Francesca opened her mouth, closed it, then said stiffly, ‘If l overreacted to being kept waiting for what seemed—I have to be be honest—-an inordinately long time, I apologise.’
‘Go on,’ he murmured.
‘On? What more do you want me to say?’
‘I was wondering how you might try to cajole me into flying you out.’
Francesca closed her eyes and cautioned herself to stay cool. ‘Well…’ She paused, then shrugged. ‘You have the option of flying me out to Cairns at the going rate, Mr Stevensen, or not. It’s up to you .’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘Then it sounds like a night at the pub for me until I can arrange something else because if you think I intend to grovel at your feet,’ Francesca said softly, ‘You’re wrong.’
‘Not the pub.’ Susan spoke for the first time in a fairly desperate, bewildered sort of way. ‘I mean, it’s full of stranded truck drivers and tourists. Raefe,’ she added on an anxious, entreating note, and glanced at Francesca.
For the first time Raefe Stevensen’s grey eyes softened as they rested on the girl’s face. ‘Sorry, Susie,’ he said. ‘That was a bit rough on you. Uh…call Bill, will you? He’s in the hangar and he’s scheduled to take the Beechcraft down to Cairns this afternoon. Tell him to leave as soon as he can.’
‘Rough on you,’ Francesca heard herself repeating somewhat dazedly, and added, ‘I think I must be going round the bend! I mean, I’m sorry too, Susie, but—’ She broke off and shook her head disbelievingly.
‘It’s all right, Miss Valentine, ’ Susan said hastily.
Whereupon Raefe Stevensen grinned and murmured, ‘It seems you have one fan, Chessie, despite your high-handed ways,’
‘Don’t call me that,’ Francesca warned grimly. ‘How would you like to be paid? I have as credit card, or—’
‘I’m sure you have the lot,’ he drawled.
Francesca, in the act of opening her purse, which did indeed hold an impressive array of credit cards, paused, then tossed her head and laid the open purse down on the desk. ‘You’re quite right. Take your pick, Mr Stevensen.’
‘Well, Chessie Valentine, I think I might give you this one on the house,’ he said. ‘The plane was going to Cairns anyway, and one more piece of—baggage—is not going to make any difference. You should be able to take off within an hour. Good day to you—I’m about to fly off myself. I don’t suppose we’ll meet again, which might be a good thing. Should be back. in a couple of hours, Susie.’ And he strolled out of the office without a backward glance.
Francesca barely restrained herself from picking up her purse and flinging it at his retreating back.
She put up at the luxurious Cairns International that night, after finding herself. unexpectedly exhausted, although the flight by Banyo Air to Cairns had been uneventful.
But the next morning she woke to find herself in a different mood altogether. She got up early, showered, wrapped herself in a cool, silky robe and ordered breakfast. While she was eating a delicious mango she knew. she should be getting on to one of the commercial airlines to fly her south, but in fact she couldn’t tear her mind from the events of the previous day, and the humiliation she’d suffered at the hands of one Raefe Stevensen.
What surprised her, though, was the fact that she was possessed of almost equal desires not only to avenge herself but to prove him wrong. Why? she wondered. A lot of people out there assume I’m a rich bitch. It comes with the territory—especially when you have a father like mine…
She flinched, and got up to examine the view from her window. But no view of Cairns could distract her from the truth, which was that, after her mother’s death when she was six, her father had taken a series of mistresses—some nice, some ghastly—and the only shield between herself and them had been years at an exclusive boarding-school. Years of yearning for a normal family life until she’d grown a protective shell that was both brittle and bright and sometimes outrageous.
I know it, she thought. I know I can be impossible, and I suppose it’s really ironic that when I am impossible I emulate the very worst side of my father, who I basically despise, but that’s not all there is to me.
Still…she grimaced…I must have acquired more of a reputation for being a chip off the old block than I realised, and I certainly must have acquired more of a reputation for being a dilettante, not to mention glamorous but useless, than I realised if people buried in the wilds of Far North Queensland have heard about me.
