Bridge to Nowhere

by Yvonne Whittal

  She had been on the back seat of the car when the collision had occurred. Both her parents had been killed, but she had escaped miraculously with concussion, minor lacerations and severe bruising. Dr Jessica Neal had tended to her physical as well as her mental wounds during her stay in a Johannesburg hospital, and a bond was established between them which was still there today.

  After being discharged from hospital, and with no relatives to take a ten-year-old child into their home, Megan had been sent to an orphanage. Jessica Neal had promised to keep in touch, but a few weeks later she was offered a partnership with Doctors O'Brien and Trafford in Louisville. Megan had not looked forward to Jessica's departure from Johannesburg. She had believed they would never see each other again, but Jessica had surprised Megan by arranging for Megan to join her up in the northern Transvaal for the July school holidays. And this was where it had all begun, Megan was thinking as she cast a reminiscent glance about the light, airy studio which had once been Jessica's lounge.

  Dr Jessica Neal had kept her promise after all, and that train journey to Louisville had been the start of a new life for Megan. She had moved into this very cottage with Jessica, and that was how she had met Dr Peter O'Brien and his wife, Vivien. A childless couple and an orphaned child; both needing to give and receive that special kind of love. Jessica had sensed their need; she had perhaps gambled on it, but she had triumphed in the end with the growing attachment between the O'Briens and Megan. The result was that Megan had never used the return ticket which would have taken her back to the orphanage in Johannesburg. Jessica, with the help of her influential father, had assisted Peter and Vivien to arrange a swift adoption, and Megan Leigh became Megan Leigh O'Brien.

  'Am I interrupting something important?'

  Megan's thoughts were dragged back to the present at the sound of that familiar voice, and she spun round on her stool to face her cousin, who was observing her quizzically from across the room.

  'No, of course you're not interrupting anything, Frances,' she smiled at the tall young woman who had gathered her dark, shoulder-length hair into the nape of her neck with a hyacinth-blue scarf that matched the silky maternity dress she was wearing. 'What are you doing in town?' she asked, sliding off her stool to clean her brushes and pack them away.

  'I had an appointment with Dr Jessica this morning,' Frances explained, lowering herself into an armchair without waiting for an invitation, and stretching her long, shapely legs out in front of her. 'She says I'm disgustingly healthy for a woman who's seven months pregnant.'

  'I hope you're going to continue taking such good care of yourself to ensure that you and the baby stay that way,' Megan cautioned her, turning from her task to study her cousin intently.

  Frances had always led a healthy, active life on the farm, and Megan was very much aware of the fact that her cousin could react impulsively and a little carelessly at times.

  'You don't have to worry,' Frances laughed off Megan's obvious concern. 'I promised Byron at the start of my pregnancy that I'd confine myself to the Land Rover instead of a horse until after the baby's birth, and I intend to keep it that way.'

  'I should jolly well think so!' agreed Megan, leaving her brushes to dry and lowering herself on to the stool which she had drawn close to Frances' chair. 'How is Dr Jessica?' she asked, her memories of the past still very much on her mind. 'Is she well?'

  'She's well, and busy, as always, involving herself in the physical as well as the personal well-being of her patients.' Frances' dark eyes sparkled with affectionate humour, but her expression sobered the next instant. 'She asked about you and complained that she hasn't seen much of you lately.'

  Guilt stabbed at Megan and she winced inwardly. 'These past months have been so hectic, but that's no excuse for not taking the time to pay her a visit.'

  'Now that we're on the subject of visiting, it's been ages since the last time you spent some time with us out at Thorndale,' Frances voiced her own grievance. 'What about coming out to lunch tomorrow and spending the afternoon and the evening with us?'

  'I'd like that, and thanks for the invitation.' Megan's agile, practical mind leapt on to further possibilities. 'I might also make use of the opportunity to saddle up a horse after lunch and take a ride down to the river to make a few preliminary sketches for that landscape you wanted.'

  'I'll arrange to have a horse saddled and waiting for you after lunch tomorrow.'

