by Margaret Way
Such was the sweeping flatness of the mulga plains they travelled across, the areas of rock formations, naked of any vegetation, and the chains of giant boulders, taking on the dimensions of towering hills. The country was in drought, so the sun-drenched earth was watertight, iron-hard. The wind-sculptured clay pans were crazed and cracked, encrusted with salt so the yellow sands were bleached white.
“No drought lasts forever,” Brock said, reading Shelley’s mind.
“We haven’t had rain for almost two years,” she mourned.
“Pray the skies will open up in a thunderstorm or a tropical cyclone will swing in from the North.”
“Then we’ll have a flood,” Amanda crowed from the back seat.
“Maybe, but wherever flood waters spread a new cycle of life begins for the desert,” Brock said. “The response to water is truly stupendous. All those countless millions of newly germinated seeds, spreading like wildfire across the red earth. Anywhere the water has gravitated. I’ve seen some very beautiful sights over the last few years but nothing that moves me as much as our own Channel Country after rain. Wildflowers to the horizons! A spring to end all springs. Surely paradise couldn’t look or smell better. It’s the visual extravagance, I suppose. The infiniteness. That incredible desert vastness under an ecstasy of flowering.”
His words burned pleasure deep inside Shelley. “That sounds lovely, Brock.” He understood. He felt as she felt, finding great joy and consolation in the timeless landscape. “I’ve had the most wonderful times of my life recording varieties of wildflowers,” she confided, her voice full of her own quiet pleasures.
“Isn’t that pathetic?” Amanda scoffed. “It must be really bad when your best times are drawing flowers. Anyway, don’t get her started. Shel can go on for hours about all the little paper daisies, the desert pea and the desert rose, the pink mulla-mullas and the parakeelya, the Star of Bethlehem and the wild cockscomb, and so forth and so on. It’s so boring for the rest of us!”
That went down badly with Philip. “Shelley is an artist,” he told Amanda heatedly. “Her drawings are perfectly beautiful. She should be allowed to follow her talent, not wear herself out trying to make a go of this bloody station.”
“I enjoy it, Philip,” Shelley corrected him quickly, throwing a quelling glance over her shoulder. “I’ve learned a lot.”
“You could learn a lot more if you travelled,” he sighed. “Saw something of life. I hate the way you have to work so hard.”
“Then isn’t it about time you asked her to marry you?” Amanda dared him.
“Thank you, Amanda, but that’s our business,” Philip said stiffly.
“Why are neither of you considering Shelley doesn’t want to?” Brock spoke in an even tone, strongly at variance with fury in his eyes.
“Oh, she wants to,” Amanda said with a playful, provocative grin. “I guess she tells me so just about seven days a week.”
Even knowing her sister, Shelley was shocked. “Do me a favour and stick to the truth, Amanda,” she said sharply, thinking that if it were true Amanda wouldn’t have hesitated to betray her trust.
“Oh, look—we’ve embarrassed her.” Amanda turned sideways to poke a resistant Philip in the ribs. “Okay, Shel, whatever you say.”
Angry, and wondering just how far her sister would go, Shelley lightly touched Brock’s arm. “The grand tour seems to be over. We might find some cool at the creek.” She pointed through the screening trees to where the permanent waters glinted like green glass.
“Fine,” he clipped off.
Brock parked the Jeep on the high ground, beneath a stand of the drought-resistant bauhinias. They showered pink and white blossom on the hood and the bonnet.
The waterholes, billabongs, lagoon and creeks that crisscrossed the Channel Country’s great cattle stations, the finest in the nation, were an enormous unexpected contrast to the glaring red of the arid plains. On their banks it was cool and green, an oasis lined by river gums white and smooth of trunk, feathery wattles and many species of flowering desert shrubs that drew on subterranean moisture.
