by Margaret Way
“It’s Melly’s fault. I need you all to know that. I’m coming downstairs.”
Pippa had stood firm, although she was a little wary of what Marigold might do, like throw anything to hand. The Royal Worcester Water Bearer figurine was far too close. As unobtrusively as she could, Pippa shifted it. “I’d advise you not to, dear. Mr. Royce won’t take kindly to that. You’re to rest. Lie back now.”
* * *
They were gathered in the drawing room in a council of war. “I always knew Marigold might attempt to hurt you,” James said, feeling great responsibility for his past misdeeds. “Hers aren’t petty jealousies. There’s something wrong with her. I did warn you. You didn’t listen, Amelia.”
“I did listen, Jimmy.” Amelia turned towards him. “Marigold has always had her little problems—”
“Little?” James raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You know she tried to kill you.”
“It took you time to see Marigold clearly, Jimmy,” Amelia reminded him. “None of us are happy about Marigold’s behaviour, but she’s never been as bad as this.”
“Are you saying Marigold has had some kind of a breakdown?” Royce asked sardonically.
“I think she needs therapy,” Amelia said, feeling the full force of his eyes, brilliantly dark and alive. “For her own protection.”
“And what about yours? At this point, you should acknowledge she was trying to drown you,” Royce said.
“Dear God!” Anthea murmured. She was looking thoroughly appalled.
“I think she was trying to punish me for something, Royce,” Amelia hit back. He was judging her and finding her wanting despite the intimacy they had shared, hungrily kissing and caressing each other for hours. This was something entirely different. Royce was a different man. She was another woman.
“She was,” James agreed. “It makes me want to bawl my eyes out.”
“Why does it have to be so hard to admit it, Amelia?” Royce asked her, as though her head wasn’t on straight.
“I’ve never learned to hate anyone, Royce. But I could hate you!” she retaliated, her green eyes flashing in her pale face.
“For insisting you see the truth? Not only see it, but admit it before it’s too late. Marigold’s behaviour isn’t slowing down, or improving as she matures,” he said.
“I said she needs therapy,” Amelia insisted doggedly.
“You are a very generous woman,” Royce replied, his eyes on the pulse in the hollow of her throat. How many times had he kissed her there? Kissed the soft, warm velvety skin.
“What did you expect? Marigold is a very vulnerable person.”
“A danger to herself and others. You in particular,” Royce argued.
“That being the case, how can I let her return home unaccompanied?” Amelia challenged him.
“I’m still Marigold’s husband,” James broke in. The tension between Amelia and his brother was so palpable James felt like he could reach out and touch it. Following that trail, he realized Royce and Amelia were madly in love. If Amelia should be one man’s woman, who better than Royce’s? he thought. “I’ll take her back to Melbourne,” he said. “Marigold is my responsibility, not yours, Amelia. I agree, she shouldn’t head off on her own.”
“It’s out of the question, Amelia, that you be left alone with her,” Royce ruled.
“What could she do?” Amelia turned on him. “Bring down a plane?”
He gave a laugh that held not a trace of humour. “God knows! But I’m not prepared to take the risk.” His black brows knitted. “I suppose there’s never a good time to be away from the station, but I’ve come to a decision. I’ll fly you home myself. That’s you, me, Jimmy, and dear little Marigold, who is showing every sign of not being normal. I’ll leave it at that.”
“When would you leave, dear?” Anthea asked, looking at him with anxious eyes.
“First thing in the morning would be a good time. I’m quite sure Marigold will be desperate to shove off. She’s even deluded enough to think Amelia will be going alone with her.”
“I will need to speak to my parents,” Amelia said. “No use persisting with our parents. For all the love and attention that was lavished on Marigold, I’m beginning to believe she was born with little or no capacity for loving.”
“There was no baby, was there, Amelia?” James asked, very quietly.
She drew in her breath, her expression deeply sad. “No, Jimmy. It may or may not have been the worst kind of lie, but Marigold swore to me she truly believed herself pregnant.”
“You don’t really believe that, Amelia?” Royce challenged.
