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Matt nodded. "Be like taking candy from a kid. I should be giving you the head start."
"What on that donkey?" laughed Lee. "On the count of five, go."
On five, off went Matt, grass sods spurting from under the flying hooves of his horse.
Lee counted to ten then dug in his heels and felt the power of Fleet Wing. "Damn, I've miscalculated," he puffed, as Matt neared the gate. But Fleet Wing responded to a couple of flicks of the rein ends to the neck and further accelerated. The mare slid to a stop inches from the gate, the winner by half a head.
"Shucks, you may be a rotten rider but you've got a gutsy horse there Matt. Thought I wasn't going to get you for a moment."
"Can't believe you'd give me a head start. Fortunately for you Fleet Wing is so good, better than I realized, actually."
"Cut the crap Matt. I'm a rancher's son and was riding horses before I could walk, probably as you were. Look at the difference in our weight. With me being shorter, leaner and more handsome than you I was bound to have a big advantage. I also happened to notice that Fleet Wing showed hints of good bloodlines."
"Well, congratulations. Around here we always let visitors win," Matt lied. "Collect your money from me when we get back home."
Riding back to the farmhouse Lee said: "Do you ever think of selling this land?"
"Why are you going to make me an offer to unsaddle me?"
"Be serious for a minute Matt. My suggestion is this. Whatever you do keep those acres on the flats until the boom comes for horticultural land and I can promise you it will comes within ten years, even less, and..."
"It's already started. There's quite a bit of activity to the north-west around the Blenheim. People are buying up land to plant grape vines, steadily pushing up prices."
"If it started, then watch it go. You and other landholders will be amazed if a land rush really gets underway," Lee said. "You get the occasional earthquakes in New Zealand, right?"
"Yep scares the crap out of tourists like you. Why do you ask?"
"The hay paddock looks to me like the remnants of the upheaval of an ancient glacial structure. I can't think of any other reason why that piece of relatively flat land should lie like that and be totally surrounded by quite rugged terrain."
"Don't bet on being right buddy," said Matt. "The valley floor is just below that ridge over there and that's probably the floor of your ancient glacier if there was such a thing."
"We're probably on the button about the valley being cut by a glacier Matt, and it is a fault line. But it would have been some thousands of years older than the one I'm suggesting has left an imprint through being tossed up on to your hillside by a massive earth movement."
"You're serious about this, aren't you?"
Lee touched the front of his borrowed Stetson with a finger, including his head a little. Matt interpreted that as a cowboy's salute.
"Jeeze," he said. "I'm not going to tell anyone about what you've just told me. If I quoted you I'd be locked away in a mental institution."
"Well, if they do lock you up, see if you can borrow books on geology to get yourself released," smiled Lee.
"Touché I think that's the right response. You've got me in pretty deep here. Shall we talk something that I know about? The science of barroom arm wrestling could be a good start?"
"As I was going to say when advising you to keep the river flats, I want you to get soil tests done on your hay field or paddock as you guys say. When you get the results send a copy to me, and I'll send you back a report from my guys. I've got a hunch about the look of that land and the way it lies. I think what you have there are seventeen acres that have the look of a potential gold mine either for intensive cropping or fruit growing or perhaps grapes. But this is only a hunch, right now. I need the results of soil testing and to have more information about annual weather patterns and water supply."
Matt had a useful thought.
"My farm manager Dick comes up here almost every day and has done so for at least twelve years and I know he keeps quite a detailed farm diary. He's always been nervous about rainfall on the hay paddock because it can get pretty dry up here from late spring onwards. By autumn these hills are as dry as a bone."
"Excellent get Dick to write out full details of weather patterns that he's noted on the 17-acre block, including extremes in snowfalls, wind velocity and temperatures. Tell him why we want this information as that will motivate him to be thorough."
They rode on down, Matt looking back involuntary, knowing that the distant hayfield would be obscured by a ridge. He'd never thought of growing anything else on the big paddock other than hay. He wondered about buying more riverside land.
As they drove back to join the women, Lee casually remarked, "By the way, I told Di not to mention the name Elizabeth, or any hint of her. She understood the request."
"That was good thinking, Lee. I had a wild thought that after I left Wellington for home you may have had a nocturnal visit from that very woman."
