Morgan met her sister’s eyes and Georgia saw the regret the young girl couldn’t voice. Georgia nodded, turning slightly, intending to make some explanation to Andy, who still stood silently, quite obviously just a little embarrassed.
But Georgia’s gaze went past him, her eyes widening in horror.
Jarrod stood in the doorway, evidently having followed Lockie upstairs, a witness to the dramatic little scene.
No one spoke.
Jarrod looked as though he’d aged ten years in those few turmoil-filled moments. His cheekbones stood out against his colourless face and he was drawn enough to look as though he would fall down. But he didn’t. He remained standing in that same spot just inside the room, his eyes locked on Georgia in disbelief.
As she watched, held his haunted gaze, his disbelief turned to pain-a pain as great as any she’d suffered during that dreadful time after he’d left. His eyes were darkly tormented, reflecting the deepest agony.
‘Georgia!’ he rasped out. ‘Oh, Georgia.’
Pain tore through her. For herself. For him. And she was galvanised into action. Before any of them could say a word she flew past Jarrod. Down the hall, almost coming to grief again over Morgan’s suitcase. Down the wide front steps. Around the house to the back gate, fumbling as it caught again on rusting hinges, scrambling over it when it wouldn’t budge. Along the path through the dry grass and bush, until she came gasping for breath to the bridge over the creek. The new solid footbridge.
If anyone called after her she didn’t hear them, for blood pounded through her veins, echoing in her head like continuous claps of rolling thunder. She leant against the railings of the bridge, her hands massaging the stitch in her side as she drew in great gulps of air.
Gradually her breathing slowed and only then did she realise that tears were pouring down her cheeks. She blinked at the blurring dampness, wiping her wet face with her hand.
She looked down into the now dry, sandy watercourse and her heart lurched. She’d lain there until the early hours of the morning after she’d fled mindlessly from Jarrod that dreadful night. She’d not stopped in her headlong flight when she’d come to the creek, for she’d been so enveloped in her misery, in Jarrod’s betrayal, not seeing or thinking past the awful truth-that Jarrod was having an affair with his stepmother, and that she never wanted to see him again.
She’d simply pounded straight over the old bridge, vibrating the rotting wood, her running weight being too much for its support to carry. The timber cracked beneath her, sending her screaming down onto the creek bed below.
The fall had knocked her out for some time-how long she didn’t know-but she’d been lucky and had fallen with her face out of the shallow water or she would surely have drowned. Pain had racked her entire body when she had regained consciousness and, unable to move, she’d drifted in and out of delirium until her father and Lockie had found her there. She had broken her leg and lost her baby.
Georgia moaned softly. It had taken her so long even to begin to get over that loss-double-fold loss-of firstly Jarrod and then the baby. She’d clutched her pain to her and no one had known how she’d suffered inside herself. Perhaps her father or Lockie had suspected but after that night they’d never spoken of what had happened.
Geoff Grayson had asked who the father of her child was, of course, but she hadn’t told him. And when he’d suggested it was Jarrod she’d denied it vehemently, saying it was someone else-someone she’d met secretly but wouldn’t be seeing again. With hindsight, she felt she must have been a little demented at that moment, or perhaps her denial of him had been a subconscious act of vengeance. And, unbeknownst to Georgia, her brother had overheard her.
Her father had shaken his head in hurt and despair, barely able to comprehend the whole sordid mess. And what a sordid mess-
Georgia drew an alarmed breath, tensing at the sound behind her, and she swung jerkily about as the tall figure stepped onto the bridge. In the dimness of the heavy dusk she was unable to read his expression, but she caught the bright sparkle of the setting sun reflected in his eyes.
‘It was my child, wasn’t it?’ he said flatly-a statement more than a question. ‘Lockie said you told your father it was someone else’s but I know it wasn’t. The baby was mine. Why didn’t you tell me, Georgia?’
