Falls Chance part 15a

There were heavy, thick clouds blown along the horizon like misshapen
ships, grey against the distant mountains. And the horses ran on the
pastures below, hooves thundering on the turf, and on the high
boulders of the falls a man with thick chestnut hair spread his arms
like a swan and dived, falling forever towards the pool below where
the water crashed against the rocks. Two men, barely more than boys,
huddled shoulder to shoulder in the hay in a barn by the flickering
light of a lantern, and passed a thick ceramic bottle back and forth
between them, and wheels rattled and cranked on a stone trail,
echoing in an empty wood. And a man sat at a heavy oak admiral's desk
with the lamp dimmed, and worked while all around him others slept
peacefully and safely under his broad roof in the dark.



"Flynn? Are you awake?"


A wooden bed frame creaked. Dale stirred in the dark, aware of
someone passing very near to him and of blankets moving.



"Mhph. You've got cold feet."

"Move over."



"Can't sleep?"



"Dreaming." Riley's voice was already thickening with sleep as he
settled down. Dale turned over, hearing Flynn's grunt.



"'s a gale out there tonight, it sounds wild."

Riley didn't answer again, but the soft sound of their breathing was
steady and nearby, deeply reassuring. Dale lay in the shelter of it,
listening to the wind and the trees beyond the window, and sank back
into sleep with the man behind the desk softly turning pages in a
heavy ledger with a maroon binding, a silver and black fountain pen
in his hand.















Riley was wrapped around Flynn when Dale woke, and Flynn
lay with an arm around him, although his eyes were open. He gave Dale
a wry smile when he saw Dale watching and Dale felt himself flush in
response. The sight of Flynn bare chested and sprawled out was a far
too pleasant one to be caught gawping at like a teenager.



"That was a bit of a stormy night."

"I slept through most of it." Dale said honestly, flushing still
darker on a rush of acute embarrassment as he realised what Flynn
meant. "No thunder or lightening."



Both of which would have driven him straight out of bed, and Dale was
well aware that Flynn knew it; was just too kind to comment. What
kind of a man was afraid of thunderstorms? And who could have any use
for such a man?



Flynn stretched as Riley stirred and curled tighter against him like
a sleepy cat. It was like seeing Flynn pull Riley down into his lap
in the kitchen – ashamed and bitter, the very unselfconsciousness of
it, the gentleness of it cut through and warmed Dale, pulling his
mind away from his own failings and making it impossible not to
stare.



"Going to be creeks and the river to clear all day," Riley mumbled
into Flynn's side without opening his eyes. Flynn snorted.



"Don't even think about swimming."

"It's fun when it's running fast."

"I'm going up to check for cast sheep." Jasper said from the doorway,
leaning against the frame to finish buttoning his shirt. "Riley, come
up with me and we'll do the west creeks and the north river. Paul's
heading out to check on the foals."



"We'll get the south and east." Flynn gave a groaning Riley a push
out of bed and Dale slid to his feet, padding into his own room to
get his clothes. Ash appeared on the landing, blinking and sleepy in
a t shirt and shorts.



"Flynn? We heard the storm. Need us to do anything?"



"If you can check the buildings around the house and the stock in the
paddocks we'll be fine thanks." Flynn pulled jeans on, buttoning them
rapidly. "We won't stop for breakfast, but no reason you two can't
have a meal and some time to yourselves."

"Put a t shirt on under your shirt," Riley advised, pausing in Dale's
doorway as Dale finished dressing. "Layers. If you get one wet then
you'll have the other to put back on, we'll be in and out of the
river all day."

"Thanks." Dale took a t shirt from the dresser and began to pull his
shirt off, and Riley paused, watching him.


"…..are you ok? Still bothered about last night?"



