The English Bride

by Way, Margaret

  An oasis in the desert. Ferns and palms and the ancient cycads, their emerald-greens contrasting with the fiery red walls of the cliffs and the deep sapphire sky.

  An oasis. Lushness in the arid spinifex plains.

  It mightn’t be the natural environment for a rose but roses survived and flourished in the sheltered gardens of Kimbara, which relied on bores that had been sunk deep in the Great Artesian Basin. It had taken generations for the gardens at Kimbara to flourish. Generations, a great deal of time and money, a dedication that had filled Kimbara’s women’s souls.

  In his grandfather’s day the gardens at Opal had been significant though they had never rivalled Kimbara’s. He remembered his mother working hard to keep the gardens going. He remembered her talking about the difficulties. It had taken such a short time for Opal’s gardens to die after their mother had been taken so cruelly from them. But Ally would bring them back. Ally was a doer. Ally and Francesca. Cousins. And great friends.

  He began to imagine Francesca walking through the gardens love would create in the desert. Francesca in a microclimate. In an oasis of fragrant flowers. Surely if he could create an oasis for her she could not only survive but thrive. Go forward, a voice in his head told him. You can only go forward. You can’t go back.

  The cast and crew were taking a break from filming when he arrived at the homestead early midafternoon. All these strange people in his family home. But they were paying well and Bush Rescue would get a very welcome injection of funds. Fee saw him first as he pulled the Jeep off the circular driveway into the shade of the trees, waiting for him at the top of the steps.

  “Hello there, Grant, darling,” she called, the incomparable Fee completely at home in her elaborate get-up that had to be stifling in the heat. “We’ve missed you. How did it go?”

  He bent to kiss the cheek she extended to him, a thin layer of the heavy make-up used for filming smearing his lips. “Sorry, darling.” Fee produced a handkerchief from somewhere in her deep violet costume, dabbing at his mouth.

  “It’s all right, Fee,” he reassured her casually. “It’ll come off. In answer to your question, things went well. TCR and Cameron Airways are not far away from signing a deal. The lawyers will work it out. Where’s everybody?”

  Fee gestured gracefully towards the house. “Taking a break. It’s hot work as you can imagine, consequently tempers are getting a little frayed. I came out to catch whatever breeze there is. Apart from that things are moving along nicely. Francesca has been the truly big surprise. She’s amazingly good.”

  “Why wouldn’t she be?” Grant countered breezily, feeling Fee hadn’t been giving Francesca enough credit. “She is your daughter.”

  They were all over the main reception rooms so Grant decided on going immediately to his room, changing his clothes, then looking in on Francesca and Ngaire on his way back. He sent a searching glance through the drawing room nevertheless hoping to catch a glimpse of Francesca. He wondered what she would look like in period costume. That tiny waist his hands could span, her beautiful hair dressed in unfamiliar fashion. He couldn’t wait to see her on the footage they had shot. It was a pity he’d had to go off as shooting started but he couldn’t have cancelled his meeting with Drew. It was too important.

  They were sitting side by side on an old Victorian love seat. Richards obviously feeling the need to hold Francesca’s hands in his. He had his dark head bent to her, speaking earnestly, while she listened as attentive as any man could possibly wish. She was the embodiment of Lucinda in her dark grey gown, the bodice tightly buttoned, a show of cream near the throat, the heavy full skirt spread out across the rose velvet. Her glorious Titian hair was drawn back severely from her face from a centre parting with some kind of thick roll at the back. The hair style and get-up reminded him of how they had tried to make Olivia de Havilland plain for the part of Melanie in Gone with the Wind. Never succeeding. Both de Havilland and Francesca had such sweetness of expression quite apart from the lovely features that could never be denied.

  And just because he was the screenwriter did that give Richards the right to go into a huddle with Francesca? Surely Ngaire, who was nowhere to be seen, should be handling the direction? Grant had thought he would be overjoyed to see Francesca again, thought they would greet each other like they’d been parted for years. Instead here she was lifting her head to stare soulfully into Richards’s eyes while Richards stared back at her, clearly under her spell.

