by Margaret Way
God, what was that? What the bloody hell was that in the trees? He squinted through the mask, thinking this wasn’t the first time the old house had frightened the life out of him. It was one creepy place.
You’re crazy, he thought. Crazy old coot. There was nothing lurking in the garden but him. He thought he saw the shadowy figure of the girl—the Sinclair girl—but that was insane. The leaves above his head were whispering, chattering to themselves. What these trees had seen!
Get it over with. Sight the Range Rover. That was all.
Creepy place.
He pushed himself to break cover, moving silently across the lawn, bending low, head down.
Nearing the side of the path, he heard murmurings. A man and a woman. That would be them. He wanted to turn around and go, but he had to bloody sight them. God, that Ruth McQueen had become unglued. She adored her grandson; everyone knew that. But she was obviously determined to put an end to his relationship with Sarah Dempsey, whatever the cost. After the Fairweather woman, he’d decided he’d never do anything remotely like that again, no matter how much she paid him.
The woman was moaning gently. He knew what that meant. They were making love. He didn’t want to look. This was private, very private. He’d known both of them since they were kids. He only had to risk one glance through the window. Taking all his courage in his hands, he rose up from his crouched position….
Radiance was streaming into the room. It lovingly traced the outline of a young woman’s beautiful naked body. She was swaying up and back, in slow, ecstatic rhythm, her movements gradually gaining momentum. A man’s hands came up to cup her small perfect breasts. Then Kyall McQueen’s distinctive voice groaned, “Sarah. My Sarah.”
Shock and shame burned through his veins.
He couldn’t remember getting away. He didn’t think he drew a breath until he was safely in the Jeep he’d driven into the bush at the side of the road.
Kyall McQueen would kill him if he ever knew about this. Of course, they wouldn’t have heard him. They were too far gone. His groin throbbed. What a beautiful woman. That glittering waterfall of hair spilling down her back. The glory of her woman’s body. No wonder Kyall was crazy about her.
In a flurry of dust and leaves, he drove out of the scrub, not turning on his headlights until he was well clear of the house.
To hell with Ruth McQueen. He’d tell her they were together—tell her anything—but he’d be damned if he’d tell her he’d caught them making passionate love.
THE LAST TIME Sarah had seen Kathy Plummer had been a month ago. Then she had confirmed Kathy’s pregnancy, her first. Kathy was now sixteen weeks along and her baby was coming along nicely, although Kathy’s blood pressure was up, something that needed to be monitored. Sarah finished a careful physical examination, then began to discuss what she thought was every aspect of the pregnancy and its management. But Kathy didn’t seem to be listening, plunging, instead, into what was happening in her life, trivia for the most part. Still, Sarah paid careful attention. She knew that Kathy and her husband, Darren, lived with Darren’s parents on Wunnamurra, the men employed as ringers. She knew the Plummer family from her childhood in the town. Darren was now a man. Not terribly pleasant. Sarah recalled he had something of a reputation for being a bully. A state of affairs Harriet would never have tolerated at school. At their one meeting, when he’d brought Kathy in the month before, his manner had verged on sullen, with a dash of insolence thrown in. It had been fairly obvious that he didn’t rate Sarah, a woman doctor, very highly. Or women at all, for that matter. Sarah’s heart had gone out to Kathy, experiencing her first pregnancy with such an insensitive lout. He appeared to regard his wife’s pregnancy in the same light as he would regard a cow being with calf.
Now Kathy, in the midst of recounting how she had to juggle all the jobs her mother-in-law set for her, suddenly winced and bent over, arms clutched around her body, a deep furrow between her brows.
“Kathy?” Sarah moved swiftly, coming around her desk. “What’s up?”
Kathy straightened. “Nothing much, Doctor. Just one of my headaches.”
“Headaches?” Sarah heard the anxious note in her own voice. “You never told me about headaches during your examination, Kathy. It’s most important you tell me everything, otherwise I can’t know what’s going on with you. How often do you get these headaches? Bad on awakening, improving as the day goes on? Impaired vision?”
