A Wife at Kimbara

by Margaret Way

  Rebecca followed his gaze, feeling her small hand swallowed up in his. Though it was a common sight now to see the great flightless birds, Rebecca found them fascinating especially when running. She knew emus could reach great speeds over rough country. The kangaroos equally fascinating would appear in large mobs about dusk, bounding away on their long hind legs. In the heat of the day they sought the shelter of caves or dense shrub, avoiding unnecessary action and water loss. It was a pattern of behaviour developed over countless thousands of years. But the birds were out as usual in great flocks showing alternate clouds of brilliant colour from backs, wings and undersurfaces. Even as they moved near, vivid mulga parrots landed in a hollow of one of the curious stunted acacias that rose above the vast sea of everlastings showing no alarm at their presence.

  Brod went first, gathering a bunch of white everlastings that he fashioned quite skilfully into a garland, placing it on her bare head. “Show me.”

  Rebecca straightened, eyes luminous, her dark hair escaping in a long, loose outcurving wave to fall across one cheek. She put up a hand to sweep it back but he said rather oddly. “No, leave it.” Such an expression was in his eyes Rebecca felt her own vision blur and her limbs turn weak with longing.

  “Imagine what you’d look like as a bride.”

  A bride. She could have cried aloud with the pity of it.

  How that marvellous expression would fade if she told him the truth. She’d been a bride. She’d worn the pure shining dress, the long veil that had lent an unearthly radiance to her face. She had looked up at her handsome groom standing before the flower-decked altar with dreams in her eyes. She thought she had seen an answering dream in the intensity of the gaze he had bent on her. The same man who had caused her such misery and pain.

  Almost in a twinkling her dazzling pleasure in the day was diminished. How could she ever tell Brod what had happened to her. She couldn’t even tell him she had once been married, though he would have known she wasn’t a virgin. Surely he might have expected that but she knew in her heart the fact that she had been married without ever revealing it would come as the final blow to his trust.

  “No answer?” Now he spoke to her, tracking through the wealth of wildflowers, staring at her stricken face. “I thought every woman wanted to be a bride?” he asked quizzically.

  “Well of course!” she realised the error of her reaction. Perhaps he would see what was there in her past.

  “Well I’ll be damned,” he said gently. “Are you frightened of marriage, Rebecca?” He desperately wanted to overcome the huge shift in her mood.

  “It’s an enormous gamble, Brod. Everyone knows it,” she said, tense as a wire.

  “But when it works, marriage is so wonderfully rewarding. Most people try it. I thought your parents’ marriage was happy despite the fact your mother never recovered from her accident?”

  “They were devoted,” Rebecca whispered.

  “But you agonise about your mother’s fate?”

  “I’d give anything to have her back.” Rebecca looked down at the colourful posy in her hand.

  “That’s exactly how Ally and I felt about our mother,” he said. “I suppose our experiences are proof of our far from happy childhood. Ally apparently couldn’t face marriage to Rafe despite the fact she was and I believe still is deeply in love with him.”

  “And you?” She raised her eyes a long way and stared into his marvellous face.

  “I’ve had casual affairs, Rebecca—” he shrugged “—but I’ve tried to be scrupulously honest with the women in my life. Marriage is a very different thing from a romance. When I choose a wife I’m going to take darn good care I find the right woman. I’ve had my life torn apart once. It’s not going to happen again.”

  She felt exactly the same way.

  They were quiet on the return trip; Brod stunned to discover the passionate young woman he now knew Rebecca to be could genuinely be disturbed by the thought of marriage. Hadn’t he seen something like horror expressed in her face back there? Perhaps someone had hurt her badly? Someone about whom she refused to speak. Feeling as he did, he would have to give her time. He understood now the “coolness” of the facade she had cultivated. It was all about throwing up defences. Defences he now realised he badly wanted to break down.

