Master of Maramba

by Margaret Way

  “And what exactly is your greeting?” Sharon countered fiercely. “You have no manners at all. Come here and kiss me.”

  “I don’t want to.” Reggie shuffled her feet, a child trying to protect herself from further abuse.

  “Reggie hasn’t had her breakfast, Mrs. McQuillan,” Carrie said, thinking it very necessary to get the little girl away. “I’ll take her to the kitchen.”

  “And who the bloody hell are you?” Sharon asked coldly.

  “She’s my governess,” Reggie shouted. “I love her and you give me the creeps.”

  Immediately Sharon was on her feet, rushing toward her daughter as though she intended to smack her, but before she could even make it halfway Royce McQuillan’s menacing voice brought her up short.

  “Cool it, Sharon, for God’s sake!” He strode into the room, a tall daunting figure dressed in his everyday working gear of bush shirt, bandana, silver-buckled belt laced into jeans, the cattleman’s elastic-sided riding boots on his feet. “Catrina—” he shot a piercing look at her “—take Reggie to the kitchen if she hadn’t had her breakfast.”

  “I’m going.” Lindsey flashed past him. “There’s no place for me.”

  “Not any longer, Lyn,” Royce McQuillan clipped off. “My family has received no loyalty from you.”

  “I never knew she was so mean,” Lindsey cried, pointing a finger at Sharon. “She’s mean, mean, mean. I’ve never known anyone so locked in on themselves.”

  “Let’s go, Reggie,” Carrie said to the little girl quietly, disturbed that the child was cowering against her. It wasn’t her spunky little Reggie.

  “Come on, sweetheart.”

  “How lucky you are to have this wonderful young woman as a governess, Royce,” Sharon cried. “Have you had her in your bed yet?”

  Carrie fled, keeping her hands over the little girl’s ears until they were well out of earshot. Inside the kitchen she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. “It’s all right, Reggie.”

  No response at all from Reggie but she continued to hold tightly to Carrie’s hand. “Come on, love, let’s make a smoothie,” Carrie suggested, her voice as soft as velvet.

  “I’m ashamed of my mother,” Reggie said, suddenly responding to Carrie’s stroking her head. “Isn’t she awful?”

  Perfectly odious, Carrie thought, but she couldn’t possibly say. “She’s angry about something, Reggie. Anger makes people out of tune with the world.”

  “I hope I don’t have to go and live with her.”

  “I’m sure your father won’t allow anything you don’t want, Reggie.” Carrie rubbed the little fingers between her own. Good fingers, very nimble. What had happened to her couldn’t stand in the way of her helping others. She could teach Reggie to play. It could make the little girl very happy.

  They were standing at the blender when Mrs. Gainsford hurried back into the kitchen. “My goodness!” She turned a panic-stricken face to them, chewing hard on her lip. It was obvious she was about to say more but Carrie signalled her with a shake of her head not to. “It’s a pawpaw smoothie this morning, Mrs. Gainsford,” she tried to speak normally. “This one is perfect. It looks like you’ve just picked it.”

  “I did, dear. It survived the storm. It’s the bats that are the problem. We have to keep the fruit covered.” The housekeeper hurried over, smiling at Reggie. “What about a scoop of ice cream in it this morning?” Her voice was as gentle as either Carrie or the child had heard it.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gainsford,” Reggie said.

  “Carrie, I left a basket of fresh eggs on the chinese table in the hall.” Mrs. Gainsford turned her head. “Would you mind getting them for me, dear?”

  “No problem.” Carrie could see the housekeeper was deeply embarrassed and unwilling to venture outside her own domain. “I’ll be back in a moment, Reggie.”

  “I’ll look after her,” Mrs. Gainsford said, going to the refrigerator. “Coconut or caramel ice cream, Regina?”

  Very quietly Carrie made her way outside, hearing Sharon cry out, “I don’t care what you think… You’re the big man. So powerful! But this is one time you don’t have any power over me because Regina isn’t yours. She’s not your child!”

  In the ringing silence that followed Carrie felt too paralysed to move away.

