Master of Maramba

by Margaret Way

  Carrie continued on, passing through the library that contained an extensive collection of books to the formal dining room beyond. This was a huge room used for large gatherings, beyond that was the informal dining room used by the family. She understood that was where they would be dining tonight. Voices reached her as she approached the lovely luxuriant plant-filled room with its floor-to-ceiling glass walls that allowed a wonderful view over the lush tropical grounds.

  Inside, seated at ease in chairs, was the family who all turned to look at her. Royce McQuillan—stunning enough to set any woman’s heart racing, she excused her own reaction—who immediately stood up and walked toward her; and a frail little lady with the sweetest face and expression, dressed in elegant silver evening pyjamas. Mrs. Louise McQuillan, it had to be, Carrie guessed. A tall, gently distinguished-looking man rather like a university professor but enough like Royce McQuillan to be his uncle, now also stood and, her face turned in a practiced silky smile, the glamorous Lindsey in a floral print halter dress that showed a bit too much cleavage for a family dinner.

  “You timed that nicely,” Royce McQuillan told Carrie when he reached her, taking her lightly by the arm. “How lovely you look,” he added quite without thinking. She did indeed look lovely. “We were just having a predinner drink. Come meet the rest of the family.”

  She was content to let him steer her, feeling his dangerous power as his hand closed over her bare arm. She stood first in front of his grandmother who greeted her with unconcealed pleasure and interest, right hand up-stretched.

  “I want you to be happy here, my dear.” Louise McQuillan smiled. Her smile was beautiful just like her grandson’s, and there was a real light in her still fine dark eyes.

  “I adore it already, Mrs. McQuillan,” Carrie answered with happy emphasis. She had taken to Mrs. McQuillan senior on sight, thinking she must have been very beautiful when she was young. As they spoke Carrie found herself gently stoking rather than shaking the hand offered her for fear of crushing it. The fingers were so fragile, even though the joints were knotted and swollen. Long fingers that once must have been as strong as her own. It was an oddly intimate moment that passed between young and old but neither woman seemed to find it strange.

  Royce McQuillan’s uncle Cam in turn took Carrie’s hand as gently as she had taken his mother’s, his manner almost “old worldly” courteous. He was one of those men usually defined as a “perfect gentleman,” handsome, erect, his manner graceful, but he had none of the vibrant energy, that aura of power that made his nephew so outstanding. Rather he seemed like a man not really involved. Not the quintessential cattleman.

  When she reached Lindsey, Carrie was offered a rather flippant “hello there,” but Lindsey’s electric-blue eyes moved over Carrie’s outfit like a monitoring device, totting up each individual item. Carrie had chosen a dress that suited her well, a deceptively simple peach silk shift but with a very clever bias cut. Strappy sandals were on her feet. Sale price Ferrangamo and even then they had been dear enough.

  “Don’t tell me you managed to get Regina to bed?” Lindsey finally asked, apparently not happy about the final figure.

  “No struggle at all.” Carrie smiled. “The two of us started on one of the children’s stories I brought with me. Eventually Reggie nodded off.”

  “Reggie only needs the right handling,” Louise McQuillan said gently, picking up on the new nickname and looking at Carrie with open approval. “I’ve been saying that for quite a while.”

  “Early days, Gran,” Lindsey warned, her strong features sceptical.

  It was over dinner Carrie was treated to one of the reasons the less than mellow Mrs. Gainsford had managed to keep her job. She was a great cook. In fact Carrie thought Mrs. Gainsford could teach Melissa a lot. Carrie didn’t know how Mrs. Gainsford did it—surely most great cooks had a little bit of the show-off in them?—but dinner was superb. It took Carrie a little while to realise only she and Royce McQuillan were actually doing justice to such a beautifully cooked and presented meal. Louise McQuillan ate very very sparingly, tiny mouthfuls of the great North Queensland eating fish, the barramundi, served with a crab cream sauce on a little white vegetable mash. Lindsey delicately forked over her seared scallops; while Cameron McQuillan seemed to be lost in some monumental problem he couldn’t tell them all about. He appeared to come out of his reverie briefly to say he might try a slice of orange and Grand Marnier soufflé cake with coffee. No mascarpone, thank you.

