by Margaret Way
“Yes, I know Sara,” he said, unaware he was frowning.
“Look here, why don’t you simply turn up?” the woman said. “I’m sure the Drysdales won’t mind. Not if you’re a friend of Storm’s. They adore her.”
“Who doesn’t?” he said with the faintest edge of irony.
“You know Storm obviously.” The woman’s bright eyes were agog.
“I grew up with her.” He told her casually, then lest she got the wrong impression: “I’m the overseer on the McFarlane station, Winding River.”
The woman stared at him as if transfixed. “Really? It must keep you very busy?”
“It does. I don’t have a lot of time. I should fly back tomorrow. Sunday by the latest.”
“So go along to the party,” the woman suggested, sensing his urgency.
“What, in this?” He pulled at the sleeve of his leather bomber jacket.
“My dear, you look marvellous,” the woman breathed and gave him the address.
The Drysdale mansion was right on Sydney harbour, which was to say on one of the most beautiful sites in the world. The imposing Italianate-style house with matching landscape grounds was ablaze with lights. There again he had no difficulty in gaining entrance. Like a gift from heaven, Sara Lambert, Storm’s friend, had been invited to the party. They caught sight of each other as they approached the massive wrought-iron gates, open but flanked either side by attendants to vet the guests.
No male was dressed casually as he was. They either wore dinner jackets or well-tailored suits. Sara didn’t appear to take much note of that. She rushed to his side, grabbing hold of his arm.
“Why Luke!” she carolled. “How lovely to see you! It’s been ages and ages.”
“Sara.” He bent to brush her flushed cheek. “Your big day tomorrow. I wish you every happiness.”
She beamed up at him, a very attractive blonde with sky-blue eyes. “I’d have sent you an invitation only you might have put me off going through with it,” she said roguishly. “Only fooling. I love my Michael.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Storm didn’t tell me you were coming tonight?” She took his arm affectionately, as though they were the greatest of friends.
“Actually, Sara, she doesn’t know.”
The blue eyes rounded. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m absolutely serious. I’m here on behalf of her father. Literally a flying visit. The Major’s not well.”
“Oh!” Sara kept moving toward the gates where an attendant smiled and nodded to her then let them through. Easy as that! “I’m so sorry. I do know the Major has ongoing problems with his leg. Storm keeps me informed. A lovely man, the Major.”
“I think so.”
“And he thinks the world of you,” Sara told him warmly.
“Unlike Storm,” he said in an easy, languid drawl that masked a lot of hurt.
Sara laughed. “Maybe she’s in denial. You two go back a long way.”
“That we do.” He left it at that.
Moving in line, they were almost at the front door: Luke without an invitation, Sara waving to other couples who had not yet worked their way into the house.
“I really don’t think I should go in, Sara,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind telling Storm I’m here? I’d like to speak to her for a few moments, then I’ll be off.”
“Oh for God’s sake, stay!” Sara turned up her face to him, tightening her hold on his arm. “You’re going to have to tell me what’s been happening in your life. How’s your girlfriend, Carla?”
“She’s fine. I won’t go in, Sara,” he said firmly. “Apart from the fact I wasn’t invited, I don’t look the part.” Not that he cared but he was old-fashioned enough not to want to gate-crash.
For an instant there was the same old hero worship in Sara’s tone. “You look terrific! Like an ad for Calvin Klein. Great jeans and a cool leather jacket go anywhere.”
Despite his wishes they were somehow through the grand double doors urged on by the press of guests to the rear. The entrance hall to his eyes was overly resplendent, more like the foyer of some sumptuous European hotel. Huge, even allowing for the swirl of laughing, chattering guests, all beautifully dressed, the women flashing spectacular jewellery. He presumed the handsome middle-aged couple in the centre were the Drysdales; something Sara immediately confirmed.
He moved back, to one side, taking Sara with him. “If you could just find Storm. I’d appreciate it.”
Sara all but ignored him. “Don’t you want to meet Stephanie and Gill?” she asked.
