by Margaret Way
Not tonight. He hadn’t planned it. How so? When he knew it was going to take place.
Zara had a fear she might faint. So much pressure was building in her. In her back, in her stomach, her breasts and her legs. Her body swayed against his, her aching breasts pressed hard against the muscular plane of his chest. She hungered for him so much she was shaking uncontrollably. The strength of his hold on her increased. It came to her belatedly that he was supporting her. The rose had slipped out of her fingers. It was crushed somewhere between them. Its sweet fragrance was scenting the air. She felt trapped. At the same time she felt she was where she belonged.
“I could have picked any other girl in the world,” he muttered, his lips against her throat, “but it had to be you! So let’s choose a bed,” he said with a shuddering laugh. Yours or mine?” He raised his hand, clasping her neck beneath the heavy fall of her hair.
“Don’t sound so cynical, Garrick,” she begged, her voice a jagged whisper.
“Ah, be damned to everything!” he cried, as though the situation was utterly intolerable. He caught her chin, turned her face up to him. “You can’t be crying?” he rasped.
A single tear had escaped, edging down her cheek.
“Do you think your tears make me fair game?” His expression carried no gentleness whatever. It showed tension as tight as a piano wire strung to perfect pitch.
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” she lashed back. “You and your abominable pride! Well, it cost us.” She closed her eyes against him, realizing he would never forgive her until the day he died. Her heart was drumming in her ears, the beat strong enough to make her deaf. A great flush of sexual excitement was covering her body in a tide. She thought of a dam, its massive walls giving way.
“Drop the tears, Zara,” he advised. “They won’t work. Tonight you’re mine. It will be just like old times!” He put one steely muscled arm beneath her and then swept her off her swooning feet.
There were no words in her mind to stop him. She knew it would happen. They both knew it would happen. Both of them wanted the torture over. If only for a single night. She needed no man in her life. Unless it was Garrick. He needed no woman. Unless it was her. Both of them were in the fierce grip of obsession. A maelstrom of passion that had at its core a fatal flaw.
There could be no real love, no real future without trust.
She could never hope to make him trust her again. He had not even read one of her letters. The pain of it seared her so badly she doubted she would ever mention those letters again. Her father was dead. She couldn’t confront him, make him confess to Garrick what he had said and done to drive them apart.
All she knew was that it was her lot to love Garrick. Every which way. No matter what happened. Until death did them part.
CHAPTER FOUR
THEY flew into Coorango at noon on a blazing blue day. It had been a smooth flight, now they were taxiing into the massive silver hangar that housed the Beech Baron and a metallic blue Eurocopter with a broad white stripe. This had to be the latest addition to the fleet, Zara thought. She was familiar with this particular luxury helicopter. Her father, now Corin, retained one for private use. Two other helicopters, chartered aircraft, sat like fat yellow birds just off the concrete apron. Aerial mustering was obviously in progress.
Coming in over the airstrip, she could see Garrick’s mother, Helen, was on hand to greet them. Helen was standing with her back against a four-wheel drive, no doubt to ferry them up to the homestead. She had started waving minutes before they touched down. Zara waved back, appreciative of the fact that Helen had made the effort to come down herself. She could easily have sent someone. It made her feel very welcome. She hoped Garrick’s father, Daniel—lovely man—was having a good day. She knew he lived his life in constant pain, but dealt with it without complaint. Apparently his response to all enquiries regarding his state of health was “getting there!” Garrick had told her rather tensely that his father’s health was a source of great concern to his mother, to him and his sister Julianne, and everyone who knew and loved Daniel Rylance. This was a man greatly respected in the Outback.
Zara found herself wishing for the umpteenth time that her own father had been such a man. How different life might have been! Her beautiful loving mother might still be with them. Her own love affair with Garrick would never have been so brutally severed. She had blamed herself for years for the way things had turned out. But Garrick’s behaviour, she now realized, hadn’t helped. There was anger as well as sadness in that. She could barely take it in that he hadn’t read her letters. If he had, the ongoing pain and estrangement might well have been settled. How lives could be messed up through a lack of communication, she thought. It must happen all the time. People keeping silent when they should speak out. And, as a result, one could be faced with a lifetime of regrets.