  “Where are we going?” Rebecca asked some time later into the quietness. They had been driving for miles yet the flowers went on, the everlastings turning to carpets of snow, native poppies and hibiscus, undulating seas of green pussy tails, lilac fan flowers, the flaming fire bush, the salt bush and the cotton bush and the spreading Opomoea. This wasn’t the legendary Dead Heart that had claimed so many victims, it was the biggest garden on earth. The Jeep left the flower smothered plains heading towards a dense line of green, which could only mean a lagoon or rock pool was feeding it.

  “I want you to see my favourite swimming pool,” Brod said. “That’s when the time is right. We’ll have to stop soon and walk the rest of the way. It’s a glorious place. It even has a little waterfall.”

  “I think I can hear it,” Rebecca said, aware of rushing sounds. As they drove closer she was certain. Tumbling water. It sounded marvellous in the glittering heat. Brod stopped the Jeep in the shade of the trees and switched off the engine.

  “It’s a bit of a way down. Are you up to it?” His eyes gleamed.

  “Of course I am!” A growing excitement was reigniting her spirits.

  “You won’t be sorry…I promise you.”

  He held her hand all the way, holding back branches in case they whipped at her face or body; stopping when she became a little puffed. Finally, when they had almost reached the bottom of the slope crowded with white spider lilies in their thousands, he picked her up and carried her the rest of the way. When she exclaimed at the beauty of this secret spot he lowered her gently to her feet.

  “But this is…ravishing.” Rebecca was thrilled by the tranquil beauty of the pool and the much cooler atmosphere. From high up among the trees a small silvery waterfall tumbled over rocks and into the pool, which was shaded at the edges a pale jade, emerald in the depths. A place for lovers, she thought. Paradise before the Fall. A beautiful quiet secret place with the scent of a million wildflowers held in suspension in the golden green air.

  “I knew you’d like it,” Brod said, delighted by her expression.

  “I love it. Does anyone come here?”

  “Only me. Ally, too, when we were kids. There are dozens of lagoons to swim in on Kimbara. This is my private place. No one comes here. Not even the cattle. Probably no one even knows about it and I’m not about to tell them.”

  “I know,” she boasted.

  “So you can see, you’re honoured.”

  Rebecca turned away, overcome by her feelings. As a kind of respite she bent to an exquisite little flower that grew in an isolated clump beside a rock.

  “What’s this?” She fingered a delicate mauve petal.

  He glanced down. “I’ve no idea. There are so many beautiful nameless flowers tucked away.”

  “Name it after me.” She looked up and let her eyes linger.

  “I know what.” His voice was deep and indulgent. “Rebecca Lily. You have the same delicate air.”

  “Okay. You stick to that. Rebecca Lily. Is that a promise?”

  “It’s Rebecca Lily forever as far as I’m concerned.”

  She stayed where she was and undid the laces of her shoes. “I’m going to paddle.”

  He let her go, watching her slender figure clad in pink cotton jeans and a matching shirt move across the sandy bank to the crystal clear water. Now she was standing in ankle deep, tugging at the hem of her jeans. “Crazy!” she called. “We should have brought our swimsuits.”

  Desire swept through him like a fire through dry grass. He had wanted her long before he had actually known her beautiful body. Now that he had it was an everyday battle just to keep his hands off her. His need for her was immense, the strength of it gaining with e
very passing day.

  “Brod?” she ran back to him laughing, the water she had splashed so lavishly all over her face glistening on her magnolia skin, running down her neck into her pink shirt, wetting it so it clung to her breasts. His eyes tracked the water’s progress. She wasn’t wearing a bra. He could see the naked sensitised nipples peaking against the sodden material. It was too much. Too much. He was a desiring man and he couldn’t stand it.

  “We could always take off our clothes,” he suggested very softly, drawing her to him by the collar of her shirt, letting his hands move to the top button.

  “I’m too modest.” Yet she leaned into him, tingling cascades of sensation running down her spine.

  “When I’ve kissed every inch of your beautiful body?” That memory would stay with him forever.

  “At least I had the cover of moonlight,” she whispered, beginning to tremble.

  “You didn’t in the dawn.” When he had taken her without speaking.

  “When I had to leave you.”

  “I’ve never let a beautiful woman visit me in my bedroom before,” he told her, looking deeply into her eyes.

