by Margaret Way
“Don’t let’s get into this, Dad,” she said deciding he hadn’t earned the right to her most private thoughts. “It causes too much upset and you can’t be upset.” Always the placator she feared the onset of another bad turn. “Besides.” She gave him what he needed to hear. “I gave my heart to you. You’re all I’ve had.” She said it with an enigmatic smile, finally forced to consider all the loving had been on her side.
“Exactly.” Jock McIvor nodded, convinced her wholehearted devotion was his due. “As for me, I have no son to take over from me.” His breathing hissed with impotent rage. “Just girls. Can you believe it? With my incredible strength. My virility. The women I’ve had! I want you to get Berenger over here,” he announced with a sudden vigour.
Darcy shook her head in utter confusion. “You want Curt?” Considering the role her father had played in breaking them up this came as a revelation.
“Oh I know we’ve always had our differences,” he grunted, catching sight of her shocked expression. “I know he hasn’t any regard for me—glimpses of his old man there—but I’ve never known a Berenger not to show integrity. Despite all this infernal suffering and pain Doc Robertson tells me I have a little time to go. I want to discuss something with Berenger. Barely thirty and he’s building a name for himself,” he said grudgingly.
“He’s got a name, Dad,” Darcy bluntly corrected. “He was born with it. Berenger. A proud name. It’s on the record. A name he lives up to. What can you possibly discuss with Curt of all people you can’t discuss with me?”
“Important business, that’s what!” There was a momentary flash in McIvor’s eyes. “I know you’ve got a good head on your shoulders but I need to speak to a man, that man being Curt Berenger.”
Darcy’s saddened eyes looked steadily into her father’s. “Do you love me, Dad?” Please God let him say it just once. “You’ve never told me. You’ve said a few times you were proud of me, especially when I won that big endurance race, but love has never been mentioned.”
Incredibly a tear trickled from Jock McIvor’s eyes. “My fault, Darcy girl. I sometimes think I’ve never known what real love is. Apart from my mother. I’m convinced I loved her. Named you after her, didn’t I? I was passionately in love with Marian for a while or at least I thought I was. She was so pretty and amenable. It’s possible I loved you girls, I don’t know. Maybe loving isn’t in my nature. Fidelity either. Now that was beyond me. All I know is I care about you, Darcy. You’ll be a remarkable woman in later life. By and large you’re pretty remarkable now. Your interests will be well protected. You don’t have to worry your head about that.”
“You’re changing your will?” Shock upon shock ground her down.
“Just let’s say I’m moving away from the original. I’m on the brink of meeting my Maker. Curiously I’ve rarely given Him a second thought but now I have a pressing need to straighten things out.”
Attonement it seemed was a powerful factor when it came time to die. “You want to include Courtney? I understand that.” Courtney who had gone with her mother. Courtney who had abandoned her only sister among other things. Did Courtney deserve to be rewarded? Darcy began to wonder what she had done with her life.
“You’re too understanding for your own good,” her father gave a rasping cough. “But you’ve got guts and you got them from me. Get Berenger over here. I’m not that dumb I don’t know he’ll still do what you ask.”
After a long sleepless night battling fresh demons, Darcy drove down to the airstrip midmorning to pick up Curt and deliver him to the homestead. She realized he was putting himself out for her. Curt was a very busy man with many calls on his time and attention. She counted her blessings he remained her friend.
In front of her and to either side, the vast ancient plains spread out as far as the eye could see. Horizon to horizon. The indomitable land under whose influence she had fallen, glowed molten red. She knew without the protection of her sunglasses the fiery sands, ridged like old washboards, would have been blinding to the naked eye. Studded here and there were white boled ghost gums, the pretty little minareechies with their light green leaves and feathery acacias with swarms of little birds, finches and red throats hopping around the branches. Clumps of spinifex, like giant pincushions glinted gold as wheat. Mile after mile of them. A never ending supply of stockfood.
