Not that she would have taken any notice if Miss Webb had, Vicki told herself firmly. All the same she had felt grateful there had been no occasion to assert her authority as his mother. She even felt a grudging liking for Miss Webb as she accompanied her downstairs, in spite of the fact that Miss Webb was asking far too many questions about Wade.
Vicki, not having expected to see Wade again that evening, felt herself stiffen on finding him in the dining room with his grandfather. The two men appeared to be discussing stock, which was about all they ever talked about, she remembered. Otherwise, apart from the general affairs of the station, they rarely had seemed to have anything much to say to each other. She noticed, with a despair which briefly confused her, that nothing had changed.
As she and Miss Webb entered the room, Wade rose to his feet. Old Mr. McLeod did not. Vicki supposed it could be because of his health, but she wasn't convinced. She was aware that Wade's eyes hadn't left her, but she wasn't sure if it was appreciation she read in the glance which moved steadily over her. Perhaps it was her new dress that caught his attention. As he had bought it, and so recently, it could be no surprise, but maybe he hadn't realised how much it would improve her thin figure.
Vicki felt her cheeks go pink and she looked away from him. It was really puzzling that he had decided on such a dress, if he wanted to keep her entirely in the background. Of course he had taste, an astonishingly keen conception of how a woman should look, for all his fundamental contempt of them. Her dress was nice, in other circumstances she might have thanked him for it, but it was her hair which brought her the most satisfaction. When Wade had done with her body his eyes went to it and, for a brief moment, she caught a glimpse of startled admiration, as he noted the pale softness of it, of how it was longer than he had ever seen it. The boyish cut was gone. Now it hung loosely about her shoulders, giving her a delicate, arresting elegance she was barely aware of.
'Quite a transformation!' Wade grated, half under his breath, as he pushed in her chair. As he bent over her she could feel his breath, harsh on her cheek. A black, bewildering depression hit her. Obviously «he wasn't as pleased as she'd thought!
Old Mr. McLeod was staring at her, too, as if he didn't remember seeing her before. He spoke coldly, as her eyes met his defiantly over the table. 'I see you're well enough to walk downstairs by yourself.' Vicki knew he considered she hadn't really needed to be carried up them!
She forced herself to smile. 'I've had a good rest since then, Grandfather.' That should put him in his place! Never, during the weeks she had lived here as Wade's wife, had she ever dared—or been asked—to call the Old Man that! The intervening years must have changed her.
Wade was talking to Miss Webb and she didn't look at him. Much as she longed to let him see what she thought of him, because of her bedroom, she took pains to conceal her animosity. Whatever happened she mustn't give him the satisfaction of knowing how much this had initially upset her.
Yet it wasn't possible to keep her eyes from him altogether. As he spoke to Miss Webb, Vicki stole a glance at him and felt her heartbeats accelerate at his dark good looks. There could be no denying his attractiveness. He wore a shirt and tie but, unlike his grandfather, who was a stickler for such things, no jacket, and the strength and breadth of his shoulders almost kept her eyes riveted. No wonder Miss Webb appeared so entranced!
Wade's eyes, as if conscious of Vicki's wary stare, swung quickly to catch her in the act and the old magnetism which flared instantly between them caught her unawares. With a shudder of denial she looked swiftly away.
Throughout the meal old Mr. McLeod scarcely spoke to her again and, as she didn't feel much like speaking to Wade, Vicki addressed most of her remarks to Miss Webb. With a sense of relief she realised Miss Webb was an effusive talker, with the questionable knack of taking the conversation into her own hands. With someone like Wade she might not have succeeded in utterly dominating the dinner table, but tonight he seemed in no mind to raise any objections. She was disposed to give Vicki a graphic account of Graham's adventures, from the first hour of their arrival, whether Vicki wanted to hear or not.
'Graham loves it here, Mrs. McLeod!' Miss Webb gazed at everyone enthusiastically, obviously wondering, Vicki thought wryly, why no one but old Mr. McLeod gave any sign of pleasure. Wade grimly made no comment, while Vicki tried desperately to subdue the churning feeling inside her. Whatever happened she mustn't allow Graham to become too fond of Baccaroo. She wondered just how much Miss Webb knew of the true situation. She must be a very perplexed woman if she only knew what Graham had told her. Listening rather nervously as Miss Webb chatted brightly on, Vicki felt the beginnings of a niggling headache. Was Miss Webb merely basing her remarks on what she had picked up from Graham, or was she fully aware that Wade McLeod hadn't been living with his wife and son?
