by Margaret Way
“I want to.” Delicately she let her hand move down over his velvety body, feeling it tremble beneath her touch.
“So what are we going to do about it?” he demanded, his voice deep and husky. “I was supposed to be taking you home. I should be back on Mulgaree, mourning my grandfather, guarding my own interests.”
“Instead you’re with me,” she whispered, lifting her arms to link them like the lightest chain around his neck. “I think we’ve earned ourselves a little piece of heaven after what we’ve both endured.”
“To have you like this always,” he muttered, sliding an arm beneath her beautiful naked body so perfectly constructed for his loving, entering her again powerfully.
The entire family in its wisdom was waiting for her when she arrived back on Wybourne. It was sundown and the sky was a glory of deep crimson and gold, with long streaks of pink, yellow and amethyst on the horizon. It was a spectacular change after the blazing blue of the day.
“Where have you been?” Amanda demanded to know before Shelley even put a foot on the verandah where they were now assembled. “You left Mulgaree hours ago. Where have you been?” she repeated, frowning blackly.
“With Brock, obviously,” Shelley said, trying desperately to act normally, convinced she couldn’t possibly after her life-changing experience. When she wanted her family they were never there. When she didn’t want them she had their undivided attention. “That was him flying the helicopter. He’s pretty upset. What business is it of yours anyway, Amanda?” Shelley did a rare thing. She rounded on her sister.
“Come into the house, Shelley.” Her father rose from his planter’s chair, giving the stern order. Once a handsome man, with good features and black Irish colouring, Patrick Logan looked what he was: a sick wreck, his looks and health eroded by drink and grief. But at least he was sober. Her mother, too, was present, hovering like a blonde shadow of herself near her father’s shoulder. In their youth and up until the death of their little son, the Logans had been a popular, fine-looking couple, hard-working, with every expectation of a good life in front of them. The tragedy had affected both parents profoundly. Both had cracked wide open.
“You’ve got sand all over you,” Amanda accused, her eyes moving all over her sister, cold with suspicion. “You haven’t been up to any tricks with Brock Tyson, I hope? He has that reputation.”
Shelley flushed violently. “That would be the first thing you’d think of, wouldn’t it, Mandy? You’ve got such a lily-white reputation yourself.”
“That will do, Shelley,” her father suddenly roared. There was no way Shelley was allowed to attack her older sister. “Amanda is right to ask. We were worried about you. Philip Kingsley has rung several times.”
“What on earth for?” Shelley felt a great spurt of anger. Who the hell did Philip think he was? Her husband?
“He wanted to know why you weren’t home,” her father replied, as though that were reason enough. “You left Mulgaree shortly after two p.m. We all had fears you might have crashed.”
“More likely Philip had fears I was with Brock,” Shelley answered sharply, forgetting to keep her tone respectful. Her father had a hair-trigger temper, though he had never struck her. He knew she wouldn’t have tolerated that. Maybe he knew as well. “Philip is very jealous of Brock. I’m sorry if you were all worried. Brock wanted a little time out. He landed in the desert. He’s always loved it there. It gives him comfort.”
“So that’s where you got the sand?” Amanda continued to stare at her sister, picking up immediately the fact that there was a change in her. Shelley, after an afternoon in the heat of the desert, looked ravishingly pretty. And ravished? Amanda glared at her.
“I’d really like to take a quick shower. May I? It was so hot.”
“Make it very quick, Shelley.” Her mother spoke for the first time. “We have things to discuss.”
When she returned, in fresh clothes and smelling of boronia, her family was sitting in the living room, her father staring at his knees, her mother with her eyes shut, Amanda almost on fire with impatience.
“Sit down, Shelley,” her father said, lowering his gaze from her face the way he always did. “I took the first call from Philip. He confided in me about his grandfather’s will. As I understand it he is the main beneficiary—Rex Kingsley’s heir. Mulgaree is his. The other boy, Brock, was not mentioned in the will. Personally I find that totally unjust, though I suppose it’s none of my business. He was a hard, hard man, Kingsley. Cruel, really. I can’t imagine why he brought the boy home.”
