Sarah moistened her lips. “Oh, but it was really your job that brought you here. To Australia, anyway. The woolbuying expedition.”
Elaine looked at her, the usually soft velvety eyes glittering and spiteful.
“It won’t be my job that keeps me here.”
Sarah said, “You mean—?” She couldn’t go on.
Elaine laughed, her kitten face miserably mischievous again, the claws sheathed. “Darling, do I have to cross the t’s? You know perfectly well what I mean.”
Sarah said calmly, because all of a sudden she knew she must know, for sure. “Do you mean you’re going to make Challowsford your home ... marry Grant?”
Even as she said it, the thought of it pierced Sarah like a physical thing. Elaine at Challowsford ... Elaine modernizing the beautiful old homestead ... Elaine coming down to Grant at night, in glamorous clothes, Elaine presiding over Grant’s table, sneering at his concern for animals, eager to make him wring every penny from the soil ... Elaine gradually cheapening Grant’s ideals ... Elaine in possession of the big front bedroom with the double corner windows ... Grant sharing it with her ...
Elaine said, in a confiding whisper. “Sarah, tell me, if I came here as Grant’s bride, what would you do?”
Sarah drew a deep breath. She must appear natural, not give herself away.
She said, “It won’t affect me, Elaine. I’m going in any case. I don’t want you to tell Grant. My arrangements are not complete yet. I intend to leave here without saying anything. He will be glad to have me go, but he’s so domineering, he will make things difficult. I intend to just go. I’m going to take a position, get a flat. Cut right away from Challowsford.”
Elaine said, “You’re very wise. Do you mean you won’t leave an address?”
“Yes. If there are any formalities, he can correspond with me through his solicitor. My bank will forward letters.”
Elaine finally turned to go, then with a pretty impulsive gesture came back to Sarah. She put a hand on her arm.
You—you won’t say anything to Grant, will you? I mean that he and I, that we—”
“That you’re going to marry him,” said Sarah bluntly. “No, not if you don’t want me to. But why?”
Elaine hesitated. “Oh, you know how it is, Sarah ... just that men don’t talk so much about their affairs of the heart ... They think we do and feel embarrassed.”
Sarah’s gaze was direct. “Doesn’t sound like Grant to me. He’s so direct. I should think he’d be quite open about it—and proud.”
Elaine knew uneasiness. It was a feeble excuse. Then she smiled.
“I’ll have to tell you what it really is, Sarah. You see, I’m waiting for my divorce to come through. I married a rotter when I was too young to know my own mind. Grant and I—well, we don’t want any hint of our attachment to get out in case it complicates things. So don’t let Grant have the slightest suspicion I’ve told you.”
So that was it. Now Sarah understood. She felt a wave of distaste for the whole affair. Not against divorce as such—sometimes it was the only way out of an intolerable situation, but ... how far could Grant trust Elaine?
She said quietly, “You’re secret is safe with me. And by the time you come back I shall be gone, I hope.”
She stood at the window, watched Elaine go back to the homestead. She went outside and wandered around the garden she had restored, and tended so lovingly. It would fall into neglect again. She leaned upon the stone wall, gazed past the paddocks at the evening sky ... the outline of the rolling hills she loved so well, against the saffron of the sunset, and wondered if ever again, in all the empty years without Grant, she would find peace of heart, security, a home of the spirit.
Grant came back from Christchurch looking very fit and happy. Why shouldn’t he? A man in love should look just like that.
He came across to the cottage, whistling. “Sarah, Sarah, where are you?”
“Yes, Grant?”
“I’ve a piece of good news for you. You know you were wondering what to do about Rory’s High School education. Which one you could get him in at. Well, I’ve got him in at my old school ... St. Andrew’s Presbyterian College in Christchurch. They’ve a terrific waiting list, but they try to accommodate the sons of old boys if possible. I said I regarded Rory as my son, and that, coupled with the fact that his father was a Presbyterian minister, won the day. What’s the matter, Sarah? Why do you look like that? Aren’t you glad?”
Sarah pulled herself together, said “Of course I’m glad—just—just a little touched you should go to all that bother.”