“Oh God! I think I’m about to,” he said, watching the hosts break away from their other guests and walk towards them, looking highly interested.
“Sara, darling!” Stephanie Drysdale cried.
Lots of Euro kisses.
“This is Luke,” Sara offered brightly. “Luke Branagan. He’s Athol McFarlane’s right hand man. Storm’s father.”
“Of course!” The hosts, husband and wife started to beam. Handshakes all round.
“Forgive me for gate-crashing your party,” Luke smiled, “if only momentarily. I’m in Sydney to see Storm. I have a message for her from her father. It won’t take long but it’s important. Hence the flying visit. I’m needed back on the station. The Major hasn’t been well.”
“Nothing serious I hope?” Stephanie Drysdale asked, waiting on the answer.
“His health is a matter of concern, Mrs. Drysdale,” he said.
“Well we must get Storm for you.” Stephanie Drysdale turned to her husband. “Gill, why don’t you show Mr. Branagan into the study while I find Storm. You’ll want to be private.” She hesitated a moment. “Are you going on anywhere else this evening, Mr. Branagan?” she asked.
“Luke, please.” He gave her a smile. “I might catch a movie while I’m in town.”
“Goodness! In that case we’d love you to stay.” She flashed a glance at her husband, who nodded his handsome head in agreement. Sara, too, smiled excitedly.
“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” he pointed out amusedly, glancing down at his jeans and high boots.
“Don’t worry about that. You look fine.” Actually Stephanie Drysdale was thinking she had never seen a man looking so utterly divine.
Gilbert Drysdale led him off to the study while his wife and Sara went in search of Storm. Guests were wandering around everywhere, champagne glasses in hand, laughing, talking, relaxed. They continued through one of the opulent reception rooms along a corridor until they came to the darkened study.
Drysdale switched on the lights, illuminating a very functional, very masculine room in complete contrast to the rest of the house. Gracious like his wife, Drysdale stayed on for a moment to ask more of Athol McFarlane’s health then he excused himself saying he had better get back to his guests. Luke took an armchair, upholstered in a rich dark green leather, allowing his eyes to wander casually around the room, his mind preoccupied with this coming meeting. Four long months since he’d seen Storm. It felt like years. Sick of her, sick with her. Hell it was like a disease!
He heard the tap of her high heels along the corridor, an excitement in itself as he forcefully inhaled a lungful of breath. She was there! Sweeping into the room in a cloud of some beautiful elusive perfume that made him flare his nostrils, a subtle blend of gardenia, orange blossom, freesia? What would a man know? What would a mere male know about the miracle of Woman? She bedazzled him in her sexy little sequined top in lime-green with a long side split ruffled skirt that had to be chiffon over silk, the tiny green iridescent beads that were sewn all over it catching the light. Her thick raven tresses were dressed more elaborately than he had yet seen, the volume increased so it winged back from her forehead and cheeks and spilt over her bare shoulders. Knowing her so well, he could see she had gone pale, her green eyes glittering like the emeralds she wore in her ears.
So near, yet so far! She made his head reel and she was using up his life.
�
�Luke, what is it? What’s the matter?” she asked urgently, closing the study door behind her and leaning back against it.
It was quite a pose, a sizzler, but he knew it was unconscious. “Hi there, Storm,” he said, getting slowly to his feet. “I’m really happy to see you, too. No need to panic. Your father sent me.”
She could hardly speak for her surprise. Luke, as handsome, as inflammable as ever. “About what? Has he taken ill?” Though her heart quickened with fright, it came out like a challenge.
“You mean you didn’t know?” he clipped off, his mood darkening. “Your father has been ill for years.”
She couldn’t bear the censure in his beautiful blue eyes. “I only spoke to him last night. He was perfectly all right then.”
He could feel the familiar tension invading his body. “Don’t be absurd, Storm. His leg gives him hell as you know.”