Mind you, she countered to herself, I can’t be held responsible for the fact that the reason I came to be at Wirra got wildly distorted, and why should I care what one insufferably arrogant man thinks of me?
She returned to the breakfast table with the uncomfortable knowledge that she did care, even if she couldn’t understand why. Her hands stilled as she started to butter a piece of toast, and a gleam came to her blue eyes. Now, Chessie, don’t rush into this, she told herself, but a few moments later she reached for the phone to call Reception and advise them that she required a fax machine. Then she made several calls to Melbourne, her home town—only one of them being to do with the parts required for the malfunctioning Wirra helicopter.
An hour later the faxes started to roll in satisfactorily. Two hours later she dressed carefully in her most conservative clothes.
She chose cream linen trousers, a cream and green checked blouse and polished brown moccasins. She tied her rich hair back demurely with a green ribbon and she wore no jewellery other than her signet ring and a man’s plain watch with a leather band. She applied no make-up.
She folded her faxes carefully and tucked them into her shoulder bag. She then took the lift to the foyer where the head porter, with sweeping bows, procured a taxi for her and directed it to the offices of the Acme Employment Agency.
‘I believe,’ she said to the lady behind the desk at Acme, ‘that there is as governess position available at Bramble Downs—the Stevensen family. I happened to hear about it and, since I have teaching qualifications and I’m on a working holiday in this part of the world, I thought of applying for it.’ The woman, whose name-tag labelled her as Joyce Cotton, blinked, then smote her forehead. ,‘Glory be! I was getting quite desperate! Poor Mrs Elle has broken her wrist, and as if that isn’t bad enough she’s just rung me to say the cook’s gone walkabout. She really needs help urgently now, but they have very high standards and it’s just not that easy to find quality staff —or any kind of staff,’ she added honestly, ‘for these stations.
‘Then there are floods up there, I believe, so Raefe Stevensen—he’s the girl’s father—is going to be desperately busy and can’t be home. Mind you, I’ll have to check you out before I can—’
‘Of course,’ Francesca said, and just thinking of Raefe Stevensen and the way he’d kept her waiting with no sign of being desperately busy, let alone the way he’d kissed her, helped her to say without a twinge, ‘My name is Fran Moorehouse, and I’ve brought along copies of my references and so on. You’re welcome to check them out.’
Not that I’m really telling a lie, she mused, having been christened Francesca Moorehouse Valentine—Moorehouse was her mother’s maiden name. And Fran Moorehouse was a name she often used to escape notice.
To do Joyce Cotton credit, she diligently checked most of them by phone, then said, ‘Right, Fran, I think that will do. Now there’s only the problem of getting you up there. What a pity it’s not yesterday! Raefe had a plane land in Cairns, I believe, but anyway, I’ll get on to him straight away. You can— ’
‘Joyce,’ Francesca interrupted, ‘where exactly is Bramble Downs? I’ll tell you why I’m asking: I have a four-wheel drive, and if it’s at all possible to drive myself up there I’d rather do that than have to find somewhere to leave it.’
Joyce Cotton frowned, then pulled out a large-scale map. ‘It’s at least a six-hour drive from here, Fran, on difficult roads. And then there are the floods—but they may not have reached… Look, I don�
��t know about this,’ she finished anxiously. ‘On the other hand, if it saved Raefe a trip…’
Francesca studied the map and noted that Bramble Downs was on the east coast of the peninsula and about two hundred miles south of the town and airstrip she’d flown from yesterday.
‘Could…?’ She paused and frowned. ‘Perhaps I could get a road report from the RACQ? ‘They should have up-to-date information.’
Joyce brightened and reached for the phone. It transpired that Bramble Downs should be accessible until the following afternoon at least. ‘
‘Well—’ Francesca smiled‘—that solves that.’
‘And you have no qualms about driving up there on your own?’ Joyce enquired.
‘None,’ Francesca assured her.
‘You know,’ Joyce said warmly, ‘I think you’re just the practical, capable; kind of person the Stevensens need!’
