Turn Left at Bindi Creek

by Lynne Wilding

  And Wes, what about him?

  She had kept tabs on Wes for the last six months and it was clear that his interest in Brooke had undergone a change. It had definitely cooled. She smiled at her mirror image. Something had worked, then. She congratulated herself. The digs and the innuendos about Brooke now being career-orientated had had an effect. Wonderful! Sometimes she found it hard to believe her own cleverness. And men, weren’t they easy to fool!

  Sharon looked at the various clothes strewn over the bed. Which outfit to choose? It was important that she dress appropriately for her showdown with Wes. With Vince pressing her, and her father hinting that his working days were over and that he was about to bring someone in to manage Minta Downs, Sharon knew it was time to act. Hugh had expressed a desire to move to a smaller, more manageable property closer to Cowra so he could see more of his grand-daughters, Bethany’s children. Sharon wasn’t keen to have closer links with her sister or nieces, not at all—sticky-fingered creatures, they were. So where did that leave her? She knew where. She was going to initiate a move on Wes and, if he was as smart as people said, he’d be a fool not to accept what she had in mind.

  As she dressed in a flattering but casual striped skirt and a pale-green knit top that picked up the colour of her eyes, she mentally rehearsed what she was going to say to Wes—as she would for a movie role. After all, she was about to play the greatest scene of her life.

  Fleece opened the front door of Sindalee. She grudgingly greeted Sharon and invited her in.

  ‘Dad’s out in the barn with the vet,’ Fleece told Sharon as they went into the living room. ‘Lucinda has just given birth. The foal’s weak, though, and he’s concerned it won’t survive.’

  Nathan Stephanos was in the lounge room, sitting comfortably in one of the chairs as if it were his own. From what she’d heard from Wes, Nathan was always around the place, like a bad smell. The youth’s interest in Fleece made her give the girl a surreptitious once-over. Fleece was beginning to mature and showed signs of being beautiful one day. The coltishness had turned to curves in all the right places and, with her shining black hair and dark eyes, she could well understand why Nathan couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She hoped, for Fleece’s sake, that the teenager was on the Pill. Wes would murder both of them if she got pregnant. She hoped Fleece would be too smart for that.

  ‘Come on, Nathan,’ Fleece said suddenly, grabbing his hands and pulling him up and out of the chair. ‘We’ll go tell Dad that Sharon’s here.’

  ‘Thank you.’ After they’d left, Sharon thought about how she’d get Fleece out of the place once she was ensconced at Sindalee. She and the girl had never got on, and even now the dislike in her eyes was only thinly veiled. She smiled as she thought about it. Hadn’t Wes said something about her going to university? Well, if she didn’t, maybe she could be encouraged to marry early.

  Then there was Drew, quiet and determined, like Wes. She knew he planned to enrol at agricultural college when he graduated from high school. Good, that would get rid of him for several years.

  It was another half-hour before Wes came to the house and organised Nina to make morning tea for them. She waited until she saw him relaxing over his coffee, then she began:

  ‘I don’t know why, but I always seem to come to you with my problems. Dad wants to put a manager in at Minta Downs and buy a small property on the outskirts of Cowra, to be closer to Bethany and the grandchildren.’ She looked at him with her huge hazel eyes. ‘I can’t blame him for wanting to. The cardiac problem gave him a bit of a fright, so he’s reassessing his priorities in life.’

  ‘Good for Hugh,’ Wes responded. ‘I’m rather looking forward to grandchildren myself,’ he chuckled, ‘but not for another ten years or so.’

  ‘Yes, it leaves me in something of a quandary, though.’ She sighed and seemed to reflect for a while as she twirled her engagement ring around her finger. ‘It’s Vince.’ The words were followed by a drawn-out sigh.

  ‘What about Vince? He’s an okay bloke.’ Wes frowned at her between mouthfuls of walnut cake.

  ‘He is. Oh, I’ve made a mess of things.’ She spoke in a distracted tone and then, dramatically, put her head in her hands. ‘Vince is pushing me to name a wedding date, but…I can’t marry him.’ Another sigh. ‘It wouldn’t be fair.’