  “Watch out for me, Sharon,” Royce McQuillan said in a voice so deadly Carrie came out of her stupor.

  She found herself rushing down the corridor to the dining room trying to hold to her promise to Louise McQuillan to keep the family safe. She could hear Sharon babbling on almost incoherently, as she burst into the room.

  “What are you trying to do, Mrs. McQuillan?” Carrie cried. “Reggie might hear you. I tell you you’ll break her heart.”

  “You have to leave here, Sharon,” Royce McQuillan said. “That means today. I sure don’t know what your real reason for coming here was.”

  That was too much for Sharon. She burst out laughing. “Why to check out your little girlfriend, darling. Lyn told me she’d fallen in love with you just like the others.”

  “Did she tell you I’ve fallen in love with Catrina?” he rasped. “Of course not. Neither of you would want to believe it. But I’ve finally found out about love. It took a while.”

  Sharon blanched. “You just want her because she’s young and beautiful. It will wear off, I promise.”

  Whatever Royce intended to say it was forestalled by Mrs. Gainsford’s shout.

  “Regina!” she cried.

  Only she had seen the little girl race through the front door, moaning to herself at what she had heard.

  The housekeeper cried out again in a blind panic, consumed by guilt for having turned her back for a minute, only this time all three adults had converged on the lobby, Royce demanding of the woman what was going on.

  Carrie knew. She couldn’t explain how she knew. But she knew. “The lagoon.” She flung a glance of such anxiety at Royce he took to his heels with Carrie racing after him, fear lending her wings.

  They both looked on in total anguish as the child ran headlong down the slope, not stumbling as they desperately hoped, but making swiftly, surely for the glittering emerald waters of the lagoon.

  “Reggie!” Royce McQuillan shouted with the full force of his lungs. “Stop. Reggie, stop.” His face contorted with dread.

  But the little girl ran on, plunging into the lake and disappearing instantly from view.

  “Reggie!” Carrie screamed in an agony. This couldn’t be happening. This was anyone’s nightmare.

  Royce with his galvanic burst of speed far outstripped her so she was able to watch him dive into the lagoon where he, too, disappeared as the sparkling waters of the lagoon closed over him.

  Carrie ran on desperately, propelled without incident across the thick grass, still soggy from the storm. When she reached the water she fell into it, surprised at its depth, then dived. Crystal-clear on top, beneath was terrifyingly murky sediment rising from the bottom now that three bodies were in the water. She shot to the surface to take a breath, preparing to dive again only Royce rose from the middle of the lagoon with the child in his arms.

  “Oh, thank God!” the words were ripped from her throat. Frantically Carrie swam toward them but he urged her back. “Get out of the water, Carrie,” he called. “Get a blanket.”

  Somehow Jada was there, spreading a rug on the grass as Royce emerged with the child and immediately began to put his training into practice. Big stations were life and death places. It wasn’t the first time he’d been on hand at a near drowning. There was no sign of Sharon. Mrs. Gainsford and Lindsey huddled together a distance away, both of them looking white and shocked, overcome by the drama.

  While they all prayed, Royce started CPR, continuing until Reggie began to splutter and retch up lagoon water.

  Carrie was on her knees beside the child, tears pouring down her cheeks, whispering over and over, “Reggie!” She thought she had endured agony with the loss of her career y
et here was a little girl so damaged by adult cruelty she had given up on life. It put everything into perspective.

  Racing down the slope came Royce’s overseer, with two of the stockman and the young jackeroo, Tim Barton. All of them looked deeply shocked.

  “God, Royce!” the overseer spoke. “Will we get a doctor?”

  “She’s all right now. I don’t think she needs one.” Royce turned his head to speak to them. “She wasn’t in the water long but I’ll get her up to the house and tucked into bed.” He rose with the little girl in his arms, his handsome face showing all the signs of a profound anger and distress. “Carrie, get that rug around you.” He turned his head, his eyes whipping over her.

