyway, what are you doing down here?’ Sarah was gazing out the window. ‘What? Something dreadful has happened, hasn’t it? You look exhausted and sad.’
Sarah ordered two glasses of red wine from the disinterested waitress.
‘Anyone would think we were in Europe with that attitude,’ Shelley scowled as the girl sauntered away.
‘Annoyed, pissed off, furious is how I am,’ Sarah admitted after taking two sips of the wine. It was hot and peppery. What she really needed was a glass of water. ‘Think about the very worst thing that could happen to me.’ She swirled the wine in the glass and gestured to the waitress.
Shelley grimaced at the taste of her own wine and put her glass down. ‘Oh, not Anthony. Don’t tell me you two have had a shocking argument over that bloody property. Sarah, I’ve told you in the past if you want to keep him you have to defer to him just a little. Men like that.’
‘Defer to him? Defer to him?’
Shelley looked over her shoulder, now they were getting attention, the unwanted sort. ‘Shh. He adores you.’
‘Waitress,’ Sarah called loudly. The girl approached warily. ‘This wine is undrinkable.’
The girl flattened her lips and placed a thin bony hand on her hip.
Shelley’s eyes widened in surprise at Sarah’s tone. ‘Umm, maybe you could get us two glasses of chardonnay,’ she asked politely. ‘Something really