Well that was as good an excuse for being miserable as any. Dale gave
him a reserved shrug, not looking up. "It's not a pleasant thought
that I'm seeing things. It's easy to say it's nothing-"

"Hey, we didn't laugh it off." Riley said apologetically, moving back
into the hallway as Dale came out and following him down the
stairs. "Really. It just is that we're used to Jas, and he is spooky,
he's seen all kinds of things on the land and we're used to it. To us
that's very different to sick, like you were when you first came."



"Take something to eat," Flynn ordered, looking up from the kitchen
counter where he was knocking back a mug of tea. Paul had obviously
thought of the issue of breakfast before he went out: the round rolls
that he baked himself were in a basket on the table along with sliced
cheese, fruit and cold sausages, and a large pot of tea. No matter
how early Paul got up, he seemed capable of pulling time out of thin
air to ensure the others ate, and ate what Paul would
call 'properly'. Riley broke a roll in half and stuffed it with
cheese and sausage, eating with one hand while he pulled his boots
on, and Dale jumped a little at his hand which fell with rough
comfort on the nape of his neck, squeezing.



"Don't let it worry you, you've probably never been out of an office
long enough to notice whether you're the kind of person that sees the
spooky stuff anyway – not too many ghosts in an office. Just the
spirit of photocopiers past."



He grabbed a hat, a jacket, and headed down the steps still eating.
Dale pulled riding boots on and Flynn tossed him one of the round
water bottles they all carried, paused at the table to split two
rolls, filling them generously with the sausage, and handed one
firmly to Dale.



"Let's go. We usually try to go out as soon as it's light after bad
weather, too many animals out in the open."



Riley and Jasper were still in sight, cantering up the north pasture
towards the tops as Flynn and Dale carried tack out to the corral.
The wind was dropping rapidly, the sky was starting to clear from
heavy grey to racing clouds, and the morning was beginning to warm a
little. Two of the three sheepdogs, Tam and Ash were gone; presumably
with Jasper and Riley. The third, Shane, who usually hung around to
go with Flynn if he could manage it, sat waiting at the corral gate
with his tongue out, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.



"When you've seen David," Flynn said abruptly, tugging at Leo's
girth. "Has he been telling you to do anything wrong or dangerous?
Anything that makes you uncomfortable?"



He'd obviously missed nothing of Riley's conversation and he sounded
every bit as calm about it as Riley had. Dale shook his head. "No.
The first two times he warned me back and pointed out the cougar –
the last time it was like he was waiting with me at the falls until
you came."



"So it felt safe."



Dale nodded slowly. As a matter of fact, while Dale was well aware
how stupid the thought was, it had felt almost protective.



Yeah right. Why would David give a damn about you?



Flynn yanked his stirrups down into place.



"When you were seeing the office scenes, how did they feel?"



Dale was already ahead of him, fastening Hammer's girth. "Yes, it was
different. I was bothered, I knew something was wrong, but-"

"Think about it." Flynn gave him a brief look over Leo's back. "We
dream in symbols. What were you telling yourself through those office
dreams?"



"That I needed to do something urgent." Dale said bleakly. "I knew
there was danger but I couldn't make anything happen to stop it. I
suppose that I knew the breakdown was serious and I had to get out."

"Ok." Flynn pulled himself up into the saddle and waited for Dale to
mount up. "So what could you be using an image of David to tell
yourself?"



Dale looked at him. Flynn didn't say any more, just leaned down to
close the corral gate behind them, latching it securely, and they
headed south, down into the home pastures, Shane running ahead of
them.



What could you be using an image of David to tell yourself? It was a
rhetorical question, Flynn was demanding no answers, just riding
calmly alongside him and leaving him alone to think. Who else
understood like this or knew how to have conversations like this?
Dale swallowed on a wave of emotions he really didn't want to think
about and concentrated instead on Hammer, saying nothing until they
were in sight of the river. Some of the sheep grazed down this far on
the west banks, moving down into the woods, and the sight of them
reminded Dale of something Jasper had said, which was very definitely
not related to Flynn or to being insane.



"What's a cast sheep?"



