After the hospital treats Nate’s and Blake’s cuts and grazes, and Blake has an MRI of his shoulder, Blake and I wait for the results. It would hurt Blake’s shoulder if I climbed onto his lap and it would hurt his mouth if I kissed it, but I’d like to do both of those things. I move my chair even closer to his and our knees touch.
‘Nate will drive you home,’ he says.
‘I’m fine to drive myself.’
‘It’s the least he can do.’
‘I wish you’d stop swearing at him.’
Nate, leaning against a wall near the triage station and chatting to a nurse, has narrow white strips across the cut in his forehead. Like Blake, he’s changed his shirt. Rowena is on her way to Canberra where she’ll be charged. Nate is anxious to get to Canberra too, but he wants to take Blake with him. Blake was involved in the fight, so he has to give a statement about that, as well as what happened at the veterinary board inquiry. I’ll be interviewed too, but Nate said that can wait.
‘Nate should have told us he was after Rowena,’ Blake says.
‘If he had, we might have let something … slip.’
‘He took a risk.’
‘He was going to tell me to stay away from Rowena, but I hung up. He was hurt too.’
‘Nothing he didn’t deserve.’
‘If Rowena had left the country, Nate’s team might never have found her.’ I take Blake’s hand, turn it in mine. ‘That’s … why you had to stop her getting away.’
‘I haven’t fought in years.’
I run a finger across a graze on his knuckle. ‘You … were good at it.’
‘I was brutal.’
I sandwich his hand. Cover the grazes and bruises. ‘You … said your grandfather … wanted you to fight.’
‘He paid for lessons with thugs in the village.’
‘You don’t have to fight any more.’
His mouth is intersected by an angry red line. After pulling his hand free, he touches it tentatively. ‘I was afraid you’d be hurt.’
‘Tell me what happened in London.’
‘I learnt more about my mother.’ He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. ‘I argued with my father.’
‘Tell Nate you’ll go tomorrow afternoon. After you get your results, we can go back to Ballimore. I’ll take care of you.’
He straightens, winces. ‘I want to get this over with.’
‘But …’
‘Merrylegs.’ He claims my hand, threads our fingers. ‘Tell me what happened.’
‘It … was ten days after you’d left.’ I take a shaky breath. ‘I wish you’d been there.’
‘I … wanted you to go to London.’
‘I wish I’d known.’
‘I … was going to tell you but I knew I’d get upset and … wouldn’t be able to explain. Beatrice … was kind. Matthew took the foal. He promised to bury him somewhere nice.’
‘Excuse me?’ A doctor with large brown eyes and sparkling green eyeshadow confirms that Blake’s shoulder is badly bruised and his rotator cuff is flaring again. Short term, he should immobilise the joint and take anti-inflammatory medication and analgesics. Long term, he should see a specialist and a physio. ‘I’ll get it strapped tonight,’ the doctor says, ‘but you could be here for another hour or two.’
Blake calls Nate over, telling him to drive me and my car back to Ballimore.
‘All sorted,’ Nate says. ‘Jeremiah will meet me at Prim’s, then bring me back here. I’ve booked two rooms at a motel. A few hours’ sleep, then we’ll get an early morning flight to Canberra.’
As the hospital emergency door swishes open and closed, Blake holds me close. Breaths warm and deep, he kisses my neck, mumbles my name. I’m certain there’s something that’s troubling him, something he doesn’t want to talk about.
‘Blake? What is it?’
When he attempts to smile, his lip bleeds. ‘I’ll call.’
I lean back against the passenger seat of my four-wheel drive. ‘You’re the one with the head wound,’ I say to Nate. ‘Why are you driving me home?’
‘Shock can hit suddenly.’ he says. ‘If it does, you don’t want to be on a country road at night.’
‘What if it happens to you?’
‘Me and shock?’ He holds up crossed fingers. ‘We’re friends from way back.’
‘Can I ask a question?’ I say through a yawn.
‘Shoot.’
‘Rowena … said Farquhar only found out about the PMSG after Pascal had given it to the cows. That fits in with what everyone thought, that Farquhar … wouldn’t take the risk of using hormones when he had so much to lose.’
‘Now we’ve got Rowena, we can question Farquhar.’ Nate pulls out of the carpark and onto the road. ‘We’ll find out more.’
‘Do you really think Rowena imported the PMSG for Pascal?’
‘Whether she did or not, I bet she would have known about it.’
‘She said Pascal wanted to try it as a lark.’
‘Nah, not buying that. Rowena wanted it to happen.’
‘Why would she? Farquhar didn’t even know about it.’
‘Farquhar has connections at the zoo. If Rowena ever needed to cover her tracks regarding the diamonds, he could have been useful. It wouldn’t surprise me if Farquhar confided in Rowena after he found out about the doping, and she encouraged him to keep quiet. If anyone got suspicious regarding the imports, if she was threatened, she had something on Farquhar. If nothing else, it’d buy her time to get out of the country.’
