The Tartan Touch (17 page)

‘You’re well matched!” he snorted. “Neither of you can bear my hands on
the
reins!”

I fell off Birrahlee’s back at his feet. “Birrahlee has pride! You have to
like
him first!”

He said nothing. He took the reins from my fingers and walked the horse up and down, working his anger out as he did so. There was nothing more for me to do, I thought, and so I left him to it, limping sligh
tl
y as I walked the whole way back to Mary.

Andrew walked back after me, leading Birrahlee all the way. “The Frasers have pride too,” he said bleakly.

I held my head up high. “The MacTaggarts—” I began
.

“Don
’
t go too far, Kirsty,” he said, gritting his teeth. “The Frasers have enough pride not to like it to be trampled in the dust!”

“Especially by MacTaggarts!” Mary added, grinning. “Are you two rowing again? My word, Kirsty, and who was it who said Andy had a right to your loyalty?
An
d
—”

“Did she say that?” Andrew enquired, his face softening a little.

Mary looked at me sideways, her eyes dancing with amusement.
“
And
she prefers the sound of Kirsty Fraser to Kirsty MacTaggart! She told me so!”

“Oh, Mary, I did not!”

“Well, you said you weren’t saying,” she dismissed my anguished protest, “and we all know
w
hat that means!” But I wouldn’t listen to either of them any longer and I fled into the house and the sanctuary of my own room, away from their mocking laughter
.

I had forgotten my annoyance with her, however, when I sought Mary out that evening to find out what one wore to the races in the Outback.

“You see,” I explained to her, “I haven’t ever been to such an occasion. Is it very smart?”

“Smart enough,” she commented. “But you’ll have to take jeans and a shirt for the race.”

“That’s another thing,” I said uncomfortably. “Can I borrow one of your shirts?”

“What’s wrong with your own?” she countered.

“They’re a wee bit tight,” I whispered, hating the lie even while I felt obliged to tell it.

“Are they? I never noticed.” She pulled half a dozen shirts out of her chest of drawers and handed them to me. “Take your pick,” she said.

I chose one in a cool blue and white check. “Th
-
thanks very much,” I said, and hurried away.

In the morning, I dressed with enormous care. I chose a cream and gold dress that I had bought in London
.
The colours suited me well, making my hair look more gold than sandy. When I took the breakfast in to the others, I expected compliments, and I got them.

“Very fetching, Kirsty,” Miss Rowlatt growled across
the table.

“You look beautiful!” Mary echoed her generously. Andrew said nothing.

“I—I wasn’t sure if it were dressy enough?” I temporised, eyeing Andrew with a touch of desperation. It was unkind of him not to make some remark.

“Just right,” Margaret said lazily. “Mirrabooka will be proud of you!” She winced as if she were regretting her words as soon as they were uttered, but I was pleased all the same
.
“It has
the
advantage of being easy to get in and out of,” she added
.
“Unless you intend to ride in it too?”

I made a face at her, for no one laughed at her intended joke.

“She’s wearing jeans and a shirt of mine for that, Mother,” Mary said with heavy patience.

“She’s wearing her own shirt!” Andrew said abruptly.

I glanced at him nervously, “It’s a wee bit tight,” I said in a strangled voice.

“Rubbish
!”
he retorted.

“It is, just,” I insisted. “I—I washed them both—”

“They’re shrinkproof,” he returned briefly.

I swallowed. “I
prefer
to wear one of Mary’s shirts,” I said painfully.

He glared at me. “You’ll wear your own just
the
same!” he ordered. “If you don’t, I’ll scratch Birrahlee from the race!”

“But you can’t!” Mary protested in horror
.

“Try it and see!” he said to me. He scraped back his chair and went out of the room.

“What’s so important about one shirt or another?” Mary asked blankly.

Miss Rowlatt sniffed. “Can’t you even recognise your own tartan when you see it?” she bore down on Mary.

Mary said nothing. Her eyes opened wide as she looked at me.

“Oh, Kirsty!” she said, and giggled.

“They were the only ones they had in the store,” I mumbled, scarlet in
the
face.

But Mary was well away, enjoying her merriment in a way I could only find distasteful, “Oh, Kirsty!” she gasped again. “And you a MacTaggart!”

“She’s a Fraser now,” Margaret put in coolly.

“Certainly,
s
he is!” Miss Rowlatt agreed warmly. “I can’t think what you’re making such a fuss about!”

“It’s a wee bit tight!” Mary repeated, and collapsed into further giggles.

Miss Rowlatt glared at her. “Be off, young woman,” she commanded her. “I hardly think you are going to wear those clothes to the races!”

“I must change too,” Margaret drawled. Her eyes rested on my face for a moment, warmer than I had ever seen the
m.
“Don’t let the Frasers get you down,” she advised casually. “At least Andrew isn’t as impatient as Donald was
.
” She went slowly to the door. “Come on, Mary, Andy won’t wait for you if you’re not ready when he is!”

It was an unfortunate choice of words. I stared down at my uneaten breakfast, poking the egg viciously with my fork. “Oh, he’ll wait for
her
!”
I said dourly.

Miss Rowlatt gave me a displeased look. “Do you imagine that he won’t wait for you?” she demanded. “And may one ask why he should?”

“I don’t know,” I said wearily.

“It seems to me,” Miss Rowlatt said dryly, “that young people have the silliest quarrels these days. It isn’t in Andrew Fraser to wait for any woman, if you ask me. His style would be to take the girl of his choice out into the bush and woo her and bed her before he brought her back! And quite right too!”