“Zara, dear, you have no idea how good it is to see you again!” Helen Rylance, looking amazingly youthful in yellow cotton jeans and a white tank top, her arms wide and embracing, greeted the young woman who was everything she could want in a daughter-in-law.
It had really upset her and Daniel when Zara and Garrick’s blossoming relationship had abruptly foundered. Although nothing had been said, one would have had to be blindfolded not to recognize how passionately in love they had fallen. Yet it was all over—just like that! And no credible explanations either. In time Garrick had become engaged to Sally Forbes, a confident young woman known to them from childhood. They would have settled for Sally, only she and Daniel just knew where their son’s heart lay. Helen also knew intuitively that Dalton Rylance, the master manipulator, had brought about the end of that blossoming relationship.
It had struck her forcibly as revenge—on her. Dalton had disliked her intensely, thought her far too opinionated. A woman wasn’t allowed an opinion contrary to his own. Revenge on Garrick, as her son. Lord knew she had never made any big secret of her wariness where Dalton Rylance was concerned. He had been such a bully! Her dislike and distrust had been well and truly out in the open after Kathryn’s tragic early death. She couldn’t think of that terrible event without a tear escaping. Such a lovely woman Kathryn had been. Zara was the image of her. The resemblance, both in looks and manner, would have added to Dalton’s ferocious guilt. Ruthless billionaire he might have been, an acknowledged captain of industry, but he had been a shocking failure on the home front. A man of notorious temper, he had killed the gentle, sensitive Kathryn’s spirit with his dominance, his aggression and push for total control. He had deliberately set about masterminding his daughter’s life.
Now he was dead and Zara was no longer forced to walk in his shadow. That business with the Hartmann character must have caused Zara endless problems. There were inherent dangers in being a very beautiful, highly desirable woman. No doubt Hartmann had wanted to add Zara to his collection. Zara had from the beginning denied any close relationship. Those who knew Zara believed her. Hartmann had been exposed for what he was—a white-collar criminal who wasn’t quite as clever as he thought.
“I’ll drive, Ellie,” Garrick said to his mother without preamble. “You sit in the back with Zara.”
Helen handed over the keys. She had instantly intuited that her son and Zara had picked up on their complex relationship. It sizzled in the air around them. But resuming their relationship didn’t automatically heal all the wounds of the past. She had been shocked when Garrick, only recently, had reluctantly come out with the dreadfully dismaying news that he had burned all of Zara’s letters. Unread! As a woman, she had sided with Zara and her feelings. One way or another, her proud son hadn’t given Zara a chance to explain herself and her actions. No wonder there were a whole lot of conflicting emotions there. She prayed that Zara’s stay on Coorango would finally uncover the truth. She wasn’t such a fool that she didn’t know Zara still deeply cared for her son. Even the way she looked at him shouted that fact to his mother, if not to him.
Ah, well, one could only hope th
at the peace and freedom of Coorango would work its magic. There was a rush now for her beloved Daniel to see his only son settled, if not actually married, before he went. In the book of life her beloved husband’s had reached the final chapter. His medical reports didn’t get any better. The prognosis worsened as his medication got stronger. How she was going to live without him, she couldn’t yet face. At any rate, Zara was here—she and Daniel had conspired to invite her without telling their son—their goal being to reunite these two young people they considered perfect for one another. Dalton Rylance had been the one responsible for the huge shift in direction. The invitation to Coorango was to make up for lost time.
Zara rolled down the window so she could inhale the wonderfully aromatic smells of the bush. There was the king of trees, the ubiquitous gum yielding several valuable oils, as well as honey and prolific quantities of blossom in glorious colours. The wildflowers, the native boronia, the scented water lilies which floated like cargo on the surface of the innumerable lagoons. She even loved the smell of the baking fiery red earth, the silver haze of the mirage dancing amid the brilliant sunshine.