She was even more disturbed when Miss Webb exclaimed to Wade, 'Your son is shaping extremely well in the saddle, Mr. McLeod. He loves his pony and your stockmen are convinced he's a natural. He's had quite an audience these last few days. It does seem a shame, he hasn't had an opportunity to learn to ride before now.'
The sudden silence which met her last remark seemed to go on for a long time. Wade spoke first, his eyes, as they nicked to his grandfather then back to Miss Webb, smouldering darkly. 'It appears you're interesting yourself in things which shouldn't concern you, Miss Webb. It's surely none of your business where he has lived. In future please concentrate on the job I pay you to do.'
'Oh, but,' not one bit perturbed, Miss Webb defended herself eagerly, 'a child's first years have to be taken into consideration, Mr. McLeod. They often provide invaluable clues to their present conduct, to any regrettable characteristics they might have developed. Not that a boy of Graham's age could be held responsible, of course, but I'm afraid he does appear to be lacking in discipline and some of the more admirable traits.'
Recalling that these were almost Wade's very words, Vicki's cheeks scorched' with humiliation. She waited, her heart beating over-loudly, to hear Wade's response to this. She herself was well aware that Graham wasn't particularly easy to manage. Maybe Miss Webb had felt it necessary to make clear that his wilfulness had been well established before she took charge of him.
She wasn't sure whether to be angry or alarmed when Wade asked, with soft anger, 'Are you suggesting the child needs a psychiatrist, Miss Webb?'
It was old Mr. McLeod who spoke first this time. He interrupted, pushing aside Wade's sarcastic suggestion impatiently. 'There's nothing wrong with young Graham that a month or two on Baccaroo won't put right. He's got more determination than most at his age, but then he's no ordinary young fellow. He's a McLeod through and through, in both looks and temperament, and it will take more than his mother and you to rule that out of him, Miss Webb.'
Miss Webb gave a little pout towards Wade and didn't reply. She seemed quite content to leave Graham alone, to concentrate on his father. Vicki saw the old man's eyes narrow suspiciously and felt suddenly sick. She decided not to wait for coffee. If it was anything like the rest of the meal she wouldn't be missing anything!
She rose from the table, with Wade's eyes on her. He seemed to have lost interest in Miss Webb. I think I'll go up, now, if you'll excuse me,' she addressed no one in particular.
'Of course,' Wade was polite but his voice was still edged with sarcasm. 'You haven't eaten much, but I hope you feel better. Shall I bring you some coffee?'
'No, thank you,' she choked, and escaped, forgetting to say goodnight to any of them. Surely Wade didn't intend playing the solicitous husband, after all he'd done and said!
'I won't be long,' he called after her. It was to Vicki the final outrage. What could he hope to gain by giving the impression that they were a normal husband and wife?
After looking in on Graham, who was still sleeping, she stumbled to her own room. An hour's absence hadn't improved it and her spirits sank even lower. The bed was bare, as cold as the room. She might easily freeze to dea
th by the morning. There were only two blankets and she was forced to spread one over the dusty mattress and cover herself with the other. The sheet was in holes. She used it as an extra pillow.
Ten minutes later she was still cold. The nightwear she had found in her case was too thin to give the extra warmth she needed. She wished Madame Sorelle had included some warm pyjamas, but, like many people, Madame imagined the Northern Territory wilted under a perpetual heat wave. A lot of the time it did, but the nights could be extremely cold.
At last, unable to rest, Vicki gave way to temper. She would go to Wade's room and borrow some of his blankets. If she were quick he mightn't know they were gone. With a quiver she recalled that he had never worn much in bed, and sometimes when the bedclothes had slid to the floor he had never even noticed.
Unfortunately she wasn't quick enough. She was just helping herself to a thick rug when the door opened and in he came. Her throat went so dry she could only stare stupidly, although her apprehension must have showed.