“Brock’s not a boy, Dad. You remember the boy. He’s very much a man. Philip couldn’t hold a candle to him.”
“So much for that!” Amanda, her father’s favourite, hooted. “It’s Phil who’s got the money. He must be worth millions and millions. Oh, God, I wish he was attracted to me, but it has to be you.”
“You’re welcome to him,” Shelley said.
Her father glanced up quickly, a strange light in his faded blue eyes. “I hope we can all come together on this, Shelley. Philip tells me he loves you and he’s ready to marry you. Isn’t that enough for any girl? By the way, I should tell you I cancelled that party of tourists who were coming out here. I don’t like strangers around the place. I know they’ve brought in money, but we won’t need it now.”
Shelley felt it like a betrayal. “Oh, Dad, why did you do that? I have everything planned. They’ll feel very let down. I’ll have to give the deposits back. You should have consulted me. We do need the money.”
Her mother leaned closer, took hold of Shelley’s hand. “Listen to your father, Shelley. Don’t think we don’t appreciate how hard you’ve worked on your project. We do. You’re a very clever, capable girl. You could be anything you want to be, given the opportunity. Now you have it. No young woman in her right mind would turn down Philip Kingsley. He can give you the world. Moreover, he’s prepared to do it.”
Shelley felt her face burning. “Except I don’t love him, Mum. When are you going to take that into account? I’ll never love him. He doesn’t attract me in that way.”
“Not like Brock, I suppose?” Amanda broke in, expression taunting. “I agree he’s very sexy, but he’s not the type to offer marriage.”
“We’re not talking sex here, Amanda.” Patrick Logan stared at Amanda angrily. “But we are talking marriage. That’s a most serious business. The most important in a woman’s life. Philip is a good-looking, decent young man. All right, he never was a patch on his cousin, but he’s young and healthy and love will come later. You both have many interests in common, Shelley. You’ll be a great asset to him.”
“Dad you’re not listening,” Shelley cried out despairingly. “I’m not interested in Philip.”
“Then you’d better get interested in him,” Patrick shot back. “He’ll devote his entire life to looking after you. He loves you, you fool of a girl. You should be honoured.”
“And think how he can help us,” Amanda piped up in all seriousness. “If you became Mrs Kingsley that would be a big step up for us. The Kingsleys are important people. Now his grandfather has gone Philip will be rich and powerful. He’ll probably blossom and gain in confidence. If you gave him a little help he could turn into the man you want him to be.”
Shelley stared incredulously at her sister. “What are we talking here, Mandy? Prostitution?”
Patrick Logan’s face turned beetroot with anger. “You should go and wash your mouth out with soap. I won’t have you speaking like that, Shelley. What we’re talking about is making a good marriage for you. We love you.”
“Do you, Dad?” Finally she decided to ask it—what she had always wondered in her mind. Shelley looked at her parents sadly. “You can hardly look at me, Dad, and Mum scurries away every time I try to talk to her. You don’t love me. You bitterly resent me for surviving when Sean didn’t.”
“Stop now, Shelley,” her father thundered, as though she had no right to broach the subject.
�
��Please, Dad, allow me to speak. All this avoidance of anything connected to Sean has been bad for all of us. He was my twin. My other half. He’s never left me. He’s still around. He wakes me every morning of my life. I talk to him. I tell him things that I can’t possibly tell anyone else.”
“Are you going to stop?” her father gritted, shaking his head like an enraged animal.
“Yes, stop, Shelley!” Her mother and Amanda cried together.
“Oh, yes, you’d all like me to. It suits you. Since that day you’ve treated me like I was involved in foul play. I was six. I can’t remember much except the screaming. Everything else has gone white. I know I didn’t cause Sean any harm. I couldn’t have. I loved him. He loved me. He loved me more than any of you. He always ran to me. Never Mandy.”
