by Margaret Way
‘Nellie Napirri,’ Francesca said. ‘I love it. The colours are very true to our lily-filled billabongs. Surely you recognise that? You’ve seen enough of them. It’s not a misty Monet, though I’m absolutely certain Monet would have loved it too. You mightn’t be aware of it, Carrie, but Nellie’s work is fetching big money these days.’
Carina made a face that signified complete uninterest. ‘She’ll only blow it on the rest of her tribe. That’s the way they are. The place looks okay—more feminine, I guess—but you scarcely fit into Gramps’s shoes.’
‘Neither of us do, come to think of it,’ Francesca answered evenly.
‘Are you happy?’ Carina shot at her.
Francesca pushed the file she had been reading to one side. ‘Off hand, I’d give it an eight out of ten. But I’ve been much too busy to question my state of mind, Carina. Would you like to tell me what you’re here for? Not that I’m not pleased to see you. I am. I don’t want bad feeling between us. You’re my cousin. We’re family.’
‘Some family, right?’ For a moment Carina regarded the impressive array of gold gem-studded bracelets on her right arm—emerald, ruby, amethyst, topaz, a couple more. On her left she wore a solid gold watch set with diamonds; a diamond-set gold hoop encircled the narrow wrist above it. Every mugger in the world would have thought her a dream target. ‘Look, I’ll come straight to the point. It’s not easy for me, but I want to apologise for the way I’ve been acting. I’ve been a damned fool. It’s just…’
‘You were shocked.’ Francesca hastened to help her cousin out, even though she knew she might never rate another apology in her life. ‘You’ve been led to believe everything would be different. I felt the same way.’
‘Ah, well…’ Carina sighed, a recent convert to being philosophical. ‘I think Gramps was way ahead of Dad and me.’ She gave Francesca a wry smile. ‘Dad is a lot happier these days. Bless him. Had Gramps left him in control he would surely have died of a heart attack before his time. As for me! Want the truth?’
‘Yes, please.’ Lord knew she didn’t want more lies.
‘Doing what I do makes me happy,’ Carina confessed, as though Francesca had never for a moment known. ‘I wouldn’t want to be cooped up like you, trying to get your head around mind-boggling stuff. I know you’re smart, but Gramps left too heavy a burden on those bony shoulders. You’re too thin, you know that? Men don’t like skin and bone. Anyway, very few people ever take women seriously in business. I expect you’ve already found that out?’
‘I could name you any number of women being taken very seriously in business, Carrie,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’re not as much in touch with the current scene as you thought. People have been very helpful, as a matter of fact. I have a great deal to learn, but I seem to be coping. I don’t do things on my own. As I said, I have help.’
‘Of course! The staff would probably be able to run the place without you,’ Carina flashed back, a teeny crack showing in the bonhomie. ‘First thing you want to do is get rid of the thumper outside the door.’
Francesca struggled with that for a moment. ‘Thumper?’ Her black eyebrows rose. ‘I thought a thumper was a nightclub bouncer?’ Carina, big on the nightclub scene, would know.
‘Whatever!’ Carina threw her head back so forcefully her hair bounced. ‘I don’t like her. She was having an affair with Gramps—did you know?’
‘Well, I’m sure Gramps put the hard word on her.’ Francesca spoke very dryly, to her own amazement. She had never called her grandfather Gramps in her entire life. ‘Grandfather wasn’t everything he should have been.’
‘Oh, hold on!’ Carina was about to take umbrage on their grandfather’s behalf—took a short pause for reflection and thought better of it. ‘Why her?’
‘Being right outside the door might have helped, don’t you think? But I’ve never much liked gossip, Carrie. Valerie is divorced. Grandfather was a widower—’
‘With one helluva sex life!’ Carina gave one of her little whoops. ‘If there was a Nobel Prize awarded for a lifetime of having lovers it would have been given to Gramps. I suppose that’s what did him in at the end. Thought he was God’s gift to women, isn’t that right? Maybe he had a premonition he was going to die. There was another will, you know.’
Francesca nodded. ‘Yes, Douglas told me.’
‘Still retaining that old fool?’ Carina reacted with disgust.
