He laughed down the line. ‘I can imagine! But you don’t have to sound guilty.’
‘I’m not,’ she said quickly. ‘How are you?’
‘Exhausted, to tell the truth. I’ve been on the go since the moment I arrived.’
‘Have you got the agency, do you think?’
‘Yes, but it will take another few days to tie up all the loose ends. How are you?’
‘Oh, congratulations,’ said Roz sincerely. Then, ‘I’m fine. Nicky and I are enjoying ourselves doing nothing much. Er … your mother’s coming down tomorrow to spend the day with us and Margaret rang up earlier to say she might pop in this week. Oh, Adam, you should have seen Nimmitabel this morning! Les organised a jump-out with three other two-year-olds including the Mirror-dot colt, but she was just too good for them and the time was sensational!’ She told him all the details.
‘No sign of shin soreness?’ he asked when she had finished.
‘No. Les is watching her like a hawk.’
‘Good.’
There was a short silence, then she asked him what time it was in Tokyo.
‘An hour earlier than it is at Little Werrington.’
‘Is it snowing?’
‘No, but it’s very cold. Why do you ask?’
‘I just wondered,’ she said softly. ‘Are you doing anything this evening?’
‘I think I’m about to be entertained in the time-honoured Japanese way.’
‘Do you mean …‘?’
‘Well, my hosts have been rather mysterious, but they did ask me if I’d ever seen a real geisha. By the way, Roz, before you imagine …’
‘I’m not imagining anything like that,’ she protested. ‘I’ve read all about geishas, and their primary purpose is to entertain you.’
‘Have you now?’ remarked Adam after a moment.
‘Yes, I have. I don’t quite know how it works with foreigners, but I’m sure they’re according you an honour. So don’t fall asleep, even if you can’t understand a word.’
‘No, ma’am!’ he said. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour.’
Roz had to laugh and he laughed too. Then he said, ‘There’s someone at the door, so I guess my car has arrived. Sleep well.’
‘You too. And keep warm. Goodbye.’
Back in the den Roz found it hard to keep up with the high spirits of the others, but not only that. She felt jittery and nervous, as if her equilibrium had been mysteriously disrupted, and finally excused herself, not without some difficulty.
‘Roz! The night’s young yet,’ Nicky protested.
‘I know, but …’
‘Darling Roz, don’t desert us!’ This was Angelo. ‘Or are you telling us politely to hoof it?’
‘No! I’d love you to stay and enjoy yourselves, so please do. I’m just … tired.’
It was Richard who said gently, ‘I think Roz might be missing Adam, folks, as well as being tired, so back off. Goodnight, Roz. Are you sure you don’t mind us staying on?’
‘No, really I don’t,’ she said to him gratefully, and thought how nice he was.
But once in her bedroom she was forced to acknowledge the truth of his words. She was missing Adam, but it was worse. She was desperately trying not to think of him in the arms of some exquisitely beautiful accomplished geisha …
She put her hand over her mouth and blinked several times to stem tears of … what? Loneliness? Fright. Jealousy …?
‘Oh God,’ she whispered, and chewed at the tip of her forefinger, ‘have I been … very blind? Not known what was happening to me. Have I been tilting at windmills? How did this happen to me? Perhaps I have to go back to the beginning, that awful day two weeks after the fire …’
She had lived with her grandfather in his old-fashioned Queensland colonial house since she was ten. It was a wooden, rambling house with verandas all round, set on twenty acres west of Beenleigh, which laid claims to being a satellite suburb of Brisbane, but in those days, the days during which Roz had grown up, had escaped being a suburb of anything, just a backwater off the Pacific Highway between Brisbane and the Gold Coast. And they had been far enough out of town to qualify for being country anyway.
She’d grown up surrounded by horses, an eccentric grandfather who had cared for her greatly and imbued her not only with his love of horses but a curiosity about most things. And while his erratic gambling habits had ensured that they were never affluent except in short bursts, the old homestead was filled with beautiful, solid, very old furniture, faded but beautiful chintz coverings and hangings and a collection of copper and brassware that had been her grandmother’s passion. There were also books by the dozen, a lot of them spotted with mildew and from another era, but by the time she was fifteen, Roz had been thoroughly conversant with Jeffery Farnol, Mikhail Sholokov, Dorothy Sayers, and Josephine Tey among others,