"I did and we had a couple of drinks. I could tell she was after something more but I was exhausted, and was thinking that I ought to show some loyalty to Di."
Matt grinned. "Would loyalty have been on your mind had Di not have humped you dry?"
"My friend, I cannot comment on that concept in fear of incriminating myself."
Several hours later Courtney and Matt waved goodbye to their visitors whose charter aircraft took off right on schedule at 8:00 to take off before darkness as the local strip was not equipped for night flying.
"I really like Di, Matt but she was a little too much full on for your mother. Is Lee married?"
"Glad you enjoyed her company. As to your sneaky question, I cannot comment on that in fear of incriminating Lee."
"If my question was sneaky, then that's a slippery reply Matt. I was just testing. Of course he's married. I noticed as soon as we met this morning he was wearing a wedding ring. If that wasn't enough, Di told me he was married to a most difficult woman."
"Oh," said Matt, staring straight ahead as he drove.
"Matt," asked Courtney, placing her head against his shoulder, "Am I difficult?"
Wily by nature and forced to be careful because of his adulterous activity, Matt answered easily, "You are far too lovely and sweet to be difficult, my true love."
"Now you're been a real smoothie. But I like it. Tell me more."
* * *
Shortly before Patricia's birthday, she found Courtney in the glassed-in back porch that everyone now called Courtney's studio. Courtney was working on a painting of a girl on a horse riding at full speed into a ford across a river. It looked nearly finished.
A photo of a woman on a big horse was clipped to the easel. Taking a closer look at the photo Patricia could see that the figure in the painting was not a self-portrait, in fact it looked very much like her but in Courtney's style there was not enough detail for her to be certain.
"That's lovely. Who are they?"
"They're impressions I see in my mind, though the horse is my beloved Boris. That's the only photo I have of us."
"And the rider?"
"Nobody really."
"Nobody?"
Courtney looked embarrassed. "Well actually it's you, at least my impression of you when you were a young girl."
Intrigued, Patricia stepped right up to take a closer look. It was flattering of Courtney to image she could have looked a thing of beauty like that in her late teens.
"I want that," said Patricia abruptly. "I'll pay two hundred dollars, it's really good."
Courtney looked startled. "I'm sorry, truly sorry but it's not for sale."
"Why not."
Courtney looked embarrassed, and said, "Because Reece asked me to paint you something for your birthday. This is it. He tipped his money box over and asked me how much was there. I counted almost $10. He said, "Take it mum, go and get started. I took $2 to allow him to feel that he'd paid for your painting himself. You weren't suppose to see it until Saturday."
"Oh you two darlings," Patricia gushed, moving forward to hug her. "I've got the best daughter-in-law and grandson that anyone could have. I won't tell him that I have seen it."
* * *
In the spring of 1971 Matt rode up alone to the hay paddocks where the owner of a 33,000-acre neighbouring sheep station, Sam Ranger, has arranged to meet him.
"I've got something on my mind and need to talk for you," said Sam with a distinctive gravely voice.
Sam was some thirty years older than Matt and periodically blew his top over boundary fences, alleging that Curtis cattle were to blame for broken lengths of fencing.
"The posts have rotted, they need renewing," Matt would counter.
"Your cattle are the culprits, your responsibility."
"I don't want to row with you Sam. Should we call in an arbitrator?"
The idea of being asked to pay half the fees of some clown from the town to tell Sam what he already knew, that the posts were rotten, would end the discussion. Sam was frugal, and he wasn't going to start to pay people to tell him how to run his business.
"See you, Matt, you hard-ass bastard," he would say, terminating the conversation without any sign of malice.
Matt would stand there frowning, looking at the phone and wondering why Sam had called in the first place. Perhaps he was lonely?
On this occasion Sam said, "I need to see you. It's important."
Matt was not bothered about the possibility of wasting his time because he planned to ride on and see if his men had renewed the posts in the section of boundary fence that Sam had been going on about for the past two years.
Arriving at a simple solution, Matt had driven over to Sam's stack of new posts one Friday morning when he knew that Sam and Edith Ranger would have gone to town. Friday in town was called 'Farmers Day' because farming folk converged there on that day to buy provisions, farm supplies and to yarn with other farming people.
