Boomerang bride

by Margaret Pargeter

  The hand of a mistress being so clearly needed in the house, Vicki had somehow found courage to ask Mrs. Clover about this, too, but the housekeeper had shaken her head. Mrs. Clover had refused to be drawn, but Vicki had gathered the mysterious impression that there would never be a mistress at Baccaroo again. She had puzzled over it.

  At first she had decided, with her young and innocent mind, that the lack of new linen and a mistress could be due. to a shortage of money, that a lot of women would demand at least an abundant supply of the latter before agreeing to live on an isolated cattle station in the middle of nowhere. Vaguely she had considered love, then dismissed it, knowing nothing then of its strength and power. She began to view Wade McLeod's grim face with growing compassion, before she realised it couldn't be money which prevented him from taking a wife.

  Usually after breakfast she had worked in the office for an hour, as arranged, doing household accounts and writing a few letters for old Mr. McLeod. The old man didn't believe in spending more time in an office than was absolutely essential, but slowly Vicki had learnt just how very extensive and varied the McLeod lands and interests were. Her amazement and curiosity had grown. It certainly couldn't be for financial reasons that Wade McLeod didn't marry!

  Nor physical ones, she was sure. She might have been young, but she had become increasingly aware of his attractiveness, although, at almost thirty-three, he seemed far beyond her in both age and experience. She spent a lot of time wondering why he hadn't married. Women were interested in him, she was left in little doubt. During the first weeks of her stay at Baccaroo there had been several extremely feminine visitors, invited, she believed, by old Mr. McLeod. Beautiful women, as she had every reason to remember, as hadn't they referred to her as everything from the maid to the office girl and general help? Usually they had mentioned her as that quaint little thing with eyes all over her face. Or the one with hair like short straw and undeveloped figure. Well, it hadn't been undeveloped by the time she had left, and many of those so refined ladies had been laughing on the other side of their faces.

  No matter—Vicki turned on her narrow bed, bitterly unappreciative of her own sense of humour. After all, they had had the last laugh!

  It had been Wade's indifference to these women who came and went that really aroused her curiosity. Ob, he hadn't exactly ignored them. He had often appeared to encourage them. Once, when she had been going to the bathroom in the middle of the night, she had almost bumped into him leaving one of their bedrooms. A Miss Morris had occupied the room, a very lovely brunette. Vicki recalled Wade's face darkening with rage, as she had stared at him, open mouthed with horror.

  'What's wrong, now, big eyes?' he had snapped. And, when she had remained silent but flushed a bright red, 'You should learn to keep your baby nose out of my affairs.'

  'I—that's not true!' she had stuttered, meaning she had never poked it into them.

  He had ignored this. 'I know you've been snooping around and I shouldn't like to see you hurt. Which happens to most people who don't mind their own business. How old are you?' he had asked abruptly.

  'Eighteen.' She had found her voice, but not her equilibrium, thinking she must seem very naive compared to Miss Morris.

  Wade's eyes had flicked over her, the fine, clean lines of her, as if he was seeing her for the first time. His gaze had lingered. Mockingly he had drawled, 'All women seem to get amorous inclinations at this time of night, especially when they've nothing else to do but sit around all day. Are you asking to be kissed too?'

  Vicki recalled thinking, with a sudden adult awareness, "Not with the taste of her lips still on yours!' But before she had time to utter one word he had caught her to him, kissing her lightly, as if intent on administering only a brief punishment for the contempt he had so clearly seen in her eyes.

  It was a kiss which might have stayed light if it hadn't been for the flash of instant awareness between them. Wade's whole body had become taut, like steel, as if there was something he didn't like, something which totally surprised him. Then, as if almost unconscious of doing so, he had gathered Vicki closer in his arms and crushed her lips beneath his. Even now she hadn't forgotten how the bruising pressure of his mouth had deepened, how for one insane moment she had clung to him.

  The situation, for her, had been a new one, but not one she hadn't envisaged at some-time or another in her natural girlish dreamings. It was the feeling which swept through her which she wasn't prepared for, the incredible devastation of her senses. She had been without the experience to prevent a revealing response. Scarcely aware of it, she had felt her body go amazingly soft in his arms. She had clung to him, fitting him like a glove, and the kiss had gone on and on.'