  The conversation was general but when Carrie expressed her fascination with the broad landscape and the wonderful sense of “belonging” with both the homestead and the home gardens, Louise McQuillan came to full life. She turned to Carrie with a flush of pleasure. “My first job as a bride was to make a great tropical park out of what were then wild surroundings. It was an immense challenge. I was only twenty yet my husband gave me complete control and an army of helpers. One day when I’m feeling stronger I’ll show you what I had done all those years ago, Catrina, as you’re interested.”

  “Indeed I am. I’d enjoy that very much, Mrs. McQuillan.”

  “It was Royce’s idea to construct the waterfall at the narrow end of the lagoon,” she said, looking down the dark polished table to her grandson.

  “A real brainwave.” Royce smiled, his glance resting on Carrie, who looked as colourful and shiny as a day lily. “I had boulders brought in from all over the station. God knows how the great landscape gardeners of centuries past managed without modern machinery to perform the Herculean tasks. I used bulldozers, backhoes, excavators, even the station helicopter. While we were at it we contoured the surrounds of the lagoon to make it even more attractive. Roughly five thousand litres of water a minute pass over the waterfall when the valve is fully open. The water supply comes from the dam behind the homestead. I’ll show you when I have the time.”

  “I’d love to see the waterfall in operation,” Carrie said, not sure of the exact nature of her feelings toward Royce McQuillan, but they were powerful.

  “You will,” he promised lazily. “Gran and I decided on a tree fern forest at that end, then with so much water about she hit on the idea of stepped terraces of water iris. There are millions of them, as you’ll see. Great beds of day lilies and arum lilies, too. My mother and Gran spent endless hours working out different themes for the grounds.”

  “Rosemary and I were such friends!” Louise McQuillan shook her head sadly. “The home gardens were our passion. If you want to see truly wonderful fruit and vegetable gardens then you’ll have to find your way to the rear of the house near the old stables. That’s where Rosemary truly reigned supreme. It was absolutely thrilling picking all the fruits and vegetables she had grown. The extraordinary thing was neither of us had any great expertise when we started. Just a great love of gardens.”

  “I couldn’t bear to break my fingernails,” Lindsey McQuillan volunteered languidly. “My pleasure is looking at the gardens, not breaking my back. Whilst we’re on the subject of gardens, I do hope you told Carrie about the snakes, Royce? That may very well bother her.”

  Louise McQuillan opened wide her eyes. “I’ve lived here for sixty years, without incident, Lindsey. Snakes do their best to keep out of the way. I can’t think Catrina would ever be foolish enough to try to pick one up?”

  “I’ll leave the snake charming to those who can handle it.” Catrina laughed. “Snakes or not, I’m enchanted with everything.”

  It wasn’t until they adjourned to the seating area for coffee that the general conversation turned to the specific as Lindsey decided to show her talent for investigation.

  “A little bird tells me you play the piano, Carrie,” she announced brightly, glancing closely at Carrie to see how she was taking this disclosure. “You’ll have easy access to one here. That’s if Gran will allow you to play her Steinway?”

  Carrie felt too shocked to be angry though the speed with which her confidence had been breached filled her with the sick realisation.
Royce McQuillan must have told this malicious woman all about her. Either Royce McQuillan or his grandmother. Whoever it was Carrie felt a jolt of betrayal.

  It must have showed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. How awful. You had an accident didn’t you?” Lindsey cried as though she only just recalled that piece of information.

  That appeared to arouse Royce’s disgust. “And how did you stumble on this?” he interjected before Lindsey could continue, not bothering to dissipate the hostility in his dark vibrant voice. “Don’t tell us.” He laughed without humour. “Sharon, through her willing stooge, Ina?”

  “But, Royce, I thought you liked Ina?” Lindsey eyed him mock quizzically. “I told you this morning I had a conversation with her. But you didn’t want to know about it.”

  The knowledge Royce McQuillan hadn’t confided in Lindsey did much to restore Carrie’s composure. “What I don’t understand is why either Mrs. Sharon McQuillan or her sister would be interested in me?” she queried.

