Hardhills was as we’d left it: cold, damp, three utes and a dog outside the pub. On the way, Harry said, ‘Fill you in, Jack, next Saturday’s the day. Caulfield, race four. Two thousand four hundred. Bit short for the bloke’s breeding but it’ll do. Next point. We’re puttin a girl on him.’
‘I thought it was going to be Mick Sayre,’ I said.
Harry popped a Smartie. ‘Turns out Mickey’s a bit of a worry,’ he said. ‘Cam here was talkin to a clocker, fella who knows a few things. Says Mickey put a whole Greek syndicate on a plunge up in Sydney. On the day the stable got such a fright when they saw the odds go to buggery, they told Mick, bugger this, we’re not goin on at four to one, we’ll do it another day. Trouble was, Mickey’s more frightened of the Greeks than the stable. Wins three lengths clear. Next start, two to one favourite. Greeks love Mick but he doesn’t ride for that stable any more.’
‘Who’s the girl?’
Harry turned and gave me a wink. ‘You might’ve seen her. Nicest little bum on the turf.’
‘That’s her qualification?’
Harry smiled. ‘Nancy Farmer. Rides for her dad. Harold. Two city wins. Mostly she rides the cattle out in the bush. Cam’s happy. Wanted a girl from the start.’
‘Why’s that?’
Cam was driving the big BMW. He took it around a speeding semi with a smooth change-down and a burst of power before he gave me a glance. ‘There’s two reasons,’ he said. ‘One, women can keep their mouths shut. They don’t get on the phone, go down the pub, do all their mates a favour. Reason two, a little girl’s been looking after this bloke fulltime for a year. They’re in love. Her and her brother’s all that’s ridden him. You don’t want to put some cocky bastard on him, hard hands, knows it all, thinks he can thrash him home.’
‘I’m convinced,’ I said. ‘What about her bum?’
‘Bum?’ Cam said. ‘Since when do jockeys have bums?’
We parked in the same place as before. Cam got out to have a smoke. Harry put his seat back.
‘She’ll be along in a minute,’ he said.
‘The jockey?’
‘Staying at Ericson’s till the race. I want her to get to know this Dakota Dreamin.’
An old Land Rover pulled up next to us. A woman in her early twenties got out, moleskins, checked shirt, short hair, windburnt face: lean as string. Cam went over. They shook hands, said a few words.
Cam came back and got in, drove off. She followed us around and over the low hills and parked next to us at Ericson’s. She was out quickly, waiting, hands in flap pockets.
It was just as cold as the time before. Cam said, ‘This is Mr Strang and Mr Irish, Mr Strang’s lawyer.’ We shook hands. She was good-looking, big mouth, no make-up, a hint of wariness in the eyes.
‘You’re on time. That’s good,’ said Harry.
Tony Ericson came up the gravel path from the stables. More handshakes.
‘Use your kitchen table, Tony?’ Harry said. ‘Bit of talkin to do.’
Ericson led us inside the house and down a passage to a big, warm kitchen with an old Aga stove. We sat down at the table. Harry was at the top. Nancy Farmer was opposite me. She put her elbows on the table and laced her fingers. She had big wrists and strong hands like Harry’s.
‘Nancy,’ said Harry. ‘Mr Delray told you he wanted you to ride a bit of track on this Dakota Dreamin before Saturday.’
She said, ‘That’s right.’
Harry said, ‘This horse is goin to win.’
She kept looking at him, no expression.
‘It’s goin to win,’ Harry said, ‘because it’s the best horse in the race. There’s nothin else happenin.’
Nancy nodded. A little tension went out of her shoulders. ‘Why me?’ she asked.
‘Like your style, good hands, got a bit extra out of that Home Boy in the spring.’
‘Didn’t get me any more races in town,’ she said.
Harry smiled. ‘This’ll be the makin of you. Tony, tell Nancy about this bloke.’
Tony Ericson didn’t do much public speaking but he got through it. At the end, he said, ‘He goes down the beach every day. Me girl rides him in the water, on the sand. Four days he does a bit of track, not too much. Not the way the others do it, but he’s rock-hard now. Just right.’
Nancy said, ‘You trialled him at the distance?’
Tony shook his head. ‘No. He’s bred for the two miles but he’ll run a strong race at anything over two thou.’
She looked around the table. ‘I’ll do my best.’
Harry said, ‘You’ll understand if I say you can’t make any phone calls without Mr Ericson’s with you? You got a mobile with you?’
She shook her head. ‘Is this big?’ she asked.
Harry nodded. ‘Big enough.’
The tip of her tongue came out and moistened her lower lip. ‘I don’t have any calls to make,’ she said.
‘Good,’ said Harry. ‘There’s a thousand for the week’s work here. You want to talk about the race fee?’
Nancy looked at him, unsmiling. ‘It’s laid down.’ She paused. ‘Excuse me, are you the Harry Strang…?’
‘Things go right,’ Harry said slowly, ‘Mr Ericson here is a generous owner.’ He patted the table with both hands. ‘Well, business over. Let’s have a look at the bloke.’
At Dakota’s stable, a small girl in overalls was waiting, stroking the horse’s nose. She had short red hair and freckles.
‘This is me girl Denny,’ Ericson said. ‘Slim’s sort of her horse.’
Nancy shook hands with Denny. ‘Pleased to meet you, boss,’ she said. ‘Now that’s what I call grooming. You want to bring him out?’
The girl blushed with pleasure.
Dakota came out calmly, gleaming like a horse in a painting. Denny handled him as if he were a big labrador. He was saddled and bridled inside a minute. We walked behind Nancy, Denny and the horse to the track. Dakota had his head down, his neck extended. He looked as if he were deep in thought, a horse at peace with himself and his surroundings.
‘Walks like a stayer,’ Harry said. ‘You can always tell.’
At the track, Nancy adjusted the stirrups, swung up effortlessly.
‘Have a little muck about, get the feel of him,’ said Tony Ericson.
We watched for fifteen minutes while she took him up and down the track, trot, canter, short gallop, bit of walking around. When she came back to us, she said, ‘Nice horse, likes to run,’ rubbing his jaw. She got off and gave the reins to Denny.
‘Walk with me,’ Harry said. They hung back. When I looked around, they had their heads together, Harry talking with his hands. At the top of the gravel path, they caught up.
‘Friday, I’ll be back, talk some tactics, look at some movies,’ Harry said.
On the way home, Harry said to Cam, ‘Girl can ride. Strong, too. You got a feelin?’
Cam flicked a glance at him. ‘You know what Oscar Wilde said? Only one thing makes more of a fool of a man than a woman. And that’s a horse.’
Harry said, reflectively, ‘That so? Didn’t know old Oscar rode horses. Knew he rode everythin else.’
The sun came out as we drove over the Westgate Bridge. Off to the left, far off in the distance, I could see the observation platform at Yarra Cove. They had put three flags on it now. Big flags.