by Margaret Way
She went to the big burgundy chesterfield and curled into it, drawing up her feet. He picked up a cushion from an armchair and tucked it behind her head. “Relax, Rebecca. There’s nothing to dread. I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.”
A soft cry of protest came out of her. “I never thought you would.” The last thing she feared from him was sexual harassment. What she feared was her own passion, the tumultuous spill of emotion. She lay back and he ran his hand briefly through her hair.
“What a terrible day.”
“I know. My heart aches for you, Brod.”
He gave a short groan. “I’m finding it very difficult to mourn my father, Rebecca. Does that sound terrible? The hell is I’m not ashamed of it, either.” He moved back across the room and sat in a big deep armchair with his grandfather’s gaze on him. “Close your eyes,” he advised. “Let the pain killers work.
“Parents shouldn’t kill their children’s love, Rebecca. Children have a right to love. Otherwise why bring them into the world?
“Dad chose an heir,” Brod continued in a pained voice. “Kimbara needs heirs. He always acted as though I was one hell of a disappointment to him. Ally, too. Can you believe it? My beautiful, gifted sister. My mother was a hell of a disappointment to him, too. She couldn’t live with that. She ran off.”
Was it time to say something about her own marriage.
The time passed.
“Sometimes I think this house has a curse on it,” Brod sighed. “The first Kinross bride, Cecilia, married the wrong man and was forced to live with it. She should have been a Cameron. My mother was another matter. After she was killed my father called me into this very study and told me all about it.
“No one gets away from me,” he said.
Rebecca’s eyes swept open. “He said that to his own child?”
Brod nodded. “He wasn’t a man to pull punches. In our ignorance and pain Ally and I thought our mother had deserted us. The one parent who loved us. Later we knew what it was all about. You wouldn’t have fared well with my father, Rebecca.”
“Trust me,” Rebecca pleaded, knowing full well it would take time.
“Well it doesn’t matter any more.” He released another sigh. “Has your headache eased?”
“A little.”
“Let’s see if this works.” He came behind her and began to stroke her temples, his fingers moving with exquisite gentleness.
He had to be a magician. Almost at once she felt a warmth through her body, a warmth that spread to the smooth area under his healing hands.
“Oh, that’s good. You have magic in your hands.” She released a fluttery breath, loving what he was doing.
“Keep your eyes closed.” His fingers began to move over her forehead and cheeks. They traced the curve of her eyebrows, the closed lids of her eyes, the whorls of her ears back to her satin temples as if he had all the time in the world. “Better?” he asked after a long while.
“Oh, yes!” she said softly, desiring his touch.
Then he picked her up. Cradling her before he lowered himself onto the chesterfield with her in his arms. “I just want to hold you. Okay?”
She let her head fall back against his shoulder. “I want to know all about you,” she whispered. “Tell me.”
For a moment he buried his face in her fragrant hair, then he began to speak, almost to himself at first. “It was really my grandfather who reared us. He was a wonderful man. Some people are kind enough to say I’m like him. He taught Ally and me to believe in ourselves…”
“Go on.” She settled herself more comfortably and his arms closed around her. Her headache, miraculously, was gone. She was where she wanted to be.
When he finished speaking she knew more about his life than possibly anyone in the world, including his sister.
Somehow her position had changed. Her head was now pressed into his chest. One of her hands was clutching his shirt and she was breathing in his warm masculinity like incense.
“You’re a good listener,” he only half joked, wondering how so slight a body could seem so soft and voluptuous. God, if only…if only…
She lifted her head and stared into his eyes. “I didn’t want you to stop.”
“But I want to know who you are.” He wound his hand through her long hair, moving very quietly into kissing her, wanting to do nothing against her will but moving perilously close to a man’s driving hunger. “Rebecca?” he murmured against the side of her mouth.
She couldn’t help herself. Her arm slid up around his neck arousing him still further. She clung to him, her body twisting in yearning.
