‘He’s been around for a while. Actually he did quite a lot of work for Angus in the seventies. There was talk of him being a descendent of someone who worked here on Wangallon in the early 1900s.’
‘How intriguing. I wonder who?’
‘Don’t know. I mentioned it to Angus one day and he told me not to listen to gossip. Anyway we’ll have to be on the lookout when we start mustering. Toby’s a bit of a tear-arse. You know, move the stock by the quickest route and if that happens to be through a few fences, tough. Angus always said he was a good stockman but reckoned you needed a clean-up crew after he’d been on a property and he’s a bugger for leaving gates open.’
Sarah took a sip of wine. ‘So where were you today?’
‘I had a few things happening early,’ Anthony said evasively. ‘I did come back for smoko and lunch. I wondered where you were? I thought there were enough men to handle that job.’
‘I like working outside, Anthony. I do it because I want to.’ She gave a weak smile, acknowledging how defensive she sounded. Swallowing her mouthful, her eyes came to rest on the formidable oil portrait of her great-grandfather, Hamish, hanging above the sideboard. He was depicted sitting, his fine dark suit and waistcoat failing to detract from his barrel chest and uncompromising violet-eyed gaze.
‘Fair enough. It’s just that we do have staff and I thought you had enough to do already, what with the book work and the garden.’
‘Actually I’m considering rehiring our old bookkeeper. I’ll still do the basic stuff.’
‘Why?’ Anthony took a sip of wine.
‘I would rather be outdoors.’
‘But your time is better utilised doing the things we don’t need to employ more staff for.’
Sarah sighed. ‘Then you take over the book work and the garden.’ He didn’t answer her. Great, she thought. Did she treat this as a stalemate or go ahead and rehire the bookkeeper? It struck her that perhaps there lay part of the problem. Had she been deferring to Anthony a little too much? ‘You’ve made some purchases,’ she began, uncomfortably aware that either way, she was about to ruin the evening.
Anthony nodded, his jaw finishing off a mouthful of tasty home-grown beef. ‘The panels of course and the new loading ramps we discussed. This is great.’
Sarah took a sip of wine, her eyes straying to her great-grandfather. ‘We didn’t.’
Anthony paused, his fork midway between his plate and mouth. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘We didn’t discuss the purchase of the panels, cattle truck or the ramps.’ Her fork mounded her serving of potato into an Everest-type sculpture.
‘Sorry, thought we did.’ His eyes met hers.
‘There’s nothing in the station diary either.’
Anthony put his knife and fork down and took a large sip of wine. ‘And?’
Sarah gave the mashed potato one final stroke before destroying its peak with the flat of her fork. ‘Well, I’ve noticed that you seem to be forgetting to tell me things, important things.’
‘They’re only panels and ramps, Sarah.’
‘Twenty-eight thousand dollars worth.’
‘So you’re concerned about the cost?’ He looked relieved. ‘I have been too. These couple of dry seasons have knocked us about a bit, although I’ve been doing the budget projections on a project that will pretty much pull Wangallon out of debt.’
‘What project?’ Sarah asked dismissively.
Anthony pushed his chair back, his hand straying to his partially drunk glass of wine. He sipped at the glass, his eyes peering at her from over the rim. ‘What’s bothering you?’
‘Don’t get angry. It’s just that you seem to be making major financial decisions without consulting me.’
‘I didn’t realise I had to.’
With precision-like movements Sarah cut a piece of steak, added a sliver of carrot and chewed thoughtfully. The last thing she needed was for Anthony to become defensive. ‘Even our weekly meetings have descended into you talking over the top of me.’
‘That’s not true. Actually I seem to recall you and Matt bonding over coffee and pretty much ignoring my suggestions.’ Anthony finished his wine and looked irritably at his congealing steak.
‘What’s the matter?’ she finally asked.
‘I don’t like my decisions being questioned like I’m the hired help.’
‘And I don’t like being left out of the loop when I’m the bloody Gordon.’
So there it was. The two things that neither of them had any control over. In Anthony’s mind part of him would forever be the jackeroo. ‘Maybe,’ she suggested slowly, ‘we could look at this a different way.’
‘What way? Would you like me to report to you every