Flynn glanced back, riding one handed and keeping Leo at a very
brisk trot.



"A ewe on her back that can't get up. They get heavy with lambing
fat, even worse when they're in lamb. I bred up our stock to be
hardy, but we breed for weight and wool too and that makes them
higher maintenance for shepherding."

"And they sell for meat and for wool?"



"More for meat here, although we do a wool clip once a year." Flynn
led the way down onto the river bank. "Where I came from, we grew
sheep for meat and wool equally, both incomes. We had Corries.
Corriedale breed. When we started up this flock I built up a stock of
Corries and then we cross bred them with Romneys, another hardy
breed, and that's the main body of our stock now. Bit different to
the local breeds around here, but the rougher breeds do well on this
kind of land."

"What kind of land did you farm on at home?" Dale asked lightly, not
sure if it was safe to ask, but Flynn grunted, apparently unconcerned
by the question.



"Ever been to Otago? South island . The bit of it that our run stood
on is all foothills under the mountains. Looks a hell of a lot like
this. I left home burning to get away from miles of grass and rock
and sheep stood arses to the wind, and where did I end up?"



In spite of his mood, Dale couldn't help a smile at Flynn's tone.



"That bad?"



Flynn grimaced. "Worse. I came out here at the end of my first
semester because I couldn't earn enough to pay college bills and rent
rooms through the breaks. One of the deans was an acquaintance of
Philip's, knew my background and knew Philip was looking for someone
who knew something about sheep, and Philip offered me free bed and
board every vacation I wanted it in return for working here as a
ranch hand and advising him on establishing a sheep flock."

"You must have been livid." Dale said dryly. Flynn gave him one of
his brief grins that lit his eyes and for a moment showed a good deal
of humour.



"Spitting. Once I got here and realised it even looked like home I
nearly got right back on the plane. It was like a curse. Go half way
round the world to escape and I still ended up at the back of beyond,
out in all weathers, farming bloody sheep. Philip knew he had me
cornered because it was work I could do, been doing it all my life,
and I was broke with nowhere else to go. I was lousy at bussing
tables and it didn't pay nearly enough."



The thought of Flynn waiting tables was – possibly scarier more than
it was interesting. Shane suddenly darted towards the river bank and
Dale looked to see what had caught his attention, then turned Hammer
to follow.


"Sheep down."



Flynn cantered ahead of him and Dale dismounted on the river bank
where one of the large, shaggy ranch sheep was lying half in and half
out of the water. For a horrible moment Dale thought it was dead,
then Shane nosed at it, the creature turned its head and gave them a
look of hopeless despair, and Dale realised it was simply exhausted.



"Straggler." Flynn said shortly, digging a pair of odd bladed
clippers out of his saddle bag and climbing down the bank. "Long
fleece. Occasionally one'll grow unusually long like this and get
water logged when they try to cross."

Dale crouched, ready to help, but Flynn grabbed the animal by the
head in a powerful and surprisingly gentle grip, hauled it bodily up
the bank and rolled it onto its back, propping its head and upper
back against his knees and rapidly starting to run the shears down
the animal's shoulders. The sheer strength and the competency of his
hands was staggering to watch, he did it as second nature as though
he had been doing it all his life – which quite likely he had as a
boy and a teenager in the shearing pens on his family's sheep
station. Dale found himself fascinated, and not by the shearing. This
was an educated, skilled man; a deeply unusual man. The sheer breadth
of who Flynn was took Dale's breath away. It took Flynn barely two
minutes; the fleece fell away in huge lumps, and the sheep seemed
surprisingly chilled out about the whole business, letting Flynn roll
it around with a benign expression and without struggling. It lurched
to its feet when Flynn let it go, and Flynn pocketed the shears.
Shane walked around it, and the sheep began to trot ahead of the dog
up the bank.



"Have to get it under shelter for a few hours or it'll freeze,
especially while it's wet." Flynn said, mounting up. "There's a lean-
to down in the woods."

