A sense of loss bore down on him all through that last day. He knew Southern Cross was going to feel overwhelmingly empty. He knew, too, that he was at a pivotal stage in his life. He had to make a move, had to think seriously about marrying. Until he’d met Roishin, he’d considered Cate Sinclair a suitable match. At one time Sasha had taken it upon herself to promote a marriage. Cate was a charming, sensible, station-born young woman. The Sinclairs owned several sheep and cattle propertiesound withund Queensland, and he was well aware that Cate’s parents would be delighted to have him for a son-in-law. All of them had been invited to the wedding, and he’d danced with Cate, spent some time with her. She’d appeared to savor his company. He liked her. He’d always liked her. Before meeting Roishin, he’d begun to grow fond enough of her to consider the future. Cate was a straightforward person, outback born and bred.
But he didn’t love her. Love didn’t happen to order. Still, there was safety with Cate. Station life was her world.
It was a shock to find himself in so much inner turmoil. He could never resume his life as if nothing had happened. He couldn’t put Roishin Grant behind him. She existed. She had illuminated his life. It was agony to let her go. It was cruel if she felt even a little of the passion that bloomed in him. He was a man on the edge. And he looked it.
Now it was evening, and he sat in the library with Roishin almost quietly for half an hour, then held out his hand. “A walk before bed, I think.” In his dreams she lay beside him, his arms capturing her. Sheltering her.
“You’re going to have to relax, David,” she said. “Sasha’s panther analogy isn’t half-bad.”
“Maybe I’m trying to stave off the hour when you’re gone.”
“That’s no comfort, David.” She moved beside him, at his shoulder. “You’re in pain because of me. On the one hand you want to forget me totally. On the other, you… rather enjoy having me around.”
She was so direct it took him by surprise. “I’m not going to deny it.” He clasped her hand without thinking, linking her fingers with his, feeling sensation flood through every layer of his skin.
“You won’t let me know you,” she said.
“Which direction are we walking in?” he asked, the air around them fairly crackling with static.
“I don’t really know. I guess I don’t care.”
“Roishin, stop it. You sound upset.”
“The hurt seems to be there. On both sides.” She laughed a little and looked up at him. “How can you see in the dark?”
“I’m used to it.” He shrugged. “Little by little your eyes will become accustomed to it. For now you can hold on to me.”
“I’d like that, David.” She tightened her grip. “What are you planning to do when we’re gone?”
He didn’t even want to think about it. “All manner of things,” he said casually. “Running the station is demanding work. I have to take a trip to north Queensland to visit one of our properties. Uncle Rex will be coming along with me and so will Bob Sinclair. Bob’s thinking of buying the place.”
“Bob Sinclair. That’s the distinguished-looking man with iron gray hair and a rather magnificent mustache.”
“Come to think of it he’s had that as long as I can remember. He was a close friend of my father’s.
“And he’s Cate’s father?”
He gave her a quick glance. Even in the semidark her skin had the luminescence of a pearl. “Why should I find that a leading question, counselor?”
“I understand you and Cate are great friends?”
“I’ve known her all my life.”
“I found her very friendly and charming. Lovely when she smiles. She’s a composed and confident young woman.”
“Thank you for your approval,” he said in a mocking voice.
“She’d make an excellent station wife.”
“I’m sure of that.” He steered her away from an overhanging branch of white bougainvillea. “Is this conversation going anywhere—or are we wandering in the dark?”
“All our exchanges have an undertone, David. You know that as well as I do. I’m trying to sort a few things out. She’s in love with you.”
“She’s never said as much.”
“David, you know she is.”
“Would you prefer it if she wasn’t?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Why do I make you so quickly hostile?”
“Why do you make me feel things I’m not sure I want to feel?”
“So it’s a question of resentment. What kind of woman am I, David? What is it you resent? Please tell me.”
They had reached the old summerhouse, a Victorian folly. All around it grew a ravishing old-fashioned pillar rose. By day its petals were the finest velvet crimson; by night it was almost the fabled black rose. Only the rich sumptuous scent remained the same. He drew her inside through the perpetually draped entrance before answering.
“What kind of woman are you? Let’s see. My considered opinion is…a witch!” Which was to say everything he loved and feared.
She moved toward the circular cushioned seat, turning her face to the starlight. She didn’t smile. “Ironic, when you’re so expert at casting your own spells. Let me ask you, David, do you feel a woman like me would find Southern Cross a prison?”
“All these questions, Roishin! Yes, I do. Unlike these roses, you’ve grown and thrived in a far different environment. I can’t emphasize it strongly enough—it’s something I’ve lived with for a very long time. You’re used to the excitement and glamour of big-city life. You have a career.”
“You don’t think I could leave it with ease?”
“Could you?” he asked in a dark skeptical voice.
“You sound as though you have doubts.”
He stood a little distance from her, looking out over the garden. “Yes, given that I wish to avoid a tragedy.”
Her hand flew to her breast as though he had wounded her. “Your mother didn’t leave Southern Cross because she found station life intolerable, David.”