  Tim moved swiftly, settling the rug Jada passed him around Carrie’s shoulders. She was paper-white with shock. Tim felt helpless. What had gone on here this morning? They all knew the ex-wife, Sharon, was on the station. For a beautiful woman, and Tim had met Sharon McQuillan twice in his life, there wasn’t one person he knew who liked her, including his own father. More important, where was the mother now? Tim looked around. No sign of her. Why wasn’t she holding her child? Why wasn’t she crying as Carrie was? Nothing made sense to Tim. He looked on with mingled horror and fascination. This was one dysfunctional family! For all he admired the coolest dude he had ever met in his life. Royce McQuillan.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT TOOK weeks for Reggie to recover from her ordeal. Years later with Reggie, happy and confident, performing brilliantly both academically and with her music studies, both Carrie and Royce considered the healing began with the piano lessons. The cover of the Steinway had come off and Carrie began to teach the little girl to play. Carrie wasn’t looking for big results. This was therapy; an all-out effort to divert Reggie’s mind from her sad thoughts. What Carrie hadn’t expected was for Reggie to take to the keyboard like a duck takes to water, so by Christmas of that momentous year Reggie was eagerly looking forward to her lessons which she had twice a day to make progress swift.

  Without slowing down to identify notation—that could come later—Carrie played little pieces, letting the child watch her hands. As a crash course it had big results. More satisfying to Carrie was the way Reggie showed every sign of being a “true” musician, wrapping herself in an armchair every time Carrie sat down to play, her small face intent and filled with delight. Their music became a marvellous common ground. Indeed Carrie’s playing caused family spirits to soar. Even the workers around the homestead found it difficult not to stop work and listen.

  As for Sharon, ashen-faced and badly shaken, she had flown out of Maramba the same afternoon as “Reggie’s dip,” which was the way the family, including Reggie, referred to it. The whole incident of necessity had to be played down. But before departing Sharon had emptied out all her own bitter resentments telling them all near hysterically, she didn’t blame herself in the least for what had happened. She felt no responsibility for what Reggie had overheard. The child was an inveterate eavesdropper, picking up things she was never intended to hear. Redemption for Sharon may have lain in acceptance and remorse. Sharon chose the stony path of denial. Whatever transpired between Royce and his ex-wife, Carrie never did find out. All she did learn was Sharon had given up all claim to her child. There was no place in Sharon’s busy life for Reggie. Her birth had been “a terrible accident.” As far as Sharon was concerned, Reggie could continue to be brought up as a McQuillan. No one was going to hear the story from her. She had a reputation to guard after all. Royce swore she actually said that. Sharon had no sense of irony.

  The greatest hurdle lay in Royce’s explaining to Reggie just how life was, and the reasons he had kept so much from her, even allowing for her tender years. Royce was able to do this during a quiet discussion with the disturbed little girl, who had all but disappeared behind a fortress in an effort to protect herself. Nevertheless he managed to convince her she was his little girl “by choice.” So he wasn’t her birth father? They both had to accept that. But in every other respect she was. She was his daughter. He loved her. He wanted her. He would have had a huge problem with her going away with her mother.

  As the weeks went by Reggie, mature beyond her years, came within reaching distance of acceptance. She was Regina McQuillan. Maramba was her home. Royce was her dad. She even began to call him that, tentatively at first then it became second nature. Carrie, it became abundantly clear, was very important in the scheme of things. Reggie looked to her for guidance, support and unstinting affection.

  At the dawn of Christmas morning, just as they planned, Royce and Carrie took the horses and rode out to the open savannah that stretched away in all directions. This was private time for themselves. Time they desperately needed as their hunger for each other was profound. The homestead was full of Royce’s relatives and more were expected to fly in later on in the morning. The extended McQuillan family always made a big thing of Christmas, coming back to the ancestral home for the celebration. This year Cameron and Lindsey would be missing from the festivities. They were currently in Europe enjoying an extended holiday. The matriach, Louise McQuillan who was feeling so much better these days with many burdens off her mind was greatly looking forward to a week long of family. All everyone wanted was for the rain to hold off. This was the start of the Wet. The wild bush heralded it by putting on a phenomenal floral display.