Forty posts had been taken without Sam's permission and Matt's contribution was to bear the cost of labour to clear the old fencing away and erected its replacement.
He'd told Courtney about it and she'd looked startled. "It's what we would have agreed to do, anyway," Matt said, hanging his battered hat behind the kitchen door.
"But Matt, you could go to jail for doing that. You've trespassed on to his property and illegally removed his property."
"Nah wrong," countered Matt. "We farmers hop across each other's property all the time. It's customary and it is only trespassing if you have been warned to keep out. And it certainly wasn't stealing. The posts are being rammed in on the boundary of his property. If he wants them back, he's free to dig them out but I can't image him doing that and having his half-starved sheep racing into our better grassed property for me to phone him up complaining and threatening to shoot them. No jury in the land would convict me, at least no jury made up of a majority of farmers which is what we get in this district."
Courtney shook her head, wondering if he's got his bush lawyer logic from his father.
Sam was leaning against a fence post rolling a cigarette when Matt rode up and let his horse wander off to graze alongside Sam's bay mare. The horses greeted each other more civilly than the exchange between the two men who simply exchanged nods.
"See your men are working on the boundary where your cattle have knocked down the fencing."
"Yeah. Hope you took a good look and saw the rotted posts they've removed."
"I saw one of two were affected slightly."
"Should have put your glasses on," Matt sniggered.
"Don't need 'em, expect to read the phone book. Where did the posts come from?"
"Oh round and about."
"I thought so your cheeky bastard. Fancy having you for a bloody neighbour."
"And similar sentiments to you, my friend," grinned Matt. "Now may I go?"
"No, no. I've got a proposition to put to you. Read this."
He thrust out a sheet of paper torn out of a school exercise book.
Matt took the page from the nicotine-stained fingers, looked up and the sun, and checked on the horses.
"Aren't you going to read it, then? Or do you want to borrow my glasses." Sam chortled at his own wit while Matt's face remained expressionless.
Sam let Matt read the figures and notations for a couple of minutes. "What-yah think?"
Matt took his time, knowing that Sam's anxiety level would be climbing rapidly. He looked to check the horses again and then pointed to some grew clouds creeping over distant peaks. "Rain?"
Sam looked as if he were about to explode.
So Matt slowly folded the paper and put it into a pocket in his vest. He turned and whistled and his horse slowly wandered back to him, pretending to eat more grass as it came. Sam's mare followed.
Tightening the girth strap and climbing up on to his gelding, Matt looked down to Sam and said, "Give you a ring tomorrow."
Looking pleased, Sam nodded a farewell and carefully extinguished his cigarette butt on the top of the fence post. He rode home whistling whereas Matt rode down the valley in deep thought.
The next evening the three members of the Curtis family and Sam and Edith Ranger met at the Riverside Café, arriving at the same time.
Vikki greeted Courtney warmly and when she went to kiss her Courtney stiffened, and immediately wished she hadn't done so.
Vikki thought, "She knows, but how?" She glanced at Matt but knew he would not be the type to confess adultery.
Matt was introducing the Rangers to their waitress for the evening, Muriel Jones.
Courtney learned nothing when Matt and Vikki had greeted each other, Matt kissing her as if he'd been greeting a second cousin and Vikki keeping her hands to her side.
Vikki met Courtney's unblinking gaze with a faint smile, thinking that there goes what could have been a wonderful and enduring friendship. Vikki excused herself and moved off to greet other arrivals.
The café was crowded, thanks to Matt's suggestion that a page of home-style dishes should be added to the menu. It had worked. He also believed that some new patrons had come hoping to be in the middle of another cat-fight.
Glasses perched on his nose, Sam tried to fathom the menu. "I can't figure it out."
Courtney was helpful. "Some of those are French dishes," she explained, and translated them fully, supplementing the brief written description.
"Don't think I could eat any of that stuff," Sam said, looking at the doorway.
Edith also looked disappointed, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders as if getting ready to leave.
"We're red meat people when we eat out," Sam explained.
"Don't worry, my old-fashion neighbour," said Matt cordially. "Turn the page and you'll find ye olde cuisine of Miranda, for example, bacon, sausages, eggs with chips or optional mashed spuds or perhaps a slab of thick steak with or without garlic, onions, mushrooms, mashed spuds and peas and even venison."
