way the milling rams needed to head. The sheep ran back and quickly joined the mob.
Hamish gave the slightest of nods. ‘Well, McKenzie,’ he asked, ‘what did you learn?’
‘They should be tight in the race so as not to cause injury, Boss. But not so tight that they might go down and s-suff-’
‘Suffocate?’ Angus finished.
‘Yeah, suffocate,’ agreed McKenzie.
‘There’s a bit more to it than that, boy,’ Wetherly pronounced.
Hamish looked McKenzie up and down. ‘Speak to Jasperson about some decent boots.’ Half the sole appeared missing off one. ‘And when you get them, polish them. The leather will last longer. And don’t leave them out in the sun – quickest way to ruin them.’
‘Yes, Mr Gordon.’
‘So that will be all?’ Wetherly asked with an imperious tone. His face carried a streak of blue from the raddle.
Hamish grunted. ‘You, Tambo and Andrew can walk the rams back.’ Across the yard one of the Aboriginal stockmen fell over in the dust of the yard. McKenzie was laughing, his stocky leg stuck out like a low hurdle.
Hamish wiped at the dust layered across his face and sat down at his desk. There were papers to be locked away, including the thick envelope on his desk. The letter written with the unstudied elegance of an educated man outlined the circumstances of Lorna Sutton’s demise. Luke’s grandmother had passed in her sleep, having partaken of a five-course dinner the preceding evening. Hamish lifted his brandy glass in mock salute. It was nearly fifty years since he’d first set eyes on Rose Sutton, Lorna’s only child. Mistakenly Hamish believed that the young girl would give him a measure of respectability, instead Lorna had played him at his own game: Rose was the daughter of a whore.
The fabric of their marriage was unceremoniously revealed when Hamish learnt of his mother-in-law’s activities and Rose gradually became aware of how her new husband was acquiring his wealth. Yet Hamish still believed the marriage could have endured were it not for Rose’s unforgiving nature and delusions of grandeur. And then of course she formed a child’s attachment to an Afghan trader.
Leaving his reflections behind, Hamish returned to the letter. The solicitor outlined in detail Lorna’s substantial legacy. There was the fine brick residence in Ridge Gully, a large number of household items including solid silver cutlery, candelabra, crystal stemware and no less than two fine English dinner services, as well as a collection of oil paintings. The inventory extended to her immaculately maintained stables: three geldings, four mares and a fine buckboard. Hamish inclined his head upwards to Lorna. His decision to make her the owner of the emporium and provide her with his Ridge Gully home had not been ill-advised. She had been well paid for the service requested of her following Rose’s departure to Wangallon.
Hamish reread a copy of the letter he’d made from the original, mailed some weeks prior.
Dear Mr Shaw-Michaels,
I was deeply saddened to learn of the passing of Lorna Sutton. In regards to her last will and testament I would direct that the 3,000 pounds bequeathed to my eldest son, Luke Gordon, be willed instead to Mrs Elizabeth Sutton Russell. These instructions are made on the strict understanding that on no account will my name be brought to Mrs Russell’s attention and that to all intents and purposes Mrs Russell was the original and single beneficiary of Lorna Sutton’s will. I make these instructions conditional on your firm’s continued association with Mrs Russell now and into the future and declare to have no interest now or in the future in Lorna Sutton’s will. You will be recompensed accordingly for your services, Sir.
Yours sincerely
John Shaw-Michaels had been Hamish’s solicitor for many years and was intimately involved with the particular machinations that built Wangallon. Folding the letters, Hamish unlocked the tin chest in his study and deposited the paperwork carefully inside. If Luke were to receive the measly 3,000 pounds willed to him and not the emporium, he would discover the majority of the estate had been verbally gifted to someone else nearly three years ago. Rose’s death had closed a door on that part of his life and ensured an impenetrable succession plan. Hamish thought only momentarily of Luke. His eldest was bound to Wangallon and the future, not a past that could dislodge the natural order of things.
Anthony sat the chequebook on the bonnet of his Landcruiser and wrote the figure down carefully. Even though he was convinced his actions were correct, it was a lot