by Margaret Way
“I can’t believe Scott could turn on Gran like this,” she wailed. “He’s always been volatile. This time he’s blown a fuse.”
“Where are they, Chelle?” Keefe called from over his shoulder.
“Gran’s bedroom. Keefe must have hurt him,” she confided to Skye in an aside. “His face is a bit of a mess.”
“Keefe wouldn’t have hurt him too much.” Skye hoped. “He knows his own strength. He wouldn’t turn the full force of it on his brother.”
“Scott well deserves it,” Rachelle said, appalled by her brother’s behaviour. “Gran is absolutely off limits. He nearly scared me to death. Gran wasn’t showing any of it. She’s tough. But she’s old now. Scott really does have a vicious streak.”
The two of them followed Keefe up the grand staircase at a rush, but he had already disappeared down the corridor. The house was silent. Yet neither young woman found this calming. “If he’s caused Gran any harm I’ll never forgive him,” Rachelle said dazedly. “I’m so glad you’re here with me, Skye. I can’t possibly keep going the way I am.”
They found Lady McGovern with her two grandsons in the bedroom. Rachelle went immediately to her grandmother, kneeling at her feet. “You okay, Gran?” She searched the distinguished old lady’s face.
“I’m fine, dear,” Lady McGovern said, though she looked far from fine. She looked old and frail. “A bit flustered, that’s all. It would take more than Scott’s inexcusable abuse to carry me off.”
Skye, undergoing a delayed shock reaction, was suddenly hit by a dizzy spasm. She slumped back against an antique chest, nearly toppling the exquisite Chinese vase that sat on it.
“Skye?” Keefe crossed to her, guiding her into one of the armchairs. “Put your head down for a moment.” He eased her golden blonde head forward, keeping his hand on her nape.
“I’m okay.” She brought her head up after several seconds.
“You bet she’s okay.” Scott, who had been sitting with his head in his hands, suddenly came back to life. “Like we actually need her in the family.”
“You’re unstoppable, aren’t you?” Lady McGovern lamented. “You need professional help.’
Scott flinched, his eyes locking on his grandmother’s. “I can’t believe you said that, Gran. I would never hurt you. I just wanted you to see things my way.”
“Don’t even try to justify your way,” Keefe told his brother coldly. “Gran’s right. You need counselling. After that, you can take over at Emerald Waters. If you don’t want to, fine. You and Rachelle have a very healthy trust fund. You can do as you like. The problem is, Scott, you don’t appear to have any real insight into your own behaviour. It’s deplorable. With the right help maybe you’ll be able to straighten yourself out.”
“How can I begin to walk straight?” Scott gave an agonised laugh. “I’ve had to walk in your shadow for twenty-six years.” He spoke as though he perceived that to be the sole cause of his troubles. “I had no choice in the matter. I was the second son. I was unwanted. Wouldn’t surprise me.”
Lady McGovern looked sadly at her younger grandson. “You were very much wanted, Scott. Wanted and loved. What’s going on here is some lack, some liability, in yourself. You’re eaten up with jealousy and resentment. You’re a mess, my boy. And that mess has to be cleaned up.”
Scott swung his angry accusing glance Skye’s way. “What about the mess she’s made? You said yourself you thought she was Uncle Jonty’s kid. There’s always been a dark underbelly in this family. Skye sure doesn’t look like Jack McCory.”
“Jack McCory is a good man.” Lady McGovern held up her hand as Keefe went to sharply intervene. “The sad thing is I’ve gone for far too many years not fully appreciating what sort of man he is. Cathy loved him. She tried to tell me that, but I couldn’t see it. I thought she was infatuated with Jonty. I was blind to what was right under my nose. Jack McCory has proved himself to be a man of integrity. It was a terrible thing you did, Scott, presenting Jack with what could possibly be ill-founded assumptions. I may not be able to forgive myself for that.”
“It’s fact!” Scott sneered, a nerve twitching in his cheek. “The thing is, what are we going to do about it?”
