by Margaret Way
No one wanted dessert. They didn’t need it after that.
“Why don’t you stay on a couple of days and see something of the Centre now you’re here?” Troy suggested, looking at Casey. “I’m a free man for a coupla days. I could show you around. There’s Uluru and the Olgas, Kata Tjuta about 50 K’s west. Rainbow Valley has to be one of the beauty spots in the Outback. I love it. The colours are extraordinary. What do you say?”
Blasé Casey was so dumbfounded she couldn’t hide her surprised expression. “I say, no. For one I don’t have any clothes. I already know you’re nuts. And I don’t have money to throw around.”
“You don’t need it,” Troy said. “Do like you do back in Brissie. Sing for your supper. Have you heard this girl sing and play guitar?” Troy shot an enquiring look at Curt and Darcy who were sitting back holding hands. “I mean, she’s just beautiful. When she sings,” he joked. “I’ve never heard anyone as good before and there are a few around. Also she plays a mean guitar.”
Darcy’s lovely smile broke out. “That’s a pleasure we can look forwards to. Why don’t you stay, Casey. We can vouch for Troy. Generally speaking he behaves himself. You can buy a few things in town to tide you over. Curt can fix it for your accommodation, can’t you, Curt?”
“Easily,” he said. “It’s not such a bad idea, Casey. You want to see the real Outback.”
“Not with this guy I don’t.”
“It’s not like that at all,” Troy grinned. “Underneath she really likes me.”
Which she did. But Casey, who had handled a lifetime of deprivation couldn’t handle kindness and friendship. “No really, let’s forget about it.” She was starting to feel overwhelmed.
Darcy shook her gleaming dark head. “Not when we can see you want to stay. It’s only for a couple of days anyway.”
Kindness and generosity seemed to emanate from Darcy. Her big sister? “I promised Courtney I’d—”
“Whatever it is it’ll keep,” Darcy said firmly as though she were there for the express purpose of working things out. “Courtney would urge you to stay and see the sights. It’s the perfect opportunity.”
I’m not really ready for this, Casey thought. It’s too hard to take. I was ready for hostility, anger, bitter resentment, even blame. Instead it was like they all knew she was going to turn up one day. “You’re too nice to me,” she said abruptly, thinking the milk of human kindness had rarely been allotted to her.
“Who could deny a goddess!” Troy pressed back in his chair, smiling his bold tantalising smile.
“It’s settled then,” Darcy said, eyes sparkling. “Give us a call when you want to come home.”
Never had Casey been so glad she had her sunglasses on. She who never cried except on increasingly rare occasions when she was flooded by her nightmares, felt the sting of tears in her eyes.
Home? Did she have a home? If she hadn’t been such an undemonstrative person she would have put her arms around Darcy and hugged her.
CHAPTER THREE
TROY CONNELLAN didn’t waste any time. He had a tour of the Olgas, Kata Tjuta lined up by midafternoon.
“I wanted you to see Kata Tjuta first,” he told her, covering the distance from the Alice to the ancient domes in record time. His late model, top of the range 4WD was air-conditioned which Casey privately found heavenly after the ute.
“Why’s that?” Just looking out at the extraordinary landscape was an inspiration for endless songs.
“I’d better whisper this,” he laughed, “but I find the Olgas even more alluring than Uluru. They’re completely different from the Rock. Almost like male and female. I wanted you to note the contrast.”
“You’re being real nice to me, Troy.” Deliberately she used an exaggerated drawl. “But it won’t get you nowhere.”
“Is that all you think about?” He gave her a gleaming sarcastic look. “Sex?”
“Hell, I was talking about singing,” she lied. “Sex is out of the question.”
“You mean you won’t be moving into my room?”
“Nope. You’re too young for me. Do you like Darcy?”
“Sure do,” he said. “Darcy is a lovely woman. Curt is my good friend. They’d have been married years ago only for McIvor.”