  Lindsey laughed, a flash of white teeth between very red lips. “That’s simple, really. Sharon continues to be interested in any woman who comes into this house. You appear to have gone a little pale, Carrie. I do hope I haven’t upset you?”

  Carrie was quiet for a moment, considering. “You’ve surprised me, that’s all. I was hoping to forget my accident for a while.”

  Lindsey nodded sympathetically. “I can understand that, but surely it won’t go away?”

  “Lindsey, please!” Louise McQuillan looked distressed. “I do wish you would change the subject,” she requested. “Catrina is handling her own problems in her own way. I might mention here and now, Catrina,” she turned her small face to Carrie, “you’re more than welcome to go to the piano whenever you feel you can.”

  Carrie smiled at the old lady gratefully. “Thank you, Mrs. McQuillan. It’s not easy at the moment, as you can imagine.”

  “No, my dear,” Louise soothed. “But I know you will find courage.”

  At the sympathy and liking in the old lady’s voice, Lindsey’s jealousy cracked open. “Surely it isn’t that much of a tragedy?” she asked. “You can lead a full life.” She looked at Carrie challengingly. “It’s not as though you’ve lost a limb.”

  Suddenly her stepmother’s face came back to her. This was the sort of thing Glenda said. “I really don’t think you’d know much about it, Mrs. McQuillan,” Carrie answered quietly. “I’ve been very involved in my music all my life. I love it. I’ve trained for it. I could have had a career.”

  “Then it’s decidedly odd you accepted the post of governess,” Lindsey retaliated. “Whoever suggested it?” Her bright blue glance whipped from Carrie to Royce.

  “Don’t bother asking,” Royce said. “It’s none of your business, Lyn.”

  “That’s perfectly true.” Cameron McQuillan had taken overlong to curb his wife. “It might be best, too, if you don’t give Ina the slightest encouragement to gossip, Lyn. Sharon is not part of the family anymore.”

  “Someone should tell her.” Lindsey flushed at her husband’s mild reprimand. “It wasn’t as though I was asking for information about Miss Russell. It was volunteered. Personally I can’t see why the secrecy.”

  “I wasn’t aware Catrina kept any secret from me,” Royce drawled. He looked at Lindsey, his black eyes sardonic. “Catrina has to deal with the loss of a promising career. If she doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s her affair. When you’re talking to Ina next you might break some news to her. She won’t be on the guest list this Christmas.”

  “How drastic!” Lindsey sneered before she could help herself. “She lives for these visits. Like Sharon, she’ll never get you out of her system.”

  “As though I care about such things,” Royce told her with slow cruelty. “Gran, this can’t be very pleasant for you.”

  “On the contrary, it’s been delightful meeting Catrina.” Louise McQuillan smiled. “I’m hoping, Catrina, you won’t leave me to my solitude,” she said charmingly. “You must come visit me. We can talk.”

  “I’d like that, Mrs. McQuillan.” There was gratitude in Carrie’s golden eyes. She felt touched and honoured the old lady had made the effort to come down to dinner to meet her.

  “Now—” Louise McQuillan looked at her grandson once more, her delicate head shaking almost imperceptibly on its fragile neck “—my bed calls. I think you can help me upstairs, my darling.”

  “Sure, Gran.” Immediately Royce stood up, as did Cameron who went to his mother, bent over her and kissed her cheek.

  “Goodnight, Mother.”

  “Goodnight, Cameron, dear.” She patted his large, strong hand.

  Carrie excused herself after saying she was going for a walk leaving that extraordinarily ill-matched couple, Lindsey and Cameron McQuillan together to perhaps bicker lovingly. They didn’t appear to have a thing in common, but far more worrying to Carrie’s mind, was the fact Mrs. Lindsey McQuillan appeared far more attracted to her husband’s nephew than she ever was to him. A potential mine field? Almost unreal.