  When at last he had raised his head it had just been a fraction. Against her warm mouth he had muttered thickly, 'Come with me to my room, sweetheart.'

  Vicki closed her eyes tightly now, remembering how painful it had been to tear herself away. She had had to remind herself sternly, through the clamouring chaos inside her, that she had never, would never, do such a thing.

  As if the frightened stiffening of her slight body brought him to his senses, Wade had suddenly thrust her from him. His arms had slackened and he had let her go. 'God!' he said tightly, his face hardening with self-derision, 'I must be taking leave of my senses! Get back to bed, child.'

  Still she hadn't been able to leave it alone. 'I'm not a child, Wade—Mr. McLeod,' she had whispered dazedly, her eyes wide and appealing, begging, without knowing for what.

  'You don't know what you're talking about, young Vicki,' he had returned grimly, occupying his lean hands with tightening the belt of his dressing gown. His face, as he had stared at her, had been devoid of any of the feelings she had sensed in him a few moments ago. 'No man wants to be accused of cradle-snatching. I might only be excused if it helps with your education. Or you can blame it on the lateness of the hour.' There had been sarcasm in his voice.

  'Yes.' At last coming to her senses, she had taken one ashamed look at him and fled. Resolutely, back in her room, she had decided she must have been crazy. Yet it had kept her going hot and cold for days, the knowledge that had he asked her to go with him again, she might have been terribly tempted. It should have been comforting but somehow was not to find Wade ignored her even more than he had done before. The short episode, in the darkness of the night, might never have happened.

  Eventually Vicki had persuaded herself to believe she had been disgusted by that brief encounter but, contrarily, it had made her curious to know more about the McLeods, their personal lives. This she soon discovered wasn't so easy. Trying to find out even about former McLeod wives was to come up against a blank wall. She didn't like to ask outsiders or visitors, but one night, when she was obviously disgruntled because old Mr. McLeod had been particularly trying, Mrs. Clover told her a little.

  Wade was away, Alice up in her room writing letters. Vicki had been helping Mrs. Clover wash up after the evening meal. It was the meal which old Mr. McLeod had complained about and, for once, Vicki might have agreed with him, Mrs. Clover being only an indifferent cook. She didn't think, though, it was quite as bad as he'd made out.

  'Growls and grumbles!' Mrs. Clover had snorted, shaken, for the first time Vicki could remember, from her perpetual good humour. Thumping down the crockery Vicki had > dried so carefully, she had exclaimed, 'Sometimes I wonder why I stay! There are times when I can hardly work in such an atmosphere. It's been the same for years, Wade and his grandfather barely speaking to each other.'

  Glancing at her, Vicki had held her breath, not daring to interrupt in case Mrs. Clover stopped. She told herself she ought to have made some excuse and gone back to the drawing room, that she shouldn't be listening to something Mrs. Clover might regret speaking of in the morning, but she had felt a sudden, urgent need to know why the two McLeod men were such bad friends. Why a house with all the makings of a wonderful family home seemed only to hold a brooding, dismal silence.

  W
hen Mrs. Clover had hesitated, as if trying not to allow anger to get the better of discretion, Vicki had asked quickly, 'Mr. Wade appears to run the cattle stations. He controls the business side of things, too, so why should he treat his grandfather the way he does? He's polite enough and all that, but it's almost as if old Mr. McLeod was a stranger.'

  Mrs. Clover had bristled, as Vicki found she always did. when the least criticism was levelled at Wade. This time it had seemed to loosen her tongue as well, for she said, It's a long story, dear, and many people wouldn't believe it. I couldn't begin to tell you the whole of it, but if Wade doesn't treat the Old Man as kindly as he might, it's not altogether to be wondered at! It really began when the Old Man's parents unfortunately died in the desert country, north of Alice. The Old Man was an only child and Baccaroo became an obsession, as it still is, to him. He told me himself that he swore to keep it in the McLeod name, no matter what happened, and this was why he married young: he was determined there should be future generations to carry on. It was a blow for him, as you can imagine, Vicki, that he and his wife were denied the large family they'd longed for and only had one son. That was Wade's father.'