His hands moved down over her breasts, caressing them through the thin silky covering of her clothes, his thumbs gathering the tender nipples into tight electric buds. The sweet feverishness of it. He had fallen madly in love with her without realising it. This beautiful mysterious creature. All at once he needed to touch her naked flesh. He thrust his hand inside her gown as she turned her head into his throat.
“We’re mad to do this,” she whispered even as she let him touch her so intimately.
“When there’s not the tiniest part of you I don’t hunger for?”
“Someone might come.” Yet she put her arms around him and held him to her breast.
“I don’t know that they’ll get through that locked door,” he answered softly, his hands moving up and down the curve of her back, drawing her ever closer. This was the day of his father’s funeral yet he was doing the strangest thing. Making love to Rebecca. Losing himself in her and her great fascination. Her mouth was her most revealing feature. It identified the deep well of passion that was in her. He looked down at her satiny dark hair tumbled over her eyes.
“Spend the night with me,” he urged, his voice a little harsh with arousal.
She closed her eyes against his plea. “Then nothing will be the same again.”
“Nothing has been the same since the moment I laid eyes on you,” he mocked. The luminous eyes. The passionate mouth. Oh, yes, the mouth.
He kissed it again, so deeply she shuddered. “I want you beside me when I wake up.”
“I can’t do this.” But her heart was racing, her whole body shot through with desire.
“You don’t have a husband to betray?” he reminded her, exulting in her body’s response to him. “Isn’t that right?” He stared directly into her eyes, his own breathtakingly blue.
“No husband,” she said at last.
“Then you need a man to tell you how beautiful you are?” He lifted her, thinking he could use the small spiralling staircase at the end of the hall. There was no turning back now. His need for her was too immense.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONCE Ally and Francesca went home after a stay that meant a great deal to all of them, Rebecca and Fee settled into a definite routine. They worked steadily on Fee’s biography, averaging four or five hours each day but this time Rebecca began to delve more deeply into Fee’s colourful life, looking for more information and treasures. This wasn’t going to be a book that let all the family skeletons out of the closet but after that special night with Brod who had talked so eloquently and movingly about his life, Rebecca found she wanted to draw much more out of Fee than the glossed up and glossed over versions Fee had presented her thus far. Now thanks to Brod, Rebecca felt she had a far greater insight into the family; but there were difficulties.
“Darling, do you think we should say that?” Fee often asked doubtfully when in the course of their discussions Fee came up with some revelation.
Rebecca invariably replied; “Do we want an extraordinary memoir, Fee, a first-rate biography, or a give-away book for the coffee table?”
Fee being an extraordinary person wanted an extraordinary memoir so they restarted their journey going beyond Fee’s childhood on Kimbara, the only daughter of the legendary cattle king, Sir Andrew Kinross and Constance McQuillan Kinross, a renowned horse-woman, herself the only daughter of a great pastoral family who had died a prematu
re death at the age of forty-two after being tragically thrown from her horse in a cross-country race.
“I want it to be more than a biography of your life, Fee,” Rebecca told her. “I’d like you to reflect upon family. A prominent landed family. A complex family as far as I can see. Marriages, starting with Ewan Kinross and Cecilia. Family influences. This business of inheritance, relationships.”
“Lord, darling, you’re looking at the best part of 150 years,” Fee answered wryly. “That’s a long time in this part of the world.”
“It’s more an overview of the family history I want, Fee. When you’re speaking you paint such vivid word pictures. Brod has the same ability. Ally has it, too. I want to get it into print. Ally told me so much during her stay. It was wonderful to be able to speak together so freely. Brod even more. I’d like to use their recollections as well. I see this book as a marvellous kaleidoscope of Outback life as lived by a family who pioneered this vast area.”
Fee smiled at Rebecca’s youthful enthusiasm. “Heavens, darling, some of the stories would make anyone flinch.”
