IV
Valerie watched him as he rode towards her. He rode as all Australians do, as if he had been born in the saddle. The horses recognized each other. His was black, lined like a racer, and a more nervous animal than hers.
“Where did you get him?” she asked.
“From Benton.”
“Oh. That’s where I got mine.”
He gave one look at her and one at the beach ahead. “Let’s go it,” he said.
They started on a canter and broke into a gallop. She hung down on her bay’s neck like a jockey urging it to keep up with the black which kept shooting ahead. The surf was a blurred gray line beside them as they raced on, letting the animals run themselves out, and when they slowed down panting and foaming, the last bit of lemon light had faded off the cool sea.
Valerie had lost her hair strings and her plaits were half undone. She picked her tumbled hair out of her eyes and both she and Dane searched hurriedly for their handkerchiefs, and tried to recover their natural breathing. It took them some time to bring their excited beasts back to the tame pace of a walk.
“That outpaced the goblins, I think,” he said, smiling at her.
“Were they very bad goblins?” She put the sweet sympathy of a child into her tone.
“Rather. But what do you know about goblins?”
“What do I know about them? Well, I like that! I’ve goblins of my own. Haven’t I a right to them?”
“Of course, if you insist on having them. But yours, I should imagine, are rather jolly.”
