Home to Eden

by Margaret Way

  When she returned to the garden room, made sensuous by the profusion of plants, the furnishings and the collection of huge Javanese glazed pots, fresh coffee had already been set out on a low marble-topped table.

  “No scalds I hope?” Drake asked, rising to his feet, his eyes moving over her pretty skirt.

  “A little pinkness that will fade. I’m ready for that coffee. Shall I pour?”

  “Be my guest.” Amusement played around his handsome mouth.

  “Callista was a little harsh with Annie,” she ventured, passing him a cup.

  He sighed. “Callista always overreacts. It’s the way she lives her life. I guess most people would call her emotional. She seems to be hurting all the time, but I don’t have the answers.”

  “It’s a lonely life, Drake. Frontier life. She doesn’t have the support of a marriage.”

  “She’s had her admirers,” he said, shrugging. “They never seemed to come up to her standards. As for me, I’m all for frontier life. I don’t covet life in the big cities. Even New York, which I’ve visited a few times, as you know. Like everyone I found it very stimulating, but the desert is my home. No better place on earth. Callista, too, is tied to it. She’s still a very attractive woman. It’s not impossible she could find the right man.”

  He’d have to be a very tolerant individual, Nicole thought but didn’t say. “Perhaps she’s too anchored in the past. This house, however grand, must reinforce her sense of separateness. She mentioned to me that she’d face changes when you marry. She’s lived dependent on you. Dependent on Kooltar.”

  He took another long sip of his coffee, then set the elegant coffee cup, a lucky survivor of the broken set, back in its saucer. “Callista is financially independent. She is, in fact, a rich woman.”

  “I know that. But money, for once, is not the problem. I mean she’s emotionally dependent. Are you happy with your role?”

  For a moment he was silent, his striking face somber. “My aunt is an especially vulnerable woman. I would expect you to understand that.”

  “Believe me, I do. But she doesn’t want to get better.” She recognized they were getting into the familiar series of thrusts and parries.

  “I’ve tried strategies, Nicole. I’ve failed. Callista is harboring all manner of resentments and guilty feelings. Most of the time she’s sweet and gentle. Then she has short lapses into suppressed rage. As I expect you do.”

  “Okay, I admit it, but I’m not as rude as she is. But you won’t hear any criticism of Callista, will you?”

  He shook his head slightly. “She’s family.”

  “You had no hesitation attacking Joel. He’s my family.”

  “I didn’t exactly attack him. I just thought a few things needed to be brought to your attention.”

  She sighed in exasperation. “But, isn’t that interference?” A pause. “I couldn’t help overhearing Callista say I can only bring trouble.”

  His gaze was very direct. “So you’re back to your old trick of listening on the stairs, are you?”

  “It wasn’t often I heard anything good.”

  He laughed. “It never stopped you. You know darn well what Callista means. She’s afraid I’ll fall in love with you.”

  Nicole tried not to let her reaction to that show. “Who knows your intentions, outside yourself?” she said breezily. “Aren’t you and Karen Stirling almost ready to announce your engagement?”

  His eyes came up to hers. “I’ve already told you that’s not true. Callista continues to cherish hopes. She and Karen get on well.”

  “An absolute necessity if they’re going to cohabitate,” she said. “Or maybe after the marriage the position might alter. It wouldn’t be the first or the last time. It would be fairly easy for a charming young woman like Karen to butter up Callista.”

  “Something you’re not likely to do,” he retorted.

  “Not when she feels such enmity toward me.”

  “You’re overstating it.”

  “Not at all! You’re too smart not to see it.”

  “I can handle it, Nic. Can you?”

  She tossed back her auburn hair, suddenly feeling caged. She ignored the question and said, “Look. I’m desperate for answers. Do you believe what happened was murder-suicide or just plain murder? You said yourself the coroner did a poor job. No one believed it was an accident. Dr. Rosendahl didn’t. He had theories that, as they were just theories, he wasn’t prepared to discuss. He’s dead, did you know?” She swallowed, trying to rid herself of the throb in her voice.