  Megan studied her cousin's striking features speculatively, and a faintly mocking smile played about her soft mouth. 'You're spoiling me, Frances, but I suspect that your generosity is prompted by your impatience for the landscape I promised you.'

  'Naturally!' Frances' face was set in an unfamiliar, haughty mask, and Megan lapsed into a fit of giggles which coaxed a smile from her cousin. 'What's so funny?'

  'You look exactly like my mother when she's in one of her reprimanding moods,' Megan explained at length, stifling her laughter behind her fingers and marvelling, not for the first time, at the family resemblance between Vivien O'Brien and her niece.

  'That reminds me,' Frances remarked as she rose to her feet with a guilty start, 'Aunty Viv sent me to tell you she has tea and scones waiting in the living-room.'

  'Then we'd better not keep her waiting,' Megan replied, getting up off her stool and removing the paint-spattered smock she had worn to protect her white cotton frock.

  'By the way, have you met Dr McAdam?' Frances wanted to know when they walked across the smooth green lawn towards the house, and Megan stiffened, instantly on the defensive.

  'I have, yes.'

  'I met him very briefly last night when he came to Thorndale to discuss something with Byron, but I'm dying to know what you think of him,' Frances continued, unaware at that moment of the tension this topic of conversation had aroused in Megan.

  'I don't know him well enough to risk an opinion.'

  'You don't like him.' That was an intuitive statement, not a query, and Megan looked up to see Frances shaking her head in incredulous disbelief. 'Megan, this isn't like you at all. I've never known you to take an instant dislike to anyone.'

  Megan looked away to avoid her cousin's probing, speculative glance. There was a closeness and an easy camaraderie between Frances and herself which had begun in their childhood, but in this particular instance Megan encountered an odd reluctance to share her thoughts and feelings with Frances.

  'I don't dislike Dr McAdam,' she contradicted her cousin quietly but defensively. 'I simply find him incredibly annoying, and I think the less I see of him the better.'

  'This sounds intriguing,' Frances remarked with a teasing note in her voice. 'I must say he's very good-looking, and I thought he was rather nice.'

  Nice? Megan almost laughed out loud. There were several adjectives she could have conjured up on the spur of the moment to describe Chad McAdam, but nice had definitely not been one of them!

  Thorndale & The Grove—F & B Rockford. That familiar sign was clearly visible as Megan approached the turn-off to the farm. The Grove lay directly beyond Thorndale, and both farms adjoined the Izilwane Game Park. It was for this reason that Byron Rockford had not hesitated three years ago when he had been offered the opportunity to purchase the Grove. The much-needed extension to the game park had been carried out with swiftness and care, but Byron had reserved a large portion of the land for himself and, with Frances' assistance, he was breeding a strain of Afrikaner cattle which was making the other ranchers in the district sit up and take notice.

  Megan eased her foot off the accelerator and changed down to a lower gear as the old sandstone homestead on Thorndale emerged at the end of the long avenue of jacaranda trees. The thatch-roofed house had been enlarged considerably since Frances' marriage and, not wanting to deviate from the original structure, Byron had had sandstone carted on from a quarry near Louisville. The garden was still as colourful as always with its flamboyant trees, scarlet poinsettias, and amber to deep scarlet bougainvillaea which ranked profusely al
ong a trellised section of the veranda.

  A metallic blue Porsche was parked close to the house in the shade of an old jacaranda tree, and Megan felt an uncomfortable tightness gripping her insides as she pulled up behind it in her dusty white Mazda. What was Chad McAdam doing at Thorndale on this particular Sunday?

  She was getting out of her car and slamming the door shut with a measure of irritation when Frances emerged from the house and walked towards her at that brisk, long-legged pace Megan knew so well. A worried frown was creasing Frances' smooth brow, and Megan could imagine the reason for it.

  'You never told me Dr McAdam would also be joining us for lunch,' she accused, half in jest and half in earnest, when Frances reached her side.

