“I’m sorry, Daddy.” Melissa seemed delighted to have gained so much attention. “I didn’t mean for you to worry. I only thought about getting to Camille. It’s so awful when you’re not at home. Why do you have to work all the time?”
He answered her seriously. “To make sure I can provide for you. All fathers work, Melissa. Lots of mothers, too. It’s a way to gain satisfaction, as well as pay the bills. What you did was very wrong. You upset a lot of people without any good reason. It’s a miracle you came to no harm.”
She touched his face, her expression uncertain. “All that happened to me, Daddy, was I got wet. I didn’t know it was going to rain so hard.”
“Then I suppose you could have taken the precaution of carrying an umbrella.”
“Don’t be mad at me, Daddy,” Melissa said. “Be mad at Clare.”
Her father’s black brows drew together. “Not Clare again. What’s she got to do with it?”
Melissa’s soft tone gathered strength. “She said you were going to send me away to boarding school.”
“And you believed her? Melissa, I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Melissa heard the sadness in her father’s voice and hung her head.
“Clare was at the house this afternoon,” Camille told him quietly. “She had a present for Melissa. A storybook.”
Nicholas glanced up at her. “Let’s get this straight. Clare’s visit precipitated all this? She took it upon herself to tell Melissa I was going to send her away to boarding school?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Melissa said, her eyes filled with tears. Her hair had dried into masses of waves and curls that clustered becomingly around her thin little face. “She said, ‘You never know, you might love it.’” For all her upset Melissa hadn’t lost her gift for mimicry.
Her father was silent a moment, a muscle working in his jaw. “But you knew in your heart, didn’t you, that it wasn’t true, that I’d never send you to boarding school?”
Melissa slumped back against the pillow, closed her eyes. “Yes, Daddy. Not unless you marry her.”
This appeared to stun him. “I’ve never even considered it, Melissa. And if I did intend to remarry, you and I would have a long talk about it first.”
Melissa opened her eyes, fixed him with her dark gaze. “Then why does she think she’s going to be my stepmother?”
“Good question!” Despite himself, he laughed. “Trust you, Melissa, to go right to the heart of it. Some people believe that anything they want they can make happen. Clare has been in our lives for some time now. She was a good friend to your mother, so the link’s survived. But I’ve never said anything to Clare that would lead her to believe I wanted to marry her.”
“That’s good, Daddy, because I don’t like her. I want Camille to live with us. She can take care of me and we can take care of her. That’s what I really want.”
“I daresay.” He turned to give Camille a wry mocking glance. “Now I’d like to hear the whole story about your little escapade, young lady. Start to finish. Leave nothing out. And, Melissa,” he warned, “I want the truth.”
“Yes, Daddy.” Melissa sat up straight, delighted to recount her adventures.
Camille flashed them a smile. “I’ll leave you to it. Afterward you might like something to eat.”
The two of them could work things out, she thought. Mercifully Melissa’s escapade had ended happily; Camille shuddered to think how it might have gone wrong.
By the time father and daughter emerged from the bedroom, Camille was making the most of spaghetti with carbonara sauce, to which she added some sizzling chopped bacon, fresh herbs and shaved curls of parmesan. All children liked spaghetti, and there was plenty for them all. She put together a salad of avocado and garden greens as an accompaniment.
Melissa’s spirits had picked up enormously. She ate her spaghetti with gusto, declined the salad, but ate two slices of crusty French bread. At the end of the impromptu meal, a few minutes before they left for home, Nicholas brought forward an exciting suggestion for the coming summer holidays, which began the first week of December. He wanted Camille to come with him and Melissa to the outback cattle station acquired by his father some thirty years before as an investment property. The place was now owned jointly by Nicholas and his sister.
“That would be Kurakai?” Camille asked. The homestead had been featured in a popular home-and-garden magazine.
“Yes. We try to spend time there every year. My sister, Elizabeth, her husband and a few friends are coming for Christmas. Elizabeth’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“Are you sure?” Camille gave him a veiled look. “There must be many painful memories….”
