by Margaret Way
Their lovemaking had been breathtaking, full of intense excitement, surprises and blood rushing need. Her shattering climax had been totally unfeigned. He had played her body like the most sensitive instrument in a master’s hands.
She had never known anything remotely like it and she was a woman who had imagined herself in love at least twice. It occurred to her how contemptuous, however benignly, her father had been of all her male friends, especially the men she had allowed herself to become engaged to. She thanked God now she hadn’t done them much harm. Paul had another love interest, a fellow woman barrister who would suit him far better than she ever would; Alex was hanging in there, thinking persistence would win the fair maiden but she realised now she had fallen in love with Alex for the most superficial reasons. He was good-looking, good company, intelligent, ambitious, but she knew he hadn’t even begun to tap into her body’s needs, let alone touch her soul.
Time now she stopped betraying herself. Time she stopped the self-deception. Her accumulated resentments, her flawed perceptions had all but robbed her of Luke. Her father in championing him, showing his deep regard and admiration had perversely turned her in many a wrong direction. Time all that was stopped.
But what of Luke? Even at the height of passion, when not only their bodies but their souls were naked, neither had uttered one word of love. Surely her endearments had been so frantic as to be incoherent? Luke had told her he wanted her. She had revealed in every possible way she wanted him. Needed him desperately.
Surely that was love?
The word whispered aloud, quivered like a butterfly on the delicate petal of a flower. All this she found soul-shaking. Her feelings were so profound they scared her. Love was the most precious commodity in the world. The most talked about. The most desired. Once given it put great and dangerous power into the hands of the beloved.
The beloved! There was no terror in whispering it to herself. Luke, the beloved. Her love for him had taken root long, long ago but it had never been allowed to bloom. The high fence for her now was finding the courage to allow it full growth, full expression. Did one learn that overnight or were all the defences she had built up too strong to be knocked over at will?
One thing was certain. Luke being the man he was would not brook any continuation of her former touch-me-not behaviour. How ridiculous she seemed to herself now. The haughty little girl, the even haughtier adolescent, the cool cutting woman.
Shame on you, Storm.
The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed noon. It brought her out of her reverie. Robert Bloomfield was due to fly in within the next half hour. Everything was in readiness. Nothing elaborate. That was inappropriate. Tarragon chicken salad with a handful of shelled walnuts thrown in. She’d made it and refrigerated it a couple of hours before. No Noni to bake fresh rolls. There weren’t any left in the freezer, either, so she had to make up a batch of little dampers sprinkled with poppy seeds. Noni had taught her a few things. The little dampers were delicious with or without butter. Even if Luke, unprepared, couldn’t stay for lunch she hoped he could be on hand for the reading of the will.
She was waiting on the verandah when they arrived, a cool vision in white linen with one of her own beautiful silver belts with turquoise and agate beads roped around her small waist.
Robert Bloomfield, a substantial, clever-looking man with a shock of prematurely white hair and contrasting very dark eyes, mounted the short flight of steps to greet her. “Storm, my dear! How are you?” It wasn’t simply social lubrication. The answer really mattered to him. He had known Storm all her life. Long sympathised with her vulnerable position as a lone little motherless girl in what was essentially a tough man’s world. His dear friend, Athol, had always sought to protect her but he treated her like a fragile exotic flower instead of a desert rose. Storm in reality was as hardy as they come. As she would have to be once she learned the contents of her father’s will. If she so chose it was contestable, he would be willing to represent her.
Storm was raising her cheek for his kiss. “A little better today, thank you, Robert. I hope the trips back and forth haven’t been too tiring for you?”
“Not at all, my dear.” He turned his distinguished head to include Luke, whom he liked and admired enormously.
But still…?
“I didn’t want Luke going to the bother of having to bring me up to the house. I know how pressured he is even at a time like this.” Station work as he well knew never stopped. Dawn to dusk sometimes into the night. Seven days a week.