Francesca remained calm and confident. Just a taste of power had given her a massive injection of those much needed qualities. ‘I trust him, Carrie. He has a fine reputation. And he’s gentlemanly.’
Carina’s mouth down turned sceptically. ‘At least that’s what he likes to present to the world. I bet he can talk dirty just like the rest of us.’
‘Now, that, Carrie, defies belief. I must lead a different life to you, as well. I’ve never talked dirty in my life.’
‘No, you’re a terminal Miss Goody Two-Shoes,’ Carina said with affectionate contempt. ‘You really ought to stop. Or maybe you intend to? Bryn tells me you’re off to Daramba for the weekend?’ Her tone made it clear she thought Francesca knew she and Bryn were back in touch and didn’t give a hoot.
It took a tremendous effort for Francesca to keep the shock off her face. ‘I didn’t realise you were speaking to him these days?’ She told herself Carina was a pathological liar. But that posed the question: who else knew? She hadn’t said a word to anyone. She couldn’t believe Bryn went about advertising his intentions. He operated on the basis that one could never be too careful. Then there was the fact he had never mentioned having contact with Carina, let alone a reconciliation.
‘Oh, come off it, sweetie,’ Carina mocked, as though she knew every thought that was running riot through Francesca’s head. ‘We’ve both known Bryn since we were kids. Do you honestly think Bryn and I would remain out of touch for long?’ she jeered. ‘Actually, it was Bryn who made the first move. Surely he told you? Maybe not. My intuition says he didn’t. He plays his cards close to his chest. But that’s half the reason I’m here. It was Bryn who suggested it. He really does think everything through. He says it’s not wise for any of us to continue this feud in public or in private. Besides, the last people I want to quarrel with are you and Bryn. How can I put this?’ Her stunning face took on an unfamiliar expression of earnestness, even soul-searching. ‘I need you both. The people all around me I can’t trust. I don’t for one moment think they’re for real. They’re all over me to my face; treacherous behind my back. Envy, of course. You were never like that, Francey. Neither was Bryn. We’re all just too bloody rich for most people. They hate it. Money has to stick with money. It’s Them versus Us!’
‘Sounds a bit like paranoia to me, Carrie,’ Francesca said. ‘Besides, we do get all the perks. I can’t afford to see it your way. I’m now dealing with so many people from all walks of life. So, when did Bryn tell you we were off to Daramba?’ She spoke as if it were of no great importance when inwardly she was feeling sick and vulnerable. It had only been over lunch on Wednesday that Bryn had suggested bringing forward their trip.
‘Yesterday, I think,’ Carina said, rolling her eyes upwards, as though yesterday’s date was written on the ceiling. ‘Yes, it had to be yesterday. I’d go with you, but Daramba has never held the same fascination for me as it has for you and Bryn. The break should do you good. I’m off to Sydney tomorrow myself. The Cartwrights are having another one of their gala parties. All the glitterati will be there. I have the most incredible dress! You’d love it! Not that you could pull it off. It’s so darn sexy. Softly, softly does it with you, doesn’t it, luvvy? I, on the other hand, like to shake people up.’
‘No one better at it in the country,’ Francesca assured her. ‘Have you spoken to your mother?’ She tacked that on as though it were an afterthought. In reality she was trying to divine whether her cousin was on the level. People expressed themselves in so many ways. Speech, of course, but also body language—the way they moved, their hands, eyes. Was
n’t there a theory that the eyes moved left or right according to whether one was telling the truth or not? The trouble was she couldn’t remember which side indicated the lie.
‘Next one on my list,’ Carina told her with a saddened little smile. ‘It’s taken me over-long to rebuild my bridges. What say we do lunch early next week? I think it would be good for the press to see us out and about together.’
‘Next week is all pencilled in, I’m afraid, Carrie,’ Francesca said. It was true enough. ‘Maybe the following week?’
‘I’ll have to think. Let that secretary do some of your work,’ Carina suggested crossly. ‘It won’t hurt her. What’s her name again?’
‘Valerie Scott. Surely you’ve met her any number of times before? You were always calling in on Grandfather.’
