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‘The test results came back.’
‘Oh. That was...quick.’
‘I may have put some pressure on the tests being done as soon as possible.’
‘Why? They’re only going to come back clean. I’ve never taken drugs in my life,’ Mason stated, still unsure as to what Danyl was hiding.
‘Yes, your test results came back negative for any drugs in your system, and the Racing Commission are dropping any and all lines in that particular investigation.’
‘But what about Harry? Are they dropping that?’
‘I don’t know. But that’s...there’s...’
‘What?’ Mason asked, shaking her head against the strange way he was behaving. She could see it. There was something else. Something that suddenly hooked impossible weights over the butterfly wings that had leapt into her stomach at the negative test results. ‘What is it, Danyl?’
‘The tests also showed that you’re pregnant.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
December, present day
‘WHEN DID YOU find out?’ Mason heard Emma ask Anna as the group made their way to the ballroom. She saw nothing of the stunning architecture, nothing of the liveried staff, heard nothing of the gentle sounds of a live orchestra playing in the background, past the blood rushing in her ears or the ache blooming in her breast.
She did feel Danyl’s gaze on her like a weight, chaining her
to the past where she didn’t want to be. She tried to shake it off, both Danyl and the past, and the hurt that had been simmering beneath the surface ever since she’d seen him at the camp in New South Wales, or even before that, the years before that.
Mason could be forgiven for thinking she’d stepped into a fairy tale. Thousands of little lights covered the ballroom walls, and candelabra glittered in the warm air of hundreds of bodies swirling around the room in conversation or dance. Uniformed staff were sweeping around the room with silver trays containing champagne flutes and canapés.
She cast a glance unconsciously to the exits, as if storing that information until the point at which she’d need to use them. And she would need to use them, she realised. She would not last all night. Not now.
She spotted John standing in a corner looking out of place and dressed, both amusingly and uncomfortably, in a tux. She smiled, the sight of Antonio’s old stable master, and later her trainer for the Hanley Cup, bringing back comfort and familiarity. She made her way over to him after an absentminded farewell to the Winner’s Circle Syndicate and their partners.
‘You don’t scrub up too badly, John,’ she said by way of greeting.
‘Was about to say the same, McAulty.’
She liked that, even now dressed in clothes that had first taken her breath away, and then taken almost her identity away, he could still treat her the same way. They stood back from the crowd, clinging to the edges like wallflowers.
‘The sheikh has put together an impressive shindig,’ he said, clutching a champagne flute delicately in his meaty fingers, as if worried he might accidentally break it.
‘Yup, but I’d settle for a beer over this lot,’ she replied.
‘Ha! Not sure I’d be able to get my hands on a half ’n’ half over here. It’s good to see you out and enjoying yourself.’
She nodded noncommittally. ‘How’s V? He make the journey okay?’
John nodded, equally noncommittally. ‘The Queen’s expecting some kind of show-and-tell.’
‘We’re all to troop out there and see him?’
‘Yeah,’ he relied grimly.
‘He’ll love that,’ she replied, relishing the taste of sarcasm on her tongue, rather than pain.
‘He’ll handle it. But he’d be better for seeing you.’
‘I’ve missed him,’ Mason admitted.
