by Margaret Way
“Sure! Frank started to hate him when he found out about the affair. I reckon Johanna might have told Frank she was pregnant. Got him all fired up. He was one for the booze when he hit town. I know he got tanked up the minute we hit the Alice. Not that he couldn’t hold it. He was one of those guys who liked to hang tough.”
“And that’s how Jared Moreland got himself killed?” Raul realized he was giving off too much intensity, but thankfully Brad wasn’t looking at him.
“You know what they say, crimes of passion!” Brad gave a heavy-hearted sigh.
“So how did the boy come into it?” Raul asked, aware all the certainties he’d carried in his head had fled him. “What did he have to gain but a long prison term?”
A strange smile distorted Brad’s mouth. “Maybe the kid had nothin’ to do with it, after all,” he said in his lazy drawl.
“Maybe he was pushed off that fence. Coulda happened, a quick shove. All the crowd was interested in was the bulls and the broncos. No one woulda noticed. But one way or the other both Jared and the boy finished up in the path of one mad, stampeding bullock. Jared was kinda known for his reckless courage. He had a real cavalier way about him. I remember he moved without hesitation to protect the boy. In doing so, o’course, he got himself killed. There were minutes of utter silence, like we’d all turned deaf and dumb, then all hell broke loose. It was like there’d been an assassination. The crowd came together in swift judgment. Including me, I’m sorry to say. Always regretted it. But at the time, it was a big thumbs-down for the boy who had done something monumentally stupid. In the crowd’s eyes Ben Lockhart was guilty of murder, not just criminal recklessness. He had to pay for it somehow. A man was dead. Joel Moreland is revered in the Outback. Everyone knew how much he adored his only son. Hell, Jared was hardly more than a boy himself. Just twenty-three years old. I’m gettin’ a clear image of him now. That bullock did a job on him, I can tell you that.” Brad shuddered, fighting off the vision. “Somethin’ terrible!”
Raul, who had seen plenty of blood spilled on sand, couldn’t talk about it, either. “Where’s this Frank Grover now?” He had to find him, speak to him.
Brad snorted. “God knows! You’ll have to ask Jack. He might know. Last I heard of him he was workin’ on a croc farm in North Queensland. That was years ago. He wasn’t wanted here after Jared’s death. I figured the missus told him to pack up and go. She would have known he was sweet on Johanna. She probably told Frank where Johanna was. That’s if she knew. The woman knew everything!” Brad shook his head gravely. “Suppose we’d better try another few shots? You’re a great player. It’s a privilege to be on the same team.”
Raul came to his feet, feeling so profoundly disturbed he barely heard the compliment. He had, hated the name Moreland for so long. In particular, Joel Moreland, the Man with the Midas Touch. Now it seemed, if Caldwell could be believed, his family had found the wrong Moreland guilty. A deep sense of frustration was building inside of him. What he desperately needed was hard evidence to prove it was so. Either way, the Morelands had acted like feudal barons.
CHAPTER NINE
THE BREEZE WAS UP. All around the playing field plastic multicolored pennants flapped, sounding for all the world like ocean waves breaking on the shore. The crowd of spectators had been building all day. Now they sat on three sides of the field in high good spirits waiting for the match of the day to begin. Chris Arnold, an exuberant pilot and captain of one team, had actually landed his Bell helicopter on the middle of the field and taken off again before Jack Doyle, who was in charge of proceedings, rode over to tell him to get the hell off. The crowd had loudly applauded Chris, who was well-known on the circuit, except for those who got the worst of the flying red dust.
Marquees had been set up to serve tea and coffee, soft drinks and light refreshments, sandwiches, pasties, sausage rolls and so on. There was a bar for a cold beer or two, but that was it. No one wanted any drunken behavior or a fight to break out, though Cecile was sure a few of the spectators—not the regulars of whom some had been coming for years-had managed to sneak in a couple of cartons. Everyone mixed well at these occasions, entering into the spirit of things, the rich station owners, stockmen, station workers, town folk from the Alice, a smattering of tourists, all dressed pretty much the same in cool casual gear, their heads covered by the ubiquitous wide-brimmed akubras, both sides rolled up, which somewhat defeated the purpose.