  He looked genuinely shocked. “Good God, when did this happen? He can’t have been all that old.”

  “Apparently there was a piece in the papers, but it was very hard to find. Or the breeze blew that particular page away.”

  “Try to stay with the facts, Nic. Sigrid told you?”

  “Callista told me,” she said flatly. “She seemed quite pleased to. One might be forgiven for thinking she would have told you, as well, but she must have thought you wouldn’t be interested. Anyway, he and I lost touch over the years, but I thought the world of Jacob Rosendahl.”

  “As well you might. He was a fine man. Highly respected. What did he die of? Heart?”

  “A hit-and-run accident some six or more months ago. I intend to follow it up.”

  “It’s the sort of thing one would want to follow up. I’m really sorry, Nicole.”

  “There could be a killer out there,” she said slowly. “It’s almost liberating to say it. I want that person caught and punished.”

  “If there is such a person. The official finding was an accident.”

  “You fear my investigation?” She looked at him.

  “I fear for you is more like it.”

  She shrugged. “I can look after myself. I can’t afford to be soft. It was suggested they fought. Let’s consider it. We fight.”

  “You look for it more than I do. My uncle suffered a breakdown. He was never the same after your mother married Heath Cavanagh.”

  “Are you suggesting he decided to end both their lives?”

  His face contorted with pain. “In regard to your mother and no one else, my uncle was slightly mad.”

  “When you all had Heath Cavanagh as the villain?”

  “Nic, I was fourteen years old. Just a boy. I’m no expert on human relationships all these years later. But I’ve had plenty of time to think.”

  She set down her cup carefully. “We all withdrew, instead of being open.”

  “Being open calls for great wisdom and understanding. Terrible grief disrupts those abilities. The inner rage and the hopelessness take precedence. The shock was so great no one was acting rationally. Violent death has a horrible way of tainting the innocent families. We all carried the burden.”

  “Don’t you want to know, Drake?” She knew she was almost pleading. “This is an unresolved conflict. The theory that my mother grasped the wheel and caused the accident is at odds with what Heath told me. He said she was a pussycat compared to me.”

  In response, Drake made a deep mocking sound in his throat. “I distinctly remember a little tiger.”

  “I have a temper,” she acknowledged. “God knows I’ve got the red hair. Who else do we have as a suspect? Some psychopath passing through? It has happened. Men on the run make for the Outback. Somewhere they can easily hide. But then, why and how could a man like that do such a thing?”

  Drake’s wide shoulders slumped a little. “My uncle could have been disabled in some way. Both of them taken unawares.”

  “Or maybe they knew the person. Judged him harmless.”

  “This person who couldn’t control murderous impulses?” Drake asked in a taut, incredulous voice.

  “People do things they believed they never could. We read it in the papers. See it on television. All it takes is a single moment of unpremeditated, ungovernable rage. Which brings us to Heath. The culprit had to be Heath. He had the motive. A crime of passion.”

  “Maybe he�
�ll tell us on his deathbed,” Drake said in a splintered voice.

  “Which can’t be far off.” She moved restlessly, rising to her feet. “Show me the house, Drake. I can remember playing here. Your parents didn’t blame me for my mother’s actions.” Or had Drake’s mother and father believed it possible she could have been David’s child? That would have accounted for their softening attitude toward her. They never did forgive Corrinne.

  “How could they, Nicole? You were the innocent victim.”

  She nodded. “Yes, but the family secrets! So many that are not to be spoken about, just lived with,” she lamented.

  “Well, I, for one, want to compensate for lost time. Only a week ago I never imagined you’d be here with me. Now the unimaginable.” For a long moment they traded looks, intense and searching, both aware of their growing intimacy as they let down their guard. They had bonded so well as children, and now they were brushed by very real adult desire.