He actually leaned forward and pulled her to her feet. “How did my mother get into this?” he demanded, his hands on her shoulders.
“Your mother is the problem, isn’t she?”
He released her abruptly. “I think we’d better finish this conversation. Your way is to dredge up the past. Mine is to leave it where it belongs.”
“Deep in your psyche? Because that’s where it is, David. And that’s what explains your attitude to me. You demand things from me. A…a passionate involvement, yet you push me away. Not anymore. I’m not going to take your rejection without putting up some sort of fight. This is my life, too. Something happened to us that first day.”
“Indeed it did! A kind of classic infatuation.” The harshness of his tone gave him both pain and pleasure.
“Much, much more!” she said with a spirited lift of her chin. “It could be love, if you’d only let it happen.”
“And then?” he challenged her. “We could both pay very heavily. Have you thought of that?”
“David, I’m me!” she said in a despairing voice. “Not your mother. Me!”
“And you’re too damned good to be true!” The hint of anguish goaded and upset him. What was the dark place in him that drove him to hurt her? It was wrong, wrong, but he couldn’t help it. He caught her in his arms as if he’d never let her go. The thought of her leaving depressed him deeply.
Hunger overpowered him. A driving need of the heart and flesh. It seemed as strong in her, because her whole body trembled, conveying a piercing sweetness and an exhaustion of conflict.
“I love you, David,” she said with a depth of feeling that left him humbled and greatly aroused.
Desire burned across his skin. He found her mouth unerringly, engrossed in communicating the passion that flowed through him so turbulently it was purest anguish. He kissed her until she gasped for breath, until she cried his name in a soft frantic moan.
Kissing her wasn’t enough. He wante
d everything she was. Heart, mind, the incomparable pleasure of her body. She was simply the most beautiful joyous creature he’d ever seen or dreamed of or envisioned. It would be worth it to have her, no matter what the outcome. At that moment he was prepared to pay the price.
“Do you know I saw you wearing a wedding veil?” he muttered, his mouth against the silky skin of her throat.
“You imagined it.” Her answer was shaken and tender.
“It was so real. I swear I saw it that afternoon of Annabel’s wedding. I pinned the Southern Cross to you gown and turned you to face the mirror.”
“I remember.”
“The feeling inside me was so intense. You know, if you married me I’d never let you go.”
“You’re all I’ll ever want, David. Beside you, everything else has no meaning at all.”
“And nothing and no one will save you. You must understand that. I’ll never let you leave me or take our child.”
At last he had articulated his private profound grief. Grief toward the two people he had loved and trusted.
Roishin’s head snapped back and she spoke with great seriousness. “We have to address these fears, David. Fears that spring from your childhood. Can’t you look for answers from your mother? Great rifts in a family can be many-sided.”
He had an eerie sensation that he was being led where he didn’t wish to go. “My mother fell in love with another man and went away. That’s clear enough. I recognize it affected me, but that was a long time ago.”
“I don’t think either statement is true, David.”
“And you have the right to question me?”
“I don’t mean to make you angry, but yes. You’ve given me that right, whether you’re prepared to admit it or not.”
“My dearest Roishin,” he said in an ironic voice, “what a picture you make among the roses. However, you don’t know what you’re talking about. So much for the legal training!”
She reached out to him, held his arms. “Your mother denies all charges against her, save one. Your father wanted a large family, yes. So did she. But she couldn’t have more children.”
For an instant he was stunned, almost deprived of speech. “What is this, Roishin? I won’t listen.”
“Please,” she implored. “For me. You didn’t know?”
“I’m very skeptical indeed of any story you’re going to tell me. I’ve heard nothing about this.”
“Not even the miscarriages? She had three in as many years.”
He put his hand to his eyes as though shielding himself from a painful sight. “My God, Roishin, I know you believe this, but it’s simply not true.”
“Your father made no secret of the fact that he wanted a large family. At the very least, three children. It’s easy to understand. He had a magnificent home, a huge area of land. He wanted to put his sons on it. He didn’t want you to be a lonely only child. Your mother tried desperately—it must have been terrible for her—but she couldn’t carry beyond six weeks. It might be hard for a man to understand properly, but words wouldn’t encompass a woman’s grief, the awful sense of loss and failure. That man, Alex Turner, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was sympathetic to your mother. Probably he fell in love with her. Your father was furious, jealous and affronted.”
“Ah, so my father was the one in the wrong now?” There was anger, shock, disgust in his voice.
“Misery forced your mother out. Your father must have been a hard man on some issues, David. He did his very best to turn you against your mother.”
“Isn’t it going to be hard to check out her story?” he asked with icy calm.
“The thing is, do you want to?”
“It doesn’t bother you what the result might be?”
“It’s my only hope. Too many emotions rage in you. They’ve got you in their grip. You question my suitability to become your wife? I couldn’t consider it while you feel this way.”
“Then forget it,” he rasped.
“Tragically, I’ll have to,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to approach marriage full of trepidation.”
“I don’t think I’d gotten around to asking,” he said brutally.