Spinifex and sand. Space, freedom, a million acres to roam. Why wouldn’t she love her desert home? In times of severe drought it was like taking a walk on Mars, but all that was forgotten when the heartland blazed into the Garden of Eden after the rains. Today the mirage was working its cruel magic. The desert phenomenon had bedevilled many a past explorer and lost traveller luring them towards what they believed was pure fresh water. Water that shone like a polished mirror. This was the land of mirage. It gave the illusion there was no horizon. Land and sky merged into one.
As she gazed across some of the most starkly beautiful and forbidding land on the planet the speck in the cloudless blue sky swiftly transformed itself into a light aircraft. Darcy swept it with the binoculars that hung around her neck. The Berenger twin-engined Beech Baron. He was right on time.
A few minutes later she watched in admiration as Curt made a perfect touch-down in a brisk cross wind. He taxied up to Murraree’s silver hangar, made his after checks then disembarked covering the short distance between them in long loping strides.
One hell of a man was Curt Berenger. Darcy watched his progress with the tense, foolish, feverish, fascination she could never kill off. He was at once daunting and dazzling. Aware of his own power but rarely pressing it. He didn’t have to of course. Today, like all other days, she put herself on guard.
“Hi!” He bestowed his beautiful white smile on her. Next best, his dark timbred voice. It had a very attractive edge to it. Sexy was what women called it.
“Hello yourself!” She gave him a light ironic salute. Both of them had perfected the art of taking the mickey out of the other.
At close range he was even more stunning. Emphatically the cattle baron, a powerful and influential community leader, a target for women. She could never forget. They threw themselves at him. Worshipped at his booted feet. Around Curt Berenger adulation was the order of the day. His classic features were hard planed, damn nearly godlike. He had a firm but full lipped mouth, crystal clear green eyes that positively scintillated in his darkly tanned face. They stared at each other as they always did, way beyond the comfort zone.
She broke first, as ever, tossing her head which meant: Not me, Curt. Never again.
“Thanks so much for coming,” she said briskly, conscious she was breathing him in.
He started to walk with her to the jeep, adjusting his broad brimmed akubra over his eyes. “Given the brutal fact your dad and I have never got on—and we both know why—this is downright weird.”
Forbidden topic. “I agree but he trusts you.”
“Does he really?” Curt treated her to a sarcastic stare.
“It’s something to do with a new will,” she explained.
“Wha-a-t!” Curt did a double take.
“You heard me.” Tall as she was she had to tilt her head to look up at him. Something she found very satisfying.
“Hell, Darcy.” He registered his disgust. “Even now he’s playing with your emotions. What prompted this I wonder? And why me? It’s not making a lot of sense.” He didn’t wait to be invited, he slid behind the wheel of the jeep.
“People see things in a different way when they’re dying.” Darcy settled herself in the passenger side without comment. She was long used to Curt’s ways. “Whatever our history, underneath he respects you as a Berenger.”
“Does he, the old…so and so,” Curt swallowed on what he really wanted to call Jock McIvor. “Does he mean to include Courtney?” He put the jeep into gear, heading for the long unsealed track that led to the main compound.
“She is his daughter.” Darcy clamped her hands together. It was an automatic r
esponse to Curt’s closeness.
“She’s fairly well ignored that up-to-date. I wonder what he’s up to? For all his periodic bursts of charm your father is an unpredictable and ruthless man.” People’s view of Darcy was that she was a saint for putting up with her notoriously difficult father let alone loving him. But such was the parental bond. McIvor represented all Darcy knew since her mother had opted out at an age when Darcy had desperately needed her.
“I don’t really know what’s going on in his head,” Darcy said, pursing her lips in thought. “I don’t think I’ve ever known. As for Courtney, maybe she felt she’d be as unwanted here as I’d be unwanted there. My mother obviously decided she wanted nothing more to do with us.” She didn’t dare mention to Curt her father’s stunning confession her mother had wanted her to attend her second wedding. That would only give him more ammunition. Maybe there were more secrets in store for her? After all, didn’t she have her own?