“You want me to give in, don’t you?”
He held her eyes. “I want you to admit the truth, Amelia.”
“Of course I believed her. I didn’t think she could be so dishonourable.” Her hands fluttered up helplessly. “Okay, Royce. She lied.”
“Because she knew I would marry her,” James said. “It’s as simple as that!”
“We leave in the morning,” Royce said. “Pippa can let Marigold—child-woman, lying-woman, unstable-woman—know. I understand she requested steak and chips, chocolate mousse, and a bottle of the best pinot noir for dinner. She got the first two. A pity, but the best pinot noir was denied her. She was granted a glass of chardonnay. I believe Pippa cited health and safety reasons,” he added suavely.
* * *
After a long meeting with Amelia’s parents, who had tried hard to absorb her news, Marigold was admitted to a highly regarded private psychiatric hospital, ostensibly for observation. Jeremy Boyd had met them at the airport, for the first time establishing contact with his adopted daughter’s husband and his very impressive brother, Royce Stirling. Both men had courteously declined to come home with him. They took themselves off to a hotel. Royce Stirling had told him he had to return to Kooralya as soon as possible. That would be first thing the following morning. He would collect Amelia on the way. She had promised his aunt Anthea she would be returning.
Amelia hadn’t contradicted him. She had promised Anthea, after all.
At first, Marigold had flown into a rage, saying she wasn’t going to any hospital. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her. Melly had provoked her into a temporary madness.
Clearly, there was a lot wrong. Marigold needed help. It was the Boyds’ responsibility to see she got it.
“I’m afraid for her,” said Amelia’s mother. “I seem to remember now Grace had a strange aunt or a cousin somewhere in the background. It’s all so sad.”
Both parents had thought it unbelievable Marigold and James Stirling had been married only a few weeks before they had acrimoniously split up. Knowing Marigold as they did, they did not believe her story. Marigold had always wanted to find not her prince, her soulmate, but a rich husband. The script had been written countless times over.
* * *
James didn’t fly back with them. He stayed on in the city to consult a divorce lawyer. Jimmy had at long last seen the error of his ways. He had been incredibly stupid and careless allowing Marigold into his life. He had always known she didn’t love him, or even like him for that matter. He had long been a target for young women looking for a well-heeled husband. He felt better now. Lighter. He hadn’t lost his first child as he had believed.
His first child had never existed.
He wasn’t happy inside, but his heart was lighter. Royce had suggested to him he pick up his architectural degree. He had another two years to go. He had done well at university until he had let la dolce vita take him over. For him, more like the road to ruin.
He had found deliverance. It was a good feeling. There was something else he planned to do. Something he should have done years ago. Charlene had meant a good deal to him in the past. Why not the future?
* * *
When they were finally back on Kooralya hours later, they were greeted by Anthea and Pippa with beaming smiles no one could fake. Pippa actually leaned her sandy head on Amelia’s shoulder. “I’m just
so happy to have you back.”
“You’re going to have a bite to eat, Royce?” Anthea asked, staring up at her tall nephew. Unlike the rest of them, he wasn’t smiling. He looked preoccupied. “It can wait, Anthea. There are things I have to attend to. I can’t leave it all to Bill.”
“Not for ten minutes?” Anthea persisted, aware of the constraint between Royce and Amelia.
“I have to go. The keys in the Jeep?”
“Yes, dear.”
Royce turned away. He didn’t say anything to Amelia. She didn’t say anything to him. Amelia understood he wasn’t happy with her. That was the way things were.
The three women stayed together all afternoon. There was much Amelia had to tell them, much they deserved to know. Anthea and Pippa didn’t make her feel guilty about anything. They understood her whole story and Marigold’s darkening mind. All three prayed that with the right treatment and the right medication, Marigold would learn how to quell her angers and resentments and master her self-absorption. There was a good chance it could happen. Many deeply troubled people had reshaped their lives once they sought help.
