The Constantin Marriage

by Lindsay Armstrong

  She took herself to bed eventually and woke up with her mind clearer.

  Tatiana Constantin née Beaufort was a new person as of today. Gone was the social butterfly, gone was the naïve girl who’d thought she could make a very experienced man fall in love with her. Gone was the innocent, the ingénue. And from today she would be assessing how she could save Beaufort and Carnarvon without having to spend the rest of her life married to a man who couldn’t love her.

  ‘So, Jim.’ Tattie took her hat off and wiped her brow as she sat on a well-mannered brown mare. ‘Beaufort looks to be in pretty good shape…the new yards and loading ramp, the six-mile bore et cetera—but what about Carnarvon?’

  It was a clear blue day, the temperature was thirty degrees and the dust from a mob of cattle being moved to the main holding yards hung in the air. Air that was alive with whistles and hoofbeats, moos, the occasional yelp of a cattle dog—and lots of sticky little flies.

  ‘Miss Tattie,’ Jim said, ‘things aren’t so good over there, mate.’

  He was dry and wiry, and he’d known her since she was ten. He looked into the far blue yonder. Beaufort and Carnarvon were adjoined, but their common border was one of extremely rough terrain for the most part, almost impenetrable rock-strewn gullies and sheer cliffs. Which meant a long way round getting between the two stations.

  ‘The last wet played havoc with the main road in, and the stock last time I did a recce was all gone bush and needs a damn good weeding out anyway,’ he continued laconically.

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘Because Carnarvon is a lot rougher country than Beaufort generally, it’s always been a problem to get rid of the shorthorn influence. There are a lot of wild scrubber bulls lurking in them gullies—used to annoy the hell out of your dad, may he rest in peace.’

  ‘Jim,’ Tattie said slowly, ‘would it be fair to say Carnarvon is becoming—unviable?’

  ‘As is, sure,’ he responded. ‘But I thought… I mean Alex…’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘What I mean is, with a bit of work and the way beef prices are going, Carnarvon could be made to pay its way. Your dad would never have parted with it and—’

  ‘I know,’ Tattie interrupted. ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘The last time he was here on his own,’ Jim said thoughtfully, ‘Alex, I mean—we flew over the boundary and we found one spot where he thought you could make a road to join ’em up. I tell you what, Miss Tattie, it would make both of ’em a hell of a lot more viable. If we could get that stock over here we could have one main operation rather than two separate ones. But it would take a bit of dosh to build that road.’

  It stuck in Tattie’s throat, fortunately, the frustrated urge to enquire at large why her husband had seen fit not to share this news with her. But perhaps those were the ideas he’d mentioned to her? And would have confided to her if she’d been a good little wife in all respects?

  Then Jim looked up and shaded his eyes at the same time as Tattie became aware of a buzzing above.

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said.

  ‘That’s Alex?’ she asked incredulously as a light plane flew over them.

  ‘Sure is. Recognise that beaut little bird anywhere!’

  ‘So I’ll thank you never to do that again, Tattie,’ her husband said grimly.

  She’d ridden back to the homestead to arrive just as Marie had dropped him off from the airstrip. And she supposed she should be grateful that he’d waited until they were inside and alone before he’d commenced to tear strips off her for allowing him to wonder whether she’d been kidnapped again.

  ‘But I left you a note!’ she protested.

  ‘You should be more careful with your notes in future. It fell down behind the hall table and I only found it because I dropped my car keys—three hours after you’d apparently disappeared off the face of the earth. But that’s not all.’

  ‘I…I—’

  He overrode her. ‘Tattie, I never wanted to scare the daylights out of you but, since it—almost—happened once, you need to adopt a bit of caution. Buzzing off on your own without any consultation is not on, do you understand? Surely you’re mature enough for that?’

  Tattie breathed in and exhaled deliberately. It didn’t help. Nothing helped her in this confrontation with her tall, angry husband. And it mysteriously added fuel to the fire because he so much looked the part of a cattleman, lean and tough in jeans and a bush shirt, whereas she felt like a girl desperately trying to play a part.

