by Margaret Way
Angelica, an inspired cook, who thought every woman should know her way around a kitchen, was seized by empathy. “Gosh, that can’t make you happy?”
“Especially when you’re asked for toast and a boiled egg. I’ve been here a long time.” Clary shrugged. “The master, Mr. Clive, demanded the best. He grew up with his own father and mother priding themselves on keeping a good table. If one tiny thing was omitted, it was a crime as far as he was concerned. Lord could he be fierce! I dunno that I’ve met a worse man to this day. When I first came here I was tempted to kill him with one of my favourite kitchen knives.”
“You never considered doing a runner instead?” Angelica laughed.
“No, love. I was down on me luck. I stuck it out. He wasn’t miserable with money. I was well paid and I came to love Jake. I had no kids and loving him was the easiest thing imaginable. He was a great little guy, so brave and spirited with his father I used to get anxious for him, but he just kept getting better and better. Now he’s the boss, the Lord be praised. To work for him is a pleasure. Jake truly appreciates a good meal. Sometimes I can’t fill him. He works too hard. That’s what worries me. He runs Coori and the out-stations and that’s not his only role. He does the lot around here. When his father was alive Jake had to work until he dropped. But he hung in because Coori is his heritage.”
“A marvellous heritage,” Angelica said fervently, pleasantly stunned the household with the exception of McCord were only too ready to confide in her.
“The best!” Clary agreed. “This is the pantry, love,” she announced, waving her hand around a mini-supermarket. “Everyday household. There are store rooms, refrigerator rooms elsewhere in the compound. We supply our own beef, lamb, pork, poultry, game. I make a beautiful red Thai kangaroo curry with coconut rice. I pride myself on keeping up with the latest trends as well as the old favourites. Of course kangaroo isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. A bit gamey for some, but I do some lovely cured char-grilled topside steaks, as well.”
“They’ll probably go well with the barbecue,” Angelica said. “I have to admit I’m a bit emotional about Skippy, kangaroos being the national emblem and all. At the same time I realise we have a superb renewable resource. We’d be foolish to forget that.”
“God knows there are enough of them,” Clary remarked. “The annual cull is carried out under the supervision of National Parks and Wildlife. Some years when water is plentiful they’re a real menace.”
“So I understand. Sometime tomorrow, Clary, when you have a minute, I’d like to sit down with you and plan out what we’re going to do. We’re not getting into complex food, or anything that is time-consuming. It’s all about taste and using the freshest, best possible ingredients as well as providing warm hospitality. Polo day’s first up. Lunch, afternoon tea. Neither will present a problem. It’ll take more time working out supper for the ball.”
“Staff barbecue, no worries, either,” Clary said. “We’re all used to them. I get lots of help from the station wives and the older kids home from boarding school. Everyone pitches in. They love it.”
“Great! Then there’s the Christmas party. We’ll go to town on that. And I’m so looking forward to decorating the house. Such a marvellous house! So very grand. I can feel the history. Stacy tells me you haven’t had a Christmas tree since she’s been here.”
Clary looked at her with a sad expression. “The first Mrs. McCord, Jake’s mother was killed just before Christmas. You didn’t know that, love?”
“No.” Angelica shook her dark head, instantly upset she might have put her foot in it.
“The master never came to terms with that.”
“I would think not. No birthday parties, either?”
“Gracious, did Jake tell you that?” Clary looked at her with admiration.
“Only in passing, as a joke.”
“It was no joke,” Clary said. “I know it sounds disloyal, but the master was no bundle of laughs.”
“Well, Jake is McCord now. The Christmas tree will be a start. I’ll be speaking to him tonight about it. We need a ceiling on the budget.”
“It won’t be tight, love,” Clary assured her as Angelica began to walk up and down the aisles that divided the huge pantry with Clary trailing her.
“Clary this is fantastic!”
