by Margaret Way
'What could be fairer than that?' he retorted. 'Let them throw me, Morgan, if there's a single horse that can do it. I feel differently about you. You cannot go for a three-mile gallop at night. The consequences could be disastrous.'
'Now isn't that weird?' she cried scornfully, with plenty of fire. 'For once you haven't thought this out. Surely a night ride might put the brat out of the way for all time.'
He literally loomed over her. 'You make it sound attractive, but people can read between the lines. I can't afford to have your violent demise on my head. It would generate too much publicity. Come back to the house, Morgan. Please. Mother and the girls are terribly upset.'
'Like hell they are!' Morgan hit out at him in anger and frustration, hurting her hands. 'This has to be one of the most profitable nights of their lives. As if you Hartlands haven't got enough, E.J. had to leave you more!'
'We are family.' He caught her flailing hands and held them firmly.
'Ooh! Family, indeed! Family who keep a very strange profile. You never had one civilised conversation with E.J. in your entire life. Though he pretended he was furious with you, he must have admired your guts. A lanky kid standing up to a man famous for his harshness. He always said your sisters didn't know anything beyond spending money. It seems to me I've had to go without all my life while you Hartlands have lived in the lap of luxury.'
'Are you saying we haven't had our own tragedies?' he asked her in a voice as angry as her own.
'Don't go looking for sympathy from me. I was right there in the front line when they started handing out tragedies. I lost my father. You lost yours. Our kind of life is really quite dangerous. My father had been riding all his life, yet a fall from a horse killed him. How many times did your father fly to the capital and back? You couldn't even begin to count, but one trip he just came down in the mountains. I always wondered if he might have been frantic about something. EJ. always drove him. He was such a cruel man.'
'Morgan,' Ty said very quietly, 'I feel the same way.'
'Yet he made you his heir. He deliberately moved to thrust his only grandchild aside.'
'Ah, Morgan,' Ty sighed. 'How do I comfort you?'
"You comfort me?' Her great eyes flashed. 'I've known since I was a child that I had to fear you. I knew you'd come after me. It's a powerful tradition in this family, destroying women. You said yourself that E.J. got rid of my mother. He swept her out of our lives. Why? Did he hate women?'
'A number of men do,' he told her sombrely. 'You know that, Morgan. I'm beyond trying to fathom what drove E.J. Even you don't know all the facts about him. When he fought, he fought in the most ruthless way imaginable. He showed kindness or affection to no one. There was no woman in his life to soften the harshness.'
'There was a woman,' Morgan shouted. 'There was me.' Her gleaming hair flew about her small, triangular face. 'He ruled my life with an iron hand. He made it clear I had to measure up in every way, and I did it. You know why? Because I was his heir. I had to command respect in my own right. I can do anything you can do, can't I?'
His taut expression relaxed. 'Listen,' he said wryly, 'there's no way you're going to head the Cattleman's Union. There's no way you're going to have the same control over all the Hartland employees. These are men who live hard lives out in the open. They're tough. They accept you as E.J.'s granddaughter. They accept you as a true Hartland and they'll show you all the respect they do all our women, but let's be realistic, Morgan. When a man looks at you, he sees first a beautiful girl. A moment in your company and he would next see the substance. Your intelligence, your spirit and character shine through, but you will never, ever, no matter what you do, acquire the status of a man. Your woman's body is against you. I know it hurts. Men will do anything for a woman, except work for her.'
Even in the midst of her anger and confusion Morgan could see the bitter truth. But it did not dispel her rage. 'Nice try.' she said with admiration, 'but let me tell you, when I give an order around here, it's obeyed.'
'Sure.' He inclined his gilded head. 'But the men on Jahandra love you for what you are. Most of them have watched you grow up. The older ones made you their little pet. They had a wonderful time watching you master every trick in the trade. They feared for you when E.J. pushed you over the line. They really hated what he did to you, but they were obliged to keep quiet. E.J. was a dictator. He relished power and he used it in ways no one could condone. He even managed to get rid of your mother.'
Morgan hid her grief under hard flippancy. 'Well, she didn't love me. Most people will accept money.'
'Your father's will left Marcia secure.' Ty pointed out harshly. 'It couldn't have been money.'
'Well, what was it?' She flung up her pointed chin. 'How did he pay her off?' 'Didn't you ever ask her?'
'I couldn't!' It was out before she could think. How did a child go about asking why she wasn't loved? 'There's nothing to Marcia. What you see is what you get. It costs Philip a mint just keeping her in face creams. Looking great is her full-time job. That's all he wants from her, anyway. She's just another carnation to wear in his lapel. No wonder I hate men.'
'You don't. What you desperately need is the right man in your life. Someone who can bring you love and understanding and joy, above all. Your short life, from beginning to end, has been struggle.'
'Yes, hasn't it?' she cried acidly. 'Grandfather taught me to take the reins, Now, when I'm ready, he has subjected me to even worse restrictions. Do you really think I'm going to kowtow to you?'
'Why should I, when the only thing that gives you pleasure or enjoyment is asserting your independence? You're mistress of your own fate now, Morgan. You can do anything you wish.'