“So you as good as told us,” Casey said dryly, still staring through the window. She was thrilled by the wonder of the Outback bird life. It was so prolific! The great flights of budgerigar were amazing! The gold and green of Australia, the gold and green of the wattle, flying in formation swooping then soaring for all the world like a trained aerobatics team. “Darcy has been remarkably accepting of me despite the fact she has no actual proof. So for that matter have Courtney and her mother, who by rights should hate me.”
“Why should anyone hate you?” He swung his golden-brown head sharply. “You were the innocent victim.”
She shrugged. “My mother stole McIvor away. At least for a little while.”
“She paid dearly for the association,” Troy pointed out grimly. “For what it’s worth, Casey, if you are Jock McIvor’s daughter and I can’t see who else you might be, I don’t think he turned his back on your mother knowing she was pregnant. The man was a tyrant walking all over everyone but he wasn’t that bad.”
“Why didn’t he contact her to find out if she was okay?” she demanded to know. “No, he did nothing of the kind. He gave way to his lust and moved on. I despise him.”
“Pretty awful to have so little respect for one’s father.”
“Are you talking about mine or yours?” she retorted sharply.
He winced. “I can’t hide the fact my dad and I don’t get on.”
“Darcy and Curt seem to worry about you?”
“They know the full story, Casey. We all grew up together.”
“So what is the full story?” She wanted a full run down.
His powerful sex appeal fairly crackled. “Oh, I’ll tell you one time when we’re tucked up in bed together.”
“Just as I thought,” she groaned. “You arranged this so we could wrestle the night away having wild sex?”
“You’re reading my mind,” he laughed. “No, Casey, you’re safe with me. I haven’t forgotten that snap kick or the hook to the jaw. I didn’t tell you but it was sore for days.”
“Good,” she said heartlessly.
“How blunt you are,” he said. “I like that in a woman.”
Talk was impossible as the fantastic weathered domes of Kata Tjuta loomed up, getting bigger and bigger as they approached.
“Glory Be!” Casey muttered in awe.
The prehistoric domes rose to maybe a couple of thousand feet from the completely flat surrounding plain. She tried to count them. Gave up.
“More than fifty,” Troy said, reading her mind. “The explorer Ernest Giles described them as ‘rounded minarets, giant cupolas and monstrous domes.’ They’re considerably higher than the Rock. The two principal domes Ghee and Walpa are dedicated to Wanambi, the great Rainbow Serpent of the Dreaming. Kata Tjuta means many heads in Pitjantjatjara. That’s a tribe of the Centre. Tourists are forbidden to visit after dark.”
“I can understand that.” Casey, who had proved herself brave in the line of fire, confessed, “It’s kinda scary.”
“All the ancient monuments are,” Troy confirmed. “At certain times they have a very real aura of foreboding. I’ve felt it enough to have the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. We have an equivalent of the Yeti around here as well. Pungalunga Men. They were giant cannibal gods who turned up at the time of the Dreaming. They raped the women and hunted down the aboriginal men with tjunas, hunting sticks. Then they ate the lot. You wouldn’t want to meet up with one.”
“And he mightn’t want to meet up with me,” Casey said. “Well not lately. I can’t wait to get out and look around. I’m awfully glad you suggested this trip—whatever your ulterior motive—and Darcy talked me into it.” Darcy had even accompanied her on a quick tour of the shops where she bou
ght a few necessary things which included a couple of new cap sleeve T-shirts and the black sand blast denim shorts she was wearing right now.
“What do they remind you of?” Troy asked as they stood out on the red ochre plain dodging the ubiquitous Spinifex and clumps of other sharp edged grasses.
She turned to him, her expression so radiant, so transformed, he took a jerky breath. Tough as he was Troy was a romantic at heart. This woman, prickly as the Spinifex, looked glorious. Even dressed the way she was. Creak Akubra pulled down over her face, blazing eyes in shadow. Her white T-shirt, printed all over in blue, had tiny sleeves that showed off her slender arms and her beautiful high breasts. Her long legs unveiled of her jeans fell into the Wow category, not the luminous porcelain of her face but lightly tanned. Maybe she nearly topped six feet but boy, was she elegant. Grace in motion. An attribute she shared with Darcy. If she ever wanted to quit singing she could easily become a top model. Her magnificent torrent of hair fell in a thick pony tail down her back. On her feet she wore black slip-on sneakers. He cursed himself now for not buying a camera. He had a number of cameras but they were back on Vulcan.