  ‘What are you talking about, Sharon? You and Vince have been engaged for almost a year.’

  ‘I know, but I don’t love him any more. I’m not sure I ever did.’

  ‘Oh!’

  She knew he was watching her closely and that she mustn’t overdo things. Her future hinged on getting it right. ‘I know I’ve done the wrong thing by Vince. I didn’t mean to, though. I mean, I thought it would work out, that love would grow. But it hasn’t. And it hasn’t because,’ she paused, and waited.

  ‘Why?’ he eventually asked, sensing it was expected of him.

  ‘Because I care for someone else. I have, for a very long time.’ She turned away for a moment, ostensibly to compose herself. ‘I’d hoped that Vince would make me forget those feelings; he hasn’t been able to. And I don’t want to hurt him, but wouldn’t it be a mistake to marry him, feeling the way I do?’

  ‘I guess so, if you’re sure that you’re not in love with him.’

  ‘I’m not.’ She thought he’d be curious enough to ask who she was in love with but, when he didn’t, she prompted: ‘Don’t you want to know who I am in love with?’

  Wes appeared uncomfortable about asking that question, but finally he complied. ‘Sure. Who?’

  ‘With you, Wes. I thought surely you’d guessed that a long time ago.’

  He swallowed hard and for a moment stared at her. Then, embarrassed, he looked away. ‘N- no. I thought…I mean, we’ve always just been friends.’

  ‘I wanted more than friendship, Wes, and I was prepared to wait. Then Vince came along and my feelings became confused for a while. But they’re not any more.’ Searching his face, she looked for some emotion, a sign of interest, but he remained poker-faced. Oh, hell, she was going to have to do it tough!

  ‘Can’t you see what a wonderful couple we’d make, Wes? We enjoy the same sort of things, and we’re similar in nature, too.’ They weren’t really, but she hoped to convince him that they were. ‘And wouldn’t it be a smart move? Think of it: Sindalee and Minta Downs united by marriage…’ He began to speak, but she stopped him with a lift of her hand. ‘Think of it,’ she repeated, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. ‘What a wonderful legacy for your children—Drew especially. One day he’d be the largest property holder in this part of the country.’

  Wes felt his skin flushing through his tan. He hadn’t expected this passionate avowal from Sharon. And he possessed enough male ego to be flattered, at least for a couple of seconds, that a woman of her beauty would confess she was in love with him. In that time he gave her proposal a mere instant’s consideration and rejected it. Another woman’s features, no less beautiful than Sharon’s, swam before his eyes. Brooke d’Winters. Honest, loyal, courageous Brooke. How could he possibly, even for a second, contemplate replacing her with the likes of Sharon? He couldn’t.

  His gaze narrowed suspiciously. What was Sharon trying to suck him into? She had almost fooled him with her act, but that’s all it was, a well-orchestrated, finely tuned piece of acting. She no more loved him than she loved poor old Vince. It was just that he was a better meal ticket. The woman who sat opposite him, he had always believed, wasn’t capable of deep feelings in regard to anyone other than herself. She was emotionally too shallow.

  He braced himself mentally. The next few minutes were going to be awkward.

  ‘I’m flattered, really flattered,’ he said slowly. ‘And you’re right, there would be advantages to Minta Downs and Sindalee merging. However, it wouldn’t be fair to you, Sharon, and you know that I’m a fair-minded man. You see, there’s someone else…’

  Brooke would always remain a far-off dream, an impossible goal to achieve. But while
he loved her, and he knew he always would, a relationship with someone else was doomed to fail. All those months when Sharon had tried to convince him that Brooke was like Claudia—what a joke! Brooke was nothing like his ex-wife. Claudia had been consumed by ambition. The woman he loved wasn’t. She was a wonderful mix of a professional, a wife and a mother. He saw quite clearly now that he’d been stupid to look for negatives in her practising medicine. She was doing a damned fine job, and for months he’d distanced himself from the family because of the foolish notions he’d had. Well, not any more.