Shane responded to his whistle and ran the sheep ahead of them down
the river bank. Beyond the falls the river widened and became thickly
littered with rocks rising up out of the water. Flynn led them on
along the bank a way, and then drew Leo in, watching Shane chivvy the
sheep without hesitation down the bank to a shallow spot of the
water.



"This is called the Crossing." he said to Dale, nodding at the
stretch ahead of them. "See the path on the pasture?"



Dale shaded his eyes, looking where Flynn indicated. The grass grew
thickly, nothing but pasture spreading out ahead and around them
towards the foothills in the west where Bandit and the brood mares
roamed – but approaching the river, the grass grew thinly in what
looked like a long, straight road, marked at intervals by bare rock
showing beneath the turf. As the horses stepped out into the shallow
water, Dale looked down and saw they were walking on a wide shelf of
rock with deeper water beyond, and beneath the deeper water-



Flynn paused as Dale reined Hammer in to look.



"It's a wagon. At least one, probably more. This was one of the old
wagon trails. Seven or eight miles through the woods is the town of
Three Traders, that was a trading post. Shoshone trading with the
wagon trains. Until the railroad came through here, and then it
became a railroad town."

"There's a town that close?" Dale asked, surprised. "I thought Jasper
went miles to buy food and vet supplies?"



"He does, Three Traders has been abandoned since the sixties, since
that stretch of railroad was abandoned. There's nothing up there, but
the marks of the trail are still around on our land."



"So Riley was serious about train wreck ghosts?" Dale started Hammer
moving again up the opposite bank and after Flynn into a trail
through the woods, ducking under the lower branches.



"Kind of." Flynn said bluntly. "There are a few graves around in the
woods. Probably wagoners. Jasper thinks there's a Shoshone burial
site right over on the south west of the ranch, although there isn't
much to see. It's very old land."



Shane ran the sheep down a grassed bank between the trees and Flynn
swung down from Leo, following Shane. A long, low shelter was built
in the lee of the bank, wind proofed, and the sheep disappeared
inside. From the scuffle of sounds within, it was not the only sheep
in residence. The day was continuing to warm and Flynn did nothing
further, just whistled to Shane and came back to mount up.



"We'll go on down through the woods and come back up the river. There
doesn't seem to be too much to worry about down here, looks like the
north got the worst of the gale."



They were riding the horses up a steep bank still thick with last
autumn's yellow leaves, when Flynn paused and pointed Dale's
attention down at the hollow below them. It took a minute for Dale to
see what the object was that he was pointing out between the dark
tree trunks. Then as he recognised the shape, he realised. The
carriage was still upright, stood on iron wheels, rusted, square,
with the steps clearly visible at the back. The engine, coupled to
it, had tipped over on its side and was impaled in the soft bank. No
paint or iron remained to be seen. Grass and moss covered the fat
bellied shape and only the odd bulge in the earth was left to say
what it had once been.



"That was the wreck." Flynn said, nudging Leo to carry on. "The
railway ran some way further up along the top of the bank here,
almost a mile away, but the ground was too soft and the rails moved
out of place. The train derailed and ran downhill until it fell off
the shelf here and buried itself in the woods. Either it couldn't be
moved or they decided it wasn't worth the effort of getting it out
again, but Philip always said the story was no one was on the train
when it derailed but the driver, and he jumped clear before it fell."



"So no ghosts." Dale said more or less to himself as they emerged
from the dappled woodland into the bright light of the south east
pastures where sheep grazed ahead of them peacefully on the green
expanses.



"Flynn? What made you decide to stay here? You came here hating it
and you didn't want to stay – what made the difference?"



Flynn shaded his eyes to look across the pastures over the sheep,
watching for glimpses of any down, any too still, any struggling.



"Philip. I didn't hate it, and Philip knew I didn't. Him being here
made all the difference in the world."



And we know just how that feels, don't we Aden? A dry voice said at
the back of Dale's mind.