“Oh, I’ve missed this!” She gave a deeply voluptuous sigh, eyes shut tight in a kind of bliss, so she was unaware of Garrick’s intense gaze in the rear-view mirror.
“It’s been far too long, Zara.” Helen pressed the young woman’s arm. “Welcome back to Coorango. Daniel is so pleased you decided to come.”
Up front, Garrick gave a sardonic laugh. “Good of you and Dad to tell me.”
“You’re supposed to say thank you, darling.” Helen smiled. “Your father and I wanted to keep it as a big surprise.”
“Take my word for it, it was,” he said very dryly. “You could have knocked me over with a feather.”
“At least you got over the shock fairly quickly,” Zara offered sweetly and, it had to be said, provocatively.
“Just sparring, Ellie,” Garrick told his highly attentive matchmaking mother. “How’s Dad today?”
“Really looking forward to seeing you,’ Helen said. “I hope you’ve brought lots of photographs of the wedding along with all the news. You must have made a very beautiful bridesmaid, Zara.”
Zara, who wasn’t in the least vain, went a little pink. “Not as beautiful as the bride.”
“Of course not. That’s only to be expected.” Helen smiled.
“Looking glorious is nothing new for Zara, Ellie,” Garrick said with the faintest edge. Zara was wearing white—a fine cotton sleeveless shirt with white linen trousers. Her dark mane of hair was arranged in a neat coil on her nape. Her beautiful skin looked as cool and matt as a lily. Imagine that—blossoming beneath the hot Outback sun! “Miranda tossed her the bridal bouquet and, though our Zara did her level best to avoid it, it landed right on target in her arms,” he told his mother.
Zara met his burning blue eyes. “I didn’t think you noticed.”
“Oh, I did. There wasn’t a guy at the wedding who didn’t think you’d make the most glorious catch.”
“But you’re in the market yourself, my dear,” his mother pointed out with more than a touch of mischief.
“Don’t start again, Ellie,” he warned.
“By the way—” Helen abruptly sobered “—I have some news I’d better get out of the way. Sally and Nick are having problems. Thought I should mention it as they’ll be here for the Trophy.”
“That’s the polo finals?” Zara asked, at the same time registering a zap of unease at Helen’s news. The word ex-fiancée sprang instantly to mind.
Helen nodded. “This year they’re to be held on Coorango.” She patted Zara’s hand. “You couldn’t have come at a better time!”
Garrick cut in crisply. “I’m supposed to believe this about Sally and Nick?”
“Come on, darling,” Helen retorted smartly. “I got it right from the horse’s mouth. Josephine Forbes doesn’t get things wrong. Sally is her daughter after all.”
“But that’s terrible!” Garrick groaned. He sounded stunned. “I had no idea the marriage was in trouble. I thought they were very happy.”
“Not happy enough, apparently.” Helen sighed. “You remember Sally, don’t you, Zara?”
“Of course I do. I thought her very attractive,” she said with genuine warmth. “I’m sorry to hear they’re having problems, but I’m sure they can work things out. They haven’t been married all that long?”
Helen swallowed the word that had flashed into her head—rebound. Sally hadn’t given herself enough time to get over Garrick. She’d thought the best way to solve the tough time she was having was to marry Nick, who was one of Garrick’s closest friends. “Two years,” Helen told Zara rather wryly. “They’ll be here for the Trophy next weekend. Thought I’d better let you know sooner rather than later.”
“Spared me the trouble of having to find out myself,” Garrick said, not bothering to hide his exasperation. “God, poor old Sal!”
“A worrying time for Nick too, dear,” Helen pointed out.
“Of course. It wouldn’t do a bit of good for us to put ourselves in the middle, Ellie.” It sounded very much like a warning. “They have to work it out themselves.” He reflected for a moment, his expression serious. “Sal wanted children. Could that be a problem, do you think?”
“Scarcely a problem yet, darling,” Helen said. “A little suggestion from your mother, though. I wouldn’t find myself alone with Sally if I were you.”
