The Cattle King's Bride

by Margaret Way

  “True,” he said smoothly, loosening his tie. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to start the ball rolling.”

  “Just as well you can’t run off without me,” said Dev, sighing quietly. “There won’t be any big scandal, Mel,” he promised. “I have people working on it. They can keep the whole thing contained.”

  “Can anyone ever bury scandal properly?” Mel asked.

  “The best I can do is a mop up. It’s already in progress,” Dev assured her.

  “It’s not as if I have done anything wrong,” Mel said with a rush of self-belief.

  “Mel, go to bed,” he said. “You’re all eyes.”

  “I don’t get a kiss good-night?” She wasn’t being provocative. Dev’s kisses fed body and soul.

  “Well, I know I’d strive to be good, but there’s a weak side to me.” He smiled, getting to his feet and joining her.

  “You’re always there for me, aren’t you, Dev?” She stared up into his jewelled eyes.

  “As you might say, l’unione fa la forza.”

  “It’s true. There is strength in unity. I’m far luckier than I deserve, Dev,” Mel said humbly.

  His beautiful mouth twisted slightly as he considered what she had said. “Just remember, actions speak louder than words, Mel. We need to find our way out of this. And very soon.” He bent his head to find her mouth while she leaned into him, thinking he had always put her needs before his.

  Dev broke the kiss as he knew he had to. “Sleep well, principessa.”

  * * *

  The savannah lands of the north were an endless sea of emerald-green in the wake of Queensland’s Great Flood. The turquoise Coral Sea, aquamarine in the shallows, lay to the east. It stretched far, far away to the horizon, its waters a maze of reefs, islands, coral banks, sandy cays and the eighth wonder of the world, the Great Barrier Reef, a continuous rampart of coral as solid as sandstone stretching north and south for nearly thirteen hundred miles. Parts of it were still uncharted, to be approached with great caution, which made Mel reflect that Captain James Cook had to be one of the greatest seamen of all time and even he had nearly met with disaster. The great French navigator Bougainville had turned back. He had written in his logbook of the sighting of a “tumultuous surf” rising out of the ocean. That could only mean a huge reef.

  * * *

  They landed on Maru Downs mid-morning. Dev had taken the station’s long-range chopper so they could reach Silverton without recourse to a four-wheel drive. They spent an hour there, Dev talking to the outstation manager, whose wife offered tea and an assortment of cupcakes, baked ahead of their arrival. She and Mel made light conversation, but Mel could only think of two things. This was where Michael had worked as a stockman—he’d probably still be alive if, fatally, he hadn’t met her mother—and next, the journey of discovery ahead of them. Mel was glad neither the manager nor his wife knew anything of Michael’s story. It had all happened before their time.

  * * *

  Silverton, as it turned out, was one of the old gold-rush towns. Dev had sought and gained permission to land on the town’s show grounds. He had no difficulty with that request. The Langdon name was enough.

  At this time of year the town couldn’t have looked prettier. The broad stretch of lawn in the park was densely green, the great mango trees were in blossom, crimson poincianas formed magnificent giant umbrellas against the brilliant sunlight, cascara trees laced their hanging pods with bright yellow blooms, while the ubiquitous bougainvillea climbed over every standing thing in sight.

  Outside the town, a distance of a few miles, one came to the sea, with its beautiful white beaches. The beaches were lined with stands of coconut palms bent at odd angles by the prevailing trade winds, with clumps of spiky pandanus bearing their pineapple-like fruit. Mel had already discovered on that amazing resource the internet that the Kellerman Group was a family owned business established a few years before she was born. Over the twenty-plus years the business had succeeded in becoming one of the largest producers and suppliers of processed dried fruits, fruit pulps, purées and pastes to the industry.

  The Kellermans must be doing well. A few years back they had built a state-of-the-art processing plant. There was even a picture of three of the company directors—Marcus Kellerman, a handsome middle-age man, with his sister, Zelma, and her husband, Bruno Campigli. Marcus and Zelma—her half-brother and -sister? They were many years older. She would soon find out if the man who had fathered her was still alive.

  As for her maternal grandparents, she couldn’t think they would want to see her. The horrifying charge Sarina had brought against her father remained in Mel’s head like a taint, although it could be a long way from the truth. There were so many dark places in Sarina’s soul.

  “Sure you want to go through with this?” Dev slowed the hire car as they came into range of several very expensive-looking properties with magnificent uninterrupted views of the sea and offshore islands.

