by Margaret Way
“What do you mean?” Oddly she half understood.
“You’re never going to get your head out of the sand, are you.”
“Are you implying something was wrong?” She found the whole subject too difficult to deal with.
“Of course not. But didn’t your mother who spoke to you of so many things ever suggest to you Joel was too dependent on your company, your affection?”
“No, she didn’t!” Nicole’s answer was vehement. “What have you got Joel pegged as now? An incestuous psycho?” Had her mother ever mentioned something on the subject? If she had, Nicole was unwilling to open the door of her memories even a crack.
“First cousins can and do marry. Forgive me, it’s just that I’m not comfortable with Joel. I never was. I remember him forever hovering, always wanting to know what we were talking about. He was right there at the race meeting in June. Hasn’t changed a bit.”
“Probably thinking he should break us up. Joel really cares about me.”
“We all know that. Nevertheless, a word of warning won’t go astray now you’re back on Eden.”
Her mind turned over his words, rejected them. “Why oh why do people get things so wrong?”
“I’m only trying to put you on guard. The protective streak I developed a very long time ago.”
“If there’s any threat to me, it could come from you,” she said quietly. “We both know you’d like Eden. You’d like the Minareechi.” She referred to Eden’s largest, deepest, permanent stream that in flood turned into a tremendous sheet of water, the breeding ground for huge colonies of nomadic waterbirds.
He said nothing, so she continued, “You’d like to add it to the McClelland chain?”
Finally he spoke, his tone mild. “I’d be right there if Eden ever came on the market. Why not? If I didn’t get it, someone else would. Has someone been dropping little hints in your ear, Nic?” He shocked her by using his childhood name for her. “Most probably Sigrid, while she was delivering the news that your father had returned.”
“Siggy’s no fool,” Nicole said.
“I’ll happily acknowledge that. But Eden has gone down, Nicole, you have to admit. It’s no longer the same as it was in your grandfather’s time. Sigrid does her best, but she’s no replacement for Sir Giles. Her husband is little use to her. Alan’s an odd bird, actually. You could know him for years and years and yet never really know him. And Joel isn’t performing well as manager. You must have felt the weight of that when you were last here. He’s arrogant. He has a harsh tongue on him. He’s devoted to heavy arguments, instead of getting on with the job. Eden has had trouble holding on to good men. I’d say that was testament to Joel’s style of management.”
“No doubt you’ve poached them away,” she accused him, perturbed by the truth of what he was saying.
“As it happens, three of your stockmen found work on Kooltar in the last couple of months. One of them said your cousin scared the hell out of him.”
Color flew into her cheeks. “Is this an all-out attack on Joel?”
“If that’s how you see it. Ask around, Nicole,” he suggested grimly. “Joel has developed quite a reputation for violence. There was an incident in Koomera Crossing that left the locals pretty disturbed. A bar fight. Apparently unprovoked. It took four men to hold Joel down. He’s been barred from Mick Donovan’s.”
Her whole body tensed. “So he crossed the line once. He’s aggressive, just like all men are. Why are you telling me this?”
“For the obvious reason you need to know. Your cousin Joel isn’t Eden’s future.”
“Eden belongs to me.”
“Are you sure you want it?” His words were very direct.
“Of course I want it. Eden’s my heritage. It’s in my blood.”
“But you prefer to live in New York?”
“You think that means I don’t love and miss my home?” She stared at his strong profile. “New York has been my safe haven. It’s a fabulous place. A city I’ve come to know and love. The city and its people. All the more so since September 11. I have wonderful friends there who’ve helped me rebuild my life. I take my painting seriously. I’m becoming known. I’m making an impression.”
“So I’ve heard.” His voice was filled with admiration.
“How? Through the family?”
His response was ironic. “I told you, I don’t have casual conversations with any members of your family. I have my own sources.”
Her tone was caustic. “They’re usually called moles.”
“We were all desperately concerned for your safety after we discovered the full extent of the destruction in New York. I was glad of my moles then. So, believe it or not, was Callista. Are you returning to the States?”