  Wes was wrenched from his thoughts by Sharon’s sharp words: ‘For God’s sake, you do understand what I’m offering you, don’t you? Half of Minta Downs, as well as myself. Can’t you see what a great team we would make, Wes? Do you know how many men would jump at this offer?’ To her fury, she watched him shrug his shoulders. ‘Plenty, I can tell you!’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right. You are beautiful and you deserve someone who would care properly for you.’ He sighed. ‘Regrettably, I can’t do that, and I won’t compromise my principles for the sake of a perceived offer to increase my holdings.’

  ‘It’s because of her, isn’t it?’ Sharon’s tone rose shrilly. She became agitated, moving about in the seat, fiddling with her hair, wringing her hands together. When he didn’t answer, she said it anyway. ‘I know you’re in love with Brooke d’Winters, probably half of Bindi Creek knows it.’ When he didn’t deny it, she gave him a scathing once-over, deliberately prolonging her stare to try to embarrass him. ‘You’re a fool, Wes Sinclair. She’s tied to that stupid Jason for the rest of her life, or rather for his. And,’ she added nastily, ‘romantically speaking, she doesn’t even know you’re alive.’

  The next instant he leant forward and grabbed her wrist, imprisoning it in his larger hand. ‘That’s the way I prefer it.’ His grip tightened. ‘I’ll have none of your innuendos regarding my feelings for Brooke bandied around the countryside. If I hear a single word that you’ve spread any malicious gossip, I can assure you,’ his fingers tightened, ‘you’ll be sorry.’

  ‘You’re hurting.’

  ‘I know,’ he said with an icy calm, still holding her fast. ‘We do understand each other, don’t we?’

  Her lips thinned in anger. She wanted to vent her feelings and scream at him, but she knew it would do no good. And God, she would love nothing more than to spread the word, to expose Wes’s feelings for that bitch of a doctor. However, she also knew Wes Sinclair’s reputation. He was a powerful man and as such shouldn’t be crossed, because when his anger was roused, he could be implacable. Her father had told her stories too, things Wes had done when antagonised.

  She swallowed nervously, then nodded her head in grudging agreement. ‘Oh, all right,’ she sniffed contemptuously. ‘Who cares about you and her anyway?’ Wes released his hold on her wrist.

  Sharon beat a hasty retreat from Sindalee. What was the point in staying? She had played her very best cards and Wes had rejected them, and her. The man was a fool. He couldn’t see the advantages in what was, in her mind, an excellent deal. She stamped her foot in anger on the floor of the car as she drove but, after a few kilometres, emotion got the better of her. Tears of disappointment, rage and embarrassment blurred her vision to the extent that she had to pull the car off the road. There she gave vent to her emotions by sobbing uncontrollably. She had been so sure!

  Her blonde head shook and her full lips tightened as both hands gripped the steering wheel till the knuckles whitened. Then she sighed defeatedly. Where did that leave her now? As she saw it she had two choices. One, she could stay and marry Vince. He was a good provider and madly in love with her, but if she did she would have to contend with seeing Wes occasionally, which just might be embarrassing. Also, Vince had a few habits she found irritating. He could be pedantic to the nth degree and set in his ways. He was also so affectionate that sometimes she felt that he was suffocating her.

  The other choice was to pursue her acting career. By a small miracle it had been re-activated by the Italian producer, Giovanni Truman, and in the new year she would join him on location in South Australia. Giovanni had half-promised her other roles that would take her overseas, too.

  As she thought about that, an anticipatory smile lifted the corners of her mouth. She looked forward to standing in front of the camera again and displaying her acting skills. Rubbing shoulders with famous actors, producers and directors would also afford some welcome excitement. A frisson of excitement spread through her body as her imagination ran away with her. The mystique of movie-making—the people, the sets, the glamour—had always been fascinating. And, she arched an eyebrow cynically, it had to be more interesting than burying herself interminably in the country. A hand came up to fluff her fine blonde hair, settling it almost perfectly around her face. Yes, the movie possibilities were exciting, definitely something to look forward to.

  Sighing, she turned the key in the ignition. She had a lot of thinking to do.