  It seemed to Drake her fragrance was all around him, so intoxicating it made him feel reckless. Her masses of curls were a rosy cloud around her face, tiny tendrils damp in the heat around her forehead. How easy it was for a woman like her to bewitch a man. He was filled with a mad impulse to wrap skeins of her hair around his hands. He stared at her lovely mouth, the upper lip so finely cut, the lower as full and ripe as a peach. Passion was a whirlpool that caught a man before it sucked him under. It had happened to David. Yet staring into her beautiful questioning eyes that seemed to mirror his own recklessness, he realized he wanted her with a fierceness that startled and even appalled him. Despite all his talk about making up for lost time, his uncle’s tragic past was never distant. David had gone down into the vortex, never to fully return.

  “Don’t look at me that way,” she said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

  “How is that?”

  “A little bit of everything. Attraction. Rejection.”

  “Rejection, no. I’m just giving us a chance to get our bearings.”

  “Is that so?” She raised an eyebrow. “How perfectly you, Drake. You always like to be in control.”

  “Agreed.” There was a glint of wry humor in his eyes. “Let’s see the house, then.”

  “I have memories of your father’s study,” she said as they moved out of the garden room.

  “My study now.”

  “Have you kept all the trophies? Those wonderful paintings of horses, the huge mahogany partners desk?”

  “I have. I’ve hardly changed a thing.”

  “And the smoking room with all the artifacts and curios? The fascinating things your family gathered. I especially loved the huge Indian paintings on cotton.”

  “They’re still there. Most of the guns have gone, except the antiques which are under lock and key. No smoking allowed anymore. Callista has done quite a bit to the main rooms of the house. It keeps her happy shifting things round, constantly refurbishing.”

  “That happens with people who love houses,” she murmured. “Why do we love houses so much?”

  “Because they’re our castles. We want to keep them intact for our children.”

  They moved into the formal drawing room with its series of double-hung windows and four sets of French doors, allowing light to flood in. Whatever Callista’s failings, she had mastered the art of decorating, Nicole thought. Hanging above the fireplace was a magnificent painting, a landscape-skyscape she’d never seen before.

  “That’s amazing!” She was irresistibly drawn to it.

  “I bought it in Melbourne. It spoke to me across two rooms. A new artist, Nick Osbourne.”

  “He’ll be going places.” With her trained eye she was impressed.

  “He already is. His prices have jumped accordingly. There’s a lovely portrait of a young woman in the dining room, I’d like you to see. I found it on one of my trips. It keeps my male guests at the table.”

  “I can’t wait to see it.”

  As they entered the spacious dining room, which had in the old days hosted many a party, Drake switched on the overhead chandelier for additional light. A huge antique mirror over the long sideboard reflected the painting on the opposite wall. “Why, she’s a redhead.” Nicole spun around, thoroughly intrigued. It was an oil-on-canvas portrait of a beautiful young woman in a satin evening gown that showed off her lustrous skin and the upper curves of her breasts. She was half sitting, half reclining on a deep wingback chair upholstered in a rich ruby silk brocade, slender arms extended, one lovely hand adorned with a huge diamond-set emerald.

  “That’s another Blanche,” she said, referring to the turn-of-the-century French artist.

  “It is. He certainly knew how to paint women.”

  “She looks a little bit like me.” Nicole moved in for a closer inspection.

  “She’s a lot like you,” he answered dryly. “I wasn’t immune to the fact when I bought it.”

  “Surely it’s not why you bought the painting. That’s unreal.”

  “You’re a bit unreal yourself.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment, Drake. Callista can’t like the painting much.”

  “Well, I love it. Wherever you go, her eyes follow you, and look at those beautiful hands.”

  “Hands are very difficult to paint. She’s a sexy little wench. I’m awfully flattered, but surely I’m not that seductive-looking?”

  He glanced at her. “You have your moments.”

  “I don’t see myself that way,” she said, faintly surprised by his words.