  What the hell was going on? Grant fumed. Whatever it was it ripped the heart out of him. He broke his glance, striding off towards his bedroom, his earlier mood of excitement and anticipation replaced by one he barely recognised as jealousy. Not that he had time for any of it, he thought grimly. He had work to do. Bob Carlton was a tower of strength to him but he couldn’t leave him carrying the load. Also Bob would be anxious to hear all about his meeting with Forsythe.

  Dressed in his everyday uniform of khaki bush shirt and trousers, he went back through the house, hearing voices from the formal dining room he and Rafe never used while they were on their own. Obviously they were back at work. Not that he was about to interrupt. Not now. In his absence he had arranged for one of his men to ferry Francesca, Fee, Ngaire and Richards back to Kimbara at the end of the day’s shoot and the leading man when he arrived—he could have for all Grant knew. The male film crew elected to stay close to their equipment, bunking down in the stockmen’s quarters, and taking their meals there.

  The women, four in all, wardrobe and make-up had taken over a bungalow, which had been made as comfortable as possible by a couple of the station wives. Over the period of time it took to finish the outback scenes, the wives were assisting the camp cook who could produce dishes every bit as good as those many city chefs could offer. Opal staff worked very hard. Opal staff deserved to be fed very well. It was essential to keep up their energy level and good spirits. It was mandatory as well, to ensure station guests were well catered for.

  Grant stalked off realising he had to return before sunset if he wanted to see Francesca at all. He had planned on ferrying them back to Kimbara himself but something about Richards’s proprietorial attitude and Francesca’s seeming quiescence had set him off. It shamed him and made him angry he could be so jealous. A feeling entirely new to him and something he didn’t want to accept. He realised with a kind of despair this was another thing that went along with passion. He didn’t like Richards’s intimacy with his girl!

  Fee waited until she and Francesca were getting out of their heavy costumes, handing them over to Liz Forbes, from wardrobe, before she mentioned Grant had arrived home.

  “You mean he never came in to say hello?” Francesca turned sharply towards her mother, feeling a clutch of dismay on two accounts: Fee had neglected to tell her and Grant hadn’t called in.

  “I thought he would,” said Fee taking off her wig and placing it carefully on the dummy.

  “Perhaps he didn’t want to interrupt us,” Francesca suggested, trying to rid herself of the notion Grant hadn’t missed her as much as she had missed him.

  “We were taking a break at the time,” Fee protested. “Don’t be upset, darling.” Fee began to brush her own hair out. “He’s probably had lots to attend to. The meeting in Brisbane went well.”

  “Couldn’t you have told me earlier, Mamma?” Francesca asked reproachfully, not appreciating the fact Fee seemed to be working underground to drive a wedge between herself and Grant.

  Fee shook her head. “Darling girl when you’re in character it’s best not to have any outside distractions. I’m proud of what you’re doing. You’re very good you know.”

  But Francesca wasn’t to be diverted. “I think you planned it, Mamma.” She looked her mother in the eye, seeing no sign of apology on Fee’s still stunning face. “You like Grant. At least I thought you did but you’re doing your level best to create divisions.”

  “Darling girl, I’m not the enemy here,” Fee exclaimed. “I don’t want you to ruin y
our life.” Tears suddenly filled Fee’s eyes and she made no attempt to blink them away. “I do like Grant. He’s an admirable young man but I just can’t see he’s for you.”

  “Okay so who is?” Francesca challenged, more aware than anyone her mother could call up tears at will. “Don’t leave it up in the air. Who?”

  “Jimmy,” Fee’s response was instantaneous as though she’d come up with a crucial piece of information. “Jimmy Waddington. Surely you can’t have forgotten him? Jimmy will make you happy.”

  Francesca concentrated hard on not getting angry. “How’s that?”

