by Margaret Way
“Do that.” Suddenly he smiled, an illuminating flash like a ray of sunshine through storm clouds. “I may need it. Please don’t look at me with fear in your eyes, Shelley Logan.”
“I’m fearful for you,” she said. “How could your grandfather possibly change?”
He gripped the stem of the wine glass so tightly she though it might shatter. “Maybe he’s discovered he’s got a conscience after all.”
“You believe he means to reinstate you in his will?” She was very aware of the shift in his mood.
He nodded, though his mouth had a sceptical twist. “I’m always troubled by my grandfather’s motives, Shelley. On the face of it he’s told me he wants a reconciliation, but he’s always been the most devious of men. Maybe it’s another cruel joke. Maybe he’s a little mad these days. Pain is tearing his body to pieces. Guilt his mind. He was even talking of going to Ireland to visit my mother’s grave. He’ll never get there.”
“He’s that bad?” Shelley waited quietly for his reply.
“Even if he survived the journey he knows what kind of a reception he’d get from my mother’s people and all the friends we made. He put my mother through dreadful anguish. Though she eventually found peace I’m sure all those terrible years took their toll.”
“He must have loved her once.”
His answer was suave and cutting. “My grandfather knows nothing about love, Shelley.”
“I’m so terribly sorry, Brock. Maybe you shouldn’t have come back when there’s so much turbulence inside you.”
“There was no alternative,” he answered, as though her comment had touched a raw nerve. “Can you see it? The turbulence?”
“I’m sad to say yes!” She spoke truthfully, even if it wasn’t something he cared to hear. “I’ve been watching you all night.” It was there in the tautness of his features, the way his hands tended to clench whenever his grandfather’s name was mentioned.
“Then no doubt you’re right!” His voice was suave. “There’s no help for my bitterness, I’m afraid, but Mulgaree is part of me. It’s my turn to close in. And no way am I going to allow Philip and Frances to cut me out.”
“Am I saying the wrong thing every time I open my mouth?” she asked wryly. “I do understand your feelings, Brock, but you must have considered Philip has a legitimate claim? He’s Rex Kingsley’s grandson too. You really couldn’t tolerate sharing Mulgaree?”
He reached out suddenly and grasped her hand. It sent shock waves racing down her arm. “Philip, my dear Shelley, isn’t competent to run Mulgaree, let alone the whole chain. Consider that. I’ve only been back a couple of days and it’s perfectly plain Philip can’t manage. He doesn’t know how to use his power, position or money. He’s no good with the men. You can’t demand respect; you have to earn it. It wouldn’t take him long to lose what Kingsley has built up. Using part of the Brockway fortune, I’ll remind you.” His jaw looked tight enough to crack.
“Brock, you’re hurting me.”
“I’m sorry.” He released her hand immediately, still with the glint in his eyes.
“How bad is your grandfather?” She well remembered a big, handsome, scowling, arrogant man.
He glanced away. “He tells me his heart has got a hell of a big leak in it, his brain’s on the edge and cancer is eating away at his stomach. His death could be any time, damn him.”
She gave an involuntary little shudder. “That sounds so harsh and unforgiving.”
His eyes burned over her. “If it is, it’s the result of his treatment of me and my mother. Sorry, Shelley.” He shrugged. “I’m too far gone for a sweet little thing like you to reform me.”
“I’m not all that sweet,” she said briskly. “Not for a long time. Like you, I’m capable of holding deep resentments. I’m only saying don’t let your grief and your bitterness gobble you up. Then your grandfather will win. You could even end up like him.”
“What a thought!” he said tautly. “And yet you can say it to my face!”
“The truth isn’t always what we want to hear. I’m sorry if I upset you, Brock. It wasn’t my intention.”
His handsome mouth twisted. “It wasn’t? For a little bit of a thing you pack quite a punch. But then I expect you know as much about bitterness as I do. Didn’t your family condemn you?”
It was her turn to suffer. “You have a cruel streak.” She gazed at him with expressive green eyes.
“So be warned.”