‘I intended to.’ Her voice wavered feebly, her hands gripping the railing behind her to stop herself running into his arms. ‘But then you…’
He was silent and then she heard him suddenly catch a sharp breath. ‘That night, when you arrived…You were going to tell me then, weren’t you? Oh, Georgia, I’m so sorry.’ His tone revealed his distress, his regret. ‘But that night…’
‘It’s the past, Jarrod, as you said before.’
‘I don’t know what to say, how to ask for your forgiveness.’ His husky voice caught and he fought for a steadying breath. ‘What…what happened? Lockie said-’
‘I had a miscarriage when I fell.’ She motioned to the creek bed below. ‘When the bridge finally gave way. That’s why your father had this new one built. He didn’t know about the baby, only that I had fallen.’
Jarrod turned away and leant on the railings. ‘If I’d known you were pregnant-’ He stopped.
‘You’d have stayed and married me,’ Georgia finished wryly, and when he made no acquiescence her heart lurched in impossibly more pain.
His silence cut into her, baring her hurt like opening a throbbing wound.
‘I couldn’t have married you, Georgia,’ he said softly. ‘I should never have touched you.’
Georgia swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. ‘It was a mutual thing, Jarrod, our…’ she paused ‘…liaison. You didn’t exactly seduce me.’
Jarrod swore beneath his breath. ‘But I was old enough to know better, to be more careful. You were just a kid.’
‘I was more than old enough. And I loved you, Jarrod,’ she said, simply and honestly, and he straightened and turned back to face her.
‘Don’t you think I knew that?’ he got out in a tortured voice. ‘Is that my excuse?’
‘I thought you loved me too.’
‘I did.’ The words were spoken so quietly that Georgia wasn’t sure she’d heard them. ‘God help me, I did love you, Georgia. I still do. But I can’t.’
Georgia took a step towards him and his hands reached out
desperately for her, drew her to him, and she pressed her face against his chest Beneath his cotton shirt she could hear the heady racing of his heart. His arms tightened urgently about her, but before she could slide her hands around him he had thrust her violently from him.
‘Georgia, please. Don’t. We can’t-’
‘Jarrod, why? What is it?’
‘I can’t tell you.’ He wiped a shaking hand across his eyes.
‘Why not? Jarrod!’ She moved to close the space he’d put between them but his flatly spoken words froze her into immobility, turning her blood to ice.
‘You’re my sister, Georgia.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HOW long they stood there, transfixed, Georgia couldn’t have begun to guess, but eventually she gave a choked laugh. ‘You have to be joking, Jarrod.’
‘I wish I was. But it’s the truth.’
‘But that’s…It’s ridiculous. We’d have to have the same mother or fath-’ Georgia stopped mid-syllable.
‘Or father,’ Jarrod finished flatly. ‘Georgia, Peter Maclean was your father too.’
She began to shake her head.
‘Remember the day we were both with him and he thought you were your mother. “Darling Jenny,” he called you. He was in love with your mother.’
‘No, it’s not true,’ Georgia breathed. ‘Who told you these lies?’
‘Does that matter? And I’m afraid they’re not lies.’
‘They are,’ Georgia repeated forcibly. ‘Who told you, Jarrod? I have a right to know, don’t I?’
He sighed and gave a faint nod of agreement. �
��I guess you have. It was Isabel.’
‘Aunt Isabel?’ Georgia said in a daze. ‘I can’t- We can sort this out. I’ll ask my father.’
‘I’ve already asked mine,’ he said flatly, and Georgia gazed at him in alarm. ‘Don’t you think I demanded the truth back then?’
‘What did he say?’
‘He denied it, of course. What else could he do? But he did admit he’d always loved your mother. They were a couple until she met your father.’
‘Your father wouldn’t lie about this, Jarrod. And besides, what about Lockie? He’s the image of my father. And why would my mother suddenly have…?’ Georgia shook her head. ‘No! I don’t believe this, Jarrod. I won’t’
‘What if it is true?’ Jarrod asked softly.
‘It’s very convenient for Aunt Isabel that my mother isn’t here to defend herself against these ludicrous accusations. Or your father.’ Georgia’s chin rose. ‘Isabel has to be wrong. I don’t care what you say, Jarrod, I’ll never believe it. And I can’t believe you can.’