* * *
There were no romantic walks in the garden that night. Royce had to make up for lost time. He had correspondence to attend to. He took himself off to his study. He had been invited by the government to be part of a trade delegation to Japan, Australia’s biggest trading partner. He had represented the national Cattlemen’s Union on former occasions. Japan trusted the high quality of Australian beef. That would be a talking point on the agenda: The Japanese population had taken more and more to beef. Supply had to keep abreast of demand. Kooralya beef was very highly rated. The station had hosted Japanese businessmen in the past.
Amelia didn’t see Royce again until mid-morning of the following day, when he returned to the house to come in search of her. At the time, she was in the kitchen with Pippa. When she heard Amelia often didn’t have time to make herself a proper evening meal, Pippa had elected to show her how to put a few healthy, tasty dishes together in less than twenty minutes.
Royce interrupted their session as Pippa launched into how to prepare pan-fried pork wrapped in prosciutto with sage and capers to be served on English spinach.
“Course, you could use veal, dear, but I reckon pork is tastier.”
Both looked up in surprise as Royce walked into the huge farmhouse-style kitchen that had every possible amenity. On occasions, with the help of staff, Pippa had had to cater for large numbers of people, guests, or visitors. Pippa wasn’t a home cook: She had learned to become a chef.
“Sorry to interrupt the cooking lesson, ladies,” Royce said, smooth as dark molasses. “I thought I’d show Amelia more of the station. That is, of course, if she’s willing to come with me?”
“Would she say no?” Pippa looked shocked by the very idea. Royce Stirling was king in his own kingdom.
“I would consider it an honour, Royce.” Amelia gave a mock curtsy.
“So you do!” Pippa exclaimed. “Aren’t you two friends anymore?” she asked, looking sharply from one to the other.
“We haven’t known one another long enough, Pippa.”
“Then let us try to change that,” Royce returned smoothly.
“You’re funning, you two, aren’t you?” Pippa looked from one to the other.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” Royce gave Pippa his infrequent but very beautiful smile. “Come on, Amelia. I don’t suppose you ride?”
“As in horses?”
“Of course, you wouldn’t need to.” He made it sound as if she were all the poorer for not being able to ride a horse.
Amelia shot him a sparkling glance. “I’m confident I can stay on.”
“Course she can!” Pippa patted Amelia encouragingly on the back. She thought Amelia was having Royce on. “Well, on your way. I have things to do.”
They walked in near-silence to the stables where Eddie, the head stable boy, was in attendance.
“Mornin’, miss.” Eddie smiled, admiring the beautiful young lady’s golden-blond hair that shone like a halo in the sunlight. Aboriginal people, particularly in the Centre, had blond hair, straight or curly, which gradually darkened with age.
“Good morning, Eddie, isn’t it?” Amelia returned the wide friendly smile. Eddie was obviously happy with his lot in life.
“Eddie Emu, miss.” He looked up at Royce. “Goin’ ridin’, Boss?”
“Marika, Eddie.” Royce named his favourite. “We need a nice, safe horse for Miss Boyd here.”
“Then you’d really like Toby, Miss,” Eddie said, eager to please. “He’s an old codger, but he’s still a sound ride. Won’t try to throw yah off or anythin’ like that. Come this way and I’ll introduce you.”
“After you, Amelia,” Royce said with a wave of his hand.
“You are the very worst of men,” she said, hanging back and keeping her voice to a murmur.
“I should say we’re evenly balanced.”
It sounded familiar.
They followed Eddie into the stables down the line of neat and tidy well-kept stalls. Eddie walked with such a bounce in his step that she wanted to bounce along with him. Amelia knew aboriginals were wonderful natural dancers.
The horses were immediately alerted. Horses were very sociable animals. Even when they had plenty of space to roam around in, they usually stuck together for companionship, a good gallop, and games. Now all of them, some seven in all, were showing their curiosity by poking their heads out so they could see what was going on.