Luke gave him his white shining smile. “No problem.” But he shifted his gaze to Storm, his feelings so intense they blazed out of his eyes. Hours later and he still felt as though he were intoxicated. Their fusion was still imprinted on his body. The magic so potent he thought it would never fade. “I’ll be off now. You’re okay.”
Storm didn’t care acute disappointment sounded in her voice. “Couldn’t you stay to lunch, Luke? I’d so like you to.”
“I’ll second that,” Robert Bloomfield spoke up, approval on his face. “I’m sure there’s much to discuss.”
“That would be great but I don’t think I can spare the time,” Luke apologised. “The rains have started up North. Flooding already. The floodwaters will eventually feed into our river system. For that matter we could have flooding here.”
“So it’s all hands on deck for the bit muster.” Robert Bloomfield nodded, understanding the situation perfectly. “Perhaps later on in the afternoon, Luke?”
Luke tipped his wide-brimmed akubra. “I’ll try to make it up to the house before you fly back, Robert.”
“But aren’t you coming to hear Dad’s will?” Storm found Luke’s eyes almost pleadingly. “I’m sure you’ll be mentioned.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. Hell he deserved something but not if there was going to be any fallout. “It all has to do with you, Storm. I’m not family.”
“And you’re not just a valued overseer either. Please, Luke, I need you.”
It was the first validation of caring Robert Bloomfield had ever heard from Storm and it set him back. As long as he could remember Storm and Luke had shared a very prickly relationship. Of course it was all Athol’s fault. The man should have remarried. He’d told him so. Had sons. In McFarlane’s world sons were viewed as the big assets. Daughters were the decoration. Bloomfield was aware he had taken sides long ago. His sympathies to this day were with Storm. Consequently he waited on Luke’s answer with some trepidation.
Luke put a considering hand to his jaw, obviously trying to work out how he could find the time. “Can you give me a good hour?” he asked. “Maybe an hour and a half.”
“Surely,” Robert Bloomfield agreed, when truly, he didn’t think it was a good idea at all.
They ate a companionable lunch, afterwards walking around the home grounds. They were absolutely extraordinary to Bloomfield’s eyes, especially in relation to the vast wilderness beyond. Yet the landscape designer called in at the turn-of-the-century had had the great foresight—in a time when gardeners persisted in trying to plant delicate exotics—to design a magnificent native garden that conveyed a great sense of place. Over the years more in Athol’s mother’s time—Lady McFarlane had been a passionate gardener—the vision had expanded. He remembered as a young man marvelling at the regiment of gardeners who laboured along with the remarkable Mistress of Winding River to create ponds from subterranean streams planting the water grasses and the magnificent water-lilies that in all parts of Queensland grew like weeds except these weeds took the breath away with their beauty.
There were no sweeping lawns and garden beds of bright beautiful flowers such as his own garden in Brisbane. The homestead’s extensive grounds kept to the natural contours and extraordinary flora of the desert environment, with a few introduced exotics that could withstand the conditions. Yet the flowers here seemed to smell more sweetly than anywhere else, he thought, inhaling their fragrance which carried for miles. The native boronia!
Glorious! It had to have something to do with the dryness and heat releasing all the aromas.
It was a very pleasant interlude tinged with the to be expected sadness. It wasn’t long after they found their way back into the house that Luke arrived. He must have decided to take a quick shower and change his clothes because he was dressed in a plain navy T-shirt with a white logo across the front, light blue jeans, his dark, fiery head damp from the shower. He was a very striking-looking young man, Bloomfield thought, looking across Athol McFarlane’s huge partner’s desk at him. Those handsome chiselled features, the stunning colouring. But over and above that he was a man of the future. He had the brains, the toughness, the natural authority that was God-given, to run the huge McFarlane operation.
Only one thing. He wasn’t McFarlane’s son. McFarlane’s natural heir. Storm was. Bloomfield didn’t think Storm was about to celebrate the news he now commenced to read out.