  'Byron invited him without my knowledge,' Frances explained, her dark gaze filled with concern. 'I'm sorry, Megan.'

  'You don't have to apologise,' Megan assured her cousin with a calmness she was far from experiencing as she took a firm grip on her canvas shoulder-bag before accompanying her cousin across the sun-drenched garden towards the house. 'I know I said that the less I see of him the better, but that doesn't mean I intend to make life difficult for myself, or for everyone else, by turning tail every time Chad McAdam happens to be in the vicinity.'

  'I'm glad to hear you say that,' Frances responded gravely in a lowered voice as they stepped on to the wide, shady veranda and entered the cool interior of the house.

  Byron and Chad halted their conversation and rose politely from the comfortable depths of their armchairs as Frances ushered Megan into the spacious, airy living-room with its charming mixture of modern and antique furnishings.

  'It's good to have you here again, Megan.' Byron's smile was warm and welcoming as always when he approached her, and, with the comforting weight of his arm about her slim shoulders, he turned her purposefully towards the man who stood observing them in speculative silence. 'I presume you've met Chad?'

  'Yes, we've met,' Megan confirmed stiffly, meeting those cold grey eyes for the first time since entering the room, and she encountered once again that odd sense of shock at the suggestion of icy contempt in their depths.

  His glance flicked dispassionately over her small, slender body in the blue summer frock before he inclined his head briefly in greeting, and an awkward silence seemed to hover in the room as Byron gestured Megan into a chair.

  'I think Megan could do with a glass of wine before lunch,' Frances suggested, her voice sounding brittle in the silence as she lowered her weighty body into the chair beside Megan's and stretched her long, shapely legs out in front of her for comfort.

  Byron's rugged features wore a grim expression, and his tawny gaze darted curiously from Chad to Megan, but he turned without speaking towards the ornately carved teak cabinet in the corner of the room. He poured Pinotage into a long-stemmed crystal glass and handed it to Megan, and she took a hasty sip of the crimson liquid in an attempt to steady her nerves while Byron topped up Chad's glass as well as his own.

  Endless seconds seemed to pass before the conversation started to flow, but Megan did not participate in it unless she was spoken to directly, and at the luncheon table, an hour later, she was still content to remain a silent observer despite the curious glances Frances darted at her. She hoped to learn something while she listened to the inflections in their voices, and took mental note of the various, telling expressions that flitted across their faces, but Chad McAdam remained an enigma to her.

  He was dressed casually in a burgundy-coloured shirt, blue denims, and blue and white canvas shoes. He looked outwardly relaxed seated across the table from her, but Megan was aware of every movement he made, and wondering at that inner tension she sensed in him which made her suspect that every muscle in his magnificently proportioned body was flexed for action.

  There was something else which she happened to notice during the course of their meal. Frances' dealings with men during those years spent at an agricultural college had primed her for any situation, and Chad failed in his attempts to disarm her with his cynical, often contemptuous manner. Frances would bounce back every time with her usual straightforward sincerity, and Megan could almost swear she had seen a look of admiration flash across Chad's handsome face, but it was gone as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving her to think that she could only have imagined it.

  'We've always had two veterinary surgeons in Louisville, but they have such a vast area to cope with that many farmers have often been deprived of their services,' Frances was saying when they had returned to the living-room with their coffee, and her statement was followed by Byron's deep-throated chuckle.

  'That's a polite way of letting you know that you're going to be kept pretty busy dividing your services between the game park and the cattle ranchers in the district,' he told Chad.

  'That's why I applied for this post.'

  Chad's reply staggered Megan into wondering why a man like him would want to give the impression that he wished to bury himself in his work. Byron and Frances exchanged glances, obviously stunned into wondering the same thing, but Frances was the first to recover.

  'More coffee, Chad?' she offered calmly, but he declined with a shake of his dark head, and it was at this point that Megan decided it was time she made her escape.

  'I'd like to be excused, if you don't mind, Frances,' she said, aware of Chad's faintly cynical appraisal as she rose to place her empty cup in the tray. 'I want to change into something more comfortable and take that ride down to the river with my sketchbook and pencils.'