“We can’t let them get between us.” He glanced at Melissa, who was moving between the elevator and the door, her feet executing a happy little dance. “Melissa will be on holidays from the end of next week. She won’t be back at school until February. You won’t be able to take up your lease until then, either.”
Camille was hesitant. “I don’t know, Nicholas.”
“You’d be safe there. It would do you good to get away.” He added gently, “And thank you for being so kind to my daughter.”
Her green eyes softened. “I’m glad she looks on me as a friend. We understand each other.”
“I recognized that the first night”
HOURS LATER when Camille was curled up on the sofa watching the end of an old Cary Grant/Ingrid Bergman movie, the phone rang. The sound of it coming so late at night made her jump. Very few people had her unlisted number. She had a sudden sick feeling it wasn’t one of them. The phone rang several times more before she finally picked it up, all sense of peace dissipated.
“Hello?”
Silence. Though it would have passed for a thunderclap. The line reverberated with it
“Who’s calling? Who is this?” She spoke sharply, her gaze going to the open sliding glass doors that led to her balcony. She had an urge to rush over and close them. Turn the lock. The rain had stopped falling, but the sky was claustrophobic with clouds. “Hello,” she said again.
No answer. Why would she expect one? This was just a cruel game. The bastard expected her to be frightened, so she cried, “Go to hell!” She was seething with impotent rage, about to slam down the receiver when a voice spoke, the same chilling whisper she’d heard once before.
“Die, bitch,” the voice said in a muffled rasp.
Strangely the actual contact strengthened her. “For what? Come on, you coward, hiding away on the other end of a phone, disguising your voice. I want to know. Tell me about the times you’ve followed me. The flowers, the photographs. Come on, you can’t be happy saying nothing. Let me hear the reason for your hate.”
There was a moment when Camille thought she’d provoked her caller into revealing himself or herself. She waited, nerves jangling, but then the line went dead.
She replaced the receiver, feeling the blood rush back into her head. This was detestable, but there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do about it. She didn’t even know what this campaign of harassment was about. She desperately wanted to ring Nicholas, to hear the reassurance of his voice, but she hesitated to do so at this time of night. Her call would have to wait until morning. Not long. Not long at all.
An eternity.
Quickly she moved to the sliding glass doors, pulling them to and securing the lock. She didn’t stand at the doors but drew the heavy curtains. Suddenly a remote outback station seemed a safe place to be. Infinitely preferable to this huge apartment block filled with people.
The movie was over. A glamorous blonde was reading the late-night news. Camille picked up the remote control and turned the set off. The only voice she could hear was that eerie rasp. She still couldn’t tell whether it was male or female. But whatever disguising device was used, it couldn’t hide the fact that the voice carried real menace. Perhaps the seed of madness.
CHAPTER NINE
CAMILLE WAS NEVER to forget that first morni
ng on Kurakai. Unlike her father, who’d retained a pilot to fly his Learjet, Nick Lombard was perfectly at home behind the controls of his private Beech Baron. They’d arrived on the station at sunset when the sky was blindingly beautiful and the immense landscape beneath them, rain-soaked after long months of drought, was a universal fiery red densely embroidered with floral medallions like the most sumptuous Persian carpet
By the time they were ferried to the superb old two-story homestead, with its elegant screened verandas and balustrades and valances of decorative iron lace, the sensational color display had given way to a brief shimmering mauve that turned abruptly into night
Staff appeared like magic to take charge of the luggage. The manager’s wife, who cooked for the family when they were in residence, gave Melissa a big hug of welcome, taking her by the hand so they could show Camille their rooms on the second floor.
“Oh, it’s so wonderful you’re here, Camille!” Melissa’s face was flushed and excited. “You’ll be safe. That’s what Daddy said. ‘Camille will be safe at Kurakai.’ We have a guardian spirit to protect us. His name’s Wirra. He takes the form of an eagle.”