“I know you can be cruel.”
“So be warned. If you’ve fallen for the great spiel my mother gave you, you’ve shown no loyalty to me.” Even as he said it he felt pain. “How can you be so clever and such a pushover for a sob story?”
Her voice was quiet, but it held great dignity. “What your mother had to say assuredly got through to me, David. But I listened with an open mind. Your tragedy is that you won’t!”
Chapter Six
AFTER ABOUT A WEEK, while he tried desperately to absorb himself in the affairs of the station, Mountford felt driven to put through a call to John Morcombe. The bishop had baptized him, as he’d baptized the twins. If John Morcombe knew anything of Roishin’s story, he wouldn’t lie. Mountford had already sounded out his uncle Rex and drawn a blank. Now as then, the entire Mountford clan fell in with his father’s line. One fact did escape: the business about “Charlotte’s taking a lover” had never sounded “absolutely right” to Rex. Disturbed, Mountford had made the decision to carry his inquiries further.
Bishop Morcombe was in the depths of far-north Queensland, the deacon told him. It was four more days before Mountford was able to hold his conversation, which again yielded only a little information. Morcombe told him quite straightforwardly that he’d always been “deeply sympathetic to Charlotte’s plight.” Whatever that might have been. He didn’t elaborate even when drawn. The bishop was being very careful. He recalled one occasion when Charlotte had been ill. He had understood at the time that she’d suffered a miscarriage.
The single piece of information struck at Mountford’s defenses with tremendous force. When had he stopped believing in his mother? Why? He had a vivid memory of his father calling him into is study, sitting him down in the big leather armchair that dwarfed him, telling him his mother had left them. There had been no attempt to soften the blow. His father had given it to him straight. His mother had formed “a bad friendship” with Alex Turner, the writer, who had been staying on Southern Cross gathering background material for a book. Turner had shown himself to be a scoundrel, a man not to be trusted, although the six-year-old Mountford had quite liked him. Now, suddenly, Turner was a monster, his adored mother a traitor to the Mountfords and the proud Mountford name. All the kisses and hugs and smiles had meant absolutely nothing, he’d learned. His mother preferred a monster to him and to his handsome, greatly respected father. He’d decided he would never forgive her defection—something, he now saw, his father had actively encouraged. From that day in the study, he had turned into a difficult child, hiding his wounds in headstrong action. He’d only cast off that image when he went to boarding school, then university, where he’d made quite a name for himself academically and on the sports field. Not many people had divined the ache in his soul, the pain of severance that had never really gone away. Had his wonderful father done that to him? If so, it was a dreadful crime. Against him. Against his mother. He had no other option but to go to her and beg for her version of past events. One thing was certain: pitted against his father and the combined strength of the Mountford clan, she wouldn’t have stood a chance.
HE HAD NO TROUBLE finding where Roishin lived. He paid the taxi driver, staring up at the large apartment building on Sydney’s North Shore. Vanessa had given him the address, obviously agog at what was going on, which he promised to tell her when he called again. Beyond the impressive outline of the building, he could see the sparkling blue of the harbor. Vanessa had told him, too, that Roishin’s parents had presented her with her own apartment as a twenty-first birthday present. They must have forked out quite a bit, he thought.
As he reached the entrance, two young women were coming out the security door. They smiled at him and allowed him through even though they should have known better. He had intended to buzz the intercom, but it suit
ed his purpose to surprise Roishin.
When she opened her door to him, her face flooded with color. She was wearing a loose top of violet silk over patterned leggings. A violet ribbon tied back her long hair. She looked as beautiful as ever. Maybe more finely drawn, as though she’d lost weight. As though somewhere inside of her she ached. He wanted her so badly it was a wonder it didn’t shine out of his eyes. She hadn’t been out of his mind for one second.
“David, how extraordinary!” Her breath caught. “I was thinking of you only this minute.”
Her agitation steadied him. “That’s nice. May I come in?”
“Of course. Please. Come through to the living room.” She led the way to a well-proportioned, highly attractive room with sliding glass doors leading to a plant-filled balcony with views of the magnificent harbor beyond. Her legs in the tights looked incredibly sexy; her high breasts pushed gently against the silk of her loose top.
“Sit down,” she invited, indicating a sofa upholstered in a soft coral with a scatter of striking cushions. “Are you in Sydney on business?” She took a seat opposite him crossing her sleek, thoroughbred legs neatly at the ankle.
Desire ran through his body like a flaming arrow, yet he managed to keep his tone conversational. “Unfinished business, yes.” He looked around, noting how the grace and charm of her personality was reflected in the way she had decorated the room. There was artwork to transform the walls, sheer draperies at the doors, a tall glass-fronted cabinet with a collection of what looked like antique dolls, books, elegant objects and flowers. Lots of flowers. He would expect that. “I like your apartment.”
A luminous smile. “A twenty-first birthday present from my parents. As I’m their only child, they tend to spoil me.”
“That would be easy. How have you been?”
The Man From Southern Cross Page 8