“None of those. They’re nothing to worry about, really,” Kathy assured her. “Mrs. Plummer—I’m supposed to call her Mother, but I already have a mum and when the baby comes, I want my mum around, not Mrs. Plummer. Anyway, Darren’s mum says headaches are nothing. I shouldn’t complain. I should expect a few of them. I’m pregnant after all. She had five kids. She should know.”
“With all due respect to Mrs. Plummer, Kathy, I’m your doctor. You should have spoken to me about your headaches. How many? What’s the duration? Severity? You winced hard just then. I take it the pain’s gone away now?”
“Honest, it’s nothing.” Kathy tried a laugh, looking embarrassed. “Women are a whole lot tougher out here, and I’m a city girl. Anyway, the headaches come and go, and I suppose they’re a bit worse than when I first learned I was pregnant. But really, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
“Let me be the judge of that, Kathy.” Sarah returned to her desk. “An occasional headache, maybe, but not what you’re describing.”
“I’m under some stress, you know.” Kathy tried to explain. “There’s pressure living with the in-laws. All I seem to do is cook and clean and wash clothes. Since I’m pregnant, I don’t have to get up at dawn like Mrs. Plummer. She never stops all day. One day soon, we’re going to have our own place. It’ll be much better then. Darren doesn’t get on all that well with his mum.”
“The headaches, Kathy,” Sarah prompted. “Tell me about them, please. They shouldn’t be progressively worsening. I don’t think they’re due to stress or excessively taut muscles, either. Your neck and shoulder muscles seem quite relaxed.”
For the first time Kathy opened up about herself and her symptoms, not what was happening at her in-laws’ house. “I haven’t had them all that long. I don’t get headaches as a rule, but I’ve never been pregnant before. I had a talk with Darren’s mum about them, like I said, and she told me pregnancy is a woman’s lot and I had to struggle through it.”
“Did she really?” Sarah’s tone was quietly dismayed. Poor little Kathy, the city girl, looked like she was going to have a difficult pregnancy. “Well, I can’t ignore this, Kathy. What you’re telling me is worrisome. I’d like you to have a CAT scan.”
“What’s that?” Kathy sounded frightened.
“It’s a form of X ray that’s revolutionized the detection and diagnosis of any intracerebral problems.” Sarah spoke in a matter-of-fact voice, avoiding the word hemorrhage. “We can’t do the procedure here. I’ll have to call in the Flying Doctor to airlift you to a larger hospital. I’d like it done right away.”
Kathy began to shake her head anxiously. “Why right away? What’s wrong with me?”
Sarah played down her concerns. To some patients she might’ve been able to talk about the possibility of blood clots in the brain, burst blood vessels, aneurysms and so forth, but she didn’t think it would be particularly helpful with Kathy. “It’s routine, Kathy,” she said calmly, not wanting to increase Kathy’s anxiety. “It’s just that I don’t like these severe headaches during your pregnancy. I’d like to check things out to be on the safe side. A CAT scan will tell us what’s going on in your brain.”
That brought forth an emotional response. “I don’t want it,” Kathy wailed. “What are you worried about, anyway?”
“I’m worried that if I don’t act, I could be missing something. There are these headaches, coupled with the rise in your blood pressure. As I said, I can’t ignore it, Kathy. These are measures any good doctor would take. You must trust me.”
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“Well, I do,” Kathy answered, but she sounded tremulous and doubtful. “You’ve been so nice to me. Don’t get me wrong. I like you. I bet you’re a good doctor, but Darren would rather I saw Dr. Hughes now that he’s here. Darren won’t want me having any CAT scan, either. He’ll be dead against it, I know.”
Sarah had already assumed that. “Kathy, Darren knows nothing about medical matters. You have to be guided by me. I am and will remain your doctor. You’ll find Dr. Hughes in complete agreement with that. Can you contact Darren?”
“He won’t be pleased,” Kathy repeated. “He’s coming to pick me up in about an hour. I’m going to do some shopping first.”
Exactly what Sarah didn’t want her to do. “I would advise against that, Kathy. I suggest you rest quietly until your husband arrives.” She smiled gently. “As a matter of fact, there’s a spare bed now that Mrs. Gray has gone home. You’re looking forward to having your baby, aren’t you, Kathy?”
“Oh, yes!” Kathy’s plain face shone.