He grinned boyishly, well pleased with himself. “I knew you’d be thrilled. Mrs. Mac’s tells me the children are at old Angus’s. Come on over to the house. Mrs. Mac’s got a hot tea ready.”
Sarah said, “I’m much too grubby.” She looked down at her earthly fingers, her stained slacks.
He laughed. “Mrs. Mac’s seen you grubby before. And if I’d had a man partner, he’d not have changed for dinner. Come on. I want to tell you about the prices we got ... and the good buy I made. And what we ought to get cracking on next month ... Sarah, what is the matter? Aren’t you well?”
Sarah hadn’t thought anything could hurt so much. His partner ... what we ought to do next month ... it sounded so friendly. Yet she heard him tell Elaine not long ago, “No, I’ve not found Sarah truthful.”
She went with him. She might as well let enmity die for the short time she would still be here. These would be the hours she would remember and treasure, walking at his side over the springy pasture, greener now after the welcome rain, his swinging arm touching hers now and again, the sunset bright on his head, turning the bleached ends to tawny gold.
Sarah drove into Christchurch the next week armed with various “To Let” clippings, had her interview with the owner of the private hospital, was offered the position and managed to secure a flat not far from it, and quite close to a good primary school.
The thought of telling the children lay like a weight upon her heart. They could take the little spaniel, Jed, with them, but not Rory’s collie pup. A working dog would break his heart in town. They would have to leave the ponies ... Sarah wouldn’t tell them till she was ready to go. If she was leaving in Grant’s absence, when he went to meet Elaine again, she wouldn’t dare tell Mrs. Mac even, for Mrs. Mac was quite capable of summoning Grant home.
Grant said, “Will you be coming with me to Christchurch to meet Elaine? I thought of going down the day before and staying overnight. Care to ask for an extra day off, Sarah? It’ll do you good to have a taste of city life again. The New Zealand Players are putting on one of Agatha Christie’s plays. You’d enjoy it.”
Really, hadn’t falling in love mellowed Grant Alexander!
Sarah said, “I’m afraid I couldn’t ask for extra time off just now, Grant. We’re expecting a lot of babies next week. Sorry to turn you down.” Sorry, what an inadequate word!
Grant would come from Christchurch to find her gone. Each night Sarah went on quietly packing after the children were abed.
She decided that after Grant left on the Wednesday, she would finish her packing, load up the Austin without Mrs. Mac’s noticing if possible, and then when the children came home from school, tell them the bare facts, pack them into the little car, and get away, doing as much of the explaining as possible on the way. It would be much better than announcing her decision and meeting with opposition and reproach. Besides, she was terrified Grant might in some way guess that his approaching marriage had a lot to do with it.
Unexpectedly the problem of Mrs. Mac was solved for her. The housekeeper decided to go with Grant, and visit a friend at Amberly, coming back at night on the bus. Sarah knew a great relief. She felt as if the way was smoothed, especially when Grant asked her if she would pack up lunch for the men that day. They were going to be clearing out gorse in one of the far gullies.
In the last few days Sarah felt like trying to hold time still. The events of the time were imprinted on her mind. Grant and Rory and Pauline down at the swimming-hole, Grant diving off the great rock that served as a diving-board, taut and bronzed in black trunks; Grant herding sheep with infinite patience into the double-decker trucks of the big transport companies, watching them move off, and saying:
“Every year I hate to see them go, which is absurd—in fact sentimental and downright foolish.”
Grant coming over on the Sunday morning, tapping at her window with his riding crop. “Sarah, it’s a great morning. I’ve saddled up Russetty for you.”
The long, exhilarating ride to the far boundary of Challowsford, the rich countryside in front of them falling away to the edge of the sea. Before them as they turned the horses, a white road was winding through yellow hills, a paddock of late wheat rippling in the dawn wind, a stubble field where already young green showed beneath the stalks, a swathe, of freshly turned furrows on Granger’s hill.
The horses dropped to a walk, the riders’ knees touched. This might be the last time they were ever together. Sarah saw the landscape blur before her eyes.