  ‘What’s the problem, Alex?’ she said. ‘The next time someone tries to kidnap me you could tell them to go ahead, because I’m not the wife you want, am I? It could even solve a few problems.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he ground out.

  Tears were starting to create dark rivulets down her dusty cheeks and she wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘I’m talking about not being Flora Simpson, or whatever her name is. I’m talking about— Alex—’ She broke off on a breath and winced as he took her by the shoulders and his fingers dug in hard.

  ‘Who…?’ He didn’t finish, but stared down at her with such a blaze of anger in his eyes she literally felt herself shrink beneath his hands. Then he blinked and seemed to get himself under better control. ‘My father?’

  She swallowed, and would have given anything to keep her mouth shut.

  ‘It had to be,’ he said and swore.

  ‘I think he was only trying to help,’ Tattie offered tentatively.

  ‘When was this?’

  She told him haltingly.

  ‘So that’s why you scuttled home to Beaufort, Tattie?’

  All the bravado of a few moments ago had drained out of Tattie, but she couldn’t let this pass entirely. ‘You had a bit to do with it yourself, Alex.’

  He stared down at her searchingly, then seemed to make a decision. ‘All right, go and wash your face and I’ll make us a drink. It is lunch time.’

  ‘Perhaps we should eat rather than drink?’

  He smiled slightly. ‘I’ll see what I can do. Off you go.’

  When she got back it was to find that he’d made some substantial ham sandwiches and poured them each a gin and tonic.

  And he waited until she’d had a sandwich and sipped her drink before he said, ‘You’d better tell me the whole story.’

  She didn’t, of course, but she offered him the gist of his father’s concern.

  He looked heavenwards and commented bitterly on the trials of being an only son. Then he looked at her directly and said, ‘That was six years ago, Tattie, and I sent Flora Simpson back to her husband when I discovered she liked to have her cake and eat it.’

  Tattie looked at him wide-eyed.

  ‘I am not pining for her,’ he added, and shook his head in a rather weary disclaimer. ‘I got over it all years ago.’

  ‘So why does your father think…?’

  He grimaced. ‘They’re both desperate for a grandchild.’

  Tattie frowned, but decided to hold her peace—for the time being anyway. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about the possibility of a road between the two stations?’

  ‘That’s a switch of topics! Not that a break from the tortured course of this marriage isn’t welcome… Uh, it would cost, that’s why. I think it would be worth it in the long run but—’

  ‘It brings us right back to the tortured course of this marriage, doesn’t it?’ Tattie suggested sweetly, then sat back, suddenly mentally exhausted.

  Alex watched her for a long moment—the way she sipped her gin and tonic, then put it down as if she wasn’t enjoying it at all, the way her hands clasped then unclasped in her lap, the shadows he suddenly noticed beneath her eyes. More vulnerable, he thought, than he’d ever seen her…

  ‘Let’s take a break,’ he said suddenly.

  She looked a question at him.

  ‘Would you like me to fly you over the area where I think a road is a possibility this afternoon?’

  There was no mistaki
ng the sudden eagerness in her eyes, but then her shoulders slumped. ‘I couldn’t afford it so it may be better not to get too worked up about the idea. Alex—’ she took a deep breath ‘—I really came here, and I intend to stay here, to try to work out a way I can run at least Beaufort without having to depend on you in any way.’

  ‘It means that much to you?’ he said slowly.

  No, you mean too much to me for me to put myself through a loveless marriage to you, and I haven’t discounted the Flora Simpson scenario yet, she answered him in her mind.

  She said instead, ‘I thought it was about time I…got a bit mature about all this.’ The faintest smile lit her blue eyes. ‘I’ve made quite a few mistakes, obviously—’

  ‘The biggest being marrying me?’

  ‘As it’s turned out, yes. So—’

  ‘You really thought a year with me would give you the expertise you lacked?’ he asked probingly.

  ‘Obviously,’ Tattie said again. ‘Now I know otherwise there’s only one thing for me to do, and that’s get stuck into it myself.’