  Mid-spring was Brooke’s favourite time of year in the country. As she looked out the surgery window at the crepe myrtle tree which had its new spring foliage, she was reminded of the time, many years ago, when she and Jason had first ventured out of Sydney to see if country life would suit their small family. How long ago had that been? Nine years, going on ten. Nine interesting, exciting, eventful years. Who would have thought so much would happen to the d’Winters family in that time?

  Now in a reflective mood, she realised that she missed Jean—her cheery face, her commonsense ways, her friendship. They had grown close over the years, more like sisters than friends, despite the sixteen-years difference in their ages. Her friendship had made some of the hardships and trials she and the family had been through easier to bear. She smiled as she remembered the postcard she had received yesterday. Jean and Royce were on an extended honeymoon and, while she’d see her when she returned in a few days time, she understood that things wouldn’t be quite the same. The Lansings—it was hard to get used to Jean’s new surname—had decided to keep the cottage in Bindi Creek but settle in Sydney, where Royce planned to check out various mining industries to get involved in. After marrying here before Christmas, Greg and Connie would join them in Sydney too. She would miss Jean’s wise counsel, but she was delighted that she had found Royce and happiness.

  Brooke remembered that the twins had turned four just after they’d moved into the cottage. This year they had started high school. Which reminded her, they’d both made the junior high cricket team and were at batting practice. They wouldn’t be home till almost dark. Sheridan was sleeping over at a friend’s place too, so there’d be one less for dinner tonight. She tidied her desk, something she did as a matter of course at the end of the day’s surgery and, wondering if Jason and Craig were home yet, walked towards the door. The two had gone on an outing to historic Dundullimal, a farm near Dubbo, where visitors could see the workings of a real farm. Jason would be tired when he got home and ready for an early dinner then bed.

  Jason tired easily these days. The thought saddened her and, to make day-to-day life easier, she tried not to remember how the old Jason had been—it was too painful. Instead, she concentrated on getting through each day with as little stress as possible. But today, for some unknown reason, thoughts of Jason kept tumbling through her mind, one after another. The neurologist had said that his overall condition—both physical and mental—was declining. But to see it happen before her very eyes, and the children’s too, and not to be able to do anything to arrest it, was something that often caused her sleepless nights.

  When he got out of control, which he had done a few weeks ago, he was a fearful sight, partly because he had become such a big man. The medication he had to take, and the overeating, which she couldn’t control, had pushed his weight up to over one hundred and fifteen kilos, making him almost twenty kilos overweight for his height and age.

  The last episode of rage had occurred because he’d wanted to go swimming. Cra
ig said the water was too cold and that it would be for another few weeks at least. Usually, through late spring to early autumn, he and Craig swam twice a week at the pool or at Bindi Creek’s swimming hole, which was a half-kilometre walk upstream. Undeterred by Craig’s lack of support, Jason had got his swimming trunks and beach towel and headed for the local swimming pool, where years before he had taught the children to swim. When Jason had found the pool locked, he had gone into a white rage, bashing the gates, kicking them, causing such a fuss that it had taken three men to hold him until they could calm him down.

  For Brooke, the episode had been worrying and embarrassing. Jason’s mood swings were becoming more extreme and, while she didn’t want to think about it or even admit it, there was an increasing risk that one day he would harm himself or others. The neurologist had suggested she give him antidepressants, but she kept putting off the decision to do so. The brain damage had slowed him down as it was and, if he went on to antidepressants, they might turn him into a zombie. She didn’t want that.

  She heard movement in the waiting room. Jan Stewart, who had taken over the position of receptionist at the surgery, called out that she was leaving for the day. Time to close up. The surgery had been busy and, as she went out to the waiting room to say goodbye to Jan, Brooke felt a little weary—but pleasantly so. She was relieved that there were no house calls to do this afternoon. Most of Jason’s patients had become her patients—no thanks to Sharon Dimarco. The woman had done her best to discredit her and ruin the practice. However, she had found that people were loyal and most had seen through Sharon’s smear campaign.

  Craig met her at the front door of the house as she closed it behind herself.

  ‘Hi, I wasn’t sure you’d be home yet. How was your day? Did Jason enjoy himself?’

  ‘He’s not with you?’ Craig queried, a frown marking his tanned forehead.