Malkie Creek was a favourite haunt. A marvellous swimming pool in the Dry, and in the Wet a raging torrent. Now it was aglow with dozens of desert eucalyptus, with massed pale yellow flowers and silvery buds. Even the litter layer of shed bark and leaves around the trunks looked pretty, acting as valuable mulch. Higher up, wreathing the tree trunks, were the white cassias, their leaves covered with some white powdery substance that acted as protection and gave the plant an alien appearance.
At their approach large numbers of parrots flew up from an isolated pool of water, a dazzling flash of brilliant enamelled colours.
Amanda ran on ahead, playing the femme fatale to the hilt. She looked a very provocative figure in a tight low-necked blue T-shirt that matched her eyes, her slim tanned legs flashing from beneath short, short white shorts that showed a little too much of her pert bottom.
Amanda in an outfit like that, with her big blue eyes, blonde curls aflutter, usually stopped men in their tracks, Shelley thought, but neither Brock nor Philip appeared to be taking any notice. In fact Shelley had the dismal thought that they seemed to be exchanging a few heated words. Philip looked very agitated.
It turned out she was correct. “Your sister is the biggest troublemaker it’s ever been my misfortune to know,” Philip burst out the moment he reached Shelley’s side. “She doesn’t care what she says or when she says it. She’s irritated me more times than I can remember.”
“It’s nothing more than showing off,” Shelley soothed. “Anyway, she’s my sister, Philip, and I love her.”
“God knows why!” Philip huffed.
“Were you and Brock having a few words?” she asked carefully, turning so she could see Brock stroll down to the water’s edge. She was struck by the fluid grace of his body in motion. One could pick him in a crowd.
“Who does he think he is, taking me to task?” Philip crossed his arms over his chest. “He shows up after all these years—just in time to get himself reinstated in Grandfather’s will—then tells me to stop putting pressure on you. As if I am!”
It was an opening. She had to take it. “Actually, you are, Philip.”
“The heck I am!” He looked deeply hurt and shocked. “Don’t you know how much I care about you, Shelley?” He stared at her intensely. “Do you know the things I want to do for you? I’ve been holding back, waiting to see about Grandfather, but much as I hate to say it Amanda’s right. I should ask you to marry me.”
She felt like slamming her head against a tree. It was getting so bad one might have thought she had a duty to her family and to Philip to say yes. “Philip, we’re friends,” she said firmly. “We’re certainly nothing more. This romance you’ve got going exists in your own mind. I’ve never given you the slightest encouragement for our friendship to become romantic.”
“How come your family thinks so?” His eyes locked on hers with something like triumph. “Your father and mother approve of me. You heard what Amanda said. You know perfectly well I’d marry you in a minute.”
“A minute is about as long as our marriage would last. I’m not in love with you, Philip. I’m sorry. I like you, and I don’t wish to hurt you.”
“You could begin to love me if we had some quality time together,” he persisted, believing it to be true.
“You can’t take a simple no?” She saw Brock turn away from Amanda’s splashing antics. He began to walk back their way.
“Never!” Philip kept his eyes on his cousin. “You’re the one for me. I’ve known it for a very long time. But you have to cut free from your family. We can look after them, of course. I know you’d want that.”
“I don’t want to talk any more about this, Philip.” All at once she felt like bursting into tears. It was an awful feeling to be backed into a corner.
“I love you.” Philip shook his head mournfully. “We just haven’t had a chance. And now Brock’s back to complicate things.”
&nb
sp; “Philip, you don’t even know me,” she said, very quietly.
“I think I do.” He squeezed her hand. “Just beware of Brock, that’s all. Unlike me, he’d snatch you up and then let you drop. I can see his eyes on you, damn him!”
As Brock closed the narrow gap Philip moved off abruptly, bending to pick up a few pebbles he intended to skitter across the water.
“Everything okay?” Brock’s voice was casual. His eyes were not.
“It’s the darndest thing, but your coming back, or your grandfather’s dying, or both, has resulted in all Philip’s ambitions coming together.”
“I take it he’s decided you’d make a good wife?” His handsome face was cynical.
“I don’t want it to get around, but I mightn’t make a good wife for anyone,” she confessed wryly.