She took a deep breath, staring down at her locked hands. “Not for a while, Drake. There are things I need to address. Conflicts and identifications. Perspectives.” Maybe even Joel’s problematic impulsiveness.
“If solving once and for all who your biological father is, the answer is at hand. For all you say, Nicole, you have no real hope of moving forward until you face the truth.”
JOEL WAS THERE to greet her when they landed. Tall and lanky, broad shoulders, dressed in jeans and a bush shirt, high boots on his feet, a black akubra rammed on his sun-streaked blond head. No one who saw them together would recognize them as blood relatives, Nicole thought. She was a Cavanagh, while Joel took after his father, Alan. They both had narrow heads, narrow faces, and sharp regular features that could look foxy on occasions.
“Are you going to speak to Joel? Try to patch things between you?” Nicole asked Drake, her tone with a certain appeal in it.
“No chance! We’ve never really communicated.”
“Oh, please, Drake.”
Her look of anxiety weighed on him. “I can’t see it doing much good, but okay.”
“God, what an honor! The great Drake McClelland!” Joel approached at a lope, glittery-eyed, confrontational, despite his lopsided grin. He opened his arms wide for Nicole to walk into them.
It was so much easier to do so than not, regardless of what Drake had said about Joel. “The prodigal returns.”
His kiss of greeting was startling, for it was not on the cheek as she’d expected but on the corner of her mouth.
“Nikki!” He gave a nervous laugh, hugging her so tightly she was afraid she’d have bruises. “Boy, is it good to see you!” His eyes shot sparks. “You can’t know how I missed you.” He drew back a little, searching her face.
“I missed you, too, Joel. I missed everyone. I miss my home.”
“I hope you mean that.” Joel’s gaze turned still and serious before he brightened. “They’re all waiting for you. Including your dad at death’s door. Eden is like the dark side of the moon without you, Nikki.”
His words sounded so extravagant that for a moment she didn’t know what to say. “I needed space, Joel. Time. I never want to hurt anyone with my continuing absence.”
“It’s taken having your father back to bring you home again. Never mind. I don’t care what the reason is, just the fact you’re here. You look marvelous. More beautiful every time I see you.”
“Molecules, Joel,” she told him lightly. “The way they’re arranged. You look great, too.” Gently so as not to offend him, she withdrew from his embrace. For the first time ever she felt self-conscious with her cousin and she blamed Drake.
Joel’s eyes moved briefly to Drake, who had never been his friend, preferring Nicole every time. “How you two managed to run into each other I’ll never know.” He eyed Drake closely as though he suspected it was no accident at all.
“The element of chance,” Drake drawled. “Now that Nicole is safely delivered, I’ll be on my way.”
“Why rush off? Long time no see.” Joel’s tone was bright, but Nicole clearly saw the venom. Like his father, Joel had a giant chip on his shoulder.
“Things to do. Always things to do,” Drake declined in an easy, casual voice.
“If what I hear is true, you’re negotiating to buy out Vince Morrow.”
Drake shrugged. “First rule of business, Joel. Don’t give out advance information.”
“You never change, do you.” A definite sneer. “Always the big man. The big action hero. Or that’s how everyone seems to view you. Not me.”
“That seems certain,” Drake responded. “I think I’ll go before this gets nasty.”
“Only fooling. Just testing,” Joel said, and suddenly grinned. “Fact is, Drake, I’ve always admired you. You always were someone. Even as a kid. A kid destined to go places, according to my dear grandpa. ’Course, you had a head start, being your dad’s heir.”
“I think I’ll skip the compliments, too,” Drake said, secure in his ability to handle difficult customers like Joel Holt. He turned his head to Nicole, who was looking on in dismay, no doubt waiting for the right moment to intervene.
“Thank you so much for the flight, Drake,” she said quickly. “You saved me a heap of trouble.”
“My pleasure.” He looked at her steadily, making up his mind. “I’ve done a lot of changes on Kooltar. Maybe you’d like to see it sometime?”