‘Unlike you,’ Carina abruptly fired up, fixing Francesca with a steely eye. ‘I’ve met her, of course, but some people you just meet and forget. It’s people like me that make a lifelong impact. That hair has to go, and she could lose some weight. No wonder she lost hubby. Did you see the size of her backside?’
‘You’re too figure-conscious, Carrie,’ Francesca sighed. ‘Valerie is a very attractive woman.’
‘One can never be too figure-conscious.’ Carina shuddered, retrieving her tote. ‘I hate that matronly upholstered look. I’m almost tempted to tell her.’
‘Please don’t,’ Francesca begged as Carina rose to her feet. ‘Sure I can’t offer you a cup of coffee?’
‘No time!’ Carina gave a clatter of her heavily weighted down arm. ‘I’m having dinner tonight with someone you know.’
‘Oh, who’s that?’ Francesca looked up casually, but her hands were gripping the edge of her desk hard, the knuckles showing white. If Carina said Bryn, their trip would be off.
‘Greg Norbett.’
Francesca’s fingers unlocked as the ferocious tension disappeared. ‘Greg? Isn’t he still married?’ she asked, as calmly as she could. ‘Gosh, it’s only been a couple of years.’ They had both attended Greg’s wedding to a lovely girl.
‘It’s at the separation stage.’ Carina spoke carelessly, as though it were only a hop, step and a jump to divorce. ‘You need to be married at least a year before you get a divorce. Otherwise it’s just tacky. What was it he saw in you?’ she joshed, her blue eyes full of cousinly teasing.
‘Why don’t you ask him?’ Francesca said. Greg Norbett had actually proposed to her after a fundraising party. A surprise because she’d never encouraged a relationship with him. What a good thing she hadn’t been attempted to accept Greg’s proposal, given his limited attention span. She felt very sad about his wife. It wasn’t very sporting, Carina sleeping with other women’s husbands. In some respects Carina rated a moral zero.
Francesca came around her desk to accompany her cousin to the door, though it was more like a flat-out sprint, keeping up with Carina’s pace.
‘Have a great weekend, Francey!’ Carina turned to say. ‘I mean that!’ She bent slightly—she was tall, especially in those stiletto heels—to give Francesca an air peck. ‘Bryn likes to look out for you. He’s been at it for most of your life.’ It was said in a tone that in someone else would have been gentle amusement, but somehow from Carina sounded snide. ‘Can I give you a word of advice?’ She swept on before Francesca could say yay or nay. ‘I’m much more savvy in the ways of the world than you are.’
‘No argument there,’ Francesca said.
‘Enjoy yourself,’ Carina told her magnanimously. ‘But whatever you do, don’t trust Bryn. He’s a master manipulator.’
‘I suppose we all are from time to time.’
Carina’s brows rose. ‘Be that as it may, Francesca, I trusted Bryn Macallan to my cost. He was the love of my life. He took my virginity.’
It was possible, but the new Francesca wasn’t sure she believed her. ‘Sure you hadn’t abandoned it before that?’
Carina levelled her with an affronted frown. ‘Have your little joke. I expected you to fly to Bryn’s defence, but you know yourself, Francey, I’m a far better judge of character than you are. I know Bryn’s a sizzlingly exciting man. Zillions of women can only get to dream about a guy like Bryn, but I had him for the longest possible time. I was the one to clock up the hours. And where did it get me? Absolutely nowhere. No engagement, no wedding, like I’d been promised. Worst of all, no damned respect. D’you know what I think?’
‘Please tell me.’ Francesca remained outwardly calm.
‘He has turned his attention to you.’ Carina whipped that out like a master stroke. ‘Bryn doesn’t need me any more. He doesn’t need any more money. It’s power he’s after. That’s what he’s all about. That’s what he does. Just like Gramps. We women are only pawns. It has never been any different, right down the centuries. We get used. I certainly was, and I don’t want it to happen to you. I really do care about you, Francey. This is family now. You know what they say?’
‘Blood’s thicker than water?’ Francesca hazarded a guess. She already knew that wasn’t always the case. ‘So, what do you suggest I do?’