“So what are you staring at, Connellan?” she asked, her voice full of challenge.
“I was just thinking how tall you are,” he answered lazily.
“Bastard,” she snapped.
“Now, now, language!”
She strode ahead. “Little did I know when I was born how tall I was going to be,” she said when he caught up with her.
“Seriously, Casey, I like it. It’s so nice to meet a woman face-to-face. Anyway, you’re not as tall as me.”
“That’s good to know.”
“What I was really thinking was you look gorgeous.”
“Tell ’em anything,” she scoffed. “Is that your way with women?”
“I don’t have a way with women, no matter what they tell me. You are a very beautiful woman.”
“When I’m sitting down, you mean.” She shrugged off the compliment.
“You’re not seriously hung up on your height, are you?” he asked, studying her profile with that cool little dimple in her chin.
“When I was a kid in The Home, when I wasn’t praying to just die like my mum, or have some maniac off the streets run in and shoot me, I prayed I wouldn’t grow any taller. Needless to say that fella up there—” she rolled her eyes sky-wards “—didn’t hear me.”
“Hell, Casey!” He felt like grabbing her, rocking her back and forth like a child needing comfort. “That’s sad.”
She laughed. “Not really. My height and my long legs came in handy. Now Courtney is a dainty little darling… You haven’t seen her yet. She’s quite lovely.”
“She had curls like Shirley Temple when she was a kid.”
Casey grunted. “We had a bitch of a matron at The Home—looked like a deranged orang-utan—who cut all my hair off when I moved in. Said I had nits. I didn’t. Red hair offended her. So did curls. Say, will you look at the colour of this soil! I mean really, are we on Mars?”
“I know what you mean but we’re smack bang in the Wild Heart.”
“And it’s wonderful beyond words!” Impulsively she threw up her arms to the peacock-blue sky. “You asked me what the domes remind me of. They’re changing all the time, even the colours are changing, but my first thought was they’re all that’s left of some very ancient civilisation. Long before the Pyramids and the ancient city of the Incas. The domes lean together for support as though eons ago some great shift in the earth’s crust almost sent them tumbling. They have to be one of the great sights of the world surely?”
“Jewels of the desert,” Troy said. “Like the Rock they go through numerous colour changes. Now they glow like red-hot coals. Later they’ll cool off to pink and salmon. Towards dusk they’re a lovely bluish-purple. Under clouds they’re an eerie silver-grey. There are a lot of legends attached to Kata Tjuta but they’re secret, known only to the aboriginal people.”
They stayed until dusk, driving the full circle of the desert monuments a distance of some thirty kilometres, then wandering through the great ravines where that day only a fresh, gentle breeze was blowing.
“It’s not like this all the time,” Troy said, loping like a top athlete beside her. “At other times a howling wind makes the gorges a frightening place to be caught. An area at the north eastern end is rightly named the Valley of the Winds.”
“It’s marvellous,” Casey said, her vivid imagination captured and held. As a child in The Home she had checked out lots of beautiful places in the scant library so she could transport herself there at night. She had sailed the Great Barrier Reef long years before she managed to land a gig on one of the islands. She had stood before the Great Pyramid of Giza, the Parthenon in Greece, the Colosseum in Rome, Saint Peter’s. She had been on safari in Africa, visited Abraham Lincoln’s monument, peered through the gates of Buckingham Palace though she never did manage to see the Queen, walked every inch of the Champs Elysees, stood beneath the great stone arch of the Arc de Triomphe. Even in that terrible place for frightened and abused children her imagination had flowed freely. It had probably saved her sanity.