  'What about you, Chad?' Byron suggested hospitably. 'I'm expecting a call some time this afternoon from a chap near Phalaborwa who might have a white lion for me, but I could have a horse saddled for you.'

  Megan experienced a stab of alarm that threatened to choke her. If she had needed someone to accompany her on this ride, then Chad McAdam would have been the very last person she would have selected as a companion.

  Chad's firm mouth twitched with a suggestion of a smile. 'The last time I sat astride a horse was four years ago, and I admit that I'm not an expert, but I wouldn't mind renewing the experience if Megan has no objections.'

  His challenging statement focused everyone's attention on Megan, and she felt as if she had been driven into an uncomfortable corner with everyone waiting to see how she would react. A wave of resentment surged through her. This wasn't fair! There was only one way she could respond to Chad McAdam's challenge, and they all knew it!

  'You're welcome to join me,' she heard herself saying with a calmness that belied the storm of protest inside her.

  'That's settled, then,' nodded Byron, seemingly unaware of Megan's predicament as he rose to his feet and gestured that Chad should follow him. 'We'll meet you at the stables, Megan.'

  Frances was frowning fiercely at her husband's departing figure as Megan picked up her canvas bag and left the living-room to walk briskly down the passage towards the guest-room which she always occupied when she stayed overnight at Thorndale.

  She had learnt a long time ago to accept the things she could not change, and acceptance helped to restore her calm composure while she changed quickly into a yellow checked shirt and faded blue denims. She was pulling on her riding boots when there was a light tap on the bedroom door. The door opened before she could call out in response, and she looked up to see her tall, beautiful, but clearly agitated cousin entering the room.

  Frances had something on her mind. Megan knew her cousin much too well not to sense her present mood, but Frances was strangely reticent as she watched Megan tugging at her boots until they fitted comfortably.

  'Megan…' Frances seated herself beside Megan on the foot of the bed with its colourful patchwork quilt while Megan picked up her canvas bag and carefully checked the contents. 'I'm worried about you,' she said at length.

  'I can take care of myself,' Megan assured her cousin with a faint sparkle of amusement lurking in her eyes. 'I could always use my pencils as a weapon if I should find myself in a position wh
ere I need to defend myself.'

  Frances shuddered visibly while she stared wide-eyed at the viciously sharpened lead points of the assortment of pencils which Megan had produced from the interior of the canvas shoulder bag.

  'I wasn't suggesting that you might be subjected to a physical assault,' she elaborated hastily. 'I'm sure Chad McAdam could charm a bone away from a dog if he wanted to, but I suspect he has ice instead of blood in his veins, and you're such a warm, gentle creature that I can't help being afraid for you.'

  Megan agreed with her cousin, but only up to a certain point. She was convinced that Chad McAdam could be an extremely dangerous mixture of calculated charm, steel and ice which confused and bewildered her. He disturbed her intensely, and she would continue to be wary of his contempt until she was capable of understanding the reason behind it, but she did not fear him as a man.

  'Frances, I adore you for your concern, but it really isn't necessary.' Megan was three years younger than her cousin, but at that moment she felt strangely older and wiser as she kissed Frances on her cheek and rose to her feet in one fluid, graceful movement. 'I'll see you later, and don't worry about me.'

  Chad was mounting Stardust, the chestnut mare, when Megan arrived at the stables, and she had to admit to herself that he looked magnificent seated astride a horse. Byron was standing beside Juniper, the dapple-grey gelding which Megan favoured, and she avoided meeting Chad's narrowed glance as she shouldered her canvas bag and took the reins from Byron to lift herself into the saddle with the practised ease of an experienced rider.

  'It's a scorching day, and I suggest you use the trees for cover on your way down to the river,' Byron warned her.

  'I'll do that,' she promised.

  She did not wait for Chad. She dug her heels lightly into Juniper's sides and urged him on into a brisk gallop past the camps where Frances' Brahman stud cattle were grazing.