Shut up. Dale thought back fiercely, and followed Flynn down towards
the shining blue ribbon of the river in the distance.















They followed the river to the mid north sections by the tops where
they found Riley and Jasper, stripped to the waist and hauling out
fallen branches from the water, and the rest of the morning was spent
working together on clearing stretch after stretch as they moved
further north. By mid day they were all soaked to the skin, and Dale
paused to stretch his cramping back, grateful for the steady warmth
of the sun overhead. He and Flynn had also stripped down to avoid
getting clothes any wetter than they had to and Flynn was nearly hip
deep in the river, hauling at a fallen tree with Jasper. Flynn was
solider than Jasper; broader at shoulders and chest where Jasper was
long and joints punctuated the leanness. His skin was darker than
Flynn's, and Dale could see his heritage, the length and straightness
of bone, the power at the shoulders and hips like a cat, where
Flynn's was in his chest and limbs. They worked in perfect co
ordination without looking at each other, and without needing to
count to synchronize their pulls at the tree. Riley sat down on the
bank to drink from his water bottle, pushing wet hair back out of his
face.



"You realise as wet as this, it makes no odds if I swim?"

"If you want to swim," Jasper said serenely, nodding down river, "You
go swim. No one's stopping you."

"That's no fun, you're all watching." Riley grinned at him and tossed
the water bottle across to Dale. Dale tucked it under one arm and
caught the tree as it came into his reach, helping to haul it up the
bank and out of the way before he collapsed down onto the grass,
unscrewed the water bottle top and drank deeply from it. Flynn
dropped down on the grass beside him and lay on his back, looking up
at the sky. Jasper climbed up the bank and eased himself down on
Dale's other side, taking the water bottle as Dale passed it to him.



"I think we're done."

"Yeah, just the stables and the yard work to do." Riley said,
stretching out on the ground. "I ache all over. What time is it?"



Dale felt for his watch in his abandoned pile of clothes. "Nearly
one."



"How bad are you aching with that damaged arm?" Jasper asked Flynn,
who shrugged, working his shoulders a little.



"Not bad at all. I always do better to work it out than sit around
stiffening up."



"I brought lunch if anyone wants it?" Paul's voice called through the
trees.



"I love that man!" Flynn yelled back.



Riley got to his feet and went to meet him and a moment later Paul
and Riley, both loaded with saddle bags, came through to the bank and
Paul crouched on the grass to unpack, looking around the four of
them.



"Are you all as cold as you look? The foals were fine. I think Bandit
took the herd up to shelter in the rock pass through the night, they
were all of them dusty and rolling in the grass this morning when I
caught up with them. Hot tea –"

"Sweet." Flynn caught the thermos Paul threw to him and began to
unscrew it.

"Sugar," Paul tossed another packet to Jasper and Riley promptly went
to sit with him, taking the other saddle bag with him. "Flynn:
painkillers and anti inflammatories, take them and shut up. Dale,
open those honey. You look frozen."



Dale took the box he was passed and unwrapped it, finding triangular
pasties still warm inside.



"You've been baking!" Riley said falling on the large, dark cookies
Jasper was unpacking. "When did you have time?"



"I had an hour at home before I headed out here." Paul said
comfortably. "Gerry and Ash not only got the yard cleaned up, they
did the stables and the corral, feed bins and water. They left a
note. Emmett turned up and they've gone fishing, so we have the
afternoon to ourselves."

"There's the barn up on the tops-" Flynn began and ducked as Riley
flicked cookie at him.

"No, we're not starting that today, it'll take days."



"These are Cornish pasties." Dale said in surprise through a mouthful
of warm pasty. Paul smiled at him, unscrewing another thermos and
digging for cups.



"I'd forgotten how I used to make them for David. It's actually nice
to remember something else to cook with lamb, we have a freezer full
of it. Riley get those wet jeans off, you're shivering. Dale, you
too."