“And don’t you intrude upon my inner world either,” Shelley continued, doing her best to ignore the sexual tension that simmered between them.
He answered in an ironic voice. “Shelley, both our lives might just as well have been splashed across the front pages of the town gazette. Everyone knows our history.”
“How could they not?” she countered, with a touch of his own bitterness. “Sometimes I think I’ll never be free. Losing my twin in such tragic circumstances has coloured my life grey.”
“Then you have to change it.” He spoke emphatically. “No one with flame-coloured hair should ever lead a dull life. You can’t let your family cage you. You’re entitled to a life of your own. But hopefully not with my cousin. That would be too, too awful.”
Brock looked up, and as he did so vertical lines appeared between his black brows.
“Speak of the devil!” he groaned. “You’re not going to believe this, but Philip is on his way over to our table.”
“No!” Mechanically she turned her head. “Oh, my goodness!”
“Exactly,” Brock muttered, a hard timbre to his voice.
Philip Kingsley made it to their table. He was a tall, sober young man, his shoulders slightly stooped, as if under a weight. He had the well-cut Kingsley features that would have been striking had they had some edge to them. As it was he was merely good-looking. Beside his cousin Brock, with his dark, handsome smoulder, Philip looked decidedly soft.
He looked down at her with an expression like betrayal in his hazel eyes. “Evening, Shelley! You’re the very last person I expected to see here with Brock!” He employed an accusatory tone that irritated Shelley immensely, then, without being asked, pulled a spare chair to the table and sat down. “Why in the world would you be having dinner with Brock?” he asked, looking at her in dismay.
She reacted with a lick of temper. “Philip, do me a favour. It’s none of your business.” The air was so electric it crackled with static.
“I thought you’d given me to understand it was?” he retorted, moving his chair even closer.
“I certainly have not.” She spoke quietly, but through clenched teeth.
“I’m sorry. I thought you had,” he persisted, which she knew was his way. Persistence would win the day.
Brock held up a silencing hand “For heaven’s sake, Phil, stop hassling the girl. You heard what Shelley said. What would she want with a pompous stuffed shirt like you? Come to that, what in hell are you doing here? I don’t recall inviting you to sit at our table.” There was a distinctly aggressive edge to Brock’s voice, a warning darkening his expression.
“Is something wrong at home, Philip?” Shelley swiftly cut in. “Is that it?” Clearly there was no love lost between the cousins.
Philip looked directly at her, his soul in his eyes. “Grandfather has had a bad turn. He’s asking for Brock. I would have explained if you’d given me time.”
Shelley’s sparkling gaze softened. “You should have spoken right off, instead of taking me to task. So that’s the purpose of your trip?”
“If it’s true.” Brock shrugged. “It’s probably Kingsley’s way to get me back to the house. He wants us all closed up together. Preferably at each other’s throats.”
Philip shook his narrow head. “Can’t you try to be a little bit more compassionate towards Grandfather?” he said, his face flushed.
“No, sorry. He used up all the compassion I had long ago.”
“The great wonder is that he wants you home at all,” Philip said with a cens
ure Shelley found quite bizarre and certainly dishonest. Every time she and Philip had been together Philip had been very vocal regarding his own load of resentment against his grandfather. He had always seemed desperate to win her sympathy—which, up until now, he’d received in good measure.
Brock treated his cousin to a cynical smile. “Phil, you old hypocrite!” he scoffed.
“We’re talking about our grandfather.” Philip lifted a sanctimonious hand. “He was a Colossus. Now he lies in bed, just staring at the ceiling. I hate to see him cut down like that. He’s been so strong. Invincible. It’s awful to see him so terribly reduced.” His voice was low and husky. “It’s killing me.”
Brock’s mouth twitched. “Hell, it’s a wonder you’re not gushing tears.”
“You’re such a heartless bastard!”
“And you’re such a phony you make me want to puke.”
“You have no sense of family,” Philip flashed back, as though Brock had left a black stain on the Kingsley good name. “It’s no wonder Grandfather sent you and Aunt Catherine packing.”