He took her hand, leading her into the shade of the acacias, a prowling anger just beneath the surface.
“Most women would consider Philip quite a catch,” he observed, his eyes on the distant figure of his cousin. “What are you waiting for, Miss Logan? A man to steal your breath away?”
“The answer to that is yes.”
He shocked her by kissing her neck. “A lot of passionate love affairs end badly.”
“I know that.” She ought to do something. What? She couldn’t move away.
“But you want it, don’t you? The passion?”
“How long are you going to tempt me?”
“Maybe for as long as it takes.” Again the sweep of his lips across her nape.
“You have to stop that, Brock.”
“Why? You don’t mind.”
“I do mind.” She felt so languorous she didn’t think she could remain standing up.
“Do you think Philip will turn and see us?” Now he brought his arm around her, high up, beneath her breasts.
“It’s not Philip who’s bothering me. It’s you. Your arm. You know how to touch a woman.”
“You’re lovely.” He pulled her back against his body.
“You’re not. You’re a devil!”
He laughed gently, dipped his raven head and nipped her ear. “Why the hell did I bring Philip? Why the hell did you bring your sister?”
“To stop you.” She could feel the warmth of his hand right through her cotton shirt. Soon she’d start sizzling. “You tell me one thing, then you do the opposite.”
“You shouldn’t smile at me the way you do. You shouldn’t make those sharp little comments. You shouldn’t smell like a flower. You shouldn’t have such soft, beautiful skin.”
“Oh, careful, Brock!” She grabbed the arm that encircled her. “They’re coming back.”
“They’ll take a while. Meanwhile I’m going to hold you. I can feel your heart, just under that little pink button.”
“You’re getting a lot of pleasure out of this, aren’t you?” She scarcely knew what was happening to her the level of excitement was so high.
“Aren’t you?” he murmured, for a moment believing in simple happiness. Loving a woman. Giving her as much as she took from him.
“I’m like a cat on a hot tin roof, more like it,” Shelley said, the tip of her tongue curling over her upper lip, all unaware of it.
“That’s interesting,” he purred. “All right, Shelley, if you’re in so much panic and dread Philip might see you…”
“Devil!” She glanced back at him, her head resting beneath his shoulder, saw a smile on his mouth.
“When I’m with you, Shelley, all my good intentions waver.”
“Tell me the truth, Brock. What do you want of me?” She searched his eyes, part of her thinking this couldn’t possibly be happening.
“What if I said everything? What would you do then?”
She felt seared by the taut leap of fire in his silver gaze. “You kissed me when I was sixteen because it thrilled you. You don’t even remember.”
“Oddly enough, I do. I think I must have been watching you all night. You wore a green dress.”
“I did.”
“It had sequins, something glittery all down the front.”
The most exquisite yearning washed over her. “It was the most beautiful dress I’d ever owned. I felt quite unlike myself in it. Like a princess. You could have had any girl you wanted, but you kissed me. It was like a dream or a fairy tale.”
“I’d give anything for one of those kisses now,” he said, putting frustration into it as they saw Philip and Amanda begin their trek back.
“Your parents haven’t gone into Koomera Crossing, have they? They’re at the homestead. I admire your courage and determination, Shelley, but I think you’re fighting a losing battle with your Outback Adventures scheme. It has a lot going for it, but it seems to me you’re desperately under-capitalized and underresourced. You must get little or no help.”
She flushed, averted her head. “Listen, Brock, it may surprise you, but I can manage.”
“For how long?” he countered. “I’m with Phil on this one. You’ll wear yourself out and your family will let you. Phil might think you’d make the perfect wife, but he and you would be a disaster. He’d crush all the life out of you. Him and his godawful mother.”
“Whom I suspect would rather have me murdered than allow me to marry her son. It’s all madness anyway—” She tried to turn away from his powerful magnetism but stood hypnotised.