“No we.” Keefe’s tone lashed. “None of this is your concern, Scott.” He rested his hands on Skye’s shoulders. “Skye and I are to be married.”
Please, God, yes, yes, Skye silently begged. She couldn’t continue without hope.
Scott’s chin quivered with rage. “It’ll be over in a matter of months. It’s a natural reaction not to want to marry your first cousin.”
“Oh, shut up, Scott,” Rachelle raged. “For once in your life mind your own business. You’re just jealous. I always knew you fancied Skye. But I’m ready to back whatever Keefe and Skye choose to do. First cousins can marry. No problem. Annette Kingsley—I went to school with her—married her first cousin, Brett. They have a couple of lovely kids now. You’ve allowed yourself to be eaten up with jealousy and envy. We’ve all had to live with it. You’ll be better off away from here. So will I. All these years you’ve been trying to live Keefe’s life. Time to get one of your own. I plan to.”
“I want you off Djinjara tomorrow, Scott,” Keefe said. “When you can return is entirely up to you.”
Scott stood up, lurching to the door. “Stick your offer of Emerald Downs,” he said. “I’ve got money. No one wants me here anyway, so I reckon I might travel. Become a playboy or a beach bum. I just can’t hack marrying poor old Jemma.”
“You’ll be doing her a big favour,” Keefe said in a deeply ironic voice.
“But Skye now!” Scott’s dark eyes glowed hotly. “You mean to have Skye McCory?”
“I’ve already said so.” Keefe didn’t spare his brother his contempt.
“I won’t be expecting an invitation to the wedding, then?” Scott gave Keefe then Skye an insolent salute.
“Right on!” Keefe followed his brother up, determined on seeing him to his room. “Move it, Scott. You need to pack.”
CHAPTER NINE
SKYE stayed inside with her father all morning. Scott was due to fly out at noon. Events had been tough on everyone. The family was upset. So was she. It was terrible to be thought of as “the enemy”, which was obviously the way Scott felt about her. She wasn’t such a fool she didn’t know behind the intense dislike lay a very different emotion, equally unwelcome. Scott was just as much attracted to her as he had ever been. It was part of his condition—sibling rivalry carried to the nth degree—to hunger for what his older brother had. It had started in Scott’s boyhood. It had carried through to Scott the man. She knew there were areas of grief and a kind of defeat in Keefe in relation to his brother. Keefe had tried endlessly to help Scott. It hadn’t worked because Scott wouldn’t allow it to work. That would take away his raison d’être. She worried that perhaps part of Keefe was subconsciously shifting some of the blame onto her. She had seen it before, but she wouldn’t tolerate it now. Keefe loved his brother for all his aberrations. That was what family was about.
She had given her father an edited version of what had happened the previous night, telling him the family had agreed Scott needed professional help to enable him to overcome his problems.
“He’ll carry them to his dying day, poor lad,” Jack said, his expression saddened. “Hate to say it but a lot of families have the odd man out. So what about young Jemma? Is she still in the equation?”
Skye shook her head. “For a time Jemma will suffer. She does love him. Why I don’t know. I’ve never heard him offer her an affectionate word. There’s no explaining this love business. The choices we make, even if they don’t fit our needs.”
“No explaining life,” Jack said with a wry laugh. He was looking so much better, recovering well. “So what did the old lady say? Never darken my door again?”
“Nothing like that, Dad.” Skye refilled their coffee cups. “Scott’s family love him. The tragedy is he doesn’t recognise it.”
Jack nodded. “It’s as you say. We all make choices in life. Some choices lead to great happiness, others to suffering. The trouble is we don’t know at the time. Now, when do we get this test done? The sooner the better, I guess, though I’m at peace in my mind.”
The implications were so strong, so possibly traumatic that Skye had deliberately blocked her mind to any other result than that Jack was her biological father. “I’ve been thinking about that. In the course of my work I’ve dealt with DNA testing on behalf of clients. All of them paternity tests, as it happens. One involved a large inheritance, only my client’s late father wasn’t her biological father.”