'Does this mean you're hoping I'll move out?' she flared.
'That's a fine question for someone who considers us wildly incompatible.'
'I'm going to fight this, Ty,' she warned him.
'Don't waste your time.'
'I can find some top-level lawyer,' she challenged.
'Frankly, they don't come much better than Henry.'
'Henry betrayed me.'
Ty remained immobile, staring down at her. 'Henry told me himself he was knocked for a loop. He has always thought of himself as your godfather. God knows how many times he intervened with E.J. because he couldn't tolerate his treatment of you. And me. He dreaded doing it. He's such a reserved, fastidious man, but he's human. E.J. wasn't.'
'I'll say this for you, Ty, you're a natural-born winner.' Morgan shook her head.
He looked at her quizzically. 'Do you really think life has been so easy?'
She could feel the tears on her face. 'So it was unfair to lose your father. So you've always been burdened with an extraordinary amount of responsibility. So what? You thrive on it. You thrive under every kind of condition, good or bad. Did you know E.J. was going to take care of you?'
'In what way?'
'To hell with you! Leaving you in control?'
'You think it was the wrong decision?' he taunted her. 'E.J. was a tyrant, but he wasn't a fool.'
'Oh, I hate you!' she gasped.
'Let me go on. He couldn't risk leaving the empire he built up to a woman. Not even a woman. An inexperienced girl.' He pulled her to him and leaned back wearily against the archway. 'Don't fight me. Not just now. I didn't know he was going to do it, yet on another level I knew he would, you simply don't have the strength or the vigour to run a string of stations.'
'What the bloody hell would you know?' Morgan dashed the tears from her cheeks.
'Do you really think you can compete with me for the top job?'
'You bet your life I can, I'm working on it.'
'But I've already perfected it. You can't catch up, elf.'
'I could have hired people. Top people.'
'There can only be one person to give the overall direction. I know how smart you are.'
'Don't patronise me, Ty Hartland.'
He shook his head. 'I'm not. Is power what you really want? Is
running a pastoral empire getting the most out of life?'
'You want it.'
'Hell, Morgan!' He shook her. 'I'm a man. I'll never accept being a captain of industry is a woman's role. Think for a moment. Didn't you really want to be boss so that you'd be one up on me?'
She threw back her head. 'You're absolutely right! Don't try and make out a reasonable case, you rotten son of a gun. You've been aiming for this all along. You're a man of ambition. There's no way you'd walk two steps behind a woman. E.J. would have understood that. He wouldn't have considered it either. Did you taunt him with it some time? No one in this world made E.J. so angry or made him think. He would have mulled it all over. No matter I'm his only grandchild, no matter he saw you as a rival, a woman just wouldn't do.'
'That's right, Morgan,' he agreed quietly. 'A woman won't do. All the people we do business with would get mighty anxious if you showed up as boss.'
'I'm going to take you up on that.' She gritted her small teeth.
'You're not the boss.'
'If I were you, I wouldn't talk too soon.' she warned him. 'What an unscrupulous devil you are, Ty.'
'I guess I am, yes. There's no way I was going to stand around letting you make the wrong decisions. Even if you were a man, Morgan, you have too much to learn.'
'So you set about pointing that out to E.J.'
He laughed without humour. 'Don't let this embitter you. You've got more than enough going for you as a woman. You can lead a rich life. Not so much rich in the material sense. I mean you can lead life to the full. You can become rich in experience. You'll want to marry, have children. You love the land and everything it represents. You're happy here as few women are. Why in the name of God would you want to drive yourself mad running a pastoral empire? Don't you know it's appallingly hard work?'
'That's why you planned on moving into the job.'
'Not really.' he replied coolly. 'What I planned was moving you out.'
Morgan was up with the dawn wind; it was a strange, soft sighing that wafted through the homestead windows. She dressed hurriedly in her daily uniform: cotton shirt, moleskins and riding-boots. Her cream Akubra with the fancy snakeskin band she left downstairs in the little hallway that ran off the kitchen. The houseboy, Jimmy, greeted her with a bowed head and downcast eyes, a thoughtful gesture designed to acknowledge the pain in her face.
'You will have tea?' He spoke in a low, concerned voice.
'Not this morning, Jimmy. I'll have something when I come back. Is anyone else up?'
'Mr. Ty, of course. I have already served him breakfast.'
'Damn!' Morgan frowned intently. 'Where was he going after that?'
'Maybe to say thank you to the Old Men. Mr. Ty appreciates and understands our culture.'
'Yes, he does,' Morgan smouldered. I'll tell you, Jimmy, because your people will soon know, Mr. Ty has been named Byamee's heir. We must accept it. Mr. Ty is now master.'
'But how did you not guess?' Jimmy asked mystified. Did not something tell you here,' he lightly tapped his chest, 'that when the master passed, Mr. Ty would take his place? He is respected by all.'
'I am E.J.'s grandchild, Jimmy.'