‘Don’t ever let him into your bed,’ Carina warned her, regarding Francesca like a Mother Superior with a wavering novice. ‘He’ll try it, but don’t worry. Just make sure it doesn’t happen. He’ll be everything you ever wanted or wished for, but there will be a price to pay. He’ll have you, body and soul. God knows, I’ve had to fight hard to free myself of the madness.’
Francesca knew she wasn’t exaggerating. ‘Has the madness gone?’ she asked gently. Tender at heart, she was profoundly sorry for her pain. Carina was her cousin, after all. They had spent much of their lives together.
Carina backed up to the door, looking disturbingly near tears, which further upset Francesca. Carina never cried. Not even at their grandfather’s funeral, when one would have thought she could have squeezed out a few. ‘It gets less and less every day,’ she said, blinking her eyes valiantly. ‘There are plenty of other distractions. Like poor Greg. He’s such a bore! His poor little wife should sue him for causing her grievous mental distress. I’m twenty-six going on twenty-seven, Francey, and I’ve relinquished all faith in men.’ The genuine unhappiness in Carina’s brilliant blue eyes said more than a thousand words ever could.
‘Oh, Carrie, I’m sorry.’ Francesca reached out to take gentle hold of her cousin’s arm. Love was the very devil! This had to be terrible for the proud Carina. ‘Twenty-six is no age. You’re so beautiful, so much admired. You have the world at your feet. There are plenty of good men out there.’
Carina gave a laugh to cover her distress. ‘Not the ones I’ve encountered. As long as I can save you. That’s all I care about. Don’t take a gamble on Bryn, Francey. You’ll never win.’ She opened the heavy door, then stepped into the wide carpeted corridor, totally ignoring Valerie Scott, who sat at her desk, head bowed so close to her work she had to be going cross-eyed. ‘I’ll be in touch,’ she promised with a big smile. ‘Next time you take off I might come with you. Out there we can really bond.’
Francesca said nothing. Bonding wasn’t an activity Carina had paid much attention to in the past. But there was always hope. Wasn’t hope supposed to spring eternal? Could a leopard change its spots? The answer in nature was a resounding no! Applied to humans, the verdict wasn’t so reliable. What exactly had Carina come to tell her? Was this another one of her strategies? Changed spots or not, she didn’t fancy the idea of putting her head in a leopard’s mouth.
After Carina had gone on her way, leaving a minefield of possibilities, Francesca withdrew to her office, closing the door. It wasn’t her practice to do it all the time, but she did it now, directing a little sympathetic smile Valerie’s way. Poor Valerie! Carina had been very rough on her. Then again, there was the possibility Carina was in the early stages of turning herself around. Who could deny there were great life-changing forces constantly at work?
One good thing about being the official Forsyth heiress. If she disappeared, even in the
Outback, people would notice.
CHAPTER FIVE
THEY flew into Daramba well before noon. Once over the vast station Bryn brought the King Air down low, so they could get a closer look at the condition of the land. The endless miles of wildflowers had all but vanished, ready to reappear with the next Wet Season’s good rains, but the ancient landscape—the infinite Inland Sea of pre-history—still frothed in blossom from the trees. Daramba was in prime condition, the fiery red earth thickly sown with thick Mitchell and Flinders grass, the ubiquitous spinifex, salt bush, hop bush and the succulent pink parakeelya cattle liked to feed on. There were clusters of billabongs, three or four linked, before a break of a few miles streaked away to the horizon, the iridescent blue of the sky holding a couple of white clouds, like giant cotton wool balls. No rain in them. No rain anywhere over a state more than twice the size of Texas.
The great system of water channels that ran like intricate lacework all over the Channel Country glittered in the sun, some silver, others dark green, with occasionally a cloudy opal-blue or lime-green, framed by the dark green fringing trees that grew along the sandy banks. It created a whole kaleidoscope of colour. And there was movement as well as colour. A mob of brumbies with a long-tailed bay at the front—tall and powerful for a wild horse—its harem behind, the half-grown foals alongside, suddenly shot into view from a thick screen of bauhinias, probably taking fright at the sound of the plane’s engines. They were a marvellous sight in flight, and because of easy access to feed and water in glossy condition.