In the end they all four of them stripped to the skin, and they ate
lying on the bank, drying out and warming up in the sun. Jasper
watched Flynn shift his shoulders uncomfortably for a moment, then
eased past Paul, patting Flynn's hip.



"Turn over."



Flynn moved without protest, stretching out on the grass, and Jasper
knelt astride his hips, sinking his long fingers into Flynn's neck
and shoulders, working them with care over the bruises. It was like
a living picture from some Greek temple, the running water and the
grass and the two men entangled together, Jasper's long, lean body
braced over Flynn's more powerful one, his eyes and attention
completely on Flynn below him as he moved. Riley had sprawled on his
back, skin pale against the green of the grass, and had his eyes
closed. Paul set his back against a tree trunk, pulled a book from
his pocket and picked at a piece of grass to chew, glancing up as
Dale, with the early warning signs of a very uncomfortably physical
response to the scene before him, slid discreetly down the bank to
the river.



"Watch the currents, they're stronger than they look."



The water was fast, but it was also blessedly cold. This testosterone
lark was far more trouble than it was worth.















What could you be using an image of David to tell
yourself?



Well that didn't take ridiculous amounts of brain power.



While Flynn and Riley bickered amicably over the shower upstairs, and
Jasper took the one downstairs, Dale escaped dry and dressed and
found himself in the family room, alone, with nothing there but the
steady tick of the clock and the cool familiarity of the brown
leather chairs and the rock and wood of the house. He'd always liked
this room. It was comfortable without being cluttered and it had an
innate masculinity to the décor. Unfussy, muted, a retreat. He
dropped into one of the armchairs and realised a moment later how
comfortably he was sprawled, and that to drop down like this had
become second nature, done without thinking, like the daily pulling
on of riding boots and jeans.



What could you be using an image of David to tell yourself?



Flynn had an amazing knack of snatching fear away from you before
you'd even realised what it was that he was doing. Phrased like that,
the answers were easy to find. An outward personification of what his
instincts had already gathered – that a cougar was approaching. That
Flynn had been coming towards the falls. Or much, much more simply…



That you belong. David would be the ultimate permission to think of
yourself as being part of this, the lifestyle and the ranch.
Permission to feel at home here.



Dale almost flushed at the presumption of it.



Yeah, like they'd want some obsessed number cruncher with bad nerves
who has no idea at all what a proper brat looks like, never mind
does?



"Hey." Ash's voice said from the kitchen doorway. He was in jeans and
socks, a sweat stained shirt balled up in his hands. Dale got up at
once, uncomfortable but managing a smile.


"Hey. Everyone's showering."

"Gerry's putting horses away." Ash returned the smile, holding up the
shirt. "This is beyond in need of washing, I wondered if I could
stick it through the laundry?"

"I can do that." Grateful for an excuse to do rather than talk, Dale
headed into the kitchen ahead of him, into the small laundry room
that opened off the side of the kitchen. The presence of
an 'experienced' couple around the house threw him: Flynn, Paul,
Jasper and Riley understood about his own inexperience and he knew
they were uncritical. A 'real' Top around, who lived the lifestyle,
got the concepts, and probably saw straight through him, was a little
more than Dale felt able to handle. He'd been avoiding Ash still more
than he avoided Gerry, who's perceptive eyes were just as nerve
wracking.



Ash followed, watching him set the machine.



"Thank you. It looks like we're going to be here a few days, Gerry's
very keen to stay, and I hate letting clothes that messed up sit
around."

"You're welcome." Dale would have headed back to the sanctuary of the
family room but for Ash's indication towards a suitcase in the
kitchen with several familiar papers balanced on top.



"I dug that out of the car on my way in, and I found a few Wall
Street Journals if you wanted to look before I throw them out? No one
else appreciates them, I don't think anyone even listens to the news
headlines out here."



The journals had been one of the many office rituals that for years
Dale had been used to reeling away. Ash was already handing them to
him and Dale took them, turning them over in his hands.