“We’re so isolated, love, we can’t have provisions flown in all the time. I need to make the ordering cost-effective. I handle all that side of it and I have my small staff. My girls are all part aboriginal. They’re more like domestic apprentices. Leah, in particular, is very good. I rely on her a lot and don’t have to keep checking all the time. She has a little daughter, Kylee. Kylee’s nearly four. She’s as cute as they come. Leah was treated badly by the white man who fathered her child. As soon as she fell pregnant he abandoned her. She had no money and nowhere to go. The child was born on one of the McCord out-stations. Jake gave her a job.”
“That was good of him.”
“He’s a very responsible man. Practically a saint,” Clary said earnestly. “He also put out the word. The father had to move on. He couldn’t land another stockman’s job in this part of the world again.”
“How old is Leah?” Angelica asked, looking through a variety of staple tinned products.
“Early twenties, I reckon. She doesn’t really know. She’s had a hard life has our little Leah. She was removed from abusive parents.”
“The abuse continued,” Angelica said briefly, and shook her head.
“There’s a pattern,” Clary agreed sadly. “Clever little thing, too. I’d like you to meet her.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Angelica said, her voice resonating warmly. “Little Kylee, too. What’s Christmas without children? She’s going to love the Christmas tree. Now what’s on the menu for tonight?”
“You mean, dinner?” For a minute Clary looked the happiest woman in the world.
“I do, too.” Angelica gave her a smile that made Clary smile, too.
“You’re going to put me on my mettle, aren’t you?”
“I fancy you’ll like that, Clary,” Angelica teased.
The rest of the day melted into a flurry of activity for Angelica. With Clary well and truly onside, the task ahead of her seemed less formidable. Jake had set aside a station vehicle, a four-wheel drive, for her and she simply took off, driving around the compound and the plains beyond, grateful for the cream akubra Gillian had lent her and her own excellent sunglasses to ward off the worst of the shimmering heat.
Following Stacy’s somewhat hazy instructions she found the polo fields, and gave a lot of thought to where she would set up the marquees. It had emerged in the course of conversation Jake was a marvellous player, physically and mentally tough, with wonderful co-ordination and balance. He was also captain of one of the teams contesting the Marsdon Polo Cup. She had looked the event up. She’d also read up about the game of polo knowing it was the game out here. Apparently the rules were quite complex so she was far from perfect on them. She’d just have to score a few points as a spectator, looking as glamorous as she possibly could. She had a great outfit anyway. She was looking forward to seeing Jake all dressed up in his polo gear, the numbered shirt, the white breeches, long boots and helmet. No wonder some women developed a mad passion for polo players.
When she saw the Great Hall she stood for a long time, arms folded, visualising what she wanted to do with the decoration. She stared up at the ceiling. Wouldn’t it be great painted, perhaps a beautiful deep blue? Maybe studded with the moon and stars? Or better yet in keeping with the polo theme, floating umbrellas amid the clouds, like the ones spectators gathered under at a swank Sydney polo club she had been taken to as a visitor. She wondered what McCord would say to that idea. When she’d spoken to him on the phone that first night he’d managed to convey to her she could have her heart’s desire. That was before they had meet face to face and the whole embarrassing Huntley affair with its long lingering sense of shame had rocked her respect
able status and established suspicious beginnings.
Late afternoon saw her standing on the broad verandah of the upper storey, watching heat lightning flash up against an incredible sunset of blazing reds, pinks and golds. It speared forks of purple, livid green, indigo and yellow into the billowing clouds. Now nothing moved. Fifteen minutes before, the sky was a moving spectacle of birds of all colours, brilliant parrots, wave upon wave of emerald bolts of silk, the budgerigar, pink and grey galahs, the pure white sulphur-yellow-crested cockatoos, all trying to get home before the storm. A storm that never eventuated though she couldn’t imagine it wasn’t coming.
She was so absorbed in looking at the blazing, bruised, sky she didn’t notice Jake McCord moving down the verandah towards her until he was almost upon her.
“Nothing will come of it, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he said, tilting the akubra he wore at a rakish swagger. So catlike was his tread, she actually jumped, one hand to her heart.