“Probably it was all so painful she had to break the connection just to survive,” Curt looked into her eyes briefly. “Your mother needed love and admiration like the rest of us. She didn’t get it from your dear father. The thing that has always surprised me was your father didn’t let her have custody of both of you if only because of his lifestyle. He could have had you for the holidays. A compassionate man wouldn’t force such a traumatic separation. Children generally stay with their mother.”
“You seem to be forgetting. My mother didn’t want me. At least Dad did.” Darcy kept the pain and anger out of her voice. She was done with self-pity.
“That’s the line your father sold you. He drummed it into you from Day One. You were twelve years old. The unimaginable had happened. Your father was so desperate to hold onto you he shifted all the blame onto your mother. My mother insists to this day your mother adored you. You know that.”
“Strange way of showing it,” Darcy answered crisply. “Kath is just being Kath offering comfort.”
“Not only that,” Curt insisted. “Mum’s very fond of you of course, but she’s always been convinced your father had something on your mother he used as leverage. Or it was plain spite. You know what’s he like. She couldn’t have both of you. Come on, Darcy, your mother was a gentle, loving person. It must have been horrible for her. She wasn’t suited to station life but she tried for a long time. Your father was a big intimidating man. He made his wife suffer.”
“You mean with the affairs?” Darcy stared out at the sun scorched landscape, deriving comfort from its rugged grandeur. How she had hated it when her father had occasionally brought his girlfriends home. Though in all fairness most had tried to be kind to her.
“It must have been a tremendous threat to her self-esteem thus to the marriage.”
“He must have needed something she couldn’t give him,” Darcy sighed. “Sex was a very important part of Dad’s life. He couldn’t live without it.”
“Unlike you,” he said in a bone dry voice.
“Well, you could never lead a celibate life,” she retorted, turning her head away.
“What the hell are you talking about?” He picked up on that quickly. “I don’t know what fool image of me you’ve got in your head, but it’s certainly not based on reality. I am not your father, Darcy. How can you think that for a minute?”
She dug her nails into her palms. “Whenever you take your trips to the big cities I’m sure you don’t move around alone.” She had the proof. She had never spoken it aloud.
“Why because sometimes I get my picture in the paper?” he challenged.
Oh yes, she thought. You get your picture taken. “Let’s move off the subject,” she said. “I’m sorry I started it. Just say you’re very macho. Our way of life promotes it.”
“For goodness’ sake, Darcy!” Curt grunted. “I swear I don’t know what you’re on about some times. I suppose you can’t help it given the life you’ve led. I admit men are in control out here, if that’s what you call macho. Men determine the industry. As for your father, sex for him must have been like his drinking. An appetite. Maybe a form of recreation. Think about it. Was anyone really special to him? I know this is one hell of an explosive issue between us, but you’re forever locked into making excuses for your dad. It’s become second nature. I can’t believe he has ever really loved anyone in his entire life.”
It was a claim she desperately wanted to deny, but it was probably true. Darcy lifted her eyes to a squadron of budgerigars that flew in emerald and gold formation alongside the speeding vehicle. It was one of the great sights of her homeland. “Dad said he loved his mother,” she offered quietly.
“Well that’s one person,” Curt’s mouth tilted at the corners with dark humour. “I’m not saying he doesn’t care about you, Darcy. You’re his prize possession. The one that didn’t get away. I understand your allegiance even if it drives me nuts. You’ve only had him to turn to at a crucial time of your life. Every young girl needs her mother.”
“To develop right?” She was aware she had been severely damaged by her mother’s abandonment.
“Absolutely! Your dad even if he’d been a loving dad couldn’t have taken over that role. Darcy, he treated you—mistreated you if you like—like a boy. The son he never had. You give him everything. What does he give to you? Now a new will. What does that mean? Could it put your interests at risk in some way? Your interests must be protected. Maybe his choice of daughter goes back to the fact you’re said to resemble his mother. The mystical bond, perhaps?”