“So she missed out?”
“On half of it. I managed to convince the rest of the family she had a definite entitlement and we would fight for it. The case was settled out of court. My client received roughly one quarter. They were a greedy lot. It wasn’t the money, it was the not belonging that broke my client’s heart. As far as the tests go, it takes about three or four days from the time a sample is received at the laboratory. Keefe wants you to have some time off. Why don’t you come back with me? You love Sydney. We can do lots of things together.”
“And it would make things easier for this testing?”
She nodded. “We’re both on hand. It’s Lady McGovern that has to be convinced. She’s lived all these years with pure supposition. It’s worn her down. Time to set her free.”
“But I’m your dad no matter…right?” There was a humble note in Jack’s voice.
“You bet you are!” Skye lightly punched his arm. “That’s the way it is. That’s the way it’s always going to be. You’re my dad.”
She had arranged to meet Keefe mid-afternoon. Same old meeting place. They were desperate to be alone. There was so much to discuss. And above and beyond that, she craved the physical closeness. How could she bring herself to renounce Keefe? How could she? That was her torment, adding a great urgency to her prayers. Was it possible to bargain with God, she thought, then forget all about one’s promise when the drama was over? Much as she brooded on it, she couldn’t think so. It hadn’t been a light promise. It had been a solemn vow. Scott had committed a crime, going to her father with his revenge-filled revelations. Now Scott had flown away, leaving the consequences of his actions behind.
She took her favourite mare, Zemira, from the stables. Zemira had that little bit of a devil in her. They forded the numerous water channels that criss-crossed the station. With some she underestimated the depth of the channel at the centre. The water came up to her knee pads, but she would dry off soon enough. The heat of the day was still intense. In the distance she could see a mob of cattle, a thousand or so, being turned in a huge wave towards water. No life without water. A great bull called Samson led the mob by several yards, his dominance on display. Heifers came respectfully behind. The lowing and bellowing—mothers for their calves—even at a distance, rent the air.
On the plain, the landscape was painted in bold colours, rust red with great splashes of dark gold from the spinifex and multiple shades of green and grey-green from the native grasses. Some of the tall grasses were flushed along the tops with tiny yellow wildflowers, bright as coins in the sun. As always, the mirage was abroad. From a distance it took the form of a silver sea, deep enough to swim in. The early explorers had headed off towards those silver seas only to tread never-ending fiery red sands.
The peace and quiet of the hill country was remarkable. Silence could speak. It spoke to her. Silence brought her a much-needed measure of peace. Skye attended first to the mare then she spread out a rug in the sun-dappled shade of the bauhinias. Native passion fruit were growing nearby. The pungent fragrance she inhaled with pleasure, drawing it deep into her lungs. With her pocket knife she split a couple of fruit, putting each half to her mouth and letting the pulp slide sweetly tart and thirst quenching in a cool stream down her throat. Delicious! She settled herself on the rug, looking out on the vast panorama.
What to a city person was a trackless, untamed wilderness of flaring red soil, blazing blue skies and the beautiful, but treacherous mirage held for her all the magic of the Dreamtime. This giant desert landscape was deep under her skin. She thought it would take more than a lifetime to photograph it in all its moods. Inevitably her thoughts turned to the coming of the wildflowers. No city person could imagine what it was like, riding through an ocean of wildflowers that ran on mile after mile after mile, away to the horizon. She wanted to capture that sight on camera. That time would come. All that was needed was a cyclone, even heavy monsoon rains in the tropical north. The great inland river system would fill and overflow, preceding one of the most brilliant spectacles one could witness in a lifetime.
After ten minutes of waiting she climbed to the top of the hill to gain a vantage point. Keefe had told her he would be driving a station vehicle. He had been with the station vet for most of the morning but the vet had been scheduled to take a return helicopter flight at 1:00 p.m. to a neighbouring station. One hand shading her eyes, she stood and waited, twirling a bauhinia flower a shade restlessly between her fingers. A pair of kangaroos, a blue-grey female, considerably smaller, and a bright red male, a good six feet on its haunches, were indulging in a little love play down on the flats. The female was showing her affection by placing her short left arm across the male’s broad back, tenderly kissing his muzzle. Sex, it seemed, made the world go round.