  “They can only throw us out.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Dev with his built-in self-assurance. “Ah, here it is. Moongate.” He brought the car to a halt outside a graceful colonial-style residence set well back in beautiful landscaped tropical grounds. “Not short of a bob of two. This property must be worth millions.”

  “I’m nervous, Dev.”

  He reached out for her trembling hand. “What did Franklin D Roosevelt say in his inaugural address? ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.’ We’re not coming out with accusations. We’re on a courtesy visit. Karl Kellerman was one of your mother’s teachers. Well, that’s the rumour, anyway,” he said with black humour. “Come along, Mel. Let’s get this over with.”

  Mel could feel the adrenalin kick into action.

  * * *

  A pretty maid with a sweet smile on her face greeted them at the door.

  “Who is that, Rose?” a woman’s voice called.

  Dev took over. “James Langdon and my fiancée, Amelia Norton,” he responded by way of introduction. “Mrs Campigli?” he asked as a good-looking blonde woman, hair shot with silver, came into view. She was well dressed, a tad on the conservative side, but her whole demeanour was pleasant and full of self-confidence.

  “That’s right,” she agreed. “You may go, Rose.” She dismissed the maid smilingly. “Langdon, now, there’s a famous name in our part of the world.”

  “Gregory Langdon was my grandfather, ma’am.” Dev gave her his wonderfully attractive smile.

  “Well, come in, come in,” Zelma Campigli invited, pink in the cheeks. “You caught me at home, for once. How may I help you? But, please, let us sit down first. Would you like coffee?” Eclipsed by Dev at his most charming, Zelma Campigli now transferred her smiling gaze to Mel. Now her beringed hands suddenly gripped together. “Why, I know you! You have to be an Antonelli.”

  Again Dev stepped in when Mel floundered. “You would remember Sarina, Mel’s mother,” Dev said smoothly. “She spoke of Silverton and the families she knew. We’re in the region for a day or two, so we took the chance we might find you at home. I hope you don’t mind. You have a very beautiful home. This is a beautiful part of the world.”

  “It is,” Zelma Campigli agreed carefully, but her eyes never left Mel’s face. “Just let me order coffee,” she said, showing them into a large welcoming living room with a palette of coral, yellow and lime-green that took the colours from the floral print on the two large matching sofas. “Won’t be a moment,” she said, then all but scurried away.

  “We’ve thrown her,” Mel whispered. “Or, rather, I’ve thrown her. My resemblance to my mother.”

  “I guess, but now we know we’ve come to the right town. Let’s take things calmly, Mel,” Dev advised. “I’m sure our talk will prove instructive.”

  When Zelma Campigli returned, something had altered about her face. “Obviously you’ll be calling in on Sarina’s mother?” she said, taking a seat on the opposite sofa. “You must hav
e passed the Antonellis on your way here. The pinkish terracotta house with the pillars and a suggestion of Tuscany. It’s only a few minutes’ drive.”

  Dev nodded as though he knew just the house. “It didn’t look like anyone was at home.”

  Zelma shook her head. “Adriana is bound to be there,” she said quietly. “She doesn’t leave the house often since she lost Frank. It was a great blow. They were inseparable, like my late mother and father. Absolutely devoted couple. You will know my father was the principal of the local High School for many years. He taught Sarina. May I ask, Amelia, how is your mother? None of us knew what happened to her. She simply went missing, like many other troubled young persons.”

  “You had no idea of her whereabouts?” Mel asked.

  “As I said, my dear, no one did.” Her tone was slipping a bit towards becoming condemnatory. “Frank and Adriana were devastated. You, no doubt, know the boy’s death had a lot to do with it?”

  Mel’s heart jumped. “My mother has never talked about her past until very recently, Mrs Campigli. What boy are we talking about?”

  “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.” Zelma looked back at Mel oddly. “The Cavallaro boy. He and Sarina, fellow students, were very close,” she stressed. “We all remember how it was. My father called on both families to discuss the situation. They were both way too young to become so involved.”

  “How do you mean?” Mel couldn’t bear to get snowed under again.

  Zelma Campigli shook her handsome head. “My dear, it was all so wretchedly sad. Dino Cavallaro crashed the car that belonged to his father. He didn’t even have his licence at the time. It was a miracle, my father always said, Sarina hadn’t been in the car with him.” Zelma’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. “She was such a beautiful girl, but very headstrong. We all knew her parents were having a difficult time. They treasured her, their only child. Dino’s parents were just as worried. And you knew none of this?”