“Oh?” I said. I put my knife and fork down on my
plate. My stomach had turned to water and my knees were trembling.

“I suppose there was no time in Scotland for him to tell you what he was about,” she went on cheerfully.

“But he did!” I interrupted her. “He—he needed someone here until Mary came of age!”

Miss Rowlatt was startled into silence. “I see,” she said faintly. “I’m very sorry, my dear.”

Fond of her as I was, her sympathy was very hard to bear, “At least I have a home
!
” I said in threatening tones.

“Why, yes,” she agreed meekly.

“And a name! A very proud name! Mrs
.
Andrew Fraser of Mirrabooka!”

She looked at me with a hint of humour in her eyes. “And a shirt on your back!” she said.

To my surprise it was Margaret who drove Birrahlee to the races in the horse-box. Mary elected to go with her, because, she said, they would get there earlier than the rest of us.

“Miss Rowlatt can come with us too,” she suggested, her green eyes flashing.

“I think she would prefer to come in the car,” I said gently. I could not imagine Miss Rowlatt enjoying a long, rough ride in a horse-box.

“Oh well,” Mary said grandly, “just as you like!”

We had a lot of trouble getting Birrahlee to go up the ramp. He was a big, heavy horse and he flicked us away from him as if we were no more than flies,

“Shall I ride him in?” I suggested.

“You’ll ruin your clothes!” Margaret wailed. “I’ll fetch Andrew.”

“
No
!
We’ll manage somehow!” I insisted.

Margaret was remarkably patient. “Does he like sugar?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted.

“I wish you’d let me get Andy!”

I shoved at Birrahlee’s rump. “Do you think we’re tiring him out?” I enquired anxiously.

“I doubt it,” Margaret said dryly,

In the end we came to a compromise and Mary went to summon one of the stockmen, while I surveyed my dress, worried in case I had dirtied it. But it looked as fresh as it had when I had put it on. I brushed nervously at the skirt and saw Andrew approaching us out of the
corner
of my eye.

“Why don’t you try him with an apple?” Andrew suggested mendaciously.

I gave him a speaking look that said a great deal more than I would have dared to have given voice to.

“Andy, do something!” Margaret begged him.

He put his hand on the horse’s neck and pushed him purposefully up the ramp. Birrahlee blew angrily down his nostrils, but he went like a lamb, allowing us to slam the box shut behind him.

“Oh, you’ve done it!” Mary exclaimed, coming back just at that moment
.

Andrew brushed his hands together with a satisfied air.

“The master’s touch,” he said.

We stood there together while the horse-box bounced its way across the home paddock and away to Cue.

“Andrew,” I said carefully, “may I have next week’s money with this week’s?” I wouldn’t look at him. I dared not.

“Today?” he asked.

I nodded, reddening in case he should ask me why.

“I thought you never gambled?” he said, his tongue in his cheek.

“It doesn’t seem like gambling at all,” I replied innocently
. “
Mary says that Birrahlee will walk it!”

“And naturally, she knows!”

“Well, she does,” I said. “Mrs. O’Dell loses at the races every year, but Mary never does!”

He counted out the money and gave it to me. “What will you do if you don’t win?” he asked me.

I shook my head, unable even to consider the idea. “But I shall win!” I said. “You think so too, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I think so
.”

Miss Rowlatt insisted on sitting in the back of the car as we drove to Cue. It seemed odd to be driving in anything else but
the
old ute, but Andrew had got out the Holden for the occasion. He had even polished its paintwork until it gleamed in the hot sun. These races were only the spring races, and not the more famous autumn ones, but they were an occasion all
the
same and everybody wanted to make the most of them.

To my shame, Andrew checked on whether I had brought my own shirt, peeking into the bag I had brought with me.

“I don’t see why it matters to you so much!” I said indignantly.

He smiled at me. “Don’t you?”

“Everybody knows he’s your horse!”

“I’ll see to that!” he said.

The hotel in Cue was doing good business when we got there
.
Although it was still officially spring, it was a stifling hot day, and everyone was soaking up ice-cold schooners of beer as fast as they could go. I had some lemonade and wished that the race was over. I was feeling increasingly nervous and I was beginning to
wonder if it wouldn’t be sinful after all to put all that money on my winning the race.

There was no sign of either Margaret or Mary, but Bridget O’Dell came over immediately, her eyes fixed on my white and gold dress.

“Kirsty, you look
beautiful
!”
she exclaimed.

I was very pleased. “I bought it in London,” I told her, ’"Andrew made me buy a great many things while we were there, but I’ve not had the opportunity to wear half of them.”

“I hoped none of the others suits you as well as this one!” Bridget laughed. “I’m pea-green with envy!”

My excitement mounted by leaps and bounds. “Bridget, if you want to put money on a race, whom do you bet with?” I asked her.

She stood stock-still, amazed that I should ask such a question. “I’ll take you to a bookie,” she said.

“Oh, yes, please,” I agreed happily. “I’m going to win, you see, so I have to put a great deal of money on the race.”

“Is that wise?” she asked
.

“Oh yes!” I exclaimed.

I felt very proud, placing my bet with the bookie
.
He had come all the way from Perth and was unaccustomed to the Murchison climate. His immaculate
gabardine
suit was already wilted and his face was scarlet with sheer heat. On his head he wore a broad-brimmed Panama hat that was so immaculate it filled me with awe.