That had its effect, too. “What are you accusing me of, Luke?’ she asked heatedly, wondering if their clashes were to be repeated forever.
“Well, now we’re on the subject, I’m accusing you of neglect.”
She flushed, the upsurge of colour increasing her beauty. “Don’t you always pick the right words,” she said bleakly. “I love my father. I ring him regularly.”
“But you don’t visit.”
She shook back her long hair. The overhead light had burnished the ebony waves with purple. “I have a career, Luke. Can’t you understand? I have commissions I must complete. And I get them from people with the money to afford them. Like the people who are here tonight. I just can’t rush off at a moment’s notice.”
He looked at her unsmilingly. “Well you’re going to have to. Your father wants you home. I think you should come.”
She laughed. It was almost certainly not humorous. “You think…you think. Oh, yes, you decide what’s best.”
“Don’t start,” he begged. “I’ve had just about enough. You know and I know that you stay away because of me.”
“How you kid yourself!” The truth didn’t lessen the pain.
“I don’t. You can’t put anything over me. I’m not your father to be wound around your little finger. Busy or not I want you to come back with me. You have the wedding tomorrow, but Sunday.”
She stared at him, absorbing the aura of power that surrounded him. “You can’t be serious?”
“I’m always serious with you. Your father wants you.”
Anxiety was like a knife against her heart but she knew her father. He thought bringing her home was his right. Twenty-seven and he still treated her like a child. “It can’t be that serious, Luke. He would have told me.”
“Are you sure of that?”
“So you’re calling the shots now?” She was as defensive as ever. There was so much bottled up inside her it might never get out.
“I always act in the interests of your father. It’s over four months since you’ve seen him. I have to tell you he’s gone downhill since then.”
“Oh God!” She all but swayed into a chair, the slit in her long skirt revealing one long, slender leg. “I ring him every week without fail. Why does he never say anything? Why is everything so secret?”
“You know your father,” Luke sighed. “He plays it close to the chest. Besides the last thing he wants to do is cause you anxiety.”
“And what about you?” There was the pain again. Not jealousy. Rejection. “You’re always there aren’t you? He has you to confide in.”
“Well he doesn’t,” Luke responded curtly, all the feeling he had about her cruelly twisting. “I tried to speak to Tom Skinner but Tom clams up.”
“Do you really think I haven’t tried to speak to Tom myself?” Storm flung up her head. “Tom does what Dad tells him. Just like everyone else. Including you.”
“And you of course are the rebel?” He let his blue eyes wander over her body, so beautiful and so insufferable. “I’m sorry if it interferes with your professional and social life but I feel you should come home if only for a few days.”
“Is that an order?”
“It’s a request. Don’t close your heart, Storm.”
“Then it’s that bad?” Her almond eyes glittered with unshed tears.
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise. We’re never going to be friends, Storm, but I do care about your father,” he said, fighting down the mad desire to crush her in his arms.
“And he loves you.” She had been exposed to that early. “What is it about you men that you value your sons above your daughters?”
“I don’t accept that,” he said, thinking to have a little daughter like Storm would be utter joy.
“It’s true in Dad’s case. I spent years of my childhood wishing I were a boy. Wishing I were you.” She shook her head. She had been wounded in so many ways perhaps no one would understand.
The pathos of that stung him. “I’m sorry, Storm. I never asked for any of it.”
“Of course not.” Her smile was bitter-sweet. “It was your destiny. What are you really after, Luke. We both know you’re ambitious. Is it Winding River? I swear you’ll never get it.” Her feelings for him, so complex, manifested themselves in inflicting hurt.
His eyes flashed. “If anything happens to your father, Storm, I’m out. Nothing on God’s earth would persuade me to work for you. And you couldn’t run the station yourself. You’ve taken no interest in it for years.”
“Who needed my interest?” she said, in reality a victim of her father’s blind injustice. “Who needs me when they’ve got you?”