Garrick pinned his mother’s eyes in the rear vision. “For God’s sake, Ellie, what is that supposed to mean?”
Helen shook her burnished head. “I don’t think you need delve too deeply, my darling. Anyway, I’ve told you and that’s the end of that!”
Even as she spoke, Helen knew full well it wasn’t.
So, incidentally, did Zara. So many lessons in life to learn from! One being—marry in haste, repent at leisure. She sincerely hoped that wasn’t going to be the case here. Yet she couldn’t help the most awful suspicion.
Zara had heard all the stories about the swashbuckling George William Rylance who had built Coorango Homestead, a twenty-room mansion, in the late eighteen-seventies. The man was a legend, an Outback icon. Such a splendid house—no matter if it was smack bang in the middle of the Never Never—had put the seal of success on the young English adventurer. The seventh son of a baronet, George had accepted a sizeable stake from his father to make his own fortune in the best way he knew how. Shortly after, he and a like-minded cousin had set sail for Australia, where George fully expected to found his own dynasty and make his fortune in some sort of pastoral enterprise. Sheep, perhaps?
After all, it was a British Army officer, John Macarthur, who had laid the foundations for the country’s wool industry. It was well established by the time Macarthur died in the mid-eighteen-hundreds and George arrived. George had seen over Camden Park, a very handsome Regency-style mansion dreamed of by Macarthur but built by his sons after his death. He, too, had wanted something as substantial.
The homestead, to the Australian squattocracy, occupied much the same position as an Englishman’s castle so George singled out a very fine architect working in South Australia at the time to build him an Outback castle. Never mind it was on the fringe of the great Australian desert. This area, he’d had the vision to see, was destined to become the home of the nation’s cattle kings. George, with all the confidence of a man born to succeed, had already turned his attention to cattle. Becoming a cattle baron—a touch of flamboyancy showed there—suited him much better than farming sheep. Besides, he had become greatly enamoured by the vastness, the extraordinary colourations and the strange and lonely grandeur of the continent’s Interior. Here was where he wanted to put down roots. The Rylances were men of the land. Here, in this extraordinary area of ancient flood plains, criss-crossed by a great maze of water channels, creeks and lagoons, he was going to dig in. Just to be on the safe side, he had invested rather heavily in gold, which soon began returning him healthy profits.
It was just over a mile from the airstrip to the home compound. The drive was lined by gigantic date palms, brought in and planted over a century and a half before by Afghan traders.
Presently, the front elevation of Coorango Homestead came into view. To Zara’s eye, it clearly revealed the architect’s nationality and background, which was Italian. The two-storey building was of grand proportions, but very pleasing. A dynastic home, not a fortress. She particularly loved the pinkish-gold sandstone that had been used in its construction. Slender double pillars and wonderfully ornamental white cast iron lace balustrades designed by the architect framed the upper balcony and wrapped around the other three sides of the building. Italian too was the magnificent three-basin stone fountain that featured rearing horses to support the largest bowl.
“It’s playing today in your honour.” Helen smiled with pleasure at her guest. Zara was here. That in itself she considered a coup.
“How lovely!” Zara’s voice lilted. She pointed to the plume of water. “Look, it’s sending rainbow shot spray over the agapanthus.” Masses and masses of the hardy plant, all a deep lavender-blue, encircled the fountain.
Garrick achieved a half wry, half cynical laugh. He knew perfectly well what his mother and father were up to. Matchmaking. Heirs were needed for Coorango. High time he was married. His engagement to Sally had been doomed from the start. But his parents had always been extraordinarily fond of Zara, as they had been of Zara’s mother. Ellie had been truly shocked when he’d finally confessed he hadn’t read any of Zara’s letters.
“But how could you, Garrick?”
He could and he did. His mother hadn’t plumbed the depth of his despair. There had been no slow demise of the relationship. It had been short, sharp and brutally final. Dalton Rylance had ruled Zara’s life. She had let him. Obviously, she had thought she would never find another man as powerful to measure up. Such a shame Hartmann was such a wicked man!