A few minutes after Troy spoke the breeze suddenly lifted. It flapped at their clothes, causing them to cram their Akubras more firmly on their heads. The next moment without warning a huge bird—it was a wedge tailed eagle—took off from way above them causing a mini-landslide of fairly solid stones from the cracks and crevices.
Troy’s arm shot out. His powerful hand clamped around Casey, pulling her back to safety, pinning her with his hips. She threw her arms out wide against the great granite wall, her back to him as he pressed her to it.
“Heck that was close!” he laughed, his clean breath warm against the side of her face. “You okay?”
“Sure!” she answered a little hoarsely. In truth the intimacy of the moment shocked her. And she didn’t shock easily. Blood rushed through her body, speeding from her face to her feet. She liked this guy too much. He was getting to her. That in itself was threatening.
“Well are you going to come away from that wall?” Laughter again, stirring the skin of her nape.
Her cheeks smarted. She spun, so close to him she could see the fine grain of his tanned polished skin, the thickness of his eyelashes, the clarity of his eyes. “You clamped me so tight I was practically eating volcanic rock.”
“Ungrateful woman!” He dusted his hands of grit. “Okay, we better get going. The wind’s rising.”
When finally they drove away the magical domes stood sharply silhouetted against a larkspur sky.
“Uluru tomorrow,” Troy promised her. “The difference to me is the difference between the magical and the sublime. Uluru is Australia.”
That evening she wore her other new T-shirt with her jeans and one of her favourite belts with the big oval buckle studded with red, white and blue rhinestones. The T-shirt was a cap-sleeve white polo with a deep V-neck and a small logo printed in red. Her afternoon in the desert had consumed her. How could you put an experience like that to music? And that wasn’t the only insight she had gained. Troy Connellan had left his mark on her. At some elemental level he felt familiar to her and she didn’t know why. He didn’t seem like a near stranger at all. Maybe she had known him in another life. Slept with him. Sensation rippled over her when she thought of their close encounter. Her butt rammed into his crotch so she felt his unmistakable arousal. His heart beat striking chords in her breasts. For a few staggering moments she’d been so turned on she couldn’t shift her position. Which he had mocked. The all-conquering male. God’s gift to women. No way was he going to get under her guard again.
No way!
Midmorning found them joining a group of tourists as they were being shown around the rock by one of the aboriginal elders. Troy must have known him because they exchanged waves before he and Casey broke away so they could observe the mighty monolith on their own.
Casey was in two minds as to which of
the great desert monuments she thought the most spectacular. In the end she came down on the side of Uluru because of its tremendous aura. Nothing fanciful; very slightly grotesque as with the Olgas, Uluru was a masterpiece of oneness. An island mountain of immense size, the largest rock in the world. Its enormous red dome totally dominated the vast empty landscape of Spinifex and sand.
“Well?” Troy asked. He’d been deriving great pleasure from her spontaneous reactions to the Heartland. Her changes of expressions were fascinating. Here was a woman who prized freedom.
“It’s nearly impossible to say,” she announced slowly. “Both great monuments strike awe into the heart but there’s something so strong, so enduring, so mystical about the Rock. This has been a marvellous experience for me.”
“Well you are looking at one of the great natural wonders of the world. To the aboriginal people Uluru is sacred.”
“I’m not surprised. I think you came up with the right word for the Rock. Sublime. Does it go through all the colour changes like Kata Tjuta?”
“Absolutely. The spectacular colour changes are the most famous characteristic of all the desert monuments. The full range is quite remarkable from dawn when the sun touches the crest of the dome and it starts to glow the most beautiful golden-red. As the sun travels higher the colour begins to intensify until it’s the brilliant orange-red it is now.’
“Have you ever climbed it?” she asked, aware of recent times the aboriginal custodians took a dim view of tourists clambering all over their sacred site.
He nodded. “It’s a formidable climb, you know.”
“It looks it.” Casey’s eyes rose to the summit.
“I first climbed it when I was fourteen with my dad. Then again when I was around eighteen with a friend. I won’t be climbing it again. The tribal elders have made it known they don’t like people walking all over it.”
“Fair enough,” Casey said. “It looks sacred.”
