Wealthy Australian, Secret Son

by Margaret Way

  Mattie always laughed, “Boy, has he got a crush on you, Charlie!”

  She chose not to believe it. She didn’t know then that some crushes get very crushed.

  Rohan never laughed. Never joked about it. He kept silent on that score. The Marsdons and the Prescotts were the privileged children of the Valley. Certainly not Rohan Costello, who lived with his mother on the outskirts of town in a little cottage hardly big enough to swing a cat. Their mother said the pair would have to shift soon.

  “Rohan is quickly turning into a man!”

  At fourteen, nearing fifteen, it was apparent the fast-growing Rohan would easily attain six feet and more in maturity. Mattie, on the other hand, was small for his age. Rohan was by far the strongest and the best swimmer, though she was pretty good herself—but built for speed rather than endurance.

  Totally unselfconscious, even with her budding breasts showing through her swimsuit and her long light limbs gleaming a pale gold, with Rohan—her hero—watching, she made a full racing dive into the water, striking out towards him as he urged her on, both of them utterly carefree, not knowing then that this was the last day they would ever swim in the river.

  Years later she would shudder when she remembered their odd near-total absorption in one another that summer afternoon. A boy and a girl. One almost fifteen, the other twelve.

  Romeo and Juliet.

  Martyn appeared angry with them, sniping away. Jeal- ous. Mattie was his normal sweet self. At one stage he called out that he was going to swim across to the opposite bank, where beautiful weeping willows bent their branches towards the stream.

  “Stay with us, Mattie,” Rohan yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.

  “What’s the matter? Reckon I can’t do it?” Mattie called back, sounding very much as if he was going to take up the challenge.

  “’Course you can!” she had shouted, always mindful of her brother’s self-esteem, undermined by his sickness. “But do like Rohan says, Mattie. Stay with us.”

  Mattie appeared persuaded. He turned in their direction, only then Martyn yelled, his voice loud with taunt, “Don’t be such a cream puff, Marsdon! Are you always going to do what Mummy says? Are you always going to stick by Rohan’s side? Rohan will look after Mummy’s little darling. Isn’t that his job? Go for it, Mattie! Don’t be such a wimp!”

  “Shut up, Martyn!” Rohan roared, in a voice none of them had ever heard before. It was an adult voice. The voice of command.

  Immediately Martyn ceased his taunts, but Mattie confounded them all by kicking out towards the opposite bank, his thin arms stiff and straight in the water.

  “Perhaps we should let him?” Charlotte had appealed to Rohan, brows knotted. “Mummy really does mollycoddle him.”

  “You can say that again!” Martyn chortled unkindly. Everyone in the Valley knew how protective Barbara Marsdon was of her only son.

  “I’m going after him.” It only took a little while of watching Mattie’s efforts for Rohan to make the decision. “You shouldn’t have taunted him, Martyn. You’re supposed to be Mattie’s friend. He’s trying to be brave, but the brave way is the safest way. Mattie doesn’t have your strength, or mine. He isn’t the strongest of swimmers.”

  “He’ll make it.” Martyn was trying not to sound anxious, but his warier brain cells had kicked in. Rohan was right. He shouldn’t have egged Mattie on. He went to say something in his own defence, only Rohan had struck out in his powerful freestyle while Charlotte followed.

  Martyn chose to remain behind. He thought they were both overreacting. Mattie would be okay. Sure he would! The distance between the banks at that point wasn’t all that wide. The water was warm. The surface was still. There was no appreciable undercurrent. Well, not really. The waters were much murkier on the other side, with the wild tangle of undergrowth, the heavy overhang of trees, the resultant debris that would have found its way into the river. For someone like Rohan the swim would be no more than a couple of lengths of the pool. But for Mattie?

  Hell, they could be in the middle of a crisis, Martyn realised—too late.

  One minute Mattie’s thin arms were making silver splashes in the water, and then to their utter horror his head, gilded by sunlight, disappeared beneath the water.

  All of a sudden the river that had taken them so many times into its wonderful cool embrace seemed a frightening place.

  “Oh, God—oh, God!” Charlotte shrieked, knowing in her bones something was wrong. “Get him, Rohan!” she cried hysterically.