For Cecile, however, the excitement of the day was marred by the fact that Stuart and her mother had thrown a few things into an overnight bag, chartered a flight and turned up on Malagari at ten-thirty that morning. Great-aunt Bea had hitched a ride, as well, which was fine with Cecile. She was very fond of Bea—they’d always been close—but when her autocratic mother teamed up with Stuart, the nerves of Cecile’s stomach all twisted in knots. Neither her mother nor Stuart had ever shown the slightest interest in the game of polo, but it became obvious both of them were truly concerned about Raul Montalvan's continuing presence on Malagari.
Then there was the matter of setting the wedding date! One couldn’t go on and on with an engagement. One had to tie the knot. Her mother, Cecile realized, wouldn’t stop her campaign until Stuart was her lawful wedded husband.
“How much do you love Stuart?” Justine asked the moment they were inside her bedroom door. She didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ve done enough sleeping on the matter, Cecile. My advice is set the date and do it now. This very weekend. I don’t think I need tell you people are talking about this Argentinian.”
“Talking? What people?” Cecile looked as amazed as she felt. “We’re here in the middle of nowhere, Mother, not back in Melbourne with all the gossips looking on.”
“Word gets around nevertheless,” Justine said, her voice taut with concern. “Doesn’t he have somewhere else to go? And why is Daddy making such a fuss of him?”
Cecile laughed without amusement. “I should think that’s obvious, Mother. He really likes him. Raul is very much at home on Malagari, and he’s mad about polo, just like Granddad.”
“Well, I’m sorry to say I don’t like him.” Justine passed judgment, tight-lipped.
“But then, who do you like?” Cecile asked. “Apart from Stuart, that is. Look, Mother, we can’t go into this now. I’m busy and I’m a little tired. We had to fast-track this event. You know what Granddad’s like when he’s caught up by an enthusiasm.”
“The whole thing is a waste of money,” Justine said, dismissing the event as a triviality. “All those people! Freeloaders, I call them.”
“They’re Granddad’s guests,” Cecile pointed out. “It’s costing you a big fat nothing.”
Justine’s eyes flashed. “No need to speak to me like that, Cecile. You say you’re tired. You don’t look it. In fact, I’ve never seen you look better.” Justine sounded quite irked.
Cecile was wearing a lacy, white halter-necked top that plunged a little too much for Justine’s liking, with an eye-catching skirt printed with huge cobalt, yellow and white flowers. She wore yellow wedge-heeled sandals on her feet. Her long hair was pulled back from her face, but flowed freely down her back. Even mothers could feel stabs of jealousy from time to time, Justine thought. It was hell to grow old.
“Malagari has always agreed with me, Mother—I love it,” Cecile was saying, aware her control freak of a mother was as mad as a wet hen.
“Which has always struck me as really weird. I was never happy here.” Justine turned away, removing an emerald kaftan richly embroidered around the neckline and sleeves
from her suitcase and putting it on a padded hanger. “I’m highly tempted to say you’ve got a crush on this foreigner. He’s certainly got an interest in you.”
“You really should refrain from using the word foreigner, Mother,” Cecile chided her mother mildly.
“How else can I put it?” Justine demanded to know. “This whole thing has gone far enough.”
“So you’ve come to save me from myself, i
s that it?”
“Of course I have, you poor girl!” Justine drooped onto the bed, holding her hand to her head. “If only you’d listen to me. The very last thing I want is an argument, but there’s a little situation going on here. You can’t deny it. Well, not to a woman like me. I know men. Raul Montalvan will go back to Argentina Where I’m sure he has a string of women panting on his return. This little flutter or whatever it is will be over. That’s life. I just don’t want you left crying. I don’t want you to jeopardize your future, all our plans. And I beg of you not to humiliate Stuart with this. You may not believe me, but tongues are already wagging.”
That was the last straw for Cecile. “Don’t you mean your tongue, Mother? I bet Stuart rings you every night for a powwow right after he’s spoken to me.”
