‘How is he, Scotty?’ she asked and then corrected herself. ‘Sorry, Scott.’

‘You can still call me Scotty if you like,’ her brother conceded. ‘In private.’

‘In front of William’s not private.’

‘No, but he’s okay.’

That was a huge concession, Meg thought. There’d been a few guys in her past-of course there had-but Scott had bristled at all of them. He’s okay. Huge.

‘Just because he bought you bits of cars…’ she managed, feeling choked up.

‘No, he really is okay. Is Grandma asleep?’

‘Almost,’ she said and here was a way to let him off the hook without injuring any more of that fragile manly ego. ‘She wants to say goodnight to you. Do you reckon you could stay with her while we milk? I’m still a bit worried about her.’

‘Sure,’ Scott said and slid off the fence and again she had to haul herself back from rushing forward to help. ‘Watch William with those cups, though. Four teats, four cups. It’s taking him a bit of time to figure it out.’

‘Hey!’ William said, sounding wounded, and Meg laughed and watched her little brother retreat and thought this was as good as it got.

But it was so fleeting. Tomorrow or the next day, William would be gone.

It was okay. This was the right thing to do. She had no choice but to resign. A PA, hopelessly devoted to her boss? That was pathetic and she knew it.

She glanced at him and thought, dumb or not, she was hopelessly devoted. She had no choice but to get as far from William as possible.

‘He’s a great kid,’ William said and she flushed and started milking and didn’t answer.

‘You don’t agree?’ he asked after she’d cupped her first cow.

‘Of course I agree.’

‘But you’re not talking.’

‘It’s been a big day.’

‘But it’s normal again now,’ he said gently. ‘Though it’s a shame you felt the need to change. I liked your dress.’

‘I’ll wear it again tomorrow.’ She gathered her emotions and told them firmly to behave. Two days max and he’d be gone. ‘Tell me about Pip and Ned. Do you have Christmas gifts for them?’

‘I do.’

‘What?’

‘Bubble guns,’ he said. ‘Battery powered. Ten bubbles a second and they’re seriously big.’

‘You sound like you tried them out.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’

Whoa… The thought of W S McMaster with a bubble gun… ‘Whereabouts did you try them out?’

‘On my balcony. I sent bubbles over Central Park.’

She giggled. Then she remembered he was going home and she stopped giggling.

‘Meg?’ he said softly from behind a cow.

‘Yes?’

‘Reconsider.’

‘Quitting?’

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Not negotiable,’ she said. ‘Being your assistant means being aloof.’

‘You were never aloof.’

‘I was aloof in my head.’

‘And you’re not now?’

‘No,’ she said shortly. ‘Can we keep on milking?’

‘Of course we can. As long as you keep on thinking about reconsidering.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Don’t think can’t. Think of all the reasons why you just might can.’

‘That’s a crazy thing to say.’

‘Resigning’s a crazy thing to think.’


Only of course she was right and it was non-negotiable. They both knew it.

They finished milking, they cleaned the yard, they worked in tandem and mostly they worked in silence. Then they headed inside and ate the last of the trifle and bread and ham in that order because Letty and Scott were both deeply asleep and it didn’t seem to matter what order they ate in.

William thought back to Christmas Eve meals he’d had as a child. Christmas had been an excuse for socializing, which meant huge parties of very drunk people. Because it was Christmas his parents had insisted he be part of it. At Christmas they had to pretend to be a family.

Here…for the past two days they’d lived on Letty’s vast trifle and chunks of the huge Christmas ham and fresh bread and butter, eating as they felt like it, and it had felt… okay. Sensible. Delicious, even. But not…right?

The world seemed out of kilter somehow, William thought as he washed the dinner dishes and Meg wiped beside him. It felt so domestic, and domestic was something he’d never felt. Doing the washing-up with his PA was weird. All of today had been weird.

He’d lost his PA.

He’d lost Meg.

‘We have the Internet back on,’ Meg said as she put away the last plate. ‘There’s a phone connection in the attic-I use the attic as an office when it’s not a spare bedroom-so you can catch up on the outside world before you go to sleep.’

‘And you?’

‘I’m checking on Millicent and then I’m going to bed. Christmas or not, it’s still a five a.m. start. Goodnight, William.’

‘Do you want help with Millicent?’