“Well, then, I’m sure you won’t mind making a few little sacrifices. You’re well, the baby’s well, but your BP is up. The shopping can wait or your husband can do it for you. Once he gets here, I’ll talk to him.”
“Good luck,” Kathy breathed.
When Darren Plummer arrived, he was accompanied by his father, Vernon, a heavyset, balding man who eyed Sarah keenly. Both men were wearing work clothes, riding boots, their akubras in hand. Hard, tough men, the father known for having been a troubleshooter for Ruth McQueen. Of the two, Sarah preferred Vernon, who was acting with more civility than his boorish son.
“Doctor was wanting to have a word with you, Darren.” Kathy gave her husband a worried smile.
“About what?” he asked coldly.
There was a decided risk of confrontation, and Sarah couldn’t allow that to happen in the reception area. “Perhaps you can all join me in my office,” Sarah suggested, assuming control.
“Why can’t we talk here?” was Darren’s demand.
“This is the waiting room.” Sarah moved off, forcing them to follow, Darren hissing something at his wife.
When they were all seated, Sarah explained her concerns and what she proposed to do, taking care not to alarm them.
“All because of a few headaches?” Darren fumbled for a cigarette.
“You can’t smoke here, Darren,” Sarah warned. “I wouldn’t be advising this course of action if I didn’t think it should be done.”
Vernon Plummer asked, “What’s it gonna cost?”
“I don’t actually know, Mr. Plummer. It is expensive, but Kathy’s health could be on the line here. Hers and her baby’s. Your grandchild.”
“Makes sense.” Vernon Plummer nodded.
“Well, I don’t think so,” Darren muttered. “I want a second opinion. Why don’t you call in Dr. Hughes? He’s had far more experience than you.”
“Show some respect, Darren,” Vernon Plummer said, glaring at his son.
“We can call in Dr. Hughes by all means,” Sarah answered quickly to calm the situation.
But in fact, when Sarah called Morris Hughes away from a patient, Morris seemed a bit taken aback by her decision.
“We do have to be careful selecting patients for a CAT scan,” he said cautiously. “It’s an expensive resource, as we know. You’re quite satisfied it’s not unnecessary testing? Perhaps we could run blood and urine tests?”
“Better to overreact than be found negligent, Morris. I’ve listened carefully to my patient. I’m going on instinct, as well. I know you’ve had a great deal more experience than I have, but I have a nose for trouble. I believe she’s at risk. You could conduct your own examination.”
“Sure,” Morris agreed instantly. “I’m sorry if I seem to be questioning your judgment. I’ll go see her.”
“If you would. Something tells me Kathy’s headaches—it’s a miracle I even got to know about them—are a forerunner of something more serious. I don’t ever want to be accused of negligent practice. Especially not with a pregnant woman. We can’t exclude subdural hemorrhage.”
“Which means surgery. How far along is she?”
“Four months. I should warn you, the husband is totally against this.”
“Oh, dear!” Morris said.
In the end he backed Sarah’s decision, but her husband refused to let her go immediately. “I can’t figure out what the rush is. You have to give us a few days.”
Anger sparked in Sarah at his stubborn stupidity, but she kept it under control. “If anything’s really wrong, Darren, Kathy needs the CAT scan today. I take full responsibility.”
“Why don’t you go over her head?” Darren challenged Morris Hughes. “I reckon she’s just bein’ a female. My mum can fix Kathy’s headaches.”
Kathy was brave enough to pipe up. “No, she can’t, Darren. If Dr. Sarah thinks I should go, then I’d better.”
“Listen, I have to tell ya, we’re broke.” Darren shot back at his wife, who was sitting with her hands draped over her stomach. Darren’s arms were folded across his broad chest, his lips pressed into a tight, surly line.
“You leave that to me, son.” Vernon Plummer spoke sharply, pushing his chair back. His eyes moved to Sarah. “Make the arrangements, Doc. If you reckon we can’t put this off, we won’t.”