  “I’m the only one?”

  “I mean what I tell you.” His vibrant voice was deep. He began to undo the little pearly pink buttons one by one giving her all the time in the world to draw back, watching her intoxicated, the stars in her eyes. Finally he peeled it off her like the petals of a flower. At her little affirming cry he swooped like a falcon out of a clear cobalt sky pulling her unstoppably into his arms and planting his deeply desiring kiss on her mouth.

  She might have been a violin in the hands of a master, her whole body one sweet seamless vibrato. She craved his embrace, revelled in it. It was almost as if this place was watching over them. The encircling trees, the broad sweep of spider lilies, the ancient rocks, the emerald pool, sparkling waterfall, the swarm of iridescent insects that hovered over a blossoming shrub with a waxy flower that resembled a native frangipani.

  The spirit of the bush. She had to glory in every moment.

  On a rippling tide of emotion, Rebecca broke away from him, her eyes like liquid diamonds. She tilted her head back, laughing aloud with pure joy, the action lifting her small breasts and tautening her creamy torso so her ribs showed. “I want to swim in the pool,” she announced blissfully.

  “I want to dive off the ledge and touch the sand at the bottom. I want to swim several lengths then for a finale I’m going to jump up on that flat rock out there and sun-bake until I’m dry.” Without hesitation or the slightest show of self-consciousness she slid off the rest of her clothes, jeans and briefs then took long springing steps, gazellelike, into the clear sheet of water.

  “Listen I’m ready to join you,” Brod called, the lightness of his tone belying the mounting intensity that was in him. His hands swiftly stripped off his denim shirt and moved to the silver buckle of his leather belt. This woman, this incredibly beautiful naked nymph kept transforming herself. One moment one thing, something different the next. Every image fresh and new. She was creating something approaching a delicious frenzy in his blood.

  Soon he was stripped of his clothes, his lean powerful body deeply tanned all over, the dappled sunlight playing over gleaming skin and long, taut muscles. He could hear her calling to him, as alluring as a siren who lived in the emerald depths, lifting her arm to beckon.

  “It’s wonderful, wonderful,” she cried. “So cold I can’t stand it.”

  She’d warm up, he vowed, moving into a smooth, powerful dive. My God she would! He’d make love to her until she was on fire. Utterly his.

  Stock mustering and drafting went on at a back-breaking pace. One of Kimbara’s top stockmen, Curly Jenkins, miraculously escaped serious injury when during the course of the drafting at Leura Creek a mob of bullocks broke free and crashed through an iron gate leaving the unfortunate Curly crushed behind it. Brod, who was at the homestead when the accident occurred, had the news from Curly’s offsider who rode at break-neck speed to the homestead to give the alarm. Brod immediately contacted the Flying Doctor who flew Curly out to hospital suffering, as was confirmed, from badly bruised ribs, and severe bruising to the trunk. Less than a week later Grant Cameron called on Brod to join in a ground search for one of his helicopter pilots who had begun mustering cattle on one of the Cameron outstations but had not called in at the end of the day. Grant had been unable to reach him by the company radio and the pilot had not cancelled his SAR, his search and rescue time.

  At first no one was all that worried; Grant himself said radio problems weren’t that unusual. The pilot, an experienced man, could simply have landed somewhere and set up camp for the night. He had his swag aboard.

  The men searched all day with no luck. First light the following morning the search was stepped up to full scale with planes and helicopters retracing the pilot’s course. Brod flew the Beech Baron and Rebecca, caught up in the now general anxiety, begged to go along as a spotter. It was her first time flying with Brod but this wasn’t the exciting joy trip it might have been. It was she who first saw the wreckage, distressing her terribly, scant moments before Brod who began circling the area pinpointed the fatal spot. A short time later the rescue helicopter arrived to land on the difficult terrain.

  The fatality affected everyone. The pilot was well-known and liked reminding them of the dangers that were a normal part of station life. Rebecca began to find it very difficult not to dwell on Brod’s safety. There was hardly a day he and his staff weren’t challenged. Rebecca had watched him on a motorbike mustering a herd of bullocks with her heart in her mouth. Then there was all the flying he began to do to the outstations and other Kinross stations in the chain. Over vast distances the only way to go was by air. Rebecca found herself fighting anxiety until he was safely back.