The colour seemed to drain from Brock’s dark polished skin, and for a ghastly instant Shelley wondered whether he would leap for his cousin’s throat.
“Take no notice, Brock.” She made a grab for his hand, holding it as tightly as she could. “Why don’t you leave, Philip? You’ve delivered your message.”
Philip’s whole body stiffened. “I can’t believe you’re taking Brock’s part against me. You’re my friend. Not his.”
“You make that sound like Shelley’s your property,” Brock drawled, somehow moving back from furious anger. Who would have thought a small, feminine hand could hold him in such a hard crunch? Shelley Logan had to be taken seriously, he thought, abruptly amused.
“We have plans for the future,” Philip announced. “I’m very different to you, Brock. I want to make something of my life.”
A look of disdain came into Brock’s eyes. “Then you’ll have your work cut out, because you’re a gutless wonder. You hate that man just as much as I do. He’s made your life hell, but here you are trying to portray yourself as his noble, grieving grandson. No bets on what you and your mother are after. Kingsley Holdings. That’s why you set out to discredit and undermine me. God knows how you can shake off the guilt and the shame.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” Philip said sharply, but he was unable to meet his cousin’s challenging stare.
“The plotting, Phil. The stories you carried to Kingsley. What did it matter that you couldn’t prove them? God, you two must have held a big party when we left.”
“Got kicked out, don’t you mean?” Philip sneered. “Grandfather gave you every chance. No one plotted against you. It was you who deliberately set out to anger and upset him. The sooner you realize that, the better. You didn’t know how to conduct yourself as a Kingsley should. You were wild. Wild from childhood.”
“Then you and your mother had nothing to worry about, did you? Except she had the brains to cotton on that you couldn’t measure up. Wild old me was cramping your style. I had to go. In retrospect, I’d call it an escape. It seems to me you’re the one who’s led the soul-destroying life. And thoroughly deserved it, don’t you think?”
“Grandfather wants you home,” Philip replied doggedly, his face stiff and expressionless.
“Surely you’re not here to collect me?” There was a shade of amusement in Brock’s eyes.
“I have the helicopter.” Philip glanced at Shelley, and then swiftly glanced away, as if the sight of her gave him pain.
“I’ve no intention of going back with you.” Brock was direct. “I’ll come back to Mulgaree when I’m ready. That’ll be tomorrow.”
“What if tomorrow’s too late?” Philip was roused to ask, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.
“C’est la vie!” Brock gave a truly Gallic shrug, his accent confirming he’d devoted time and attention to learning the French language. “But I don’t imagine that it will be. Kingsley will chose his exact moment to die. Only a handful of people can do that,” he added, with grudging admiration.
“You realize what it cost me to make this trip?” Philip complained. “To track you down here?” He threw another despairing glance in Shelley’s direction, as though she were guilty of serious disloyalty.
“Why the desperation?” Brock’s luminescent eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t it be in your interests to report that I’ve said I’ll come when I’m good and ready?”
“Don’t think I won’t. You’ve got a strange way of trying to engineer a reconciliation,” Philip said.
“And you’re still doing your mother’s dirty work.” Brock was clearly running out of patience.
Not even thick-skinned Philip could stay any longer. He raised himself up from the table, shaking his head dismally. He turned to Shelley imploringly.
“Looks like you’re finished. Could I walk you back to the hotel, Shelley? There’s something I need to talk to you about privately.”
Brock leaned back in his chair. “Is he serious?” he asked, directing a sparkling glance at Shelley. “Goodbye, Phil.”
Philip leaned down, speaking very quietly. “And you can go to hell.”
“I’m not going to hell, Phil.” Brock lifted clear, daunting eyes. “I’m putting my house in order. But give me one good reason why you shouldn’t.”
“I’m just as big a victim as ever you were,” Philip said, very bitterly for someone who’d just avowed love and concern for his grandfather.
“I know that, Phil.” Brock waved his hand in dismissal.
“Don’t think I’ll let you win. I haven’t slaved all these years for nothing. I won’t take it.”
“Me neither.”