“You startled me,” she said unsteadily. And that wasn’t the main problem. He deeply stirred and disturbed her. Once more she hoped he couldn’t see her reactions to him in her face and misinterpret them as some sort of a come-on.
“I’m sorry. Shall I go back and start again?” The golden-amber eyes danced over her, causing her overstimulated heart to beat out a tattoo.
“You’re here now.” She made quite an effort to firm up her tone. God, he was a marvellous-looking man. She was coming to think of her attraction like a no-holds-barred thing, even as she knew it wasn’t all chemical. At least having to look up at him was entirely satisfactory. Nine times out of ten she had to look down to make eye contact.
“So what have you been up to?” He came nonchalantly alongside, resting his lean, bronze arms on the white wrought-iron railing. An inch more and their fingers would touch. She could feel the blood in her veins turn to a thick golden syrup.
“I’ve been driving all around,” she said, pleased she sounded almost normal. “I took in the polo fields. Worked out where I want to set up the tables and chairs for the spectators and the marquees. I have a favour to ask if you can manage it?”
“As long as it revolves around work.” He glanced at her with mockery, thinking they were the right size for each other. Come live with me and be my love, his heart cried. Then he could go crazy with jealousy for the rest of his days.
She tilted her dimpled chin, dark eyes challenging. “What else, pray? I was thinking the ceiling of the Great Hall could do with a paint. Maybe cobalt-blue. I’d like to put a mural of sorts up there for the Polo Ball. I know just the guy who could do it.”
“Another one of your admirers?” He couldn’t help the taunt.
“As a matter of fact, yes. We’re both creative.”
“I bet! Then the answer’s no.” He was quite blunt.
“He’s gay.”
He pretended to find that bizarre when he felt a sense of relief. “Never! What did you have in mind?”
“I was thinking of stars.”
He laughed shortly, wondering what it would be like making love beneath the stars.
“But then umbrellas came to mind.”
“Where the hell did that come from?” His eyes were pure gold in the sun. His hair gleamed gold again against the black of his slouched hat.
“As in spectator brollies,” she explained. “Floating silver cups and maybe a mallet or two.”
“In which case wouldn’t you colour the field green?” He glanced at her. “Polo is played on grass.”
“Then you like the idea?” she said happily.
So happily he wanted to kiss her deeply. He wasn’t used to happy women. Or women so charming they’d have you eating out of their hands. Despite that, he said, “Give me a minute. You’ve just thrown it at me.”
“I think it would work well,” she urged. “We’ll carry out the polo theme. Maybe frame the dance floor like a pitch. Goal at either end.”
“Why not an indoor match?”
“I thought indoor polo was gaining in popularity?”
“Not around here it isn’t. We’ve got plenty of land. Plenty of sunshine. I was only being facetious.”
“I realise that,” she answered kindly. “I also want a beautiful big Christmas tree for the entrance hall. I want it to loft to the ceiling. All the lovely glittering baubles we can find. Like treasure chests spilling out Christmas angels. I want it to look—oh, magic!” She threw up her arms, irresistibly drawing his eyes to her full, beautiful breasts. Maybe that was the intention, he thought cynically. How formidable were females. And this was a volatile, passionate woman. Alas to a fault.
“And lots of beautifully wrapped presents piled beneath the tree.” On her face was the excitement and wonder of a child. “I haven’t as yet seen the guest list for the Christmas party but I imagine there will be children coming with their parents?”
“Quite a few, as it happens,” he said, certain she was a woman who loved children. A woman children would love. Earthmother was written all over her. “You’ll have to order up the tree, Angel,” he said, using his new nickname for her. “We don’t have any pines or spruce around here. A live tree would be too aromatic in the house.”
“Leave it to me.”
“I fully intend to. That’s what you’re here for.” What would she do if he pulled her to him? The sudden urge was so drastic he had to refocus on that painful scene with Carly’s rat of a husband. Even as he did he was forced to concede it was an out-and-out defence strategy. What the hell!