If only she had her camera! She was in her element here. The very nature of the landscape, with its great desert monuments, rock piles and stunning ramparts, its flora and extraordinary fauna, lent itself to spectacular shots. Kangaroos were fascinating to watch; large groups of them—as protection against dingo attack—getting around the countryside with their unique hops, standing up staring about while taking a break from grazing. Even the pugnacious males’ battle for supremacy was thrilling, though it could become a life-and-death affair; two adult males fighting for the honour of taking off the desired female, leading the mob, mostly both.
Five minutes later she was rewarded by the sight of a Jeep speeding across the flat. The heavy tyres were sucking up the sand, sending up spiralling red willy-willies filled with grass seeds and grit.
The waiting was over! She felt such a tremendous rush of emotion she had difficulty swallowing…What she felt for Keefe was outside her control. Whatever happened—whatever the outcome of the DNA testing—she knew there would be no real future without him. But like many women before her faced with life-transforming trauma over an invisible oath given before God, she would have to stick with her religious beliefs. No one could ever say real life was easy.
He pulled her close, drawing her into his brilliant gaze. They kissed open-mouthed. Long sustained kisses. She kept nothing back. Neither did he.
This is what love is. The giving without stint.
It wasn’t only her mouth and her arms she opened wide to him. She gave of her spirit. If she had to—if the worse came to the worst—she could live the rest of her life knowing she had once known a great love.
“There’ll be protection in one of the caves,” Keefe said urgently. He fixed his gaze on the hills with their innumerable caves and shelters. They desperately needed total privacy.
“The one with all the little stick people making love.” She took his outstretched hand, her legs atremble. Aborigines over tens of thousands of years had been using rock facings for their art, drawing and incising carvings on countless rocky outcrops, some never seen by the white man.
The deep roomy cave Skye had chosen was full of hidden art. The drawings executed in a range of ochres. They could be understood immediately—men and women making love, beneath trees, alongside creeks with birds and cloud symbols overhead. The positions were very realistic. Even stick figures could bring a blush to the cheeks. Strikingly the male figures were wearing headdresses of birds’ feathers.
This wasn’t by any means the richest gallery on Djinjara, but it was one of the most accessible and it had a beni
gn aura. It was no exaggeration for her to say the main gallery had the power to make the short hairs on her nape stand to attention. Tribal people believed a Dreamtime spirit had made its home there. She believed it too. She certainly wouldn’t dare to photograph the rock drawings. Not that Keefe would allow her to. No one needed to bring the anger of the Great Ones down on their heads.
“How did it go with Scott?” She stood at the neck of the cave, watching Keefe check the thick yellow sand over. Little lizards scurried for cover, heading for the rock walls.
“Badly!” he threw over his shoulder.
A warning tremor shot through her. “Don’t want to talk about it?”
“What is there to say?” He turned back to her, his silvery eyes contrasting strikingly with the deep bronze of his skin.
“Is he still blaming me?” She hadn’t intended saying it but, despite that, it came out. There was just something in Keefe’s expression that bothered her and spun resistance. She knew she had mulled far too long over that incident that had happened years ago.
“He’s blaming you because he can’t have you,” Keefe said.
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter, when it mattered a great deal. “Scott is the type who only wants what he can’t have. He lets things fester in his mind.”
“I know.”
Waves of remembered resentment rose, making it difficult for her to speak. “So what are you going to do?” she asked. “Let worry over your brother affect our lives? He’s not worth it, Keefe.”
“I know that too,” Keefe retorted grimly. “Falling in love with you was out of his control. I can surely understand. It was out of my control.”
That jolted her heart. “Maybe I’m a witch!”
He gave a twisted half-smile. “You have powers. Don’t let’s talk about Scott any more,” he said, his voice strained. “He’s gone.”