“Such a pity, then, that you pushed him,” Amanda said bitterly. “Oh, don’t look like you’re going to faint. Everyone knows.”
“How cruel you are, Amanda.” Their mother spoke in shock and pain. “I never knew.”
“You’re all cruel.” Shelley’s voice broke. “One day I’m going to remember. Some little chink of light is going to fall into my brain. You’ve always been the accuser, Amanda, but you couldn’t have been fully engaged looking after us.”
“I want this to stop,” Patrick Logan bellowed, actually capturing his younger daughter’s gaze. “No purpose can be served by trying to unravel the events of that terrible day. Sean was loved by us all. He was my son. I don’t suppose you women know what that means to a man—having a son.”
“You’ve never given your daughters a chance, Dad,” Shelley said. “Especially me.”
“It’s not like you’re saying,” her father claimed. “Are we to be condemned because you remind us so terribly of Sean? Our little Sean! He was so very, very special.”
“I’m special too, Dad, if you could only see it.”
“Shelley, you mean so much to us,” her mother broke in, blue eyes full of remorse. More and more frequently these days she was coming to see the great wrong the family had done her younger daughter. “You’re a dear girl. A strong girl. Your father and I know how difficult it’s been for you.”
“And me!” Amanda insisted, looking outraged.
“You look like Mum,” Shelley said by way of explanation. “Sean and I took after Nana. We inherited her colouring. If my colouring wasn’t so different—if I’d been blonde and blue-eyed like Amanda—you might have been able to love me, too.”
Her mother hung her head in shame and sorrow, as though her deepest secret was out. “All I can say is your father and I do love you, even if we’ve found it very hard to put it into words. We want the best for you. And the best for a woman is a good marriage. You can work wonders on Philip if you try. He’s a one-woman man. He’ll be faithful to you.”
“We just want you to have security,” her father urged, as though that was the greatest goal in life. “Philip is coming over in the morning to formally ask my permission.”
Shelley was thunderstruck. “You’ve got to be joking, Dad. Ask your permission? Am I wrong? Are we not in the twenty-first century? Is Queen Victoria still on the throne?”
Patrick Logan looked as if he was running out of his scant store of patience. “It’s the right and proper thing to do,” he said, looking as if he believed it. “I am your father. Lots of people do it. It may be old-fashioned but I consider it a necessary courtesy.”
“I think it’s kinda cute.” Amanda touched her father’s hand, backing him. “Think it over, Shelley. You’re on a winner here. And if you’re on a winner so are we.”
Shelley made sure she was the first to greet Philip—though greet was hardly the word. More like confront. Philip had a blind spot. Her parents were about to sell her off to the highest bidder. Her sister, only four years older than herself, was fully in agreement.
They made it sound as if all their thoughts were of her and her future. Her security, her position in life. When in fact the whole lot of them were thinking of the benefits to themselves. Her marrying Philip was obviously intended to help them out. The Logan family fortune, such as it was, had dwindled to an all-time low, despite Shelley’s best efforts, and it was her job now to restore it by making a good marriage. This so-called marriage of convenience. God knows, it still went on. Love alone apparently wasn’t enough for some people. A strenuous attempt was being made to hassle even harass her into it. Well, she wasn’t falling for that one.
And what of Brock? What would Brock think when he found out Philip had come over to see her?
Her mother had been giving her worried looks all morning, otherwise she might have thought her mother was secretly thrilled. It broke her heart that such a thing as a marriage between herself and Philip Kingsley could inspire such rare pleasurable emotions in her mother. She even looked younger, brighter. She was wearing one of Amanda’s summery shifts and she had shampooed her hair, fluffing it up into soft curls. It was easy to see how pretty she had been and could be again. Even her father wore a smart casual shirt and trousers instead of his usual dingy T-shirt and shorts.
It was as though what they so ardently wanted just had to happen. Fate owed them. They needed a helping hand up.
But Shelley was filled with a wild rebellion. I’m no sacrificial lamb, she fumed. Even if I married Philip I’d have to slit my own throat. Let Amanda find herself a millionaire to save the family fortunes.
