Free The Coral Tree by Joyce Dingwell

quickly, estimate the situation, jump to his feet an d leap into his own saddle and streak after her on his larger, faster mare. By this time she was only concerned with her own inability, after twelve months ’ absence, to deal with the chestnut. She was only aware of the chestnut ’ s wicked knowledge that she had lost her touch.
    “Pull in,” called a voice sharply. Through her agitation it came to Cary that she had heard that voice before. Someone from Sunset, she wondered vaguely, someone she had known? And yet she had known so few in Sunset. There had not been any opportunity, any chance.
    “Pull in, you utter oaf!” The voice was dominant now.
    “I can ’ t. There were tears in her admission not caused entirely by her precarious situation. It was unpleasant to be shouted down as an utter oaf.
    “Then hold tight,” resumed the voice, “I ’ m coming.”
    She had scarcely time to obey when he reached her. She saw a lean hand shoot out for her rein. There were a few nightmarish seconds while Toby was on his hind legs and she felt herself slipping. Then, just as her feet cleared the stirrups, she was whipped out of the saddle, deposited in front of the rider until they cleared the rearing Toby, then dropped, none too gently, to the ground.
    She stood there badly shaken, unreasonably angry, wondering whether to thank or abuse him, wondering whether h e would speak first and apologize for what he had said.
    He was galloping after Toby now, and the chestnut, at length subdued, was submitting to being led back. As he came closer Cary put any idea of receiving an apology from him right out of her mind. He would never apologize, whether right or wrong, she thought blankly. He was not the type to regret his words, either here—or in Mungen at the foot of the Horn at Lannwild Mountain.
    He was not that sort of man.
    “So,” said Richard Stormer.
    He still held Toby, but he had released his own horse, who was quietly cropping. “So we meet again, and in similar circumstances.”
    Cary was more controlled now. Brightly, too brightly, she returned: “I wouldn ’ t say that. Europe is a long way from Australia.”
    “I said circumstances, not location. If you recall, madam, there also you were determined to ride me down.”
    “And was censured for so doing,” nodded Cary. “One thing, here there is no one to whom to report.”
    “No?” His eyebrows had shot up. She remembered this habit of his as they had sat over a bottle of Spiezer and a tankard of ski-water in the lounge of the Palace.
    “What about your host?” he reminded coolly. “He might not take such a generous view of a guest ’ s misuse of one of his horses.” Evidently he had taken it for granted that Cary was visiting one of the properties that finished in this no man ’ s land. She saw no reason why she should enlighten him.
    “I was not misusing Toby,” she said.
    “You were not riding him in a proper manner.”
    “It was your fault. The chestnut got a scare. He never expected to find you there.”
    “Nor did you, I dare suggest.” The tone was a drawl.
    Cary did not answer his question. Instead, she retaliated: “Perhaps I could remark the same about you. Did you expect me?” He was rolling a cigarette. “You don ’ t smoke, I seem to recall. No, madam, you ’ re wrong about my not expecting to find you here, for never once have you even remotely intruded into my thoughts.”
    “You haven ’ t in mine.” She flung it back spitefully, and knew that it sounded childishly tit for tat. It sounded an echo because she could find nothing of her own to retort.
    “I suppose now you will make a banal remark about the world being small and fancy meeting you here,” he said, handing her Toby ’ s reins and reaching for his own lead.
    She did not answer; she could not trust herself even to look up. “To satisfy your curiosity, I must inform you that it ’ s no wild coincidence, but merely a cog in the wheel of time, another turn of