'Why, hello!' he exclaimed softly, adding dryly, 'I didn't expect to find you here---so soon.'
Taut with angry frustration, she looked up at him. Why hadn't she had the sense to come for the rug immediately she had come upstairs? He was narrowly looking down at her, just a hint of speculation in his eyes, and the weakness which suddenly invaded her limbs was not like that which she had known in her hospital bed. It made her back tingle and her toes curl into the thick carpet under her feet.
'You're trembling,' he said. 'I shouldn't have kept you waiting. I'll get you a drink.' His voice taunted.
The carpet reminded her somehow of the bare linoleum next door and brought a sane rush of impatience. 'I'm not waiting for you at all!' she cried, finding her tongue at last. 'I'm only here to borrow a blanket—I haven't enough and I don't want to bother the girls tonight.'
'I don't know about that.' He moved nearer, very near, and began removing his tie. As if fascinated she watched his long, lean fingers dealing with the knot. 'To hear you going on,' he quirked, I couldn't be blamed for thinking you were complaining about the accommodation I've provided. And you've only just arrived.'
The light drawl of his words didn't deceive her, not when there was steel behind the pretence of humour. It merely strengthened her conviction that he knew exactly what he was doing—which was more than she did, but it also made her all the more determined not to show any sense of injury. Her shrug was a masterpiece of indifference. 'It's easy enough to forget to check everything,' she said sweetly. 'I certainly wouldn't want to make a fuss over a blanket!'
Wade's tie came off and he began undoing buttons. Vicki tried to look away, tried not to feel mesmerised by the slow exposure of his broad chest covered by thick, dark hair. She mustn't remember what it had felt like against her bare own skin!"
Frantically she wrenched her gaze from it, snatching the rug.
'Wait!' As his shirt came off, his hand caught her extended wrist. It might have been an accidental collision in mid-air, but she didn't think so. He said coldly, as if he had done with play-acting, 'You didn't come in here just to seek a blanket, did you?'
'Of course!' She felt unaccountably flustered, not enjoying the fiery sensations which seemed to flash from his hand through her body. 'I scarcely remember you using yours.'
'Not when I had you,' he mocked. 'You were warmer than any blanket.'
Her breathing fast, her eyes stormy, she wondered how he could be so despicable. How he could make remarks like that when his eyes on her face were totally without feeling. He had told her to go. Now he brought her back because of his grandfather, but had impressed on her very clearly that she was to leave again, just as soon as his grandfather died. Yet here he was, reminding her of her young, ill-advised passion, which for her had ended with his complete rejection!
'You're atrocious!' she choked. 'I hate you!'
His eyes hardened. 'Repeat that once more and I might give you something to really hate me for! '
'Oh!' she gasped, unable to manage more than-that. Her face scarlet with suppressed feelings, she tugged at her wrist as his narrowed eyes watched her closely. When he looked at her like that she felt naked and was glad she wore her robe. If it had one fault it was too thin, the silky material revealed more than it concealed. She supposed she had Wade to thank for that!
He let go of her wrist but, to her dismay, slid his hand up her arm, to grasp the soft flesh above her elbow, drawing her to him. When she flinched, it might have been to punish her that his arms went completely around her, pulling her ruthlessly against him. Through the thinness of her robe she could feel the heat of his body, and molten fire poured through her veins. There seemed no stopping him and his effect was immediate and frightening. She tried to move, but again her trembling limbs prevented her, as his hands on her slim back pressed her against him.
'Wade—no. Let me go!' she made herself struggle, hit out at him.
His laughter was low, but it terrified her. He didn't do as she asked. There seemed only a desire to make her suffer as his hands laced tightly through her hair. He brought her head sharply against him, so she was crushed against the roughness of his chest, until her nostrils were filled with the male scent of him, forcing her to remember things she would rather forget. Beneath her shaking mouth his heart thundered so heavily she could hear it.
His voice was cool against the top of her head but oddly persuasive. 'You came to me, my dear. That must have taken courage. Why spoil it by pretending you're as innocent as when you left?'
Resentment flared through her, compounded of fright and pain, making her pulses race, her cheeks flame. She longed to slap those jeering words from his lips, yet the light which leapt to his eyes filled her with fear. 'You're despicable!