She stood well back until the rotors of the helicopter had stopped, watching Philip jump to the ground, looking immensely spry. Her father was right. He was good-looking when he wasn’t looking defeated. This morning he looked triumphant, like a man coming to claim his bride. She inhaled deeply, then let it out. She reminded herself to keep calm, nevertheless there was only so much she was prepared to take.
“Shelley!” he called to her in delight. “I didn’t expect you to come down for me. I was going to walk up to the homestead.”
“We can drive,” she said, waiting for him to reach her. “But first we’re going to have a little talk. What do you think you’re doing here, Philip? You can’t be serious about asking Dad for my hand?”
His expression underwent a rapid change. “But, Shelley, I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“How did you come to entertain such a wild idea? I’ve told you in every way I know how that I have no romantic interest in you. We’re friends. Period. Where do you get off, spying on me? Ringing the house yesterday? Three or four times, wasn’t it?”
“I was concerned about you,” Philip protested. “I don’t trust Brock. Not with any woman, let alone you. I love you deeply. If you let it love for me will come.”
“Oh, rubbish!” she said angrily, not caring now how much she hurt him. “I—do—not—love—you. I know you’re finding that very hard to deal with but it’s true. We have a friendship of sorts. If you persist, we won’t even have that. How dare you presume to think you could speak to my father about marriage plans? My plans don’t include you.”
“Because you’re stubborn, Shelley,” he insisted. “You like to fight things. You would love me if you gave me a chance. I explained that to your father. Your parents like me. They approve of me. Isn’t that important to you? Don’t you want to help them? A marriage between us could bring them back to life. I’m a very rich man. Hasn’t it sunk in yet?”
“You need to consider what Brock is going to do,” she said sharply.
“There’s nothing he can do. The will is airtight. Would you come back to Mulgaree with me afterwards?”
“In a word—no!” she said shortly, exasperated with Philip’s persistence.
“It’s my mother, isn’t it? She’s never made you welcome. I’ll change all that. Don’t let her worry you. She’s had too big a hold on me for too long. My mother can go. Maybe not at once, but when we’re settled. She’s assured me Brock’s filthy claim she had an affair with Gerald Maitland is totally untrue.”
“That’s the ostrich in you talking, Philip,” Shelley said weari
ly. “You’re forever hiding your head in the sand. My parents are expecting you for morning tea, heaven help them. They’re as single-minded as you, but it won’t make any difference. Maybe the two of us could put our great brains together on this one,” she remarked flippantly. “I happen to know Amanda has need of a rich husband.”
He laughed briefly, his expression a perfect copy of his snobbish mother’s. “I have no interest in Amanda whatsoever. In fact I can’t believe you’re sisters. I find her vulgar.”
“That’s interesting. I’d take her before I’d take your mother. We might as well go up to the house and get this over with. But I warn you. Don’t attempt to speak any nonsense to my father, or I might go ape.” Shelley walked away quickly to the Jeep. “Did you tell Brock where you were going?” she asked when they were underway.
“As a matter of fact I did. He laughed in that devilish way he has. He thinks I’m a perfect fool, but I know I’m not. With Maitland there I might as well make my own will and you can witness it. I have huge responsibilities now. I might even be able to work out a plan to help Brock. I’m going to have need of him to ensure our operations run smoothly. He’s a pretty cluey guy and he’s tough. The men respect him. What do you think?” Philip turned slightly to stare at her. “He could take up Strathdownie. Manage things from there. That’s bound to please him.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure!” Shelley said with extreme irony—only Philip missed it, gratified by her response.
“I wouldn’t want you to think I didn’t have a heart.”
She was terribly distressed and embarrassed by her family’s behaviour. They piled on the pressure, treating Philip like visiting royalty. Philip, being Philip, lapped it up. He really was incredibly pretentious. It seemed he believed his ambition of marrying her could be achieved as soon as possible now that they’d all decided. Except for the prospective bride, who might not have been there for all the notice they took of her.