Jimmy shook his snow-white head gently. 'Real power only resides in men. Women do possess unusual wisdom, but the matters of a great station are best left to a man. Men would little trust a woman with that great responsibility. You should fill your life with pleasure now. It was always considered bad Byamee Hartland made you work so hard. You belong Mr. Ty now. He will look after you.'
Morgan smiled wryly. An outstanding aspect of aboriginal culture was the superiority of the male. 'It seems he has started already. Pass on to Mrs. Larkin that Miss Sandra and Miss Claire only drink coffee for breakfast, not tea. No one need wait for me. I don't know when I'll be back.'
'Very good.' Jimmy gently bowed, his skin a dark chocolate against the immaculate white of his shirt and light jacket.
Morgan crammed her wide-brimmed Akubra on to her head and walked out into the morning. The sun already had a strong drawing power, all the brilliantly coloured flowers in the garden dancing in a blue mirage sea, One of the boys saddled up Sultan for her and gave her a leg up.
'Plenty o'fire, miss!'
'I know.'
'Couldn't count the number o'times he's kicked me.'
'He's a born entertainer. Have you seen Mr. Ty so far?'
Archy giggled, rolling his black eyes. 'Ticked me off already. Archy,' he said, 'you only got this mornin' to clean up around here.'
'Don't you just love him?' Morgan murmured ironically.
'He's a personality all right, miss. Remember how he used to tick you off?'
'My dear cousin!'
'Happen to know he saved your skin once or twice.'
'Which horse did he take?' Morgan ignored that.
'It was Lucifer,' Archy called after her with a wide grin,
'He would!' Morgan thought darkly. Lucifer was E.J.'s horse. While he had lived.
The budgerigars were out in their thousands, wheeling in bright emerald waves with flashes of gold. A good gallop would ease her unsettled frame of mind. She could not continue to show her hurt and anger. She had expected too much of her grandfather. She had expected her due. Aunt Cecilia and the girls could not be expected to stay more than a day, and she quite expected Ty to return with them. Ty might be E.J.'s successor, but he couldn't be expected to carry out E.J.'s wishes immediately. She had to tread lightly for the time being, until she could find out if E.J.'s will could be overturned. Surely her right to the controlling interest would be upheld by law? She wouldn't really know until she had consulted a solicitor. Obviously Henry wouldn't do. Henry was on the Hartlands' side. How truly odd she never thought of herself as a Hartland. Probably a psychiatrist might explain that it was because she had never felt wanted. How did one construct an identity when the essential ingredients were missing? Her father she barely remembered. Her mother had opted out of her life. Her grandfather had never concerned himself with offering security beyond the material. In sum, she thought of herself as Morgan against the world.
Everything was coming to life in the wake of the storm. The blood-red earth threw up new, aromatic smells as Sultan's hoofs churned up vegetation and flattened the Mitchell grass. Giant butterflies clustered like blue and black flowers across fallen mossy logs, and already the wild flowers were opening up a million radiant little faces. There was no sight on earth like wild flowers on the sand-gravel flats, miles and miles of dazzling gold and white embroidered in great waves of pink and yellow, blue and purple. The colours of the south-west were strong and vibrant, the eternal peacock blue of the sky spread over the desert ochres molten red and orange, the rose and larkspur of the eroded hills.
Somehow she found herself crossing a shallow channel of the creek and riding upwards to the vertical sandstone butte that marked E.J.'s grave. The natives called the natural monument Jinarli, the Old One, and like the other great desert monuments it had the amazing ability to change colour. This morning it glowed like mother- of-pearl, yet at other times of the day the colour warmed to amber, then cinnabar and finally rose-red at sunset.
Morgan slid off Sultan's back and tethered him to the smooth bole of a sapling that bent in respectful homage towards the gleaming sandstone pillar.
For an instant Morgan expected E.J. to speak to her, to explain what he had done, but the only sound was the soft moan of the wind.
Morgan stood for a moment gazing at the grave. 'In the end you, too, deserted me,' she said in a voice charged with pent-up emotion. This morning spears of all sizes criss-crossed the mound, protection for E.J. until he had reached the other side. Wheeling in a semicircle high above her head was a lone eagle, a deity to the aborigines. It seemed to be performing some mysterious ceremony of its own, a magnificent pagan thing, silhouetted against the deep turquoise heavens.
The rise of an eagle, Morgan thought. Would she ever come to terms with Ty's effortless domination? E.J. had reared he
r to be competitive and aggressive, then ruthlessly subjugated her to Ty. That was her true place in the scheme of things. Deeply interwoven in her psyche was the terror Ty would take charge of her life. Ty in his full vibrance. At the end E.J. had only been a shadow to his male heir. How did a woman ever come to terms with playing second best? Well, she would have a shot at turning the tables on them all.
For the first time prayer didn't occur to her. She was consumed by her woman's impotence. Why should most of the world fear and mistrust a woman's authority? She would have thought Margaret Thatcher had finished all that. The Outback was a man's world. It was widely accepted a woman could not command the same respect as a man, when splendid women abounded. It was shocking and inherently wrong. She could run Jahandra. She could make important decisions.