  Mel fell silent. Dev reached out to take her hand, keeping it in his. “Thank you for helping us get to the truth, Mrs Campigli. Mel’s mother has never spoken about so many things. Obviously she couldn’t come to terms with the boy’s accident. He was her boyfriend?”

  “They were violently in love,” Zelma near exploded. “That was the great worry, you see. So young!” She took a deep breath, pressing back against the sofa. “May I ask where Sarina is?”

  “No reason why you shouldn’t know,” Dev said. “She’s in Sydney at the moment. She married a man called Michael Norton. He worked for us, first on Maru Downs, then on Kooraki, which you probably know is in the Channel Country in the far south-west. Mel is their child.”

  Zelma appeared much surprised. She blinked, then, after a moment, nodded. “You’re the image of your mother, my dear. Sarina could not have wished for a more beautiful daughter.” The maid hovered and Zelma beckoned to her to wheel in the trolley. Clearly Zelma wanted this extraordinary meeting to come to an end.

  So many years had passed. So much sadness. Zelma couldn’t imagine how any young person could have been as callous as Sarina Antonelli. But her behaviour had always been a bit on the strange side. Better not to raise the question of who was the father of her child. Her parents had been convinced that young Sarina Antonelli had been pregnant at the time of her disappearance. It now appeared that both Sarina and her child had survived.

  “She didn’t believe I was Michael’s daughter,” Mel said as they drove away.

  “It makes sense, in its way,” Dev mused. “The Cavallaro boy was your biological father, Mel.”

  “I feel sick. It makes me feel sick,” Mel said. “Mum probably started lying in her childhood. It’s possible she can’t help it, like faulty wiring in the brain. Or she believed her lies. I told her once she was delusional. Her parents didn’t throw her out. She did a deliberate runner. Met up somehow with Michael, manipulated him into taking her with him. Karl Kellerman was just a red herring. She named him as an act of revenge, with no regard to the morality of it. She must have blamed everyone who tried to break her and her Dino up.”

  Dev glanced at her with concern in his eyes. “Your grandparents were victims along with you, Mel. Your grandfather is dead, but your grandmother is still alive. We could stop off and meet her. We now know the house she lives in. Your decision, Mel. I’m with you, whatever you decide. Consign the past to the past. Or find your grandmother. Which is it to be?”

  Mel’s heart contracted. She smiled through a shimmering haze of tears. “We call in on my grandmother. Who knows, she might even love me.”

  * * *

  Decades might have passed, but when Adriana Antonelli’s still brilliant dark gaze fell on the young woman standing on her doorstep she reached out and gathered her into her arms.

  “My granddaughter, my granddaughter!” she cried in the most wonderful, stirringly fierce voice. “Blood of my blood! Flesh of my flesh! You’re here. You’re really here, at last. I knew one day I would meet you. It is God’s will.”

  Watching on, Dev knew Mel had at last found her rightful place. And at the ordained moment. He felt privileged just to be there. Mel turned from her grandmother’s embrace to put her arm around him, drawing him proudly forward. Her expression was radiant…dazzling to his eyes. “This is the man I love, Nonna,” she said, her voice shaky with high emotion. “His name is James Devereaux Langdon.” Her voice grew stronger. “We’re going to be married. Very soon!”

  “And we want more than anything for you to be at our wedding, Adriana,” Dev added in princely fashion.

  Adriana Antonelli expressed her great joy with a shout of laughter. “Come in! Come in!” she invited excitedly. “Do not stand at my front door. We have much to talk about.”

  “Amen to that,” Mel murmured very softly, lifting her head to give Dev a glorious smile. “Love you.”

  He leaned down to her, kissed her very softly on her cushiony mouth. “Can’t fight destiny,” he whispered. “We are such stuff as dreams are made on.”

  * * *

  There is a pattern, a meaning, a truth to life. One never gets to find it without going on a voyage of self-discovery—pushing every possibility for development, recognising, then containing the losses, the wounds, the fears and anxieties, the conflicts that no one can avoid in life, until, by our own striving, we reach a safe harbour.

  * * * * *

  ISBN: 9781459226098

  Copyright © 2012 by Margaret Way, Pty., Ltd

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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