The Road Home by Margaret Way

Author:Margaret Way [Way, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2017-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

The stables complex was a short distance from the house. It was huge, with a traditional timber barn that took pride of place. The massive doors at one end of the structure were fixed back in place. Flanking the doors were brassbound wooden planters filled with verdant lemon trees, the golden citrus fruit out of season. The courtyard for mounting and walking the horses was equally impressive.

It was only midmorning, yet the sun was blazing from a cloudless blue sky. Isabelle was wearing plenty of sunblock, a silk scarf to protect her nape and a long-sleeved white shirt to protect her arms, though she had rolled the sleeves back some way. Bruno, with his Mediterranean skin, was wearing a short-sleeved blue shirt with his jeans, but he had tied a protective red bandana around his neck. He looked enormously dashing but totally unconcerned with his appearance.

“Can’t see anyone about,” Isabelle said, her voice uneasy. She felt thoroughly unnerved by the events of the morning. Life was becoming way too complicated. Hilary, for all her intimidating aura, wasn’t in the same league as Mrs. Saunders when that lady got underway. Mrs. Saunders, aka Orani, was a genuinely frightening woman, shaming Erik Hartmann, who had stood mute and staring until a fierce denial had been forced out of him.

“Bound to be someone,” Bruno said, striding ahead. “I’ll take a look.”

He reappeared a moment later accompanied by an aboriginal boy, around sixteen. “Mani here will help us,” Bruno said. He had an arm clapped around the boy’s shoulders while the boy was looking up at him with a kind of wonder on his face. Fascination, Isabelle thought. Bruno had the capacity to fascinate men and women alike. It was a quality beyond physical beauty. It had life, movement, vibrancy.

“Mornin’, miss.” Mani gave Isabelle a jaunty smile. He waved them both inside the barn. “Come in, please. Take yah pick.”

“Thank you.”

Most of the stalls were empty. Mani led them along the wide passageway. At their approach to the right, a gleaming dark bay threw up its handsome head, nostrils flaring. “Now there’s a beauty!” Isabelle said, not sure she could handle such an obviously spirited horse.

“Not for you, miss,” Mani said with a note of warning, “Rega is a one-woman horse. He belong to Orani. Mrs. Saunders,” he corrected himself quickly.

“She’s an accomplished rider, then?” Bruno caught Isabelle’s eye. Another piece of unexpected news.

“Bin ridin’ since she was a kid. Like me. Can ride anything. I reckon a brumby. Best woman rider I ever seen. Rega would be dangerous in the wrong hands. Not for you, miss. You need be safe. What about Honeysuckle? Honey for short. She’s as sweet-natured as they come and a lovely ride.”

Isabelle approached the chestnut mare, putting out an upturned hand as her English friend, Emma, had taught her to do. She hoped Honeysuckle would lick her palm. The mare did.

“Honey will be fine,” Isabelle said, her spirits picking up. It was a long time since she had been in the saddle.

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