didn’t spend with me. Each new paddock furthered my sense of the land and his labors multiplying underneath us. The elements were communicating things I couldn’t understand, and our silence deepened.
He was showing me his country, as he’d promised in the letter. And what was my side of the bargain? Was I meant to be scared, or in awe, or manufacturing an air of infatuation? From one angle, if you weren’t frightened of Alexander—and my fear was losing its grip as I slipped back into taking him for granted—and if you liked his style of looks, his brooding, and his substantial landholdings, the task of seeming to fall for him wasn’t too difficult. Why did he even need to pay someone to spend the weekend with him? I hoped the reason was that he liked paying, just as I liked being paid. An affair is such a nebulous thing; one never knows exactly where it begins or ends, or where one is in it from one day to the next. Here the terms were clear. There were rules and therefore definition.
“I suppose you’ve had many girlfriends?”
The question surprised him. “A few.”
“But never Miss Right?”
“She has been elusive.”
I smiled as though I understood. “So after you finished high school you came back to the farm?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go backpacking first?”
“Go what?”
“Don’t all Australians do that?” A nervous laugh.
He kept staring straight ahead. “I had a lot of responsibility from a young age. After my father died, this place was mine to solve. . . . There were problems at the start.” His jaw tightened. “Serious financial problems as well as other things I had to deal with.”
I felt resentment coming up from the ground like it was a kind of crop.
“How did you know what to do here? I mean, had your dad taught you to be a farmer?”
“Hardly.” Alexander’s tone was dismissive. “His generation weren’t interested in getting their hands dirty. He was raised to be a gentleman, sent to Cambridge, and in his head at least he never came back. He inherited twenty thousand acres from his father, who’d been a wastrel. I inherited seven thousand. . . . No, there were no helpful lessons. He hated farming.”
“You weren’t close?”
“My father was never here, and he wasn’t the type to write—not even a postcard.”
We came to some thirty cows standing together in a yard. Each one had a red cross marked on its flank. “None of these girls are in calf,” Alexander told me matter-of-factly. “They’re on their last chance. One more service and then they’ll have to be culled.”
“How many . . . services have they had?”
“One.”
Each cow looked so vulnerable—each one with a different face, different features—some standing primly, others dejected, their legs sagging. Their voices were doleful or insistent, and nothing much like the moo noises nursery children learn. Yes , they seemed to call, we hate it here too .
“Did you ever think of not coming back to the farm? Of, say, taking a different job?”
Alexander sighed. “Perhaps I’d have studied law. I’m interested in people and what they do, in different ideas of right and wrong.”
“You could have sold this place and done law.”
“No, I couldn’t,” his voice earnest. “I never could have done that.”
There was another silence.
“Liese,” he said, “we’ll have lunch shortly, but first I’ve got to move these ladies into another paddock. Would you mind unchaining the dogs?”
They were in the back, barking and straining at their leashes.
He cocked his head to the open window and growled, “Sit down!” The barking stopped. He turned back to me. “They’ll be fine.”
A gust of cold hit my face as I got out of the truck. The dogs had golden eyes and gleaming fur and sharp teeth, but they sat quietly. I swallowed as I reached around to unclip one, then another chain.
“Getawayback!”
They leaped into the grass.
Alexander drove after them, instructing the
He was showing me his country, as he’d promised in the letter. And what was my side of the bargain? Was I meant to be scared, or in awe, or manufacturing an air of infatuation? From one angle, if you weren’t frightened of Alexander—and my fear was losing its grip as I slipped back into taking him for granted—and if you liked his style of looks, his brooding, and his substantial landholdings, the task of seeming to fall for him wasn’t too difficult. Why did he even need to pay someone to spend the weekend with him? I hoped the reason was that he liked paying, just as I liked being paid. An affair is such a nebulous thing; one never knows exactly where it begins or ends, or where one is in it from one day to the next. Here the terms were clear. There were rules and therefore definition.
“I suppose you’ve had many girlfriends?”
The question surprised him. “A few.”
“But never Miss Right?”
“She has been elusive.”
I smiled as though I understood. “So after you finished high school you came back to the farm?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go backpacking first?”
“Go what?”
“Don’t all Australians do that?” A nervous laugh.
He kept staring straight ahead. “I had a lot of responsibility from a young age. After my father died, this place was mine to solve. . . . There were problems at the start.” His jaw tightened. “Serious financial problems as well as other things I had to deal with.”
I felt resentment coming up from the ground like it was a kind of crop.
“How did you know what to do here? I mean, had your dad taught you to be a farmer?”
“Hardly.” Alexander’s tone was dismissive. “His generation weren’t interested in getting their hands dirty. He was raised to be a gentleman, sent to Cambridge, and in his head at least he never came back. He inherited twenty thousand acres from his father, who’d been a wastrel. I inherited seven thousand. . . . No, there were no helpful lessons. He hated farming.”
“You weren’t close?”
“My father was never here, and he wasn’t the type to write—not even a postcard.”
We came to some thirty cows standing together in a yard. Each one had a red cross marked on its flank. “None of these girls are in calf,” Alexander told me matter-of-factly. “They’re on their last chance. One more service and then they’ll have to be culled.”
“How many . . . services have they had?”
“One.”
Each cow looked so vulnerable—each one with a different face, different features—some standing primly, others dejected, their legs sagging. Their voices were doleful or insistent, and nothing much like the moo noises nursery children learn. Yes , they seemed to call, we hate it here too .
“Did you ever think of not coming back to the farm? Of, say, taking a different job?”
Alexander sighed. “Perhaps I’d have studied law. I’m interested in people and what they do, in different ideas of right and wrong.”
“You could have sold this place and done law.”
“No, I couldn’t,” his voice earnest. “I never could have done that.”
There was another silence.
“Liese,” he said, “we’ll have lunch shortly, but first I’ve got to move these ladies into another paddock. Would you mind unchaining the dogs?”
They were in the back, barking and straining at their leashes.
He cocked his head to the open window and growled, “Sit down!” The barking stopped. He turned back to me. “They’ll be fine.”
A gust of cold hit my face as I got out of the truck. The dogs had golden eyes and gleaming fur and sharp teeth, but they sat quietly. I swallowed as I reached around to unclip one, then another chain.
“Getawayback!”
They leaped into the grass.
Alexander drove after them, instructing the
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