She brushed past him for the second time and retraced her steps along the path to her home. But she walked this time, taut with shock, and Jarrod didn’t follow her.
When she got back both Lockie and Andy exclaimed at her pale face, Lockie sitting her down and insisting on her having a glass of brandy, which nearly choked her.
Morgan had gone with Steve. Georgia wasn’t to be upset about it, Lockie told her, and as to Georgia’s secret-well, it was safe with them all. Obviously her brother must have made some explanation to Andy.
Georgia just shook her head. If only that had been the worst of it all.
Lockie had had a talk to the chastened Morgan after Jarrod had left and the young girl had broken down, telling him she’d been angry because they’d always treated her like a child, keeping her out of every decision or discussion, making her feel excluded, not part of the family. On reflection, Lockie admitted there might have been some truth in what Morgan had said and their efforts to shield their so much younger sister had only served to make her feel an outsider.
Georgia was far too numb even to begin to give the matter of Morgan any thought. Nor could she bring herself to mention to her brother Jarrod’s horrible revelation. It was the only thing she could concentrate on, and it swirled around in her mind.
She didn’t return to the Maclean house that night but slept on the couch in the living room of her own home. Peter Maclean her father? The thought went round and round inside her head throughout her sleepless night.
The next morning she rang the bookshop and told them she was unwell and wouldn’t be coming to work. It wasn’t strictly an untruth. Her stomach churned in unison with her harrowing thoughts.
She glanced at her watch for the hundredth time. Where was her father? Or rather the man she’d always looked upon as her father, and couldn’t believe wasn’t.
Yet when his car eventually turned into the driveway she found that her legs wouldn’t hold her and she sank onto the lounge chair.
‘Georgia?’ Geoff Grayson stopped in surprise as he glanced into the living room. ‘Georgia, what is it? Why aren’t you at work? Are you ill?’ He came to sit beside her, taking her cold hands in his, full of concern.
Georgia’s eyes searched his lined face, seeking some substantiating resemblance to herself. But she was so like her mother, she knew. There was nothing to reassure her in the angular planes of his features, or in his colouring.
‘I have to talk to you, Dad.’ The form of address came naturally but she swallowed convulsively as she said it.
‘Of course. What’s the matter, love?’ His fingers squeezed hers encouragingly.
‘It’s about…It’s about you and Mum.’ Georgia stopped. How could she ask her father this? But she had to. She had to know. ‘Am I your daughter?’
It was out. She’d said it. But she couldn’t meet her father’s eyes.
Geoff Grayson laughed lightly. ‘Well, that’s the easiest question you’ve ever asked me. Of course you’re my daughter. Don’t you want to be?’
Georgia closed her eyes and thought she’d faint dead away. Of course she wanted to be. But what if her father didn’t know?
‘Dad, are you…? Are you sure I was-well, is there any chance you’re not my father?’
‘Not your father? Georgia, this has gone far enough. Of course I’m sure I’m your father,’ he said tersely, and stood up angrily. ‘Your mother and I loved each other very much. There was never anyone else for either of us.’
Georgia burst into tears, sobbing brokenly.
Her father watched her for a moment and then sat down again beside her, his arms going around her. ‘Don’t you think it’s time you told me what this is all about, love?’ he asked gently.
‘Oh, Dad, Jarrod said…he left because he thought he was…that Peter Maclean was my father too,’ Georgia explained jerkily.
‘Peter…? Georgia, what on earth are you talking about?’ her father asked in astonishment.
‘Jarrod said his father had always loved my mother and that…Aunt Isabel told him,’ she finished as she dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief her father passed her.
‘Isabel told…? Georgia, look at me.’ He tilted her chin until her eyes met his. ‘If Isabel said that then she’s mischiefmaking on a grand scale. Peter Maclean isn’t your father and she knows it. It’s completely impossible.’
‘But how can you be sure?’ Georgia persisted.