  Alex sat back and continued to watch her as she tilted her chin Beaufort-style, and resolutely squared her shoulders. And it came to him that whatever he felt for Tatiana Beaufort he would not rest easy until he’d discovered what made her tick. He’d let her have her way for a year, he reflected. Then he’d applied a bit of pressure to get their marriage going, only to come to this.

  So what if he used more subtle measures? he mused. Not such a hardship, really. While it was her fighting spirit he found fascinating, she was also rather gorgeous. And, he reflected, there was the curious fact that barely two days ago her trim little body had been warm and pliant and as sexy as hell in his arms—but now this.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ She broke into his reverie, looking slightly nervous.

  He shrugged. ‘I was wondering if I could give you a crash course in cattle-station management, seeing you’re so determined to leave me,’ he said casually. ‘I have the next week free.’

  Her long dark lashes fluttered and her blue eyes were wide and startled. ‘Just like that? I mean…with no strings attached?’

  It passed through his mind to think—Got you, Tattie Beaufort!—only to wonder immediately what kind of a bastard he was. But he reminded himself that it had always been her intention to use him; OK, she might have been very young and not known what she was getting herself into, but all the same…

  ‘No strings attached. And no guarantees I’ll be successful. But we can try.’

  ‘Oh, thank you!’ she breathed, looking suddenly radiant. ‘Can we start now, today?’

  Another thought crossed Alex Constantin’s mind. What effect would it have on him were she to look as radiant about him rather than a damn cattle station? But he dismissed it. ‘Sure. I’ll give you an aerial tour of Carnarvon this afternoon, so you know just what you’re up against.’

  But it was rather a glum Tattie who sat down to dinner with him that night. She’d cooked them steak, egg and chips, and they’d had to push a lot of paperwork aside to be able to eat at the dining-room table.

  She’d seen for herself the diabolical state of the main road into Carnarvon, the way the stock was thinly spread over tortuous country, the shorthorn influence that they’d been able to eradicate from Beaufort in favour of Brahmin or Brahmin-cross cattle. He’d taken her through the bookwork Jim had provided, and she was looking exhausted again.

  ‘Enough of this,’ Alex said when she went to look at the paperwork again after they’d eaten. ‘You relax; I’ll make the coffee.’

  But when he came back with it she was asleep in the wing chair.

  He looked down at her for a long time. At the absurdly long lashes lying on her cheeks, at the twisted grace of her lithe body—and he wondered again at what he thought he was doing in the moment before he picked her up gently and carried her to bed.

  Breakfast was steak again, cooked this time by Alex.

  ‘Sorry you had to put me to bed,’ Tattie said as she looked at her steak and remembered waking up in her shirt and briefs, having been divested of her jeans. ‘I must have been out like a light.’

  ‘You were. So I thought we might take it easy today. Are there any special places on Beaufort we could ride to?’

  She forgot about the indignity of being partially undressed and looked at him eagerly. ‘There’s my favourite billabong; it’s only about an hour’s ride away.’

  ‘Should we take a picnic?’

  ‘I’d love to!’ She picked up her knife and fork and looked much more enthusiastic about her breakfast. ‘I’m sure Jim will have a horse for you.’

  Jim did, a raking chestnut gelding that eyed Alex and gave every indication of taking exception to his weight on its back. Five minutes later, though, it was behaving itself impeccably.

  Tattie tipped her hat to Alex. ‘Didn’t take you long to let him know who’s the boss!’

  He looked over to her seated on her mare. ‘Best to get it over and done with in my opinion.’

  ‘In more walks of life than one,’ Tattie said mischievously.

  ‘But not with you, Tattie,’ he responded. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Follow me!’

  Several hours later they were eating their picnic lunch beside the billabong and Tattie was pointing out the wonders of it all to him. ‘I’ve been coming here since I was six,’ she told him, ‘on my first pony. It was also the year I got a puppy, now I come to think of it. This darling little blue heeler Dad found for me.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He went to the great hunting ground in the sky a bit prematurely.’ She looked sad.

  ‘Did you get another one?’

  ‘No. Dad wanted me to but I was away at boarding-school most of the time so there didn’t seem much point.’