  “Darling, Brod is a wonderful pilot,” Fee reassured her. “A natural. He’s had his licence for years. It’s essential in his job.

  Still Rebecca prayed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT WAS an idyll that had to end. Rebecca was to learn the past is never past. It keeps coming back at you.

  Up in the pre-dawn Brod left Fee a reminder their financial people, accountants and tax solicitors would be flying in for a meeting that afternoon. In all likelihood it could spin out to the next day. Four in all. Barry Mattheson and his associate and Dermot Shields was bringing someone, too. He had given instructions to Jean to make up the guest rooms just in case.

  “I can’t bear talking money,” Fee moaned, “but I’m involved in it all. Sir Andy left me with a lot of clout. He wasn’t going to give it all to Stewart. His affairs will take ages to finalise.”

  “Well I’ve got plenty to keep me busy,” Rebecca said, folding her napkin and rising from the breakfast table. “In fact, we’re moving along very nicely, Fee. This is going to be a winner. A marvellous read.”

  “I won’t be glad when it’s over.” Fee, who was still seated finishing off a cup of tea, caught Rebecca’s hand. “I’ve loved having you here, darling, and Brod is happier than I’ve ever seen him in his life. Close as we are I’m giving you all the credit for that. Would you come around here, girl, so I can see you?” Fee teased.

  Colouring Rebecca moved back giving Fee a little bob. “Yes m’lady.” She tried to speak gaily, but emotion throbbed in her voice.

  “You’re in love with him aren’t you?” Fee asked very gently, retaining Rebecca’s hand and staring up into her transparent face.

  “I thought I knew what love was,” Rebecca said dreamily. “I didn’t. This time I do. Every time I see him my heart sings, Beloved! I can’t describe what I feel for him as anything other than sublime.” Her beautiful eyes suddenly glittered with unshed tears.

  “Have you told him any of this?” Fee was enthralled.

  “Not in so many words,” Rebecca confessed. “I couldn’t bear to tell him about my life.”

  Fee looked alarmed. “Darling girl, you’re making it sound horrifying.” />
  Rebecca’s luminous grey eyes darkened to pewter. “I’d give anything for a lot of it not to have happened, Fee,” she said, gravely.

  “Do you want to tell me?” the older woman urged, quite concerned. “Goodness I really do feel like your aunt.”

  “I mean to tell you, Fee,” Rebecca decided. “But I must tell Brod first.”

  “Of course,” Fee murmured. “My every instinct was you’ve had a bad experience in life even if you do look exquisite.”

  “I’ve been hiding myself away,” Rebecca said. “I don’t mean literally. I’ve seen a lot, done a lot. Had my success. It hasn’t been easy but I thought that was what I had to do.”

  “But you’ve talked about your family. Of your love for your mother and father and your family in Hong Kong.” Fee continued to look up at her with concern.

  “It’s something else, Fee. Someone I met when I was very young. And on my own.”

  “Well I know all about that,” Fee confided in her wonderfully expressive voice. Forty years later still with faint bitterness. “All I can tell you, dear, is it will be much better to get whatever it is out in the open. Tell Brod. It will only get harder as more time passes.”

  “I know.” Rebecca gave a little shudder.

  Fee shook her head. “Don’t be too nervous, Rebecca,” she warned. “Maybe I should tell you Ally said Brod was madly in love with you before she left. Take into account that upsetting little experience with my poor brother. Brod felt it badly. My advice is, darling, and I’ve got a lot of insider knowledge, don’t keep any secrets from Brod.”

  “I won’t!”

  If it kills me, Rebecca thought.

  Brod dashed in for a quick shower and a change of clothes before Barry Mattheson and party were due in at Kimbara’s airstrip.

  “I’ll make myself scarce,” Rebecca said, standing on the staircase, looking over her shoulder to speak to him as he was making for the door.

  “Stay and meet them,” he invited with a smile.