  Mrs. Clover had dropped her tea-towel at this point and groped her way to the nearest chair. To Vicki it seemed the housekeeper had almost forgotten she was there.

  Staring into space, Mrs. Clover had gone on, as if something was almost compelling her to talk of things she hadn't mentioned for years. 'The Old Man gave his son no peace until he married a girl he had chosen for him, but again a McLeod union was blessed—some say cursed, with only one child. Wade's mother died when he was thirteen and there were no other children. None but Wade, Vicki, who even then, before he went off to boarding school, was capable of doing a man's work. He also had several narrow escapes. Once he was nearly killed, which of course started the Old Man worrying again about the future. I was born on Baccaroo, dear, and always worked in the house, or I wouldn't have believed the way the Old Man used to go on!'

  Breathlessly, Vicki asked, 'What sort of man was Wade's father?'

  Mrs. Clover sighed. 'He was a mild, easily led, man. Nothing like Wade or the Old Man. This was why, I suppose, he finally "agreed to do as the Old Man wished. There was a young woman, you see, in Queensland, just over the border, and the Old Man ranted on about her until Wade's father promised he would go and ask the girl to marry him. The Old Man practically forced him, although Wade begged his father to stay at home. Wade was only young, but he would have had to be blind and deaf not to have known what was going on. I still remember, dear, as if it was yesterday. There was an awful row, but Wade's father went off and his plane, which he was flying himself, crashed and he was killed. Some thought he did it on purpose.'

  'Oh, no!' Vicki felt her cheeks go white, and in her heart it was then that her dislike of Wade McLeod had begun to change. She seemed to picture him, no longer a child but not yet a man, his sorrow and anger. She had swallowed a lump in her throat and rubbed an unexpected tear from her eye. 'What happened then, Mrs. Clover?' she had whispered.

  Mrs. Clover had stared at her blindly for a full minute before she had spoken again. 'Not a great deal,' she had said heavily. 'Wade simply swore to the Old Man that he'd never marry, that he would never supply any future generations. That's why Baccaroo is as it is today. The Old Man would do anything to make Wade consider marriage, but I'm afraid Wade never will.'

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Vicki, pushing a long strand of fair hair from off her cheek, was surprised to find tears there. Were the tears because she would never see kind Mrs. Clover again, or because she could still feel the emotion she had felt when Mrs. Clover had told her some of the McLeod story? Perhaps it was a bit of both.

  There were always aborigines on the station. They worked with the cattle, coming and going as their tribal customs dictated. Mrs. Clover usually employed some of the girls in the house and might unconsciously have adopted some of their superstitions, for when Vicki married Wade Mrs. Clover had declared she had somehow known it to be her duty to tell her about the McLeods. Only she hadn't told the whole of it. Vicki had been left to discover for herself the extent of the hatred and bitterness which seemed to have penetrated even the very walls of Baccaroo. And she had learnt the hard way.

  Still unable to sleep, or to forget the way in which Wade had just kissed her, Vicki allowed her thoughts to go on. She recalled Mrs. Clover's last words that evening.

  'I don't think Wade will ever give in and I don't think his grandfather will ever give up, one being as stubborn as the other! The Old Man is always asking women here, daughters of old friends and the like, girls he approves of. He parades them in front of Wade and I'll not say they're unwilling! There's many a one who would give everything, even their virtue, if they thought it would help them become Wade McLeod's wife and mistress of Baccaroo. That Miss Morris was one of the first. I doubt if she'll be the last!'

  Knowing the McLeod history had made a difference—at least to Vicki it did. She had felt herself change after that. Where, before, she had sought to avoid Wade and his grandfather, she began to make a great effort to be extra pleasant. Often, as she had gone repeatedly over what Mrs. Clover had told her, her heart had gone out to them. Although aware they wouldn't appreciate her sympathy she used to wish desperately that they could become completely reconciled. But that had been merely wishful thinking.