  “Darling, he knows you so well,” Francesca cried with more than a touch of theatre. “He understands you. You’ve been great friends since you were children. Be honest now, weren’t you in love with him?”

  “I didn’t know what love was.” Francesca shook her head. “I’m very fond of Jimmy but fondness isn’t what changes your life.”

  “Maybe not,” Fee admitted. “Being in love is wonderful at the time but it doesn’t last. Lord, child I should know.”

  It had to be said. “I’m not frivolous like you, Mamma.”

  Fee opened her eyes wide. Francesca didn’t realise it but she sounded exactly like her father. “Darling, couldn’t you be more respectful?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t agree. Anyway Jimmy doesn’t understand me. He doesn’t think I have a serious thought in my head.”

  “What nonsense!” Fee gave the impression she was shocked. “You know perfectly well he thinks you’re a wonderful girl. More importantly you have the same background. Your father has hand-picked Jimmy for your husband.”

  “Father’s not the expert on marriage, either,” Francesca said. “Anyway fathers have no right to do that.”

  “You can face him with that?” Fee challenged, locking her daughter’s gaze.

  “It wouldn’t be easy, but yes.” Francesca gave a long-suffering sigh. “What are you trying to suggest anyway, Mamma? In refusing Jimmy I’m betraying Father. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Fee stared off for a moment. “Please don’t raise your voice, darling. Ngaire and Glenn are still about. I’m the last person in the world to want to upset you. I love you, but I must point out Grant in many respects is an unknown entity.”

  “After all these years?” Francesca gave a wry little laugh.

  “Darling, you met him briefly when you came for visits,” Fee pointed out. “You didn’t really get to know one another until recent times.”

  “So you don’t recommend him as a husband?” Francesca said. “Be frank.”

  Fee reached into her handbag and pulled out her eau de cologne. “I’m sure he’ll make a delightful husband but maybe a difficult one, too. He’s very ambitious. Hungry for success.”

  “He’s a success already, Mamma,” Francesca said in a pained voice. “Grant told me he wants to give something to his country, to his community. I believe him. The Camerons have money already. Money isn’t the motivating factor with Grant.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, darling,” Fee said with hard irony.

  “I’m not being ridiculous.” Francesca shook her head. “Money is fine. Everyone welcomes it but I know Grant means what he says. He wants to do things. He has a vision. Don’t please tell me Jimmy has one.”

  “At least you’ll be able to handle him,” Fee said in a voice that suggested Francesca wouldn’t be able to handle Grant. “Come on, darling,” she coaxed as Francesca turned away from her. “I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you but I’m trying to do the right thing. At least give yourself time. I know all about dynamic men. They sweep you off your feet, but before you know where you are—”

  “Please, Mamma.” Francesca signalled she had had enough. “You’re so used to thinking of me as your little girl…you can’t see I’m an adult. I can’t depend on you or Father to make my decisions for me.”

  “Even when there’s so much at stake?” Fee pleaded, using her full voice. “Your happiness? Your well-being?”

  “May I speak now, Mamma?” Francesca asked. “Even then. This is the most serious relationship of my life. If I’m ready to take the leap Grant is reflecting on things long and hard. In fact it might ease your mind to know he, too, is considering our relationship might be dead wrong.”

  Fee frowned deeply as though no one was permitted to think such a thing of her daughter. “My darling, don’t you see you could fight about everything! I see a huge contrast between you two,” she said.

  “Then you don’t know Grant or me as well as you think,” said Francesca.

  Grant did return to ferry them home but Grant and Francesca never had the chance of a private word until they reached Kimbara homestead and the others had gone inside.

  “Couldn’t you stay, Grant?” Rebecca, who had been standing with them on the verandah asked. “Do you have to rush away?”

  “Actually I do, Rebecca.” Grant softened his refusal with a smile. “I have to be ready for a big job on Laura tomorrow. Thanks anyway. Give my best to Brod when he comes in. Tell him everything went well.”

  “That’s great. I know he’ll be thrilled for you.” Rebecca smiled, a sparkle in her eyes. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. You’re coming to Fee’s book launch aren’t you?”