  “I know you don’t. That’s what makes the appeal more potent.”

  “Well I’ve no wish to be a femme fatale,” she said tightly, and turned away.

  “I guess you have no say in the matter.”

  THE LIBRARY like Eden’s library, was a grand room at the heart of the homestead. Nicole knew the magnificently carved bookcases that rose almost to the high ceiling were the work of the gifted cabinetmaker George Wingate. Wingate had been transported to Botany Bay as a convict for what today would be a misdemeanor. Once there, however, his career didn’t suffer. He found plenty of work in the homesteads of the rich “squattocracy.” As well as the huge collection of beautifully bound books in all their jewel colors, the shelves held curios and dozens of small sculptures of horses. The McClellands, like the Cavanaghs and other Outback dynasties, had always been horse crazy.

  In Drake’s study she discovered he’d added another large painting of a splendid palomino, its coat a rich dark gold, its flowing mane and tail platinum white.

  “I love this!” She gazed into the large liquid-brown eye the palomino presented in profile.

  “You wouldn’t be an Outback woman if you didn’t,” he said.

  “Such beautiful creatures! Remember our journeys on horseback over desert sand, tangled scrub and all those rocky creek beds? When Joel rode along, he did a lot of complaining—I never did know why. I’ve missed a fast gallop, I can tell you.”

  “I bet.” He smiled. “You’re a natural in the saddle. Straight from the crib onto a pony’s back. Sir Giles saw to that. You never had the least fear.”

  “You’re right. I must have started before I knew fear. I had so much faith in Granddad. He would never have allowed anything to hurt me. Besides, horses have always known what I’m saying to them.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  She moved to a wall covered in photographs that chronicled moments in McClelland family life. Friends, too, and the many celebrities who’d visited the station over the years. There were numerous photographs of Drake, an unqualified photographer’s dream especially when he smiled—as a boy, as a young man, action shots playing polo, others beside the twin-engine Beech Baron, many shots with his father. Invariably his father’s arm was slung proudly around his shoulders. There were other shots of Drake’s father with various VIPs, photographs of extended family at celebrations; the young Callista in evening dress looking not unlike the elfin actress Winona Ryder. She was smiling brilliantly, a study in happiness and
excitement. Sitting on a couch beside her was her brother, David, young and remarkably handsome in black tie. There were more photos of David farther up the wall. Full of life, smiling. It was difficult to look at them without feeling a great sadness for the loss of life, the loss of a future.

  “It must be hard looking at these,” she said, a knot in her throat.

  “They came down for a long while,” he answered quietly. “Callista especially couldn’t bear to look at them. Now I think she’s desperate to find his image anywhere.”

  An idol to be worshiped! “Poor Callista!” Nicole, a woman of sensibility, recognized the extremes of love. “The loss of love embittered her.”

  Drake stared at the photograph fixedly. “That happens to a lot of people.”

  “Hopefully not beyond repair.”

  “They were great pals, you know. You see her there. What was she? Twenty? So happy, dazzling in her unusual way. Princess for the night. Joy is written all over her. They were at a ball.”

  “This must have been before David succumbed to my mother.”

  “And Callista lost her role. The world was her oyster before Corrinne came on the scene. David shifted his attention entirely to Corrinne. That must have hurt Cally. She’s always been extravagant with her joys and her sorrows.”

  “Do you suppose she could have gone off the deep end?” Nicole looked away from the photograph and met his eyes.

  “We can all go off the deep end, given the right circumstances. What are you saying, Nic?” A vertical line appeared between his black eyebrows.

  “The unacceptable, apparently.” Nevertheless, Nicole forged on. “Maybe it was an abortive attempt to break up the lovers—my mother and her brother. Maybe something went drastically wrong. A horrific accident just waiting to happen. You said yourself you’re familiar with Callista’s big mood shifts. She can work herself into a rage over a dropped tray.”