‘Thank you,’ Francesca responded, with what she hoped was hidden irony, and ten minutes later she stepped out into the bright sunshine.
She then applied herself to the task of acquiring at four-wheel-drive vehicle at extremely short notice, and also all she would require for a stay of unknown duration on Bramble Downs.
CHAPTER TWO
TEN days later Sarah Ellery, Raefe’s sister, who was in her late thirties, said, ‘Fran, I don’t know how on earth I coped without you! This wretched wrist.’ She waved the offending arm with its plaster. ‘You just don’t realise how difficult it is to manage one-handed. I can’t believe the good luck that brought you our way. Raefe will be so delighted when he gets home—which should be any day now.’
Francesca hid a grimace. The floods had subsided, and although Bramble had been cut off for several days they hadn’t received nearly the inundation that had affected areas further north. The same inundation that had kept Raefe Stevensen from home as Banyo Air was heavily involved not only in moving people about to escape the waters but also in mustering half-drowned stock. All of which couldn’t have suited her plans better.
But Judgement Day had to come, and, while her resolve stood firm concerning the man, his family was becoming another matter.
She glanced across to where young Jess Stevensen was doing a jigsaw puzzle, with the tip of her little pink tongue sticking out as she concentrated fiercely. She was a fair, serious child, and at first she’d shown an almost adult reserve that had puzzled Francesca slightly. But the reserve was lessening day by day—in fact she was beginning to show flashes of sweetness and affection that were quite beguiling.
Then there was Sarah, thin and elegant, with her brother’s eyes, although darker hair, and a gold wedding ring on her finger but no sign or mention of a husband. Sarah, who’d also been reserved at the start, and had a hint of unexplained sadness about her—although she too had dropped her guard after a couple of days and shown that she possessed a delightful sense of humour as well as being cultured and artistic. She read avidly, painted lovely miniatures and played the grand piano beautifully. Even one-handed.
Indeed, the whole of the Bramble Downs homestead had come as something of a surprise to Francesca. Its facilities alone were impressive, considering how far away, from anywhere they were, and represented the considerable amount of money that must have been spent to achieve the degree of comfort there was on a property that had no town water or electricity.
Then there was the house itself. Solid and comfortable, it was in a magical position overlooking a white beach, an island and reef-studded waters that changed colour from aquamarine to dark blue depending on the time of day and tide.
It was surrounded by lawn and smothered in bougainvillea, and its thick white walls, cool tiled floors, wide verandas and Spanish-flavoured interior suited the tropical climate perfectly—it could not have been more different from the virtually tin shed accommodation on Wirra, and it was obvious the Stevensen family was not short of cash.
Some demon of curiosity had prompted Francesca to ask Sarah one day whether Jess’s mother had been responsible for the uncluttered interior, the lovely pieces of heavy wooden furniture and the occasional splash of colour in a rug or a painting or a giant pottery urn filled with dried flowers.
This had provoked a brief, sad look from Sarah, although no explanation of what had actually happened to Jess’s mother, before she’d composed herself and replied that no, not really, it had mostly been her and Raefe’s mother’s doing. Then she’d gone on rather deliberately to chat about the family history, and Francesca had got. the. distinct impression that the subject of Jess’s mother was taboo.
But she had discovered that Bramble Downs had been in the Stevensen family for eighty years. It had been taken up by Sarah’s grandfather, and the original residence had been nothing but a tin shed. Now, whilst cattle had always been and still was the largest part of their business, Banyo Air, started by Raefe, was growing most satisfactorily. It was obvious to Francesca that Sarah Ellery was very fond of her brother.
‘He was always fascinated by flying, although he’s a cattleman through and through,’ Sarah added dreamily, then grinned wryly. ‘He even used to try to construct wings. I remember the day he jumped off the water tank and broke his leg. And he couldn’t wait to get into the Air Force. He was one of their top guns,’ she said proudly.
‘Is that all he did?’ Francesca heard herself ask, and hoped the slightly cynical note she heard wasn’t obvious to Sarah.
