She once did mentioned a mysterious man in her life, a lover she had met on the voyage over. He had somehow caused her to return to New Zealand, but she would never talk about it. Justine later wished she had pressed her on it, but it was obviously a sensitive topic. Justine imagined it might have had something to with the death of her friend Naturally Nola much preferred to reminisce of the fab time she had as a flower child, her life in the great gardens, the promise of free love; the music and the poetry of it all.
The last photograph of her in England was one of her standing, in all her flower child glory, beside the brass name plate of the ‘Southern cross,’ the lime green liner that was to carry her back to New Zealand. Through trauma and the loss of a dear friend she had lost all confidence in travelling alone, so travelling overland, through India and the east was out of the question.
It was on that ship she met her future husband, Barnaby. He was a farmer recently graduated from agricultural college. He too had been sampling the delights of mid-sixties culture in England and the continent before seriously embarking on his chosen career. They shared their experience and Nola found a lover anew.
Arriving in New Zealand Barnaby took her to see the farm and meet his parents. Driving down the limestone drive to his family’s farmhouse he announced he would inherit it. When she spied the white stucco bungalow with its contrasting black joinery and Marseille tile roof, it was enough for Nola, she would marry Barnaby and create the most beautiful garden. The interior did not disappoint with its black adzed timber work and embossed leather art nouveau wainscotting and old William Morris wallpaper. Eventually she would rename the house ‘Arwen’ after her favorite character from Lord of the Rings.
Justine’s parents had been very social, and Nola and Barnaby had been the centre of the local crafts community. An extension was designed and built on the western side of the house with French doors onto its own verandah This was to be Nola’s studio and where she held court with her friends, spinning and weaving and all manner of crafts. To the rear was an old kiln which remained as a legacy of those days. The studio remained as it was as a shrine to Justine’s mother, complete with artworks she brought back with her from London. In a dark corner a steel shipping trunk contained the neatly folded clothing she wore in London along with a few books and records, souvenirs of her heady days in the sixties. Justine was Nola’s only child. Justine was an unexpected pregnancy late in her forties. Following the trauma in the English woods she had been told never to expect children. Nola named her Justine from ‘The Alexandra Quartet, ‘a favorite among the multitude of books that Nola had read.
Nola developed the garden and maintained it with the help of two gardeners. She and Barnaby regularly showed off the garden to friends who came to functions, craft events, the house swimming pool, tennis or horse riding. It had been the venue of countless weddings and other receptions. In its day it was regarded as a creative jewel in that country district, but that is all in the past.
The garden is a shadow of what it once was, but Justine had a dream of restoring it and the bungalow converted as part of to an Air BNB. Her mother had hung on, living in the house until the very end. She could only afford one regular gardener toward the end and had whittled the garden down to something that was relatively low maintenance; a holding pattern until there were fresh ideas, motivation and will to resurrect it.
Justine’s husband Alex was not impressed. Justine inherited considerable wealth through investments following the selloff of parts of the once extensive farm. She didn’t need the remaining property, Alex argued.
Justine was an economist, could and liked to work from the property. She had a slightly radical willful streak to her personality probably inherited from her mother and this was also expressed in her economic views. Just another small part of an accumulated tension in the relationship with her more conventional husband.
When the property was left to Justine he had wanted to sell. This increased the tension between them. He was ostentatious, Justine was not. He had the car and the expensive suits and saw them living in an architecturally design house in the best suburb in town. Justine had a Honda Jazz and an old hack of a Toyota flat-deck Ute and down dressed either in an academic fashion or simply gumboots and jeans. All a source of irritation to Alex.
To Justine the garden contained the collective soul of her family. She cared less for money and wealth. She had grown up helping her mother with it. Selling was unthinkable… final.
Back to the present and following her early morning call to Alex, she found herself emotional and upset. She then decided to ride her horse, Muzzy. It was kept on another farm because her own paddocks were leased out. Driving to the horse paddock in her little Honda Jazz she discovered Muzzy to be absent, replaced by the farmer and his two daughters working with a stallion to service a mare. One daughter was calming the mare, the other held the black stallion which was teasing it. The farmer was prepping by washing down the stallion’s penis and this held Justine’s attention. The horse’s penis was erect and seemed huge. It swayed before the farmer caught it.
Justine remembering her earlier conversation with hubby and called out to the farmer.
“Morena Tony.”
“Morning Justine, any sign of that husband of yours yet?”
“Not a whiff. Tell you what, it’s all getting too much; we are supposed to be starting a family. I need to have some of that.” She gestured to the stallion who was getting increasingly excited.
“That won’t do you much good, you should get Alex to agree to artificial insemination and courier some over.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea. What have you done to Muzzy?”
“She is down the back paddock. You might have got a surprise foal if we left her here.”
Justine chuckled, “Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Is it OK to drive through the farm?”
“No worries, I don’t think any gates are locked.”
Justine continued and found Muzzy.
She secured and fussed around Muzzy who seemed a little agitated. Justine inspected the hooves and taking a brush worked her way round the mare.
Finishing the grooming, she took the saddle out of the Jazz and saddled Muzzy up and she was ready. In her haste Justine was not that well dressed for riding. She had her boots and helmet but as the day was shaping up to be a hot one, she elected to wear her striped harem pants and a light blouse.
Riding was a hassle from the start. Whether or not she could sense the activity in the other paddock, Muzzy did not seem in the mood. Justine took her for a canter to try and settle her. It seemed the Justine herself was infected, what with her husband and the sight of the stallion. For whatever reason she found herself aroused by the stimulation of the horse’s movements. Finally, Justine’s frustrations welled up and she burst into tears. She abruptly canned the ride and returned to the Jazz at a slow unstimulating trot. Along the way she felt uncomfortable astride the saddle and dismounted she checked her harem pants and found the crutch stained with the product of her stimulation. She became conscious of a stranger not far away on the road staring at her. He looked rough with a hoody pulled low over his eyes with tattered jeans and gumboots. She had no idea who it would be and why he would be walking alone so far into the valley. Both embarrassed and frightened she hastily remounted and continued to the Jazz.