Camille smiled indulgently. “Does he now.”
Melissa nodded. “Manny, that’s our aboriginal tracker, says Wirra never leaves the place. It’s his job to look after the family. A long long time ago one of the sons of this house was thrown from his horse, and nobody could find him until they saw the great wedge-tailed eagle marking the spot.”
Camille reached out and hugged the child. “Did Manny tell you this?”
Melissa nodded and said seriously, “There are lots of stories about Kurakai. Some of them are in a book. It’s called Spirits of the Outback. Daddy’ll show it to you. Have you ever heard of the Min Min light?”
“Who hasn’t?” Camille gave a mock shiver. “I don’t think I’d like the Min Min to follow me.”
“It followed Daddy,” Melissa said in a proud pleased voice. The Min Min was the aboriginal word for the bright eerie light that had been seen in the outback by countless numbers of people: the traditional owners of the land, station owners, stockmen and travelers. No one could explain it, though many have tried. It wasn’t a friendly light. Everyone who’d reported seeing it found it a hair-raising experience, the light appearing out of nowhere in the dark empty land.
“I’ll have to ask him about it” Camille said lightly, turning to the armoire to hang up her clothing.
Nicholas told them about his experience with the Min Min as they ate an early dinner. “It was long before Melissa was born,” he said, settling back comfortably. “I was home from university. I brought three of my friends—they swore they’d never come again, but of course they did. Anyway, we were driving north one night to Isis Siding when this bright light, I suppose like a massive headlight, appeared in the rearview mirror. It was following us. When I slowed, it slowed. When I put on speed, it did, too.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I’d heard so many stories about the Min Min I told my friends that’s what I thought it was. The light was extraordinary. They didn’t for a minute think I was pulling their leg. None of them had any experience of the outback. They were all city-bred. It was just so…otherworldly. Scientists tell us it may be caused by atmospheric conditions. One theory is the light’s caused by natural gas, but it’s been seen all over the inland. The aborigines think it’s a mischievous spirit and they leave it alone.”
“Were you frightened, Daddy?” Melissa asked, giving a delicious shiver.
“A little rattled, darling. It followed us for miles and miles, but then, I wanted the experience. I’ve never seen it since. Manny claims to have seen it many times out at Iluka Springs. My sister swears it’s there in the swamp country. My father nearly ran off the highway when it started to chase him. It’s just one of those things no one can explain. Any more than the legend of Wirra Wirra.”
“Melissa told me about your guardian angel,” Camille said with a half wry, half skeptical smile.
“Well, there’s always an eagle soaring over the homestead,” Nicholas said. “You’ll see it for yourself. Our aboriginal people say it’s the same eagle— Wirra Wirra. They don’t fear it like they do the Min Min. Wirra Wirra is a powerful but benign spirit— until someone disturbs the peace of Kurakai. Once it was only associated with our aboriginals, but the Fitzgeralds—they built this place in the early 1870s— must have done something right. Protection now extends to all who live within the homestead. The stories about Wirra Wirra spread far and wide. I’ll show you the book, if you like.”
“I’d love to see it.” Camille was thoroughly intrigued. “So if anyone threatens us, Wirra Wirra calls up powerful magic. That makes me feel good.”
“That’s why you’re here.” His brilliant black eyes rested on her, wrapping her in warmth.
“So long as Wirra Wirra can be relied on.” Camille reached out, ruffled Melissa’s curls affectionately. “Hey—guess it’s been a long day. You’re falling asleep sitting up.”
“I am tired. Will you take me to my room?” Melissa asked.
“Of course. We’re all finished here.”
Nicholas moved to pull back their chairs. “I’ll have a few words with Andy.” He referred to the station manager. “So I’ll kiss you good-night, sweetheart”
“Night, Daddy.” Melissa reached out to her father for a kiss.
“Night, darling. Dream about all the beautiful things in life. Tomorrow you and I are going to show Camille the Kurakai we love.”