It was just as she expected, sitting side by side with Luke in leather armchairs. Bequests to various members of the McFarlane extended family; a large very valuable painting of an evening landscape by a famous early colonial artist was to go to one of Athol McFarlane’s long-time mistresses. Forever kept in the background, out of respect to the memory of his wife, she was now handsomely rewarded. A range of charities were also to benefit handsomely; a collection of rare first edition books were to go to Robert Bloomfield himself, a sterling silver tea and coffee service dating from the latter part of the eighteenth century to his wife, Gillian, who had been bridesmaid at Athol McFarlane’s ill-fated wedding.
Then came the crux….
Storm listened with a sense of total disbelief, so shocked she looked outwardly calm. How her father loved playing games! How transparent his motives! All her life she’d been led to believe she would inherit Winding River along with its two outstations now Robert was telling them in a completely dispassionate voice she and Luke had been accorded an equal share.
“I don’t believe this!” she interrupted after a while, shaking back her heavy hair. “Didn’t Dad know what this means?”
The temperature in the room had shot up for all the ceiling fans.
“I’m afraid he did, Storm,” Bloomfield looked over the top of his glasses as they slipped down his nose. “Luke is to be granted what is termed a life estate. This means…”
“I know what it means,” Storm said with a return to her old fire. “It means that Luke has half share in the station for his lifetime.”
“After which it passes to you should you outlive him, to your issue or appointed heir,” Bloomfield concluded, himself shocked by his friend’s actions.
“Good God!” Luke sighed so deeply it seemed to consume his splendid, lean body. “Whatever made him do it?”
Storm swung her head, her eyes startling green. “Surely that’s obvious? He had no faith in me. Any male at all would be an improvement on a woman. You were a natural godsend.”
“Don’t blame me, Storm,” said Luke, picking up a glass of water and drinking from it.
“I’m not blaming you,” she cried, recognising she was. “This is a dilemma, Luke. What are we supposed to do? Share the homestead, share the profits?”
Bloomfield coughed, lowering his eyes to the printed page. “Actually, Storm, as Luke is expected and indeed has to continue working the operation he gets the profits.”
It was too much for Storm. She jumped up, her cheeks firing with colour. “What! I can’t possibly accept this. God, Dad must have hated me.”
Luke fixed his eyes on her. “Sit down, Storm,” he said, making Storm and the solicitor witness to his tough side. “This bequest is for the sole benefit of the station. But you don’t have to accept it. If you feel an overwhelming urge to contest the will, go for it.”
Storm felt she was in grave danger of bursting into hysterics. “God in Heaven!” she said, but managed to sit down quietly and cover her face. “People are going to start to wonder if you aren’t in fact Dad’s natural son.”
There was a brief silence while Luke’s brilliant gaze whipped over her. “I’ll forget you ever said that,” he said in a deadly quiet voice.
“I’m sorry,” Storm apologised. She had shocked herself. “But could you blame anyone for talking? Can you blame me for wondering what the hell is going on?”
Bloomfield looked across at her beautiful, passionate face. “I do think it was too bad of your father not to explain all this to you young people. I know it has come as a great shock but you see what he was getting at…Luke summed it up. You couldn’t at this stage run Winding River yourself, Storm. You’d have to get in a full-time manager and a darn good one at that.”
“I could fix that.” Luke was sitting straight now.
Bloomfield shook his head. “For someone else to come in was the very last thing Athol wanted. He wanted you, Luke.”
“My God didn’t he!” Storm’s little laugh broke. “He couldn’t have made it any plainer.” Inside she felt as if she was being pulled in all directions.
“Luke has carried the whole operation splendidly, Storm,” Bloomfield pointed out. “You must give him that.”
“Of course I’ll give him that.” Storm clenched her hands. “Luke is extremely capable like his father was before him. Dad relied on Luke even more heavily. I know what Luke can do, but God!—” She broke off, devastated.
As was Luke who felt quite stunned. “This looks like heading towards another nightmare,” he said. “What happens, Robert, if I renounce this bequest?”