“All your stories are safe with me, Fee,” Rebecca told her seriously. “In the end we’ll only reveal as much as you want to. I’m sure the reader will appreciate your candour, your generosity of spirit, not to mention your wicked sense of humour.”
“If we’re talking wicked I suppose I have to mention my sex life,” Fee said in her rich, deep voice.
“Well it’s not exactly a mystery, Fee,” Rebecca teased. “We can change names of individuals to protect their privacy.”
Fee looked saddened. “Darling, most of them are dead now, including my poor brother. I’ve found the most marvellous old photographs of him and me. We can use them. A lot of Lucille somebody has obviously hidden.”
“That was Brod,” Rebecca openly admitted, seeing Lucille’s lovely face in her mind.
“Good God!” Fee gave a great sigh. “His father would have been furious had he known.” The green eyes were searching. “For that matter, darling, how did you know? Brod has never mentioned hiding the photographs to me?”
Rebecca met Fee’s gaze calmly. “We had a long conversation one night.”
Fee lowered her head, knowing full well there was something going on between Rebecca and Brod. “Why not?” she replied. “I’m glad. You and Brod seem to be in harmony these days.” She was far from oblivious to this new dimension in their relationship. “Both Brod and Ally have had to keep far too much to themselves,” she added. “Now, let’s have a cup of tea, then we’ll get right down to it. This biography is taking on an entirely new character.”
“Thank Brod,” Rebecca suggested. No matter what happened she would always remember she’d had this very special time with him.
Brod came in around noon, telling them with wry humour about a staff dispute he had to settle. He snatched a few sandwiches and coffee, which he ate in Fee’s sitting room, listening to Fee unearth another piece of family archaeology he had some doubts she ought to mention.
“Hell, Fee, you’re going to reveal all our secrets,” he ventured, tossing the last sandwich aside. “Within limits, darling,” Fee corrected. “Silence won’t sell the book. Besides Rebecca wants me to make the book more powerful.”
“Then we might get Rebecca to write one of her own.” His blue eyes flashed provocatively towards Rebecca’s face. “From what you say, it’s far from portraying some members of our family in a good light. Ewan who seemed to have tricked Cecilia into marrying him. Alistair who ran off to Paris supposedly to paint but ran through a fortune instead. Great Aunt Eloise who married a thirty-five-year-old man when she was sixty years old.”
“But, darling, she was beautiful. She was famous,” Fee offered by way of explanation, turning her head to preen in a gilt-framed mirror. “She was also an heiress,” Brod said, rising to his feet and adjusting the red bandanna around his tanned neck, “and her husband didn’t have a razoo.” He brought his brilliant glance to rest on Rebecca. “If Fee can spare you for an hour or so later on this afternoon, I’d like to take you out and show you the wildflowers. I promised you they’d put on a tremendous display after all the heavy showers. Would you like to come, too, Fee?”
“Not today, darling,” Fee answered casually, not about to play gooseberry. “I have a lot of mail to catch up on. That invitation to direct the Milton Theatre Company came right out of the blue. I’d like to think about it. They have some wonderful actors and some very good young ones coming up. I could be of great influence there.”
“So you’re not set on going back to England, Fee?” Brod asked, waiting on her answer.
She looked pensive for a moment. “You know I always said I’d come home when my time in the limelight was over. I still have a name but I think it’s time to do something different. If only I could persuade my dearest Fran to join me but she loves her life in England. She loves her father and all their family connections. She gets invited everywhere. She’s madly popular.”
“I thought she seemed a little disenchanted with her life as it is,” Brod mused. “Or maybe that was only the effect Grant was having on her. If you ask me, Fran stole his heart when she was sixteen years old and you brought her on a visit.”
“That’s right!” Fee said, her face lighting up with a smile. “But Grant’s got problems with Fran being who she is, if you know what I mean. Lady Francesca de Lyle.”