Angelica felt his abrupt change of mood. “Don’t look like you want to throw me out,” she said.
“Is that how it seems to you?” The flicker of desire in his amber eyes was so quick she doubted she saw it all.
“Either that or you want to eat me.”
He laughed, a wonderfully attractive sound and a total departure from the edge of severity. “Undeniably you’d taste delicious. Are we going to get a forerunner of what you might be wearing at dinner?”
“Gracious, no. You have to wait for that.” Her abundant hair was caught up at the back against the heat, but long curls spilled down onto the sides of her face and her nape. “I love it here,” she said, holding his extraordinary eyes for just a moment. This man was dynamite. For the first time in her life she really didn’t trust herself. She had read about men who took a woman’s breath away but up until now she hadn’t actually met one.
“You can’t escape the heat.” In a gesture quite beyond him to prevent, he reached out to push one glossy strand behind her ear.
“It does take a little getting used to.” Excitement blossomed frantically. “It’s a different heat altogether to what I’m used to.” Heat, heat! What was he staring at? Could he see she was on fire?
“Ah, well, I’d better go take my shower,” he said, as though tearing himself away. “Then I want a long cold beer.”
“I can imagine.” Her lips curved. “Actually a cold beer sounds good to me.” She could see them clinking glasses.
He laughed, pushing his akubra down over his eyes as the last rays of the sun blitzed the verandah with gold. “Then get Clary to organise something on the downstairs verandah.”
Angelica shook her head. “I won’t bother Clary at all,” she said. “She’s cooking up something special for tonight. I can handle drinks and a few nibbles without stopping our appetite.”
“Then go to it, Angel,” he advised. He started to move off, already half drunk on her. What was her perfume? Alluring femininity. She was a seriously beautiful woman and he had seen her half naked. Probably seducing men was the usual scenario for a siren like that. “Just give me half an hour,” he called back, sounding surprisingly light-hearted.
“Not a minute longer,” she answered.
Captivating as she undoubtedly was, he didn’t trust her. Not one little inch. That could well be his problem, not hers. All he really knew was it was astonishingly good to have her under his roof.
CHAPTER FIVE
>
THE house looked splendid by night, giving Angelica a very good idea of what could be achieved for the Christmas party. The chandeliers were absolutely wonderful, antique but converted to electricity. Who had the job of cleaning them? she wondered with some awe. Clary and her girls? Or maybe Clary didn’t trust the girls with the easily broken crystal. Whoever it was, Angelica didn’t envy them the job. There were so many pieces to each it would take ages. But it was worth it. They cast their brilliance over the main entrance hall and the Yellow Drawing Room which, Stacy informed her, was rarely used except for special occasions, and the formal dining room which Angelica and Clary had decided they’d use that night even before knowing Gillian had invited the Honourable Charles Middleton to join them. Gillian had checked with Jake. It was all right. Did Angelica mind? Of course she didn’t.
She was interested to meet the young aristocrat turned jackeroo, to discover, like Stacy, if his feelings for Gillian were encouraging or a result of fevered wishful thinking on Gillian’s part. From what she’d seen of Gillian, admittedly very little, Angelica wasn’t certain Gillian could handle serious hurt. From all accounts, this was Gillian’s first taste of life after years of controlling by an authoritarian father. She was free and, according to her mother, in love. But Charlie came from another, much wider world.
She dressed for dinner in a style that really worked for her with her Latin looks. It could be described as Flamenco or gypsy. With her red, ankle-length flounced cotton voile skirt, she teamed a matching red top, V-necked and sleeveless, which was lovely and cool. A fancy gold belt to show off her narrow waist, long dangly earrings for a bit of chic, half a dozen bangles and a pair of her beloved very expensive high-heeled Italian gold sandals, which meant she was all of six feet. But what the heck! She’d accepted her height now. Even the wisecracks didn’t jar so much.
When she went downstairs she checked in with Clary first. “How’s it going? The kitchen smells wonderful.”