  “Come on, don’t be stupid, Charlie. He’s only showing off,” Martyn shouted at her, starting to feel desperately worried. The traumas of childhood had a way of echoing down the years. Martyn felt shivers of prescience shoot into his gut.

  Charlotte ignored him, heart in her mouth. Martyn never was much good in a crisis. It was Rohan who knifed through the dark green water with the speed of a torpedo.

  She went after him, showing her own unprecedented burst of speed. “God—oh, God!” Tears were pouring down her face, lost in river water.

  There was no sign of Matthew. She knew he wouldn’t be playing games. Matthew was enormously considerate of others. He would never frighten her, never cause concern to the people he loved. He loved her. He loved Rohan, his best friend. He wouldn’t even have caused dread to Martyn, who had taunted him either. “Mattie…Mattie Mattie…!” She was yelling his name at the top of her lungs, startling birds that took off in a kaleidoscope of colour.

  Rohan too had disappeared, diving beneath the dark green water. She followed his example, fear reverberating deep within her body. Lungs tortured, she had to surface for air. As she came up she thought she saw something shimmering—a shape moving downstream. She went after it. Rohan beat her to it. She was screaming in earnest now. Rohan was cradling a clearly unconscious Mattie like a baby, holding him out of the water in his strong arms. A thin runnel of blood was streaming off Mattie’s pale temple.

  Fate could swoop like an eagle from a clear blue sky.

  “I’ll tow him to the bank,” Rohan shouted to her. His voice was choked, his handsome young face twisted in terror. ‘I’ll try CPR. Keep at it. Charlie—get help.”

  But Mattie was gone. She knew it. Lovely, laughing Mattie. The best brother in the world.

  A swim across the river. She could have done it easily. Yet Mattie might have plunged into a deep sea in the blackness of night. There was no sign of Martyn either. He must have run back to the house for help. She thought she might as well drown herself with Mattie gone. There would be no life at Riverbend now. Her mother would most likely go mad. She knew her father would somehow survive. But her mother, even if she could get through the years of annihilating grief, wouldn’t stay within sight of the river where her adored Matthew had drowned. She would go away, leaving Charlotte and her father alone.

  Except for the gentle shadow of Matthew Marsdon, who would always be fourteen.

  The whole tragic thing would be blamed on someone. Her inner voice gave her the sacrificial name. Rohan.

  Rohan the born leader, who would be judged by her parents, the Prescotts, and a few others in the Valley resentful of the Costello boy’s superior looks and high intelligence over their own sons, to have let Matthew Marsdon drown.

  Such an intolerable burden to place on the shoulders of a mere boy. A crime, and Rohan Costello was innocent of the charge.

  The present. The garden party.

  Rohan Costello had returned to the scene of his childhood devastation. That showed passion and courage. It also showed that the cleverest boy in the Valley had become extraordinarily successful in life. Matthew Marsdon’s tragic death had locked the daughter, Charlotte, and Costello even more closely together. Eventually they’d gone beyond the boundaries, but that had never been known, or if suspected never proved. What was known was that the Tragedy had never driven them apart—even when Charlotte’s parents, in particular her mother Barbara, had burned with something approaching hatred for the boy s
he had in a way helped nurture.

  There had only been one course left to the Costellos. Mother and son had been virtually driven out of the Valley, the sheer weight of condemnation too great.

  The brutality of it!

  People could only wonder if Rohan Costello had returned to Silver Valley to settle old scores? The past was never as far away as people liked to pretend.

  Charlotte’s faint lasted only seconds, but when she was out of it and the world had stopped spinning she was still in a state of shock, her body trembling with nerves. She was lying on one of the long sofas in the drawing room, her head and her feet resting on a pile of silk cushions. Her hair had all but fallen out of its elegant arrangement. She was minus her hat and, she noted dazedly, her expensive sandals.

  Rohan was at her head. Christopher was at her feet. Diane Rodgers and a couple of her mother’s old friends stood close by. Her mother’s friends’ watching faces were showing their concern. Not so Ms Rodgers, whose almond eyes were narrow. There was no sign of her father, but George Morrissey, their family doctor, hurried in, calling as he came, “Charlie, dear, whatever happened?”