FROM THE HIGH PLATEAU called Wirra Wirra after its spirit guardian, Camille had a unique view of the surreal world that was Kurakai.
This was a place of immense distances, of fiery earth colors, of sweeping mulga plains and endless desert valleys filled in this season with wildflowers—whole districts of paper daisies, one area pink, another white, another sunshine yellow, everlastings that never wilted when picked. There were countless other species, as well. Sturt peas trailing stems of crimson flowers, Burra lilies that gleamed as if varnished, the pink parakeelya and the fluffy mulla, the fire bushes and the foxgloves, the bell flowers and the desert fuchsias, blossoming grevilleas of all colors. Camille had never seen such wild splendor.
To the west great undulating waves of red rippled sand dunes continued unbroken for miles, the windtossed spume at their crests reminding her that this was the great inland sea of prehistory. Wirra Wirra itself was at the exact center of a hugh circle of gibber land—plains of stones and pebbles polished by the shifting red sands to a mirrorlike finish, so that Camille had the impression she was looking down into a great lake of opal. The glittering pebbles threw out all the colors of an opal’s fiery heart—red, orange, green, blue, yellow, indigo and violet
“I never expected anything so fantastic!” she exclaimed in awe, stretching out her arms as if to embrace the landscape.
“I knew you’d love it, Camille,” Melissa said happily. She and her father were standing close by. “Daddy, I want to pick a big bunch of wildflowers for Camille. Is it all right if I do?” She turned to Camille. “They’re wonderful little things, the everlastings. When you stroke them they feel like paper.”
A look of pleasure and affection passed between Camille and the child. “And the birds, Melissa! I’ve never seen so many in my life.”
It was true. They flashed everywhere—the brilliant parrots, the pink-and-gray galahs, the pure white cockatoos with their yellow crests, the orange chats, the red-caped robins and the great phenomenon of the outback—the legions of budgerigar flashing emerald and gold as they dipped and rose in lightning-fast formation.
“I used to think Namatjira used too vivid a palette,” Camille said to Nicholas, referring to the famous aboriginal painter, “but here’s the proof of his genius. The colors are absolutely right.”
Nicholas added. “There are lots of places we’re going to take you. The gorges and billabongs, the white salt lakes and the aboriginal reserve. You’ll be in your element. Most of
the artists adhere to the traditional style of painting but a few are combining the Dreamtime—the time of creation—visions with the white man’s perceptions. There’s one painter in particular, an elderly woman, who paints the most wonderful flowers. They sort of explode all over the canvas.”
“I’d love to see them.” She touched his arm gently, feeling his response to her ripple through his body.
“Now how about if we have our picnic?” he asked. “We’ll find a nice cool spot.”
“I’m going to be able to pick my wildflowers for Camille, aren’t I, Daddy?”
“Yes, darling, of course.”
They were almost down on the plain when Melissa cried out in a high excited voice, “There he is! There he is!” She started to wave her arms. “There’s Wirra Wirra, Camille. Look up.”
“Ah, Wirra Wirra!” Camille smiled, humoring the child. She hadn’t expected to see the eagle, but it seemed a fitting incident in such a wonderful day. This vast heartland had an atmosphere all its own. The terrain was so vividly colored, the natural features so sculptural in their effects, it resembled the surreal landscape one might wander through in a dream. This was as faraway from city life as one could get.
Overhead in the cloudless cobalt sky, the great wedge-tailed eagle soared on the desert wind, guardian of its totem place.
“Wirra Wirra, the protector,” Melissa chanted, still waving her arms. “We need you to look after us, Wirra Wirra. Protect us against the big-eyed Evil One.”
At that, her father burst our laughing, catching her to him and telling her to calm down.
“Who is the big-eyed Evil One, anyway?”
“It’s the person who’s been trying to frighten Camille,” Melissa told him earnestly. “See how Wirra Wirra hovers on the wind?” She glanced at Camille to see how she was reacting. “He’s never faraway.”
The Australian Heiress Page 20