Edith and Sam looked ever so grateful as if Matt had just thrown them a lifeline.
Vikki arrived with a bottle of complimentary sparkling wine and glasses and took their orders.
Matt was his usual self. "I'll try this new dish," he said, pointing to Baechaoffe. Hearing that it would arrive in a pottery dish Edith wished she'd made that same choice.
Delicately sipping her wine, Courtney put down her glass. While everyone else at the table waited impatiently for her to get on with it, she re-read the menu and ordered in fluent French. Everyone was impressed but Vikki, who offered alternative sauces also equally fluent in French.
"I'd knew you'd lived in France for a while, but didn't know you spoke the language," Matt said, looking at Courtney in surprise
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me yet, my darling. I can converse quite well in Spanish, Italian and German but there's no opportunity to do so in this community."
That moment of enlightenment was broken by Sam. "Can you teach us to swear in those languages Courtney?"
Vikki rolled up her eyes as she collected the menus, the reaction noticed only by Courtney, who smiled. The woman did have some class, she thought, and a good sense of humour. Perhaps she ought to develop an arm's length relationship as Vikki could be someone worth conversing with in this culturally barren part of the country. Yes indeed, she thought, as Sam called out loudly, "Waitress, can you pour tomato sauce over my steak."
It was Muriel's turn to roll her eyes in despair.
Over coffees and liqueurs, Edith said to her husband: "We'll have to come here more often, I rather like the atmosphere and the food is wholesome."
"Well Matt," said Sam expansively, rubbing his hands together. "Are you going to accept?"
Their host dug inside his jacket and pulled out a small folded piece of paper that was the back of one of last year's Christmas cards.
Sam snatched it from Matt's hand. His eyes bulged as he read the short piece of writing on the card. Without speaking, he pushed the note across the table to Edith.
She gasped, and managed to say, "My."
Leaning back on his chair, Matt was studying the ceiling and noted two flies were preparing for take-off. Not a great sight to see in an eating establishment, he thought.
"Bloody hell Matt," fumed Sam. "I gave you a price for you property which is 10% above valuation. You now reject it and smart-ass me by giving me this bogus offer for my property. You've wasted our time by inviting us here tonight."
"I'm not into making false offers Samuel. My offer is good and, incidentally, it's 10% above valuation as I guessed that you, being a miserable bastard, wouldn't accept anything less. "Am I right?"
Pushed into a corner, Sam stalled for time.
He drained his brandy glass and motioned to the barman to bring him a refill. He knew he didn't have to make a decision right then. But Edith butted in.
"Sam, don't be hasty by rejecting the offer out of pique. It's a great offer; we can repay our mortgage and have heaps of money over. You know I have always dreamed about seeing Buckingham Palace and visiting the great homes and gardens of Britain. Your two greatest wishes are to go gambling in Monte Carlo and to watch a baseball game at the Yankee Stadium. Say yes Sam!"
Slumping into his chair like a beaten man, Sam wondered what the word pique meant. What a strange word to use. He then thought about his dogs. He'd have to leave them. And his horses. And leave behind the hills he loved so dearly.
They were all looking at him.
"I think it's a miserable offer."
"Sam!"
"All right, all right, Edith. Don't get your knickers twisted. Matt tentatively yes, but I'll need to discuss your offer tomorrow with Ray my lawyer. Perhaps we'll be shaking hands by tomorrow night."
"Fair enough," replied Matt. "Hope the rain comes tonight. Edith, I think you look like you need more sparking wine." Looking slyly at Courtney Matt turned and called to the barman, "Garcon!"
After taking possession of the Sam's very large Golden Hills Station later that year, Matt worked long and hard with his men integrating the two properties and fine-tuning practices to improve to increase productivity.
The purchase of the Ranger property had quadrupled the size of his land holdings. He would have preferred to convert the whole lot into a cattle station. But sheep or deer were the only choice in high country where conditions became very severe at times; cold, snow and ice in winter and extremely hot dry summers with drought conditions sometimes extending throughout autumn.
At the time of the Ranger property purchase there had been no significant horticulture development in the valley. Then it occurred in pockets and then began to take off. In just one month Matt had two real estate agents asking if his river terraces were for sale.