‘Do you think Farquhar knew about the diamonds?’
‘In the past few years, Rowena’s got sloppy, living a modest life here and an increasingly splashy one in Sydney. Farquhar could have asked her about that. Maybe he wondered where the money was coming from. You saw one argument; we’re aware of others.’
‘Wasn’t shipping the diamonds with the costume jewellery risky? Why not pick the diamonds up in Africa and wear them on the return flight?’
‘Prim!’ He laughs ‘We’re not talking about the odd ring or two. These were commercial quantities.’
‘She … wore a lot of jewellery. I assumed it was fake.’
‘Most of it would have been, but like I said, she got sloppy.’
‘She was angry that Farquhar continued to hound me.’
‘Your comment, “I know about blood” would’ve been the last thing he wanted to hear.’
‘Do you think he associated it with PMSG?’
‘Possibly. And if Rowena had gotten to hear of it, she could have associated it with blood diamonds. Not that “blood on your hands” couldn’t have had either of those connotations too.’ Nate whistles quietly. ‘You hit multiple bullseyes with just the one dart.’
‘Rowena suspected you, or someone like you … was onto her.’
‘We’d traced tens of millions of dollars’ worth of diamonds to Sydney and were gathering data on how they’d ended up there—and who was selling them on. Farquhar was one of Rowena’s close contacts, but we had nothing on him. When you, another of Farquhar’s contacts, started asking questions about illegal imports, a red flag went up. We suspected there might be a link.’
‘How much did Rowena know about you?’
‘She could’ve found out we were talking to diamond traders, but we hadn’t questioned her. Given what she said to you, how she tried to keep you close, she might’ve worked out that what started out as leverage over Farquhar—the PMSG—could end badly for her. She would have been concerned that you, inadvertently, might trigger a connection between the PMSG and the diamonds.’
‘What … will happen to Farquhar?’
‘Assuming he didn’t know about the diamonds, he’ll be prosecuted for withholding information about the PMSG, lying under oath and other ancillary offences.’
‘Geoff was the assistant stud manager who told me about Farquhar’s bull, Siegfried. Even if Farquhar and Pascal destroyed records, Geoff might help you now.’
‘Your federal police will be interested in Rowena. International authorities are also interested. Rowena is a small cog in the wheel, but she could be useful.’
‘Because of her address book?’
‘You got it.’
‘I’d never have thought Rowena would be involved in anything like this.’
‘I’d never have thought Blake Sinclair would fight like a junkyard dog.’
‘You’ll look after him … won’t you? He doesn’t like to take painkillers so make sure he’s comfortable. And drive him to the doctor if he gets … worse.’
‘You’re head over heels, right?’
‘I’m not sure what … will happen.’
‘I don’t know Blake well, but I’ve met his type. Meeting a woman like you would be a curve ball for him.’
‘Something was … worrying him tonight. Something that had nothing to do … with Rowena or those men. Do you know what it was?’
‘I agree he was rattled, but …’ He shrugs. ‘It was kinda clear he was worried about you.’
Jeremiah is already at the cottage when we turn into the driveway. Harry and Darcy, curled up in their favourite spots under the verandah, scrabble upright. Harry shakes his head and stretches. Darcy bustles over the gravel towards us.
Nate grins. ‘What an awesome welcome.’
Blake calls midmorning on Saturday. ‘Prim.’
‘Did you sleep? How is your shoulder?’
‘Sore, but it’s okay.’
‘Does you lip hurt when you talk?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re in a car, aren’t you? Is Nate there too?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you be back on Monday?’
‘After Canberra, I’m going to Sydney.’
‘With Nate?’
‘No.’ He hesitates. ‘Something else.’
‘What?’
‘I can’t tell you. Not yet.’
‘Why can’t you tell me?’
‘I thought it could wait. I thought we had time. I’ve changed my mind.’
‘When … will you be back?’
‘Later in the week.’
Our messages are courteous and meaningless. Placeholders.
He tells me Rowena has been formally charged and refused bail.
He doesn’t tell me he misses me.
I tell him Thomasina and Lacie smuggled Daffodil into their classroom.
I don’t tell him I want to sleep in his bed.
He tells me Nate and his team are questioning Farquhar and he’s cooperating.
He doesn’t tell me he wants to stay with me forever.
I tell him Merrylegs is back to bossing Juniper and Bonny around.
I don’t tell him I’m in love with him.
On Saturday, Sunday and Monday, he’s in Canberra. On Tuesday and Wednesday, he’s in Sydney.
We text again on Wednesday evening.
I won’t be back until Saturday.
Why not?
I’ll tell you when I see you.
What time? I’ve arranged to meet Billy for lunch.
I’ll find you.