Justine’s finely cut nostrils flared. “Don’t speak to me that way, Cecile,” she said, looking mega-offended. “I’m not stupid. I’m your mother. I know you backward. As soon as I laid eyes on Raul Montalvan, I sensed trouble. There’s something about that young man. He’s dangerous. Too hard to handle, let alone tame. Stuart on the other hand is perfect for you.”
Cecile started walking toward the door. “He’s perfect for you, Mother,” she corrected, “but unfortunately you’re taken. Now, I really must fly.”
“Very well, Cecile,” Justine said in a wounded voice. “Run away. Ignore my advice. What a thankless job it is being a mother.”
CECILE WAS MOVING head down along the corridor when she almost collided with Bea coming in the opposite direction.
“What’s up with you?” Bea put two hands to her head to straighten her zebra-patterned turban, which sat high above spectacular dangly earrings and platinum kiss curls. “You were coming like an express train.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Bea!” Cecile said, looking at Bea with a feeling of gratitude and affection. Why was Bea always so cheerful when her mother never was? Why was Bea’s voice always filled with such friendliness and warmth when her mother invariably sounded so bloody hoity-toity, as befitting her position of prestige and privilege? Bea loved a laugh. Her mother acted as though a laugh was frivolous. Oh hell!
“Having a few words with Mother, were we?” Bea rolled sympathetic eyes. “When is she going to stop trying to boss you around?”
“It’s way too late for that, Bea.” Cecile shook her head. “She can’t stop. She doesn’t know howl”
“There must be a medical term for it,” Bea pondered. “Something that ends with itis. Of course there is the menopause thing. It knocks some women about, but I took a good dose of hormones. You’re not out of love with Stuart, are you, dear girl?”
Bea, who had grown considerably shorter over the past few years, tilted her turbaned head to look at the much taller Cecile, sounding hopeful. “Could be,” Cecile lamented. “Why do you think Stuart and Mother are here?”
“Checking up on you, my darling. Need you ask? So, you’re out of love with Stuart and in love with another man? Have I got that right?”
Cecile bit her lower lip. “Oh, Bea, I’m acting so unlike myself.”
Bea, whose outfit for the day was a kind of haute-couture tribal, patted Cecile’s arm, setting her dozen or so bracelets a-jangle. “Well, I have to say he’s pretty damned hot! I won’t mention any names of course.”
“You’d better not.” Cecile sighed. “I have to do the honorable thing, Bea. I have to tell Stuart I can’t marry him.”
“Well, he was only on probation, wasn’t he?” Bea asked, very reasonably.
It was a very Bea-like answer. “It’s all very well for you, Bea. You’ve always been a bad, bad girl.”
“So I have!” said Bea, with complete satisfaction. “You on the other hand had the misfortune to be saddled with Justine for a mother. You’re worried how she’s going to take it?”
“Of course! But shouldn’t I be more worried about hurting Stuart?”
“Look’ he’ll survive, lovey. He really will. You can’t get yourself arrested just for breaking an engagement. It happens all the time. Look on the positive side. It would be far worse if you went ahead and got married. The thing that really amazes me is how you got engaged to him in the first place. You don’t even speak the same language and he’s so bloody smug!”
“I thought I loved him, Bea,” Cecile said with some sorrow.
“Who could fall in love with a lawyer?” Bea argued. “The way they talk to you! You’d swear you were in a courtroom. My advice to you, my darling, is get it over with. Your mother has to stop trying to run your life. You’ll meet someone else if you haven ’t met him already?”
Cecile shook her head as Bea underscored her words. “Not Raul, Bea. If that’s what you’re thinking.”
“Can I have him, then?” Bea joked. “Charmed the pants off you, has he?”
“Not as yet, Bea.” Cecile frowned severely. “And you are a bad, bad girl.” Tears glittered for a moment in her eyes. “It’s frightening what I feel, Bea,” she confessed. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”
Bea swooped on her and kissed her. “Well, they do say falling in love is a madness,” she pointed out very gently. “But nothing can beat it, believe me.”
“It seems not!” Cecile’s voice shook with emotion. “I used to be so…so…”
“You don’t have to explain it to me, love,” Bea said. “I wasn’t always this goddamned old and dyeing my hair.” She pulled at a platinum kiss curl.