  For some miles Royce and Carrie rode over dense wild green herbage scattered with countless little mauve and violet wildflowers. Parrots flashed by in their legions, their colours more brilliant than precious jewels, landing a distance ahead to feed on the abundant seeds and the sea of grasses whose multitude of greens changed shades with the direction of the dawn wind. The peace of the morning was magical. Across the vast open valley sleek Brahmins stood belly-high in the vivid green grasses, turning their heads slowly at their presence. The big muster involving all hands was over in readiness for the Wet. The cattle had been brought in from all points of the station.

  On the return ride they came to a curving lagoon where the air was heavy with the scent of wild passionfruit. Prolific vines moored an old fence that had once been part of a holding yard, the globular fruit gleaming a rich purple in the sunlight.

  “I want to show you something.” Royce turned his head to speak to Carrie, a kind of urgency in his voice. “We can dismount over there by the fig.” He pointed to a massive tree with soaring flying buttresses.

  Ducks and black swans in among the pink waterlilies on the sparkling sheet of water, the lilies held their heads high above the water. Some were delicately flushed with red. It gave Carrie a near mystical experience as pleasure flooded through her. She slipped down into Royce’s waiting arms. This could only happen once in a lifetime, she thought. If at all. Every time he looked at her it was like actual physical contact. When he did touch her, her whole body sang. It was as if she had shed an outer layer of skin, revealing another all satiny new, infinitely susceptible to sensation. She had never felt voluptuous in her life. Now she revelled in her own skin. And all because of this man.

  He bent his head to kiss her until she was shaking in his arms. “Last night the urge to come to you was so bad I spent most of it pacing the floor,” he confessed. “I love you, Catrina. No one else will do,” he proclaimed, his brilliant eyes holding hers.

  “So there is such a thing as perfect love?” she whispered, her arms locking around his neck.

  “Don’t let anyone tell you any different,” he answered, enchanted by her response. “You’ve changed my life. You are my life. What I can’t take is not being your lover.” He reached into the breast pocket of his shirt, pulling out a small box. He looked down into her face as a man looks at a woman he loves and wants. “This says marry me.”

  “Does it?” Carrie heard her voice quiver before she started to cry.

  “Darling!” He gathered her to him, rocking her gently in his arms. “You mustn’t do that. I want to make you happy.”

  “But you do!” Carr
ie dashed the emotional tears from her eyes. “I love you with all my heart.”

  “So open the box,” he urged, his deep voice indulgent. “I can’t wait to hear what you think. I had the jeweller send me designs. I specified the stones. This is the result.”

  Carrie opened the box, releasing a little gasp. “I’m dreaming!”

  “No you’re not,” he said vibrantly, the radiance of her expression taking his breath away.

  “It’s so beautiful, Royce. So precious.” She stared up at him with huge golden eyes.

  “It’s exactly the ring for you.” He took her left hand, kissed it, then slid home her engagement ring. It was of exquisite design, featuring a superb central stone, the famous Argyle cognac coloured diamond from Western Australia, flanked by glittering ice white pave set diamonds in a white-gold band. It was a very beautiful, valuable ring. “The cognac diamond, beautiful as it is, is no match for your eyes,” he told her, catching their glitter.

  “Oh, Royce!” She was consumed by a euphoria that had her hiding her head against his chest. “Thank you. Thank you. I love it. I love you.”

  He let her sob for a full minute before laughter and a wonderful warmth got the better of him.

  “Catrina, sweetheart!” He grasped a handful of her hair, making her look up.

  “Don’t you know women cry when they’re ecstatic?” she asked him. “It’s almost the rule.”

  His low laugh was full of an answering love and a certain exultance. “I can just picture you when our son is born.”

  “Oh, yes!” Carrie breathed, throwing up her arms to the cloudless blue heavens in one graceful sweep. “How is it possible to love someone so much?” she marvelled.

  His response was thrilling and immediate. “I’ll show you when we’re curled up in bed,” he promised tenderly.

  Like an omen, a breeze sprang up from nowhere. It shook out the flowering gums that grew near the lagoon, scattering them with golden blossom that settled on their hair and their shoulders. Exactly like confetti.