“My God, is that an invitation?” Joel cut in, his tone high and derisory.
“The invitation is extended only to Nicole.” Something flickered in Drake’s eyes, signaling he wasn’t going to take much more.
“And I accept it.” Nicole threw Joel a quelling look, which he promptly mimicked.
“Don’t tell me you two have made up,” Joel said incredulously.
“We’re simply being civilized,” Drake said. “We’re neighbors. Our families were once close. Nothing can be accomplished when people are divided. I’ll give you time to settle in, Nicole, before I ring you to set a time.”
“Thanks again, Drake.” Given Joel’s aggressive attitude, she was on tenterhooks waiting for Drake to go.
“Be seeing you.” He sketched a brief salute, then strode to the Beech Baron. He didn’t so much as glance back.
“God, would you look at him!” Joel muttered, tanned skin stretched taut across his cheekbones. “Arrogant son of a bitch. Always did have that contemptuous air. Magnet for the women, though. A real stud. He’s as good as engaged to Karen Stirling.”
“Really? He never said.” Nicole felt a betraying hot flush.
“What does it matter to you?” Joel asked, eyeing her closely. “For years now the two of you can’t even look at each other without a fight starting. You launched right into an argument the last time you were here.”
“You really saw it like that?”
“Are you telling me it wasn’t like that?” Joel’s gray-green eyes locked onto hers.
“I’m telling you I’m tired of the fighting. I’m tired of the hostility. As Drake said, our two families were close once. We still share a common bond. We love the land. I’m hoping with a little goodwill on both sides we can narrow the chasm that’s divided us.”
Joel guffawed. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this! Are you hiding something from me, Nikki?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s high time we buried the hatchet. Granddad’s gone. So’s Drake’s father. The result of a single tragedy. It’s so damn sad.”
With a callused hand, Joel grasped her face and turned it to him. “You’d be the biggest fool in the world to trust Drake McClelland,” he warned. “He’s a devious bastard. He wants Eden.”
“Well, he can’t have it.” Nicole considered her cousin squarely. “Let go of my face, Joel. You’re getting much too aggressive. I want to go up to the house. I’m like they say in the song, I’m tired and I want to go home. I’ve done an awful lot of traveling. I’m not a good traveler.”
“Sure, Nikki. I’m sorry. But I’ve been through a bad time, too.”
“How exactly?” Nicole asked him quietly.
“I miss you so much when you go away. This coming and going is torture.”
She exhaled. “That sounds so…oppressive. You don’t depend on me for your happiness, Joel. If you do, there’s something wrong.”
He lifted his palms, dropped them again. “Is it wrong to miss you when you go away? God, Nikki, we grew up together. Under the same roof. Doesn’t my missing you make sense?”
Unsure of herself, Nicole expressed regret. “Of course. I’m sorry.”
“But you’re home now.” Joel smiled, leaning forward to impulsively kiss her on the forehead. “I’m just so grateful.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE COULD SMELL the scents of her country. Feel its intense dry heat, bask in the radiant light so different from the light of the northern hemisphere.
Eden homestead faced her across a great down-sweep of lawn, the broad stream of the Minareechi at its feet, meandering away to either side. Black swans sailed across its dark green glassy surface as they always had. There was a small island in the middle of the river, ringed by great clumps of white arum lilies, heavily funereal. A life-size white marble statue of a goddess stood on a marble plinth at its center, the base almost obscured by a purple mass of water iris. It should have been a romantic spot. In better days it had been. Her mother had loved it. Now the place bore a faintly haunted air.
Joel pulled up at the base of the semicircular flight of stone steps that led to the front entrance of the homestead. Eden was a departure from other historic homesteads. A large country house in the grand style, it showed more than a little of French influence with its great mansard roof and round viewing tower in the west wing. The first chatelaine of Eden, Adrienne, had been French. No expense had been spared to please her, uprooted as she was from a land of immense beauty and culture to a vast, arid, primitive wilderness, scarcely explored. Nevertheless, Adrienne had not only survived but flourished, bearing six living children. The French connection persisted. One of her great-aunts had married a distant French cousin and still lived in a beautiful house outside of Paris, Nicole’s base when in Europe. A Cavanagh relative had brought a French bride home from the Great War.
