A Man For All Seasons by Jenny Brigalow

“What's up Frank?”
    “It's that silly bastard, Chin.”
    Dear God, what'd the mad devil done now? “What's he done?”
    “He's gone and shot himself.”
    There was a pause and Chad felt sick. “He's not dead is he?”
    “No! He's not dead. He shot himself in the bloody foot.”
    Relief gave way to shocked anger. “What the hell was he doing?”
    “Snake in the kitchen. He was chasing it around and then he lost the bastard. Trouble is, when he found it, the big devil was on his foot. He jumped like you would, and the gun went off by accident like. Shot himself through the foot.” There was a pause. “Got the snake too. Big king brown.”
    “Where is he?”
    "Hung on the back fence, as a warning to other browns."
    Despite himself Chad smiled. “Not the snake, Frank. Where's Chin?"
    “He's in the general, at Emerald. They've got him doped up and will operate when the surgeon comes up from Brisbane.”
    Poor Chin. “Thanks for letting me know Frank. Everything else okay?”
    “Yeah, fine. Still dry.”
    “Will you all manage not to starve until I get back?”
    Frank chuckled. “We've lots of beans. We're in fine farting form, I can tell you.”
    Chad grinned. It was great to hear a familiar voice, although it was the harbinger of disaster. “See you soon then.”
    There was a click and the line went dead. A wave of homesickness engulfed him.
    “Is everything all right?” asked Seraphim, her fine black eyebrows drawn together in concern.
    He realised then that despite her privileged and sheltered life, she was not the spoilt girl that one would expect. Perhaps that was why she had stolen his heart away. Beneath the lovely exterior a good heart resided. And that was a rarity, in any guise. He looked into the black liquid eyes and for a moment lost his sense of time and place.
    “Chad, is everything all right?” she repeated, a little louder.
    He wanted to say that no, nothing was all right. He wanted to say that when he went away, he would miss her. That he would take her with him in his heart, and think of her for all of his days and nights. But instead he shook his head. “My cook's shot himself in the foot.”
    Her eyes widened in alarm. “Good grief.”
    Barry snorted. Chad's irritation was somewhat diluted by the look of undisguised fury that Seraphim shot her fiancé.
    “Is he okay?” she continued, her concern obviously genuine.
    “He'll live, but he's going to be laid up for a while.”
    “Will you be able to replace him?” she asked.
    He shrugged. “Dunno. It's always hard to get good staff. The mines are soaking up the workers at the moment. I just can't compete with the wages.”
    She nodded. “I see.”
    “Anyway, I'd best get ready for dinner.”
    “Me too,” she said. With one long finger she brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead and glanced at Barry, who appeared to be deeply involved in a crossword. “I'll see you in a little while.”
    As Chad wound his way back to his room he couldn't shake off the feeling that she'd wanted to say something, but hadn't. As he showered he entertained himself trying to guess what it could have been. But his imagination failed him. A little dismally he reflected that she'd probably been going to ask him to join her and Barry to some posh do, and changed her mind.
    Dinner was pretty good up until the main course. The conversation started innocently enough.
    “Miffy, did you hear about Sarah and Reginald Bishop?” asked Margot Driscoll.
    Seraphim shook her head. “No, what about them?”
    “They've just come back from Africa with their baby boy. He's absolutely ravishing apparently.”
    Seraphim smiled. “Oh, how splendid,” she looked at Barry, “isn't that lovely?”
    Barry finished his mouthful and dabbed his mouth carefully. “Best thing all round,” he agreed.
    For his own part Chad remained steadfastly quiet. The piece of fish in his mouth seemed to dry out, making it impossible to swallow. The conversation rolled around him,