  ‘So…’ He leant back on his elbow. ‘You got on pretty well with your father?’

  She grimaced. ‘Yes, but not always. I know he would have loved to have a son, but Mum fought tooth and nail not to have him turn me into a son by proxy, so I often felt like the meat in a sandwich.’ She shrugged. ‘I often wonder if life wouldn’t have been easier if she’d let him have his way—he turned out to be extremely strict with me as a daughter.’

  ‘I think he’d be very proud of you as a daughter.’

  ‘Do you? Why?’ Tattie asked interestedly.

  ‘You’re feisty, you’re interesting, most people light up when you’re around and—you’re lovely.’

  Tattie nearly dropped her tin mug and splashed hot tea all over her jeans.

  ‘I’ve surprised you,’ he murmured.

  ‘A bit,’ she conceded. ‘I guess because I somehow manage to be—all froth and bubble when I’m with you.’

  He looked amused. ‘If I thought that at first, I’ve revised my opinions. And you have been—other things with me.’

  She coloured, but said valiantly, ‘With disastrous consequences, Alex. I didn’t think you approved at all!’

  ‘Perhaps I’m having trouble putting my finger on the real Tattie Beaufort,’ he said after a moment. ‘Not that it’s a problem now.’

  ‘No,’ she said slowly, and stood up to begin putting the picnic things together. ‘Your parents…’ She paused and looked at him with a comically rueful expression.

  ‘Not to mention your mother, Tattie.’ He sat up. ‘But we married each other, not them, so it’s our business.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed in a businesslike way, but spoilt the effect completely by tripping over a root and landing on her bottom virtually in his lap.

  ‘Tattie—’ His arms closed around her and she thought he was smothering some laughter. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘I’m fine! I’m…fine.’ But she was not. She was far too conscious of his arms around her. She had not the slightest inclination to leave them—and she wasn’t at all sure, she realised abruptly, that she liked being given such an easy way out from their marriage.

  ‘Tattie?’ He
tilted her chin so he could look into her eyes.

  An almost overwhelming longing came to her to run her fingers through his hair and offer him her mouth. In fact she could picture herself going a whole lot further, such as removing her clothes and having him tell her how lovely she was in an entirely personal way, rather than the impersonal way he had done so earlier.

  She swallowed visibly and got extremely flustered just in case this husband she was about to part with could read her thoughts.

  But he stilled her restless movements with a faint smile and her heart started to beat heavily, because she thought, she really thought, he was going to kiss her. He was certainly taking his time about something. He was certainly not attempting to put any distance between them, so she was resting against him and getting all hot and bothered again at the feel of him…

  Then he said lightly, ‘I’ll go first.’

  Her lips parted and her breath came raggedly, but all he did was ease himself away and stand up. Then he helped her up and—as if it was not adding insult to injury, did he but know it, she thought darkly—he dusted her bottom off.

  ‘There. OK? Shall we head home?’ He raised an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Oh, definitely!’

  There was a plop as a fish broke the surface of the billabong; there were ibis wading in the shallows, and an exquisite little kingfisher with turquoise wings sitting motionless in a bush. There were lush pink water lilies against the far bank. But all this faded from Tattie’s consciousness because, despite her bright agreement, she could not stop staring into Alex’s dark eyes.

  And she had the terrible feeling that he had read her mind, that her awful confusion had given her away—if only she could tear her gaze away from his! It was not as if she could read what was in his eyes, but then, when had she ever been able to?

  Perhaps this put some starch into her, because she finally found the will-power to turn towards the horses, and, after loading up, they rode home.

  Two days later she found herself in Alex’s arms once more, and once again in the most innocent way. She’d taken him to a rocky outcrop from where you could see forever over the station. They’d climbed to the top, and she’d pointed out all the landmarks to him: the gorge at the head of a tributary that wound its way into a mighty river; the mesa, or tabletop mountain, at the base of which her great-great-grandfather had camped when he’d taken up what would become known as Beaufort; the waterhole that had originally been the lifeblood of the station.