“You? You’ll never be old! Look at you today! Not many people could carry off an outfit like that! You’re enormously chic!”
“Thank you, darling.” Bea’s smile was complacent. “When I was your age I was a household name for glamour. Nowadays I’m just a wealthy pampered old bat. You don’t think it’s a wee bit over the top?” Bea lifted her arms in an exaggerated model’s pose.
“Well, it has to be because you’re so amazing,” Cecile said, putting her arms around her frail great-aunt and hugging her. “Why wasn’t I one of a dozen kids, Bea? Then Mother would have had a lot of us to get around, not just me. Why did it have to happen she could only have one child?”
Bea stared at the floor directly in front of her, apparently mulling that over, then she lifted her head, earrings swinging. “I think it’s high time I told you all that ‘only one child stuff’ is a disgusting case of guff. I’m not saying Justine didn’t have a tough time having you, but you were her first. Lots of women have a tough time with the first baby. The thing is, Justine had no intention of ever trying again. She had better things to do with her time.”
For a moment it wasn’t easy to take that in. Cecile opened her mouth to speak, but no sound emerged. “What are you saying, Bea?” she asked finally. Her voice held no anger but a lot of sadness.
“What I should have said long ago, dearest girl. Justine hated childbirth so much she was never going to try it again. There was no physical reason why she couldn’t have more children. I know your father wanted more, but he couldn’t have everything now, could he? Justine was the wife he wanted and she’s been a good wife in many ways. I believe they look on it as a successful business partnership. There’s something else, too. Justine was able to avenge herself for his other women by not giving him more kids. There was just poor little you for Mother to take care of and run your life. Hell, for all I know you could have been Justine’s one-night stand.”
“Bea!” Cecile protested even though she was about ready to believe anything.
“Sorry, love! That was in bad taste. I apologize. I’m sure they have a sex life. But next time your mother gives you the baloney about how she suffered so much having you she was advised not to have any more, tell her that ain’t so. You can tell her wicked old Bea clued you in. I don’t mind. I should have done it long ago. Of course it’s not all Justine’s fault.” Bea shook her head slowly. “My dear sister-in-law Frances was a woeful mama. She ignored Justine for most of the time and got down on a prayer mat to worship her son. There’s lots of stuff you don�
�t know about this family, Cecile. Most of your mother’s problems stem from the past. You can’t afford to worry about what she thinks. If you don’t love Stuart, you must tell him so. Let it go on any longer and things will only get worse.” Bea pulled her great-niece to her and kissed her.
“I know that, Bea,” Cecile murmured. “I’m glad you’re here with me. I’ll tell him this weekend before he leaves. I can’t confront him now. Not with this match on and the party. I think he already suspects bad times are coming.”
“And this is one of those times,” said Bea prophetically.
THE CROWDS THAT HAD gathered around the marquees were back in their seats or sitting on rugs on the grass to watch the main match. A lead-up game had been played earlier with teams of modest handicaps from various stations, but now a great chorus of cheers broke out as the players for the big event of the afternoon took the field. There were four players to at team, two to ride offensively, the third and fourth to play back in the defensive position. In the Outback, polo, a difficult game to learn, let alone the most dangerous, wasn’t just a game. It was much much more, like the jousts of old. Chris Arnold’s team wore sapphire-blue-and-yellow jerseys; Vince Siganto’s team, which included Raul and Brad Caldwell, wore red-and-white with their numbers on a wide white band on the short red sleeve. Brad, at forty-six, was the oldest player, but he was wonderfully fit and played regularly. Even so, he knew his playing days were coming to an end. Earlier Cecile had overheard Raul talking to Vince in the area where the polo ponies were being held. Both of them looked magnificent in their gear, white breeches, colorful jerseys, high polished boots, which emphasized their lean, long-legged muscular bodies. They weren’t at the time wearing their helmets. Second-generation Italian, Vince, who was distinguishing himself internationally as a polo player, had thick raven hair that glistened in the blazing sunlight. In strong contrast, Raul’s hair, bleached by the desert sun to coppery blond, burned like fire. Their body language spoke of easy camaraderie, but where she had been expecting them to be speaking English as a matter of course, she found their conversation was being conducted in mellifluous Italian.