‘She’s not looking much different to this morning. I doubt if anything’s happening tonight. Goodnight,’ she said again, and she took the torch and headed out through the back door. The day was ended.

He’d check the Internet. He’d see what was happening with air traffic. He hadn’t even checked today; maybe it was resolved.

Maybe he could leave.

Meg had already left.


Maybe things were happening tonight. She’d started again. Millicent was back to being uncomfortable, or more than uncomfortable, Meg thought. Her tail was constantly high, her back was arched and her eyes told Meg that she was in pain.

‘Hey, it’s okay,’ Meg told her, fondling her behind the ears, scratching her, letting her rub her big head against her chest. This cow had been raised as a pet. She was a big sook and Letty loved her.

A normal dairy farmer would go to bed now, set the alarm and check her in a couple of hours. But, when she stepped back, Millicent’s eyes widened in fear. Meg sighed and went back to the house and fetched a folding chair, a lantern, a book and a rug.

‘Happy Christmas,’ she told Millicent as she settled down to wait. ‘You and me and hopefully a baby for Christmas. We should do this in a manger. Or, at the very least, at the bottom of the haystack.’

But Millicent wasn’t going anywhere. Trying to move her now would only add to her distress and the night was warm enough.

‘Who needs a manger, anyway?’ Meg muttered and glanced upward to where a thousand stars glittered in the clear night sky. ‘This is where babies should be born. So get on with it.’

Millicent rolled her eyes.

‘I know, sweetheart, it’s hard,’ Meg said. ‘Or I don’t actually know. I’ve heard it’s hard. You should have its daddy holding your hoof.’

She was being ridiculous.

She was thinking of William. The book she’d brought out to read was a romance. She and William. Having a baby. William coaching her through…

‘Well, pigs might fly,’ she muttered and tossed her romance aside and snuggled under her blanket. ‘We’re two single ladies, Millicent, and we need to get on with it together. You do your bit and I’ll do mine.’


There’d been a last minute offer to the air traffic controllers. The union officials had deemed it worth considering and had sent out urgent contact to its members. Because this was Christmas they’d vote online. If enough members voted by midnight, planes could start flying as soon as tomorrow morning.

Great. He might get home almost by Christmas, he thought. He’d gain a day flying from Australia to the States. If he left on Christmas Day, then he’d arrive on Christmas Day.

He could give Ned and Pip their gifts. He could see them again; take them out to dinner, maybe. Leaving Meg?

She was his employee. His ex-employee. So what was the problem leaving her?

No problem at all.

He intended to help with milking at five. He needed to go to sleep.

He lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and thought of…

Meg.

He thought of Meg for a long time. He tried to think of anything but Meg but she was superimposed, like a veil through which he saw everything else.

Or maybe…maybe everything in his life was a veil and Meg was behind. The only substantial thing.

What sort of crazy thinking was this? Where was the logic? Furious with himself, he threw off his covers and paced over to the attic window.

Two o’clock. The stars were amazing.

There was a light in the paddock beside the dairy. A faint light from a lantern. Someone was beside it.

Millicent? Was she calving?

Meg would be down there, making sure things were okay.

What business was it of his? He didn’t know the first thing about birthing calves. He’d be no help at all.

But, now he knew she was there, doing nothing was impossible. He’d help if he could, he thought grimly, and then he’d leave.

He tugged on his overalls and headed downstairs.

What sort of life was this? Meg had been awake since five this morning. She’d be asleep on her feet, he thought as he made his way across the yard towards the lantern, but then he thought of all the times he’d demanded she stay up late, that she be awake for an early flight, that she continue until the work was done.

That was different. She was Miss Jardine then. He paid her to work when he worked.

He had three PAs. He thought of them now, and thought how hard did he work them? They never complained.

He paid them not to complain.

But, for the first time, he felt a niggle of guilt. He treated his employees fairly; he made it clear at the outset what he expected and he paid well. He had a loyal and long-serving staff because of it. But his demand that they stay impersonal…

His PAs told him what he needed to know about his staff. But his PAs themselves… Miss Darling, Mrs Abraham, Miss O’Connell? He’d have to look up their staff profiles to find out what their family background was.

What was happening to him? His staff were turning into people. And you got attached to people. Do not get attached to people you pay.