  Strangely enough, she had felt sorriest for the Old Man, having come to like him, chiefly through working with him in the office. He was old, she'd realised, and too proud, but he did love Baccaroo. It was this love which, because she had been beginning to feel it herself, had seemed to excuse him a lot. In her eyes. She had thought him more to be pitied. It had seemed to her a terrible waste that Wade McLeod possessed such an unforgiving nature. It could only be crazy for a man to deprive himself of a wife and children just because of an old and senseless feud.

  Leoda Morris had paid another visit and gone. So had Alice. Alice's parents had flown in to collect their daughter and stayed several days. They had been very grateful that Vicki had helped to make Alice's stay on the station so pleasant and had warmly invited her to visit them in America if ever she came there.

  It was just after this that old Mr. McLeod had asked Vicki to remain at Baccaroo. She had thought him a person who never acted on impulse, but she could have sworn he had done so then. She had been standing rather desolately in the garden when he had come across her, a young, lost-looking figure with her thin body and short straw-coloured hair. She had been staring out over the emptiness of the wide, red-coloured plains with such an expression of sadness in her arresting sapphire blue" eyes.

  Gruffly, as if catching himself doing something he didn't really approve of, the Old Man had halted beside her, asking what plans she had made for leaving. When Vicki had replied that she hadn't any but that she would be all right if someone took her as far as Alice, the Old Man had wondered if she would like to stay for a while. He had got used, he'd said, to having her around and found her useful.

  For all she had imagined he- would regret it in the morning, she had accepted eagerly. In those days she had grown to like him, and believed he had her. Had, until Wade had asked her to marry him. From then on the Old Man had shown her nothing but contempt.

  Vicki's mind went back to that incredible evening when Wade had driven her out over the golden land, still drenched in hot sunshine, and stopped within the shade of a huge granite boulder and proposed to her. Then, because this was too painful to remember, she shied away from it and, quite suddenly fell asleep.

  Sunshine' was streaming through her bedroom window when she woke, although she saw it was not yet seven o'clock. Flinging back the tumble of blankets about her, she stumbled over the floor, not pleased to find herself still a little dizzy when she tried to move quickly.

  She felt better when she reached the window. The Outback had always had this effect on her. When she had lived here, as soon as daylight appeared she had had to be up.
Sometimes she had gone back to bed, but not often. Usually she had been out and about at dawn. It had become a habit, those early morning explorations, sometimes on foot, more often on the young filly Wade had given her, when she had seemed to have the world to herself. The only times she had missed was when she had wakened to find Wade in her bed—and that hadn't been often.

  -This morning she gazed with eyes which seemed almost greedy to make up for the years they had lost. The magic of dawn was everywhere, the sun's rays, pushing westwards, bringing an almost indescribable quality of beauty and light. It was dreamlike, the shades of shadow drifting black and white against an Albert Namitjira background of distant horizons. The birds were chirruping in the mulga and hakia trees and there was a wonderful scent of blossom from the garden. A few wisps of cloud patterned the sky, which on rare occasions meant rain, especially if the wind came from the west, but there was nothing about the dry, baked earth, this morning to suggest that any had fallen.

  Soon, Vicki knew, the clouds would disappear as the sun rose higher, bringing stark reality to the heat soaked land. Temperatures would rise steadily throughout the day, for they were approaching the Australian summer. Not that she had ever found much difference in the seasons. September and October here were usually warm and windy with November and December the hottest months. The heat, in these parts anyway, was usually dry. This dry heat Vicki had never found tiring. If they did get a wet season it was between December and March, and this, she believed, with increased humidity, could be distinctly unpleasant.

  With a sigh she turned from the window to face another day. There was too much to see to, to stand here dreaming. Quickly she found some jeans in her still unpacked suitcase, but frowned on them doubtfully. She wanted to take Graham out, to show him things she had discovered for herself before he was born. Things which had continued to enchant her all the time she had been at Baccaroo. In her growing excitement she had forgotten she must find the Old Man. Wade would be out with his men and she must make the most of the opportunity to try and find out if old Mr. McLeod was really ill, that this wasn't just a story he had told Wade. Not that the old devil would be likely to confess to her, but she was intuitive. If she persevered she might get an inkling—if he was hiding the truth? If the Old Man really was ill then she would have to think again about taking Graham away. But first she must be convinced. In hospital she had had nothing to go on, apart from what Wade told her.