‘Oh, I’m one hundred per cent sure, love.’ Geoff Grayson shook his head sadly. ‘It’s an old story. You see, Peter and I both fell in love with your mother. He’d known her since childhood. Then he introduced us. Well, once I’d met Jenny there was only one woman for me. Peter felt the same about her but Jenny chose me.
‘We were good friends, Peter and I, and he could have reacted badly but he didn’t. When he saw his case was hopeless,
that Jenny had made her choice, he went over to the west coast for a few weeks to consult on a job over there. That was when he met Jarrod’s mother. His affair with her must have been a rebound thing. Then, a few years later, before you were born and before he knew of Jarrod’s existence, he flew back to Perth to open a new branch of Maclean’s. He was only there for three months when he had that awful accident.’
‘But-’
Geoff Grayson held up his hand. ‘That accident he had nearly killed him, Georgia, and because of his massive injuries he couldn’t have any children, so…’ He shrugged.
Georgia’s mind turned over the implication.
‘He told me this himself, love,’ her father continued. ‘That’s why it meant so much to him later, to learn he had a son.’
Georgia took a deep breath, relief flooding through her. ‘If all this is true, Dad, why did Aunt Isabel tell Jarrod such blatant lies? What could she gain by it?’
‘Isabel-well…’ Her father shook his head again. ‘I don’t know. All this happened so many years ago. Peter, Isabel, Jenny and I, we went to dances, to picnics together. Your mother was so full of life, so loving. But Isabel was just the opposite. She’s always been cool, reserved; you couldn’t get close to her. Not even Jenny could. But to tell such lies to separate you and Jarrod!’ He stood up angrily. ‘I don’t understand it. I’ll go over and talk to her.’
‘No, Dad. I’ll go. I need to talk to Jarrod.’ Feeling flowed back into Georgia’s numb body and she was suddenly exhilarated. Aunt Isabel had lied. Jarrod still loved her. Everything would be all right.
‘Make no mistake, Georgia, I will be speaking to Isabel. But in the meantime you can tell Jarrod he needn’t take my word for all this. Peter’s doctor will corroborate my story.’
‘I love you, Dad. And even if you hadn’t been-well, I’m glad you are.’ Georgia blinked back a rush of relieved tears and gave her father a huge hug.
‘I’m glad I am too.’ He felt in his pocket and held out his keys with a crooked smile. ‘Take my car, love. Now off you go.’
Georgia ran out
side, feeling as though the weight of the world which had been pulling her down for four long years had finally lifted from her shoulders.
Isabel Maclean met Georgia at the door as she mounted the wide steps, and Georgia stood gazing levelly at the woman who was to blame for four wasted years.
‘Why did you do it, Aunt Isabel?’ she asked softly.
‘Do what?’ Isabel’s fingers fiddled with her opal brooch. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Why did you tell Jarrod those lies about his father and my mother when you knew they couldn’t possibly be true?’
‘I said I don’t-’
‘Aunt Isabel, Uncle Peter was just that-my uncle by marriage. He wasn’t my father and you know it. My father told me about Uncle Peter’s accident’
Isabel’s finely coiffured head went up.
‘You knew Uncle Peter couldn’t have been my father and yet-’ Georgia swallowed quickly. ‘Do you know what you’ve done? The pain you’ve caused Jarrod? And me? Four whole years. I just don’t understand why you did it.’
‘Why?’ Isabel grimaced. ‘You could never begin to understand, Georgia.’
‘I could try.’
‘You’re just like she was,’ she said bitterly. ‘Young. Attractive. Bubbling with personality. How could you understand what it’s like to be the plain sister, the quiet, serious one?
‘I lived in her shadow from the moment she was born. I could bear it until-’ Isabel’s lips twisted grimly. ‘Jenny could have had any man she wanted. I couldn’t. Why did she have to want Geoffrey Grayson?’
Georgia’s eyes widened in surprise as she realised the truth. ‘You were in love with my father?’
Isabel drew herself together. ‘But of course he only had eyes for her.’
‘You mean all this…? You told Jarrod those lies because…’ Georgia gazed at her aunt, really looking at her, and suddenly what she saw tempered her anger, leaving behind a reluctant compassion.
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