THE CAT SCAN showed that one of Kathy Plummer’s arteries had blown up like a balloon. Had the aneurysm burst, profound physical deficits would have appeared immediately. As it was, she was rushed into emergency surgery. When it was over, her surgeon relayed the good news: the outcome would be fine for mother and child. He also passed on his congratulations to Dr. Dempsey for the swift and, as it happened, excellent diagnosis.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
BY SEVEN-THIRTY Sarah was ready. This was the evening of the reception for Morris Hughes, to be held at Wunnamurra homestead in the presence of the matriarch, Ruth McQueen. Kyall had insisted on coming for Sarah in the station helicopter, saying the hour-plus drive in her small car was out of the question.
She had many qualms about this evening. Why wouldn’t she have? It wasn’t as though the family would be thrilled, although the thaw had started with Enid, and Kyall’s father had never been the problem. Apart from Ruth, she knew the Claydon clan was coming. She’d always liked all of them, especially Mitch, but these days she was a bit worried about India. Ruth had filled her head with such false hopes. Cruel, really. Nevertheless, the charge of excitement she always felt at being with Kyall was there. And with his plan to announce their engagement, the thrill of anticipation—despite her concerns—increased by the minute.
She had dressed appropriately for the occasion, knowing exactly how Kyall liked her to look. Very feminine. The dress wasn’t new, but it was a favorite. Long, asymmetric in design, the chiffon skirt layered, the color the beautiful sapphire blue of Kyall’s eyes, with a misty outline print of pink flowers. She wore her hair full and flowing, a pair of very pretty pendant earrings fastened to her ears. She had found them in an antique shop years before and had her ears pierced specially for them. The vivid blue enamel picked up the blue of her dress.
Fully dressed, deliciously scented, she walked through the house, checking every room. Even with the lights on, they appeared dimly lit. Sometimes, when she was very tired or feeling emotional, she expected to encounter the little Sinclair girl. Whatever had happened to the child? No closure had ever been brought to the case. The girl had simply disappeared off the face of the earth. For that matter, what had happened to Nurse Fairweather? Sarah refused to speculate any further, not wanting to spoil this enchanted evening. Or so she hoped it would be. The night of her engagement to the man she’d always loved. She knew she was coming to the end of the long years of deceit. Kyall had to be told what had happened to her. What had happened to their baby. His grandmother’s part in it. The extraordinary business surrounding Molly Fairweather. She prayed Kyall would understand. They could put the tragedy behind them, turn thei
r attention to making a perfect, living child. How wonderful that would be. She was desperately afraid a child would be denied her. Never, as long as she lived, would she forget the child that had been taken from her.
The house secure, or as secure as Sarah could make it, she walked onto the wide veranda, staring out at the night. It was blessedly cooler than the daytime. The sky was ablaze with stars. As always, she sought out the Southern Cross, one of the outstanding constellations of the southern sky. The desert nomads believed it to be the footmark of the great wedge-tailed eagle, Waluwara, because of its shape. Wunnamurra homestead boasted a marvelous collection of Aboriginal paintings, several representing the stars of the Milky Way. On this cloudless night, the Milky Way sent its diamond stream across the center of the sky, a river with many landmarks to the Aboriginals. She loved all the Dreamtime stories about the creation of the sun, moon and stars. She and Kyall had once known a very old Aboriginal who could identify nearly every star in the heavens, most with stories attached as to their origins. In the rarified air of the outback, the stars shone with great brilliance, so near, so luminous, Sarah almost felt she could touch them.
Despite the white radiance of the stars, the garden was in deep shadow. Even a blind person would sense a strange atmosphere about the house. Not normally prone to paranormal experiences, she couldn’t deny that this particular house was having a strange effect on her. It was almost as if she could feel the past.
Even as she thought it, standing there waiting for the helicopter to appear, from out of nowhere floods of images saturated her brain. Terrible images she was powerless to prevent. Estelle Sinclair, drowning, long, blond hair floating like seaweed. Sarah could see slippery moss-covered boulders rising like ruins, tall, light-leafed trees overhanging the water. Someone was standing on the moonlit sand. A man in silhouette.
Stunned, Sarah shook her head to clear it, her pulse throbbing in her ears. She couldn’t handle this—being drawn into another reality. She had to cast it off. Incredibly nervous, she hurried back inside, murmuring a prayer as she went. Swiftly she pulled the door shut, closing out the night. She couldn’t believe now that she’d seen anything. It was her imagination. The Sinclair house had always frightened the town’s children, including her. Even the bravest had never dared go there at night.