Sarah blinked and said, ‘Well, he did some sort of aeronautical engineering degree at the same time as he trained to be a pilot. Then he left the Air Force and did a stint for a year as a private pilot for some sheikh. Now that was quite an experience. The man had four wives and fourteen concubines, would you believe, and he used to jet around the world as we might drive into town.’
‘It must be quite a change—I mean from that to running Banyo Air,’ Francesca said casually, and at the same time she thought, so that accounts for the savoir-faire.
‘But, you see, he’s his own boss now and Banyo Air is acquiring quite a reputation—it’s actually the perfect combination for a cattleman, especially now that so much mustering is done by helicopter. He has the experience of cattle—he was inducted into that almost before he could walk—he knows the peninsula and the gulf really well, and he’s a first-class flier. So contract mustering is the mainstay of Banyo Air, but he also runs scenic charter flights and so on.’
Francesca thought of the trim craft she’d flown in to Cairns, and indeed of the disparity between all the polished craft that had stood upon the apron that fateful day and the unprepossessing offices of Banyo Air. Her thoughts were tinged with bitterness-if the offices had been as trim and polished as the aircraft Raefe Stevensen flew, might she have been more restrained herself‘? So why did he operate out of a tinpot sort of office if Banyo Air was so highly regarded?
Sarah answered that right on cue. ‘His next project is upgrading the facilities at the airport he operates out of. It’s badly needed, believe me. But these things take time and money. And planning permission,’ she added with a grimace.
Francesca pondered all this anew as she was getting ready for bed that night. Her bedroom with its en suite bathroom was comfortable and pretty, with a double bed, a cool tiled floor and yellow sherbet coloured curtains and bedspread. She had a dressing table and a writing table, both made from silky oak, and one comfortable armchair, and it was into this she sank to examine, with a rather strange feeling, how well she’d slipped into the lifestyle of Bramble Downs.
Not only had she taken Jess over from the head stockman’s wife, who had been helping Sarah out since she’d broken her wrist, but the cook’s disappearance had given her the opportunity to exercise her culinary skills. All of which had meant she’d had hardly a minute to herself, yet she felt curiously fulfilled and satisfied.
And, more than that, it was as if she was saying to Raefe Stevensen, yes, I can see that the way the Valentine millions are flaunted and the way I acted that day would be an affront to someon
e who comes from this quiet but solid, achieving and cultured background of yours—but you still misread me!
The one thing she couldn’t do was visualise his reaction to her presence at Bramble, although she told herself that he surely wouldn’t, react too excessively in front of his sister and child. What she
didn’t count on was that their first meeting would take place without anyone to witness it…
* * *
She woke just before dawn the next morning and listened to the birds saluting the new day for a few minutes—birds you didn’t hear down south, and ones that would always be inextricably linked, in her mind with Far North Queensland, with its heat, its isolation, the thick mat of turf beneath your feet as you stepped off the veranda at Bramble, with the casuarinas and pandanus palms that rimmed the beach and the lovely waters of the Great Barrier Reef…
Just thinking of it prompted her to take the opportunity, while Jess still slept, to go for a dawn swim. She pulled on a violet bikini, brushed, her hair, reached for a towel and slipped out of the house noiselessly as the first rays of light touched the sky.
Because of the proliferation of crocodiles in this part of the world since they’d become a protected species, as well as the prevalence of the deadly box jellyfish in summer, a wire-mesh and pole swimming enclosure had been built which extended into the water and up the beach. Francesca clicked open the gate, saw that the tide was high, meant plenty of water to swim in, and ran down the beach to dive in.
It was heavenly—still cool enough to be refreshing, salty and with a gentle swell that lifted her rhythmically off her feet. After she’d swum up and down energetically for about ten minutes, she lay in the shallows, and watched the sun. rise in a symphony of apricot and lemon as the birds sang on. Then she heard the enclosure gate click open and, thinking it might. be Jess, sighed lightly and stood up to start her daily duties.
But it wasn’t Jess, it was the girl’s father, with his shirt and shoes already off and his hands frozen on the waistband of his khaki trousers.
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