  “Well I’m thinking about it,” Grant said.

  “You have to!” Rebecca insisted. “It’ll be lovely for the four of us to go out together one night while we’re in Sydney. You and Fran. Brod and I. See if you can pull out all the stops.”

  “I’ll try!” Grant sketched her a salute. “Rebecca is looking radiant,” he said, when he and Francesca were alone.

  Francesca raised a delicate eyebrow. “Is that really so surprising? She’s head over heels in love with her husband.”

  “Then she has excellent taste.” Grant allowed his eyes to dwell on her. The slant of her blue eyes, the curve of the lid, the line of her cheek, the clean cut of her jaw, the exquisite shape of her mouth. She’d creamed off all the heavy film make-up and her beautiful skin had a slightly shiny lustre. “How are you?” he asked, wanting to tilt her face to him and kiss it. Amazed he didn’t.

  “A bit down in the dumps,” Francesca admitted. “Why didn’t you come in and say hello when you arrived?”

  He raised a sardonic eyebrow. “Because I didn’t want to interrupt your little coaching session with Richards.”

  “You’re kidding!” Whatever she imagined, it wasn’t that.

  “Never more serious actually. I glanced into the drawing room only to find the two of you on that old love seat, tenderly holding hands.”

  “Could it be your eyes were deceiving you?”

  “No.”

  Francesca glanced up at him quickly, her eyes searching out his mood. “If it were anyone else but you I’d say you were jealous.”

  “Not overly. You don’t think I’m capable of being jealous?” he asked, iridescent eyes narrowing over her.

  “You wouldn’t allow yourself to go so far. Now let’s see. We were sitting on the love seat. I’m trying to cast my mind back.”

  “Cocooned in your own little world,” he prompted. “Richards has his head bent to you. You were staring up soulfully at him. It was one hell of a scene!”

  It must have been to cause such a reaction. “Now I remember. I’m just a beginner, Grant,” she explained patiently. “Green as they come. There’s so much I don’t know. Practically all of it. Glenn has been very kind to me.”

  “Kinder than Ngaire?” he asked suavely. “I thought she was the director. Isn’t it her task to correct any mistakes? Smooth over all the little rough bits.”

  “Ngaire helps me as well,” she told him briskly. “Everyone does. They give me all the support I need.”

  “So you’re loving it then?” Because I missed you like hell.

  “I think I’ll look back on it as a very worthwhile experience,” Francesca said. “But I’m not taking it too seriously. And what about you? I want to hear all about your me
etings with Drew. How’s Eve by the way? Did you manage to see her?”

  He nodded. “Eve’s fine. She sent her best regards. They entertained me royally. Two nights. A dinner party at their beautiful home. Then Pavarotti and Friends in Concert. Our meetings went very well. Drew and I are on the same wavelength. Let’s walk down to the chopper?” He took her arm, wondering how things could go so easily wrong, when he desperately wanted to hold her close. “I called in on an architect while I was there. Drew recommended him.”

  Her head seemed to explode with stars. “Really? Now you know something funny? I dreamt that you did.”

  He squeezed her delicate upper arm. “Francesca you’re not acting?”

  “No I’m not. I don’t tell fibs. I actually did dream w—” she could hardly give herself away “—you and an architect were speaking together. It was quite a vivid dream. I’ve thought about it a lot. As a matter of fact I’ve had a lot of fun sketching some designs. You might like to see them some time.”

  “Run and get them now,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

  The high colour of excitement came into her cheeks. “I want us to look at them together.”

  “Then come back to Opal with me tonight,” he said with quiet intensity. “I want to be near you. Make love to you. Open all the doors and curtains so the moonlight will fall on your beautiful, luminous skin.”

  She hesitated, half-poised to run back to the homestead. “Sometimes you’re crazy.”

  He gave her an ironic look. “You don’t want to come?”

  “You know I do.” Her breathing softly rasped. “I missed you terribly.”