“Go to hell,” she said quietly.
“I’m trying to live my life to make certain I won’t,” he clipped off. “Your father was prepared to let Courtney go. He couldn’t keep your mother against her will but you were the one he wanted. You were the one he needed. Even at twelve you were brave, resourceful, competent, loyal. You loved the land when your mother and sister didn’t. You were fearless. You stood out and Courtney was a babe in arms beside you. She wasn’t a physical child in the sense you were. There was her fear of horses. Your father was to blame for that with his bluster and bullying. Instead of using a gentle hand he seemed to go out of his way to frighten her. They just didn’t come more rambunctious than your old man.”
“Rambunctious?” She gave a bitter little smile. “That’s a good word. He’s not so rambunctious now.”
Curt eyed her purely cut profile, the small straight nose, the delicately determined chin, the swan’s neck. Her lustrous mane of sable hair hung down her back in a thick plait. Her olive skin glowed with good health. No make-up save the usual token touch of lipstick. She was beautiful and ludicrously unaware of it. Inevitable perhaps when her father made a point of ignoring her feminine attractiveness. “I’m sorry, Darcy,” he said gently, and he was, though sometimes he wanted to shake the living daylights out of her. “I know what your father means to you. We’re predisposed to love our parents no matter what. What I don’t know is what he wants with me now? Given he’s done everything in his power to drive a wedge between us it’s damned odd. I don’t want to be put into the position of advising on wills. He has a team of lawyers for that. Maxwell and Maynard. Adam Maynard is a man of integrity with a fine legal brain. Your father has spoken to Adam hasn’t he?”
She pulled a face. “You know Dad never took to Adam any more than Adam took to Dad.”
“Your father isn’t an easy man to like.”
“How unkind.” She bit her lip.
“The unvarnished truth. Lots of people have been taken in by Jock. Women in particular. Some women will always be attracted to dangerous men.”
“You’re pretty dangerous yourself.” Her profound feelings for him spilled over, as on rare occasions they did.
His green eyes sought hers. “Rubbish!” His tone was a mix of disgust and wry humour. “I’m just a pussy cat.”
“A jaguar.” She didn’t smile. “We’ll never see eye to eye, Curt.”
He turned his head. “That wouldn’t stand up to examination. What about the land whi
ch we love more than anything else. The land and everything that goes with it. Then there’s our love of horses and horsemanship, of books and music. We share the same sense of humour. We like the same people. Our political leanings are the same, our world view. Apart from that we don’t have a darn thing in common. I agree. There’s quite a gap.”
Jock McIvor had foregone his medication so his mind would be clear. With difficulty he lifted his head as his daughter and Curt Berenger were shown into his bedroom by the incredibly dull and dour Ainsworth woman. Berenger stood inches over the head of his tall daughter, making her look darn near fragile. Funny he had never thought of Darcy as being fragile before. Darcy could handle rough work with the best of them.
“Good of you to come, Curt.” It came out in a hoarse bark.
Berenger inclined his handsome head.
As arrogant as his father McIvor thought, but it was the arrogance of achievement.
“Anything I can do to help Darcy, sir,” Curt said formally, moving to the bedside to take the withered hand that was extended to him. Curt recalled how big and powerful that hand had once been.
He was shocked by the deterioration in McIvor’s condition. McIvor looked very close to death. That inevitably stirred feelings of pity. However devious and demanding, Jock McIvor had been a giant of a man. To be reduced to this wasted hulk! It was cruel. Terminal illness was a down-casting fact of life.
“You don’t need to stay, Darcy,” McIvor rasped. “I need to talk to Curt alone.”
“Surely there’s nothing Darcy can’t hear?” Curt questioned, looking briefly over his shoulder towards Darcy. He hoped she’d insist on staying but her father had such a hold on her.
Darcy returned Curt’s challenging green gaze briefly then dipped her head. “I’ll go see about lunch. You’re staying, Curt?”
He nodded. “Don’t go to any trouble. Make it simple.”