“Your share passes to Storm, of course,” Bloomfield informed him, suddenly seeing what a bad move that might be. Especially for the station.
“Then Storm can have it,” Luke said, rising to his feet. “And while she’s about it she can find another overseer. I can give her a couple of names.”
Storm swallowed hard, trying to get herself together. “What’s wrong with you?” she demanded, thinking she was losing her right arm. “Why are you on your high horse? Did you expect me not to be shocked? You’re shocked yourself. Or are you?” The minute the words were out of her mouth she bitterly regretted them; a legacy of all those years.
Luke ignored her. “I’d offer to drive you back to the airstrip, Robert, but I’m sure Storm can attend to that. If you’d excuse me I was paid up until the end of the month so I’ll get on with my job.”
“Don’t you want to hear the end of it,” Storm cried to his back.
“No, thank you very much.” Luke swung around to answer quietly. But there was no way his inner anger could be missed. It burnt out of his eyes and showed itself in the pallor beneath his golden-bronze tan.
There was total silence in the study after Luke had left. Bloomfield holding his heavy head in his hands, Storm fighting a tidal wave of tears.
“He has his pride, my dear,” Bloomfield finally pointed out quietly. “That was an unfortunate remark you made in relation to prior knowledge. You know what a secretive man your father was. If he hadn’t lost your mother I’m sure he would have been quite different. In fact he was as a young man. But losing your mother changed him enormously. It wasn’t inborn. I do know he adored you.
“Perhaps not in the way you wanted but according to his own lights. Women have such a wonderful refining influence on a man. I bless the day I met my Gillian. I can’t imagine what my life would have been without her. Your mother would have given your father a well-integrated, happy life as she would have given you. With the best will in the world your father didn’t know how to go about it.”
Storm looked at him with great sadness. “That’s not the case, Robert, if you look at his relationship with Luke. Even before Luke lost his parents Dad thought the world of him.”
Bloomfield nodded his head. “Well, Storm, it must be said, Luke’s that kind of a young man. Let none of us forget he did save your father’s life. It greatly reinforced the attachment.”
“Of course but it wasn’t enjoyable for me. I wanted to be brave and strong like Luke. Not
Dad’s pretty little girl. Luke and I are so terribly enmeshed. I know it was dreadful of me to say people would wonder if he weren’t in fact Dad’s son, but Lord, Robert, you know as well as anyone Dad idolized him.”
“And you bitterly resent that?” Bloomfield asked quietly, thinking it might have broken someone else.
“I did,” Storm said, “but I thought I had confronted it, Robert. None of this is Luke’s fault. But I’m too far gone casting him as the scapegoat.”
“Except he’s scarcely that,” Bloomfield reminded her. “If you allow me to finish reading the will, Storm, you’ll find that your father left you a very rich young woman indeed. You don’t need the income from the cattle operation, I assure you.”
Storm considered that carefully. “The money is not the point, Robert. It’s the whole principle of the thing. Even from the grave Dad set Luke above me.”
Bloomfield looked understanding but pained. “I wish you wouldn’t see it like that, even though I do understand. I can’t find a nice word for this, but I’m afraid you have to consider your father was a master manipulator.” He spoke very seriously but Storm gave a poignant smile.
“I know that. Luke and I have even talked about it. Dad manipulated us both. He’s still at it.”
“The perfect solution would be for the two of you to marry,” Bloomfield suggested, emboldened by what he had seen on his arrival.
“Oh, Robert!” Storm started up, staring at her own portrait. What a haughty piece she looked. A real firebrand. Was she really like that? “Luke and I have never had any romantic involvement.”
“Are you sure of that?” Bloomfield asked gently. “Gillian and I always thought you set one another off. I don’t think, my dear, you’ve ever given Luke half a chance.”
Storm turned. “Luke isn’t a half a chance person. It’s all or nothing with him. I don’t deny I’ve fought him for most of my life. Fought off his enormous hold.”