"Thanks."



"You must be news deprived out here. Do they even use a computer?"
Ash said cheerfully. Dale nodded briefly.



"Once in a while. Not often."

Ash grinned. "Not exactly keeping a finger on the pulse of the world.
I don't get it, but Gerry does. He loves being cut off from
everything, and he always seemed perfectly happy like that when he
lived out here."



"Long live the blackberry." Dale said dryly, and Ash laughed.



"I haven't fallen victim to that yet, I suppose it'll come. What do
you find most useful?"



"Well the 8700 is about the best I've had my hands on so far." Dale
dug his hands in his pockets, shrugging a little. "Depends on what
you want it for."



"As an electronic leash, obviously." Ash said wryly. "But it is
useful to not be so desk based, I think that's an area I'm going to
need to build on in the next year or two."

"I'm peripatetic most of the time, and I get by with the Bluetooth
tech, a decent fax machine and a really good PA, but the PA isn't
replaceable. Technology just doesn't have the organisational skills
or initiative." Dale led the way into the kitchen where Ash leaned on
the table.



"Do you employ your own or go with whoever you're allocated?"



"Company paid but from my interview and on my time." Dale said
dryly. "She's based in one office unless it's a serious priority
project and I can't do without her, but the technology is there for
communication, and distance isn't much of an issue to effective
working. The time zones can be a problem sometimes, but she's very
flexible."



"I think this is where I'm going wrong," Ash admitted. "Not
prioritising or paying for the right person to come do the job. I've
gone through a series of temps and secretaries, but that's not the
same as a high skilled permanent post."

"False economy." Dale said simply. "The number of projects I've gone
into where the top layer of personnel are right but there's no second
layer holding them up, and what you get is a bunch of highly trained,
highly paid people wasting their time doing a lousy job on
administration work to save costs on wages… The outlay is the fore
runner to expansion. Get the administrators right and the top layer
personnel are freed up to do what they're good at."

"When you're looking at expansion," Ash began, and paused as Paul
came into the kitchen, heading towards the fridge which he opened
without a glance back at them.

"Expansion…. What do you need to know before you decide it's good to
go? How do you make that call?"



"It's a high stack game," Dale said crisply. "There's no way around
it. You have to be sure that the market's out there to be taken,
expansion revision analysis and all the rest of it, but equally the
investments have to be in place. I've seen whole syndicates come down
like a house of cards because they worried too much about keeping
hold of profit margins they were already sure of, and another more
flexible corporate swept in and stole the new market and the old
markets too."



"It's so bloody hard to quantify." Ash said with feeling. "I mean I
can go crazy on the variables and I have been doing - the brand-
value, employment generation, forward and backward integration – it's
endless. It still comes down to one strategic decision and hoping to
God you've kept enough of an eye on market and competitors."

"And the future of the firm." Dale said simply. "That gets overlooked
time and time again. It isn't about analysis of intangibles- it's
never a pure mathematical gamble. It has to be a chess move. Your
correlation matrix, the optimising algorithms, it still all goes to
hell in a hand cart unless you've got a very clear read on the psycho-
social aspects of the management, especially if you're looking at
mergers or any kind of multi cultural co operation. That's the real
difference in risk. I'll take a risk on paper any time if I know the
management team are strong and have a real grip on the firm's
strengths, weaknesses and exactly what the nature of the firm is."

"But when you're explaining this to an investor," Ash moved out of
Paul's way as Paul put down the makings of dinner on the table and
began to lay out vegetables. Dale shook his head.



"No. You can quantify an investor by wealth, that's the principle aim
of investing. The units of a firm are more interrelated than the
assets of an investor and their objectives are not just based on
wealth creation. Not if they're any good."

"I didn't understand one word of that." Paul said calmly, peeling
onions. "Dale, there's a sack of potatoes in the cold store by the
garage, bring me enough for seven of us?"