Toby, a bay gelding with a white star between his gentle eyes, greeted them with a soft whinny. Amelia could see at this stage of his life, Toby would be a fine mount for a beginner who couldn’t handle a spirited horse. She petted him for a while, and then began to move on, stopping in front of a very elegant young horse that had to have Arab blood. There was the dished face, the large eyes, and wide nostrils to go on. It was a small animal compared to Toby, who had to stand at least 17 hands high. All thoroughbreds in the world had some Arab blood in them, but this horse hadn’t been bred for the track. It was domiciled on Kooralya.
“Not that one, Missy,” Eddie said, a mix of laughter and surprise in his voice. “That’s Tamara. Tell her, Boss.”
“Isn’t there a Royal Arabian stud called Tamara?” Amelia asked.
“You’re very well informed, Amelia,” Royce said. “Morocco. I’ve been there. Tamara is a Moroccan Arab.”
“She’s gorgeous!” Amelia said warmly. “I love horses, the most beautiful, the most elegant of animals. I’ve even been a racegoer in my time, though only a token gambler. Oddly enough, I won more than I lost. I took time out to study the conformation of the horses.”
“A lawyer and you’d know about that?”
“Don’t be such a snob. City folk know about horses, the things to look for when evaluating a horse. Race horses are natural athletes. Everything hangs on the conformation. I don’t have to tell you that.”
“You’re a bit of a dark horse yourself,” Royce commented with a humorous twist to his handsome mouth.
“I had a great-aunt who was quite a famous show jumper. As a matter of fact, she won major competitions in Europe in her day.” As she spoke she was petting Tamara, who had no objections to her, her smell, or her touch.
“Name, please?” Royce asked.
She turned to him, with sparkling green eyes. “Ann Hardy.”
Royce frowned. “Ann Hardy is your great-aunt?” Anyone in the horse world had heard of Ann Hardy, the Olympic contender on a number of occasions.
“Was,” Amelia said. “She took a bad fall when she was holidaying with friends in England. A freak accident. Her horse balked at a fence.”
“That happens,” Royce said, grimly. He knew all too well.
“She never fully recovered,” Amelia told him, a sad look in her eyes. “She never rode for the last ten years of her life.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Royce’s voice held all the feel
ing of a born-in-the-saddle horseman. He looked Amelia right in the eye. “I expect you’re hiding the fact you’re a competent rider. Miss Boyd?”
He was deliberately trying to stir her. “Well,” she shrugged in a mock self-deprecating manner. “Not as good as you, of course.”
“Of course,” he agreed. “I’m still not going to allow you to ride Tamara.”
“You mean you’re going to try to stop me?” Colour washed into her creamy skin.
He arched an eyebrow. “Not try.”
Eddie the stable boy was agog at this exchange. Who argued with the boss?
“Get Eddie to saddle up Tamara,” Amelia said, a touch of hostility in her voice. “Let me walk her around the courtyard. If you’re not satisfied I can ride her to your exacting requirements, I promise to dismount immediately.”
Eddie stared up at Royce. “Boss?” There was a whole world of respect in the word. Eddie would not disobey the boss under any circumstances.
“Do it, Eddie,” Amelia said, before she could stop herself. She couldn’t tolerate controlling men. She couldn’t tolerate men who threw a long shadow.
Eddie didn’t move until Royce nodded.
* * *
Amelia already knew Kooralya was as big as some European countries. It would take ages to see over it. Necessarily by Jeep. Having passed her riding test with flying colours, warmly congratulated by Eddie but not by the boss, who just briskly nodded his satisfaction, they headed towards the hill country, an area Amelia particularly wanted to see. Anthea had told her all about the aboriginal rock paintings on some of the cave walls. Many people had heard about Kooralya’s rock paintings, but none had been allowed to photograph on site. It was aboriginal hallowed ground. The family and the aboriginal people who lived on the station or roamed it didn’t want the ancestral rock paintings exposed. They had to be protected at all costs. Amelia fully appreciated she was being granted a great honour by being allowed to see into the caves. Apparently, she had displayed the right reverence.
The horses cut a great swathe through the fields of wildflowers, which were already starting to wither under the hot sun. Judging from the gradual build-up of clouds in the silken opal-blue sky, Amelia thought there could be an afternoon storm.