Now Eden faced her with its proud tradition of service to its country. Her grandfather had been knighted for his services to the pastoral industry, as had his father before him. No such honor for Heath Cavanagh even if the queen’s honor system hadn’t been disbanded in favor of Australian honors. Drake McClelland would have been in line for that.
The great columns that formed the arcaded loggia were smothered not in the ubiquitous bougainvillea, but the starry white flowers of jasmine. The perfume was a potent blast from the past. Jasmine and its terrible associations. The day of the funeral… She tried to block its cloying scent, deciding then and there to have the whole lot pulled down and replaced with one of the gorgeous African clerodendrums.
“Welcome home,” Joel declared, his hands on her shoulders possessively. “Let’s go up. They’ll all be waiting for you. Gran is nearly sick with excitement.”
“I’m excited myself. I can’t wait to see her.” Neither of them mentioned Heath. Nicole looked around at her luggage.
“Barrett can take care of it.”
“Who’s Barrett?” she asked halfway up the stairs.
“The Barretts,” Joel told her carelessly. “Mother hired them fairly recently.”
“So what does Mrs. Barrett do? Help Dot?”
“Dot? Mum pensioned her off.”
Nicole’s first reaction was outrage. “Without speaking to me?” She heard the heat, the bewilderment, in her voice. “Dot’s been with us forever.” In fact, Dot had been born on Eden to a couple in service to the family. They’d lost Dot for a few years when she was married to an itinerant stockman who regularly beat her up and tried to sell her off to his friends. Afterward she’d returned to Eden penniless, defeated, permanently scarred, to ask for her job back. It was given to her gladly.
“Dot looked after us as kids, Joel,” she reminded him. “She was our nanny. She was wonderfully kind and patient. Did she want to go?”
“Don’t ask me.” Joel sh
rugged the whole matter off. “I don’t interfere in the domestic arrangements. She was getting on, you know. Hell, seventy or thereabouts.”
“All the more reason to keep her. I thought you were fond of her.”
“Nikki, the only person I’ve ever cared about is you.” Joel gave her a strangely mirthless smile. “I thought you knew that. Don’t worry about Dot. Mum would have looked after her.”
“I should hope so,” Nicole muttered, thinking this wasn’t the end of it. Siggy had no business sending Dot on her way. Even if Dot had wanted to go, Siggy should have told her. Eden was hers, not Siggy’s, wasn’t it?
“Please don’t be cross, Nikki,” Joel begged with a quick glance at her face. “I just want you to be happy.”
“Who’s happy? Are you?” she asked briskly. “Occasional flashes of it are all we can expect.”
“I need you to be happy,” Joel said, putting much emphasis on you.
Once they were inside the huge entrance hall, the symbolic center of the house with its great chandelier, magnificent seventeenth-century tapestry and elaborate metalwork on the central staircase, a man and woman suddenly made their appearance. The woman was tall, rail thin, with short dark hair and deep-set eyes; the man was noticeably shorter. Neither of them looked particularly pleasant.
Joel introduced them briefly as Mr. and Mrs. Barrett. Dislike at first sight? Nicole wondered. It wasn’t until she moved closer that she registered that the blankness of their expressions was actually shock. They looked the way people did when they saw a ghost.
Ah. It was her mother’s portrait in the drawing room. Of course. She could have posed for it herself.
“Right, Robie, you can collect the luggage and take it up to Miss Cavanagh’s room,” Joel ordered sharply, irritated by the pair’s demeanor. “Where’s my mother?”
Mrs. Barrett was the first to recover. “Mrs. Holt will be here directly, sir. She asked to be told the minute you arrived. Lady Cavanagh is resting. I’ll let her know you’re here, Miss Cavanagh.”