Philip continued to stand, obviously struggling for control. Shelley felt a thrust of pity. “Just go, Philip. Don’t say any more. People are looking this way.”
“Let them,” Philip said, body rigid, face bitter. “I thought I was certain of you, Shelley. Certain of the sort of person you were. Now I’m less certain.”
“That could be a plus,” she said crisply. “Please go.”
“I will.” His tone suggested she had fallen far in his estimation. “Don’t be fool enough to trust my cousin. Brock and his reputation with the girls go back a long way.”
“I always made sure I didn’t hurt anyone,” Brock remarked, having the last word.
Harriet was seated on a white lattice-backed chair behind the cash register, attending to the bills of her departing guests. When his turn came Brock pulled out a handful of dollars and handed it to her. “That was an outstanding meal, Miss Crompton. We thoroughly enjoyed it.”
Harriet smiled back, but her grey eyes were searching. “Everything all right? I’m sorry, but I had to tell Philip where you were.”
Brock shrugged. “Don’t worry about it.”
“He told me your grandfather’s condition is worsening,” Harriet said quietly into the lull, including Shelley in her glance.
“I guess I’ll find out when I get back.”
“I hope things go well for you, Daniel.”
Brock laughed. “Gosh, doesn’t that take me back! I think you’re the only person in Koomera Crossing who ever called me Daniel.”
“You look like a Daniel,” Harriet said. “Daniel in the lions’ den. I’ve got to warn you. Nothing’s changed.”
“You mean with the old man?”
“And the rest of the family.”
“Tell me something I don’t know, Miss Crompton.”
“That’s not much, I imagine,” Harriet said wryly, thinking the striking young man in front of her had had a very rough childhood and adolescence. Far worse than his cousin, Philip, who never did a solitary thing to try his grandfather’s very limited patience.
“How are things on Wybourne, Shelley?” Harriet asked as they settled up. “I hear you can’t keep up with business?”
“We’ve another party of Japanese tourists
due in a month,” Shelley confirmed.
“Aren’t you an enterprising young woman? But I never thought you’d get into this business. If you’re ever pushed and you need help let me know. I mean that, Shelley.”
“I know you do, Miss Crompton. Thank you.” Shelley reached over the high counter and touched Harriet’s fragile wrist. “You’re a good friend.” She moved back as other diners approached the lobby.
“Don’t forget about our showing.” Harriet reminded Shelley of their discussion.
“When I’ve got time.”
“It’ll be fun! Come again!” Harriet called.
On their way back to the hotel they stopped to sit on a park bench. The sky was swept with stars, a huge silver moon bathing the little oasis in a dreamlike radiance. A white haze hung over the creek, the broad sheet of water filled with spangled reflections.
Shelley ran her hands down her arms. A cool wind from the desert, where it was always cold at night, rushed through the darkly coloured trees, sending long shadows and spent leaves dancing across the broad expanse of grass. They weren’t far off the street, with its old-fashioned lamps in full bloom, yet Shelley felt very much alone with Brock. It was as if no one and nothing existed but them. Even the noise of the town, tonight full of people, had faded away.
As Brock remained silent, obviously lost in thought, Shelley tilted her head towards the dazzling sky. The stars were like tiny blazing fires in that black velvet backdrop. She had no difficulty at all picking out her favourite constellations. The galaxy of the Milky Way, a broad diamond-encrusted avenue, Orion the mighty hunter, Pleiades, the Seven Sisters in the constellation Taurus, the Southern Cross, worshipped by the aboriginal people. These constellations had looked down on the Great South Land since the dawn of creation.
“What do the skies over Ireland look like?” she asked softly, unable to shake the feeling of a most wonderful isolation. Just the two of them.
It took a moment for Brock to reply. In truth, though he’d loved his time in Ireland, with its close family ties, his heart had hungered for his desert home. “Not like ours. They don’t have this immense clarity. Nothing can match our desert sky. By day a blazing cloudless blue, by night an overwhelming glory. A man can almost reach up and grasp a pocketful of fabulous jewels.
