Yet there was no doubt that David’s attitude to her had changed dramatically since that fateful morning nearly a week ago. Given time, perhaps, anything was possible.
To David’s credit, he was affability itself when Mr Featherstone came to greet them. David explained they were interested in acquiring a horse, at this stage they were interested in Clydesdales, and Mr Featherstone led them down to the yards to show them his stallions and mares.
Caitlin had always thought Clydesdales were magnificent horses, certainly the most handsome of the draught breeds. They were descended from the great war horses that heavily armoured knights had ridden into battle. For centuries this tallest and heaviest and strongest group of horses had supplied the power for jobs that tractors and trucks did today, pulling ploughs, hauling freight, drawing carriages. They were still used on farms and for show purposes where modern technology was eschewed.
On Farm Day, at the Royal Easter Show in Sydney, where her father had always shown his Galloways, Caitlin had loved the grand parade, invariably led by a splendid team of Clydesdales pulling a huge wagon. Great skill and horsemanship were demanded to drive a top team of twelve. It was a disappearing art form.
Caitlin had never been close to them before, nowhere near as close as she was today. They were big horses, dauntingly big, fascinatingly big.
‘That’s Danny Boy,’ Mr Featherstone pointed out with pride. ‘He’s got a big future. Only two years old and Supreme Champion at the last show.’
He was beautiful. A bay with a white patch on his stomac
h. He stood a majestic seventeen and a half hands high, going on eighteen, Caitlin estimated. He would continue to grow for another three years. He was as solid as the earth he stood on. Proud, majestic. A royal blood line. Above all else was the sheer power of the animal, for centuries harnessed to the well-being and advancement of civilisation.
The flowing white hair below the knee and the hock—feathers they were called—gave him such a smart appearance. Caitlin fell in love with him at first sight.
Mr Featherstone led on towards a yard which held some roans. Caitlin did not follow. David stayed beside her.
‘Best piece of equine engineering I’ve seen,’ David commented admiringly, nodding towards Danny Boy. ‘From a scientific viewpoint, if you multiply the sine of the angle by the power co-efficient, the proportions of mass to...’
‘He’s perfect!’ Caitlin breathed.
‘What on earth for?’ David could not have been more surprised.
Caitlin walked up to Danny Boy, and started to stroke his muzzle. He was docile to her touch. ‘He suits me,’ she said.
‘What are you going to do with him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Would you ride him?’
Caitlin ran her eye over his girth, the strength of his hind-quarters, along his back. She shook her head. ‘No way. I don’t like heights.’
Mr Featherstone came back to collect them. ‘Danny Boy’s not for sale,’ he informed them.
‘Is that so?’ said David.
‘That’s so,’ said the Clydesdale man, as sturdy as his horses.
‘Well, let me see if I can change your mind,’ David mused purposefully, warming to the task in hand.
A tingle ran down Caitlin’s spine. David never knew when to let go once he set his mind on something. He probably didn’t understand how owners felt about champion horses. Caitlin did. Her father would never sell Pride of Scotland, his champion Galloway stallion. Not, at least, without the purchaser paying in blood through every pore.
‘He said he didn’t want to sell,’ Caitlin reminded David. She didn’t want to be involved in any kind of scene. On the other hand, she couldn’t help but feel the wellsprings of disappointment.
The next half-hour was a flurry of bid, counterbid, demurral, change of mind, change of heart, and overriding everything else was David’s insistence that Caitlin should have what she wanted.
It got down to Danny Boy’s love-life, who he was to be mated with and why. Caitlin switched off. Genetic breeding was all very well, but she knew what she would do. She would put Danny Boy in a huge paddock and let him choose for himself. Nature had a good track record in looking after these things without any interference by humans.
At last the sale was made. When they climbed back into the Ferrari, David was full of elation. ‘I got what you wanted, Caitlin,’ he said, ‘and only paid three times as much as I should have had to.’
It didn’t seem to bother him at all. Was he so desperate to get back into her bed that he thought this had to be a winning stroke?
‘I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life,’ Caitlin said quite truthfully. ‘You were dreadful, David. Absolutely dreadful.’
‘What was I dreadful about?’