“Absolutely,” Brod agreed. “He knows the sort of life Fran’s been used to. She’s beautiful, rich, titled, the darling of the society columns. An English rose that could never be transplanted in our wild horizons.”
“But, darling,” Fee protested, “aren’t you forgetting, our own Cecilia was born to a privileged life and she became one of the most admired pioneering women of her time.”
“Aw, shucks, Fee,” Brod said breezily, “so she did.” He walked to the door and sketched a little salute. “I’ll be back to collect you around four, Rebecca. You know to wear a good sun-block. There’ll be plenty of heat left in the sun.”
“Will we be taking the horses?” she asked, lifting her chin a little as she spoke. Since that fateful day and the added shock of hearing the mare, Jeeba, had had to be put down, she found herself oddly reluctant to ride. In fact she had only ridden out three times since and that was because Ally had especially asked her.
Brod studied her squarely. “We’ll be going a good distance so we’ll take the Jeep. We might get around to discussing your little problem on the way. I don’t want it to turn into a complex.”
“Slight exaggeration, Brod,” she said sweetly.
“Good.” He nodded his approval. “I’d like to go riding with you now and then. You haven’t lived until you’ve had a night out under the desert stars.”
“Lordy, no!” Fee put both hands beneath her chin. “Marvellous fun! Of course you’re going to need a chaperone.”
Brod gave her a wicked grin. “I’ll treat that as a joke, Fee.”
It was a dream landscape. An endless shimmering ocean of wildflowers rolling over the plains so prolifically the bright red clay was all but hidden. It was a pageantry of flowers the likes of which Rebecca had never thought to see. White, gold, purple, pink, the papery ephemeral flora of this vast mulga region, which bridged the gap between the channel country and the true desert heart, with its glittering mosaic of gibber plains and rising pyramids of sand dunes.
“Enjoy it while you can,” Brod said, holding her by the shoulders. “It’s only going to last a few weeks then the earth will dry up again.”
Rebecca felt her heart expand with delight. “It’s a fantastic sight! Magnificent. I feel like I’ve landed in Paradise.”
“All the more breathtaking because it only happens after heavy rains, which could mean once or twice in a year or two. Most of the time it’s brilliant blue skies, searing sun and hot drying winds,” Brod said.
“Wonderland!” Rebecca breathed. “I’d love to pick some to remind me.”
“Why not
.” He smiled indulgently. “Stick to the everlastings—they retain their shape and colour for weeks after. They don’t need water, either.”
“How extraordinary!” Rebecca swung to face him, transformed from an ice maiden into the vivacious young woman she had once been. “How can anywhere that can produce a glorious show like this be called a desert?”
“You’re wonderful,” he said, suddenly bending to kiss her mouth. “You’re like the seeds of the dormant wildflowers waiting to spring to life.”
“That’s because you’ve bedazzled me,” she said, unable to hide her feelings.
“I think we’ve bedazzled each other.” He drew her fully into his arms letting his mouth trace all over her face, savouring her scent and her skin, until it came to rest on the soft, silky cushion of her lips. His ardour conveyed powerfully his deep running desire. When he released her neither of them spoke, not wanting to allow a single errant word into their magic circle. It was joy. Incredible joy and a mind-spinning passion.
“Brod,” she said, after a moment. “Broderick.” She loved the sound of his name on her tongue.
“That’s me.” His eyes moved over her like blue fire. “What’s your second name? You’ve never told me when I distinctly recall telling you and talking to you just about an entire night.”
“It’s very prim.”
“When you’re living such a fast life?” he gently mocked. “Amy? Emily? I just don’t believe you’re a Dorothy.”
“Actually it’s Ellen after an aunt.”
“It should have been Eve.” His eyes were full of lazy sensuality. He took her hand, leading her down from the vantage point into the shining sea of wildflowers. “We’ll avoid that mob of emus to our left,” he said. “They’re having a great time now with so much herbage around but they can survive in the most arid areas.”