  Morrissey had brought the Marsdon children into the world, and Charlotte had always been a great favourite.

  “How are you feeling now?” He sat down beside her to take her pulse. A few more checks, and then, satisfied there was nothing serious about the faint, he raised her up gently, while Rohan Costello, the new owner, resettled the cushions as a prop at her back.

  “The heat, George,” she explained, not daring to look up at Rohan, who had so stunningly re-entered her life. What she wanted to do was seize hold of her little son and run for her life. Except there was no escape. Not now. “I must be going soft.”

  “That’ll be the day!” the doctor scoffed.

  “Mummy?” Christopher’s lovely olive skin had turned paper-white. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine, darling.” She held out a reassuring hand. “Come here to me.” She tried hard to inject brightness into her voice. “I love you, Chrissie.”

  “Mummy, I love you too. You’ve never fainted before.” He clutched her hand, staring anxiously into her face.

  “I’m fine now, sweetheart. Just a little dizzy.” She drew him down onto the spot Dr Morrissey had readily vacated, putting a soothing arm around him and dropping a kiss on the top of his golden head. “I’ll get up in a minute.”

  “Give it a little longer, Charlie,” Morrissey advised, happy to see her natural colour returning. He very much suspected extreme shock was the cause of Charlotte’s faint. Incredible to think young Costello had become so successful. Then again, not. Rohan Costello had been an exceptionally bright lad. “This is a surprise, Rohan,” he said, turning to hold out his hand.

  Rohan Costello took it in a firm grip. The doctor could hardly say, given the circumstances of Rohan Costello’s departure, Welcome back to Silver Valley!

  “It’s good to see you again, Dr Morrissey,” Rohan answered smoothly. “You were always kind to my mother and me.”

  “You were both very easy to be kind to, Rohan,” Morrissey assured him with genuine warmth. “And how is your mother?”

  “She’s doing very well, sir,” Rohan responded pleasantly, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to be more forthcoming.

  “Good, good! I’m very glad to hear it. Do you intend to spend much time in the Valley, Rohan?” Morrissey dared to ask. “You must have become a very successful businessman?”

  Rohan gave him a half smile that bracketed his handsome mouth. “I’ve had a few lucky breaks, Doctor.”

  “I think it would have more to do with brain power. You were always very clever.”

  George Morrissey, the keeper of many secrets, turned back to take another look at Charlotte and her precious boy. What a beautiful child Christopher was, with those glorious blue eyes! One rarely saw that depth of colour. He had delivered Christopher Prescott, Charlotte’s baby, who had come a little early. He was sure everyone had believed him. He was the most respected medical doctor in the Valley. After the tragic death of Charlotte’s young brother Matthew, and the flight of her mother from the “haunted” Valley, he had become very protective of Charlotte Marsdon, who had gone on to marry a young man who in his opinion had simply not been worthy of her. Martyn Prescott—who himself had met a tragic fate.

  Christopher too wanted to talk to the tall stranger—the man who had carried his mother so effortlessly into their house. Well, his house now. And it seemed to suit him just fine. Christopher was very thankful the right person would have ownership of Riverbend. He looked just the sort of man to look after it.

  Christopher stood up, wondering why his mother was trying to grab hold of his arm. He held out his hand, as he had been taught. “Hello, I’m Christopher. We used to live here.”

  “I know that, Christopher,” the man answered quietly, moving in closer.

  The man’s blue eyes made contact with his own, and Christopher felt transfixed. “Do you know Mummy?” He didn’t see how the man could, yet those vibes he seemed to have inherited from someone told him this man and his mother knew one another well. It was a mystery, but there it was!

  Charlotte put her feet to the floor, unsure if she could even stand, still not looking at Rohan but acutely aware that the full force of his attention was focused on her and her son. “Mr Costello is a very busy man, Chris,” she said. Christopher was so sharp. “We mustn’t keep him from mingling with his guests.”

  “No, Mummy.” Christopher nodded his head in agreement, but continued with a further question. “How do you know my mother?” It seemed important he find out. Perceptive beyond his years, he felt the tension between his mother and the tall stranger. He couldn’t figure it out. But it was there. Mummy was nice to everyone, yet she wasn’t being exactly nice to Mr Costello. Something had to be worrying her.