“And I’m not in the mood for it. I just want you, alone in this quiet, peaceful place. Life is so short and full of heartbreak. You’re right about revenge, Shelley. It burns in me. After my mother died I was nearly mad for a time. I hated my grandfather. I hated Frances. I hated myself. Then revenge burned past the grief. Hating people isn’t pleasant. I’m not a saint, like you.”
“I’m no saint either, Brock, so get me off the pedestal.”
“Compared with me you are. I should warn you, Philip is basically weak. He always was. Frances made a mess of him. But he’s going to be strong about this one thing. He thinks if he remains steadfast and patient you’re going to eventually fall into his arms. Maybe with a slight push from your family you will succumb. Your sister is certainly anxious to get you out of the way.”
“Amanda only wants me to marry well,” she said loyally.
He couldn’t suppress a cynical grunt. “Since when has your sister looked out for your interests?”
“Please, Brock, don’t go on about it.” She passed a hand in front of her eyes.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been allowed to forget.”
“I’m the one who survived.” It took an effort to hold in the anguish. “Emotions are more powerful than reason.”
“I can’t argue with that!” His striking face was dark and moody. “And I’m no good for you either—I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“It’s quite simple, Brock. You just need a woman to be kind to you,” she said, before she could stop herself.
“You sweet little fool!” He caught hold of her shoulders. “I can have all the women I want.”
She could taste the truth of that in her mouth. “So you have a power over women! And some power over me. I can’t deny it. Men like you thrive on control and mastery, so I don’t delude myself you have any special interest in me.”
He relented, drawing one lean finger slowly down her cheek. “You can pretty well forget that. You yourself have power. I’m nowhere near as bitter or as angry when I’m with you. There’s nothing much of you—you certainly don’t flaunt yourself like your sister—but you have an appeal that she can only struggle for. I’m sure she recognizes that from time to time. It can’t make things easy. After I leave here I have to go home to the viciousness of Frances and the terrible arrogance still in my grandfather’s eyes.”
They were very close. Face to face. “It’ll be over soon, Brock,” she promised him. “You’ll be able to walk freely.”
“Always with the memory of my mother—because she’ll always be with me. As for my adventurer father! God knows whatever happened to him. Where did he
go? What did he do? How can a man just go missing? A couple of years ago I ran up a lot of bills trying to trace him. No luck. It’s like he vanished off the face of the earth.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found? Maybe he wiped the memory of his wife and child from his mind? Some people can’t cope. If they stay they think they’ll explode.”
“God, I’ve looked at it from every angle. He certainly didn’t want to take responsibility for us. That broke my mother’s heart. Broke her spirit. Set her up for endless humiliations. You’d have thought Kingsley was the rejected suitor rather than her father. Two men who loved her, locked in dreadful conflict.”
“You have reasons to be angry, Brock,” she said, thinking she might be talking of herself. Fierce wretchedness was etched into his handsome face. “I get angry too. In a sense both of my parents died to me after Sean died. My father takes refuge in alcohol—oh, you’ll hear about it, if you haven’t already—and my mother is afraid of the world. She’s retreated to her bedroom. But you have something to hold onto. Your mother believed in you. She must have thought it probable her father would try to assuage his guilt by offering you what you seem the only one competent to have—Mulgaree and all that goes with it. She must have known you would eventually have the power.”
“That’s eerie,” he said, fixing his remarkable eyes on her. “They were almost exactly her words. Why do you think I’ve held on? Why do you think I’ve come home to what is still a battlefield? This land has great meaning for me. Mulgaree is my home!” His vibrant voice resounded.
“It’s pretty awful for Philip, though. He must feel desperately inadequate. Never the grandson Rex Kingsley wanted.”
“Hell, you’d think it had worked out with me.” Brock stared off towards the lagoon. “Philip would do a lot better in a different environment, away from such a cold and disapproving woman as his mother. As soon as I can I intend to kick Frances out.”
Never an aggressive person, Shelley shuddered. “Is Philip too to be turned away?”
“Do you want to save him as well?” He rounded on her.
“His very vulnerability commands my sympathy.”