  It was with a feeling of relief Carrie found her way out to the huge lobby, from there taking the front stairs to the home gardens. It was a beautiful night, the vast landscape lit by a huge copper moon, the languorous golden moon of the tropics. She took the broad gravel path set with irregular-shaped paving stones that meandered around the house, intending to take a short walk before retiring. She had never in her life ventured into a garden of such immense proportions, a million blossoms scenting the night with their presence. Bright moonlight lit her way burnishing the shining, still waters of the lagoon. She was tempted to walk down to the water, it looked so inviting but decided until she knew more about her surroundings it would be better to stick literally to the garden path.

  It perturbed her Royce’s wife had gone to such lengths to check out her background. And so quickly. She must have spies everywhere. It hadn’t helped Ina’s cause, either, getting straight onto Lindsey to relay the findings. Three women all obsessing about the same man. Royce McQuillan very obviously was one of those men women found irresistible. It wasn’t just his handsomeness though “handsome” didn’t say it, it was his whole aura. She felt like she was unravelling more and more herself. Even her accident didn’t seem to matter as much as it had. Carrie pressed her injured finger, the little finger, against her warm cheek. She was far away from everyone she loved, her father, Melissa, Jamie and Liz. Far away from her friends. She could see how it was going to be with Lindsey McQuillan. No ally there. In fact, an enemy. Feeling the way she did about Royce McQuillan, why was Lindsey staying here? Surely it would be better for her and her husband to set up a home of their own. Their marriage had no chance of survival with Lindsey feeding on forbidden fantasies.

  Carrie continued to walk, lost in thought. She didn’t think she was going to have that much trouble discharging her duties as governess. Reggie, after an initial shaky start, had turned out to be surprisingly amenable. On their tour of the house she had been an engaging little companion with a knowledge of beautiful objects and far-off places far beyond her years.

  To ease the meal hour, Carrie had persuaded Mrs. Gainsford to cook morsels of fish in batter for Reggie’s tea served with chips and presented in a little basket lined with a strong paper napkin. Carrie who knew a little bit about napkin art then went to the trouble of making a waterlily for Reggie’s plate, later showing the child how she went about folding the napkin over and over before she was able to gently pull the corners upward to make the petals. Reggie had been fascinated, eating her meal with every evidence of enjoyment, something that pleased Mrs. Gainsford so much she went to a drawer, pulled out a large starched napkin and proceeded to fashion it into a bishop’s hat, which she set beside the waterlily. Reggie had clapped. Mrs. Gainsford had smiled. Simple little measures but they succeeded in making the mealtime quite pleasant.

  Some twenty or so minutes later Carrie, refreshed, her lungs filled with the pure night air, turned to retra
ce her steps, her eyes delighting in the spectacle of the house lit up like an ocean-going liner at night. This was such an experience for her. A tropical adventure. One she had never even imagined a little more than a week ago. She was finding out things she hadn’t even known about herself. Things inside her. Wild stirrings in the blood, the ravishing pleasure of just being able to look at a certain man. To study the planes and angles of his face. The set of his shoulders, the elegance and strength of his body. To listen to his voice. Get caught up in his smile. To sink near to drowning in the sparkle of his eyes. Her own extravagant feelings invested Lindsey McQuillan’s barely concealed longings with pathos. Here was a woman who had married a much older man for status then fallen in love with his nephew. What a recipe for disaster.

  Carrie was nearing the corner of the east wing outside the library when she saw through the open French doors a sight that froze her with dread. Royce McQuillan in a temper—or some flame of passion—was gripping Lindsey McQuillan by the shoulders, his striking face usually so vivid with life, taut with fury. She was staring up into his face, rapt, stupefied, begging? Her head with its short crop of blond hair flung back, in some turbulence of her own. Whatever words were passing between them, Carrie couldn’t catch but the body language was abundantly clear. Both were intensely aroused.

  The shock was so extreme Carrie felt as winded as if she’d been struck in the chest. She recoiled in misery, left the path and broke into a run clutching at the heart that had leapt up in her breast. This can’t be! she cried raggedly, talking out loud like a child. They can’t be having an affair. No matter what she saw, what she thought she saw, it couldn’t be true. For all he incited strong passions, she couldn’t see Royce McQuillan betraying his uncle.

  Where there was smoke there was fire, the night answered her.