  “Your mother and I grew up together, Christopher,” Rohan explained. “I left the Valley when I was seventeen. I’m Rohan. No need to call me Mr Costello.”

  “Oh, I’d like that,” Christopher said, his cheeks taking on a gratified flush. “We thought you were going to be pretty old. But you’re young!”

  “Your mother has never mentioned me?”

  Christopher shook his blond head. “Did you know my dad died?” He edged closer to the man. It was like being drawn by a magnet. It sort of thrilled him. He felt he could follow this man Rohan like the disciples in Bible stories had followed their Master. It both pleased and puzzled him.

  “Yes, I did, Christopher. I’m very sorry.” Rohan’s voice was gentle, yet his expression was stern.

  “There’s just Mummy and me now.” Christopher felt the sting of tears at the back of his eyes. He had loved his dad. Of course he had. One had to love one’s dad. But never like he loved his mother. What was really strange was that he cared for his grumpy old grandfather more than he had cared for his dad. “And Grandpa, of course,” he tacked on. “You must have known my dad and Uncle Mattie?”

  “Oh, darling, not all these questions!” Charlotte spoke with agitation. He had sussed out enough already. Something had happened to Christopher of late. He was picking up on vibes, on looks and words that appeared to him laden with meaning. He was growing up too fast.

  For once, Christopher didn’t heed her. “Uncle Mattie is still around,” he told Rohan, staring up at him. He was really surprised by the way he felt drawn to his man. “I often feel Uncle Mattie around.”

  Rohan didn’t laugh or deride his claim. “I believe it, Christopher,” he said. “I feel Mattie too, at different times. He would have loved you.”

  “Would he?” Christopher was immensely pleased. Uncle Mattie would have loved him! He was liking Rohan more and more. “Mummy said I looked like him when I was little.” He continued to meet Rohan’s amazing blue eyes. They glittered like jewels. “Do I?”

  Rohan considered that carefully. “You might have, Christopher, when you were younger. But not now.”

&
nbsp; “No.” Christopher shook his blond head, as though his own opinion had been confirmed. “I don’t look like anyone, really,” he confided.

  Oh, yes, you do!

  Charlotte kept her head down, her heart fluttering wildly in her breast. Christopher’s face had changed as the baby softness had firmed and his features became more pronounced. Heredity. It was all so dangerous.

  It was Diane Rodgers who located Charlotte’s expensive sandals, then passed them to her in such a manner as to suggest a hurry-up. There was a faint accompanying glare as well. Charlotte bent to put her strappy sandals back on, then made an attempt to fix her hair. She felt totally disorientated. And there was Christopher, chattering away to Rohan as if he had known him all his young life. It almost broke her.

  “Here’s your hat, love.” A familiar face swam into view. Kathy Nolan—a good friend to her mother and a good friend to her. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you, Kathy.” Charlotte took the picture hat in her hand.

  “Feeling better now, love?” Kathy Nolan was very fond of Charlotte.

  “Much better, thank you, Kathy. I’m so sorry I embarrassed you all. The heat got to me.”

  Kathy, a kindly woman, let that go. A beautiful breeze was keeping the temperature positively balmy. Charlotte had fainted because Rohan Costello was the last man in the universe she would have expected to buy the Marsdon mansion, Kathy reckoned. To tell the truth she felt a little freaked out herself. Rohan Costello, of all people! And didn’t he look marvellous! Always a handsome boy, the adult Rohan took her breath away. Many people in the Valley—herself and her husband certainly—had been unhappy when the Costellos had left after Rohan had completed his final year at secondary school. Later they had learned he was their top achiever. The highest category. No surprise.

  Poor Barbara had never made allowances for the ages of the other children when Mattie had drowned. It had been a terrible accident. With all the care in the world, accidents still happened. Yet Barbara had gone on a bitter, never-ending attack. So very sad! Loss took people in different ways. Bereft of her son, Barbara Marsdon had been in despair. That inner devastation had brought about the divorce. The marriage had been beyond repair. Barbara had told her she’d doubted her ability to be a good mother to Charlotte. She wasn’t functioning properly. That had been true enough. Charlotte was to remain with her father.