"Sure." Dale jogged down the steps of the porch and Ash gave Paul a
slightly apologetic smile.



"Sorry, I really couldn't resist. Dale Aden – how often do you get
the chance to get his advice for a small business?"



Paul smiled, chopping vegetables. "You talk as though he's some kind
of walking guru, and I look and I see Dale."


"You've got no concept of the kind of knowledge he's got." Ash said
with heartfelt sincerity. "Imagine if as a writer you met up with Dan
Brown or John Grisham over the dinner table? The contemporary best in
the field?"



"I probably wouldn't be able to keep shtum, no." Paul admitted. "But
we are trying to give Dale a break from work."



"I didn't realise." Ash said penitently. "You don't usually try and
keep your clients off the subject."

"Most of them are work obsessed, and it isn't easy, but Dale's a bit
different." Paul dug in the cupboard for a huge stock pot which he
planted on the top of the stove. "I know Gerry eats dumplings. Do
you?"



"I'm easy to feed." Ash said cheerfully. "I'll go and see if a
shower's free."



"We'll eat in about an hour." Paul called after him. He heard Dale
come up the steps two at a time and heard the thud of potatoes on the
table behind him, as brisk as the voice.


"What do you want doing with these?"



"Stick them in the sink and rinse them for me?" Paul asked, coming
back to the table to chop vegetables. Dale dropped the potatoes in
the sink and ran the tap over them, whistling softly to himself. The
change was subtle but it was all consuming. Even his body language
was different. Watching him, Paul could see both the confidence, the
weight he took more squarely on both feet, the head and shoulders
lifted and back where usually Dale stooped slightly, and the tension
in his neck and hands, one of which was tapping rapidly on the
draining board as he turned the potatoes. Whatever he was thinking
about, it was very apparent to Paul that he wasn't finding it
pleasant.



"Did you mind Ash picking your brains?" he asked lightly. Dale
glanced back and grinned, a quick and easy smile that Paul saw with a
mildly horrified fascination. It wasn't Dale's and it went nowhere
near his eyes.



"I've never minded any interest from a small business with someone
talented at the head. 'Big' isn't 'good'. What does Ash do?"



"Some kind of alarm security system." Paul watched Dale drop potatoes
into the colander waiting for them with speed and a deftness that
would have served a tennis championship, and grab a cloth to wipe the
counter down.


And in the final event for potato rinsing, going for the gold medal,
it's Dale Aden-



Paul laid the vegetable knife down, watching him toss up and catch
the last potato before he dropped it into the basin. He never showed
this kind of carelessness or vivacity around the house with them, it
was completely alien.



"There's dust tracked all over the floor, I saw Gerry forget to-"

"I'll do it." Dale said cheerfully, heading for the closet where the
mop and bucket lived.



And he's coming up the first straight, it's Aden in the lead and
surely no one can pass him now-



Paul got up and put his hands gently on Dale's shoulders.



"Honey."



Dale looked at him, surprised. Paul took the mop out of his hands.



"Calm down. It's ok."

He could see the expression on Dale's face: not the one he expected
which was Dale's usual I don't understand and it worries me look, but
the detached one he remembered from Dale's first few days here which
went with a sardonic and slightly amused eyebrow and said you Yanks
are crazy.



Flynn came in to the kitchen, still tucking the tail of a clean shirt
into his jeans and deeply thankful, Paul caught his eye. He saw Flynn
clock the look and glanced immediately at Dale, although his
expression didn't change.



"Need any help with dinner?"



"Setting the table would be good." Paul said just as evenly, turning
his attention to the tracks on the floor and trusting to Flynn to
read this right. He saw Flynn come around the table towards the
cupboard where the plates lived, and without comment put an arm
around Dale's shoulders, pull him over and give him the kind of
absent hug he frequently bestowed on Riley in passing. And he saw
Dale come unravelled like a bow given one firm tug on a trailing end.


to be continued........