“God, Storm, I’m not a monster,” he rasped. “I’m no substitute for you when it comes to your father. He idolizes you, but you’ve always been too hot-headed to accept that. So he’s one of the old school who thinks women have to be protected and provided for; shielded from the harsh realities of life. I understand perfectly how important your career is to you. I applaud you. But your father has given you everything you’ve got including your apartment.”
That he knew was a double blow. “You know that?” she asked.
“You just told me.” He moved restlessly, rangy and powerful. “How could you have afforded it anyway? It’s only these last few years you’ve been making real money. I expect that your father makes you a handsome allowance. That dress must have cost a fortune.” It was exquisite revealing her beautiful shoulders and the swell of her breasts. “The sandals. The emeralds in your ears.”
“My mother’s emeralds, Luke,” she pointed out dryly. “Columbian. Real emeralds are very hard to come by. You don’t know everything.”
He drew a deep steadying breath. “Look, why don’t we put our little range war aside. I didn’t come here for you I came for your father. Because I care about him. Like you he’s given me just about everything but I work very hard to repay him. In fact I break my back.”
“It’s just like I said, Luke,” she continued with the right mix of irony and humour. “You’re hero material. The son Dad always wanted.”
“And therein lies a lifetime of grief.”
“I don’t think it would be excessive to say you stole my birthright.”
“That cuts deep. You know I didn’t steal anything,” he retorted with some passion. “Chance affected our lives.”
“It certainly put paid to any civilised relationship between us,” she said, hiding her sick regrets. “I used to think when I was just a girl the two of you deliberately tried to exclude me.”
As a man he could understand that. “Now you know better.” His expression gentled.
“Maybe I can’t see the light even yet.” Abruptly her tone changed. “Did you fly Dad’s Cessna?”
He responded curtly to the near taunt. “The quickest way to get here.”
“When do you intend flying back?”
“As soon as you’re packed.”
She searched the eyes that blazed out of his tanned skin. “You truly think it’s that urgent? Dad likes to keep hold of us both. He says he’s proud of my success but he’d have been
far happier if I’d stayed at home dancing attendance on him. No, don’t shrug it off, Luke. Listen. ‘You’re an heiress. You don’t have to work!’ What he really meant was he wants me to be financially and emotionally dependant on him. I’m not such a fool I don’t know my own father. He’s an important man, much respected, everyone speaks of him with such admiration—the way he reared me single-handedly.
“I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. Dad is first and foremost the big man in a man’s world. He’s lived like that all his life. Athol McFarlane, the cattle baron. The Major. A man among men. He’s always said he never married because of his grief. He could have had any woman he wanted. He didn’t have to marry a one of them, and you know there were a few. Dad didn’t really want to remarry. He might have been having second thoughts about a son but you came along. Ready-made. To make the grand plan complete, you lost your parents.”
He thrust a hand through his hair, the light above him capturing its dark fire. “I don’t appreciate your talking about my parents.”
“Why not?” she flared. “You talk all the time about mine. Anyway I was close to them, Luke. Don’t forget that. Your mother used to call me Princess even if it was a joke.”
“It was no joke,” he told her. “You gave her joy.”
Storm’s green eyes turned deeply reflective. “Some people might think my father was rather cruel. Maybe unknowingly, he’s not the most sensitive of men, but he never for one minute sees a woman as an equal.”
It was perfectly true. Women to the Major were ornaments to be worn on a man’s arm. “That might be, Storm,” he agreed, saddened all at once. “But in his own way he loves you dearly.”
She pressed back in the armchair. “That love has been a bit destructive, wouldn’t you say? I’m also thinking this could be just a stunt to get me home. Since he’s been so inactive Dad sits around making plans. Much as I love him I know he manipulates us both.”
“Agreed. I’m no fool, either.” The muscles along his chiselled jaw bunched. “I can only give you my spin on this. Your father is genuinely ill. Noni agrees with me. God, Storm, I didn’t fly all the way here for a psychological analysis, informed as it may be. You’re bitter and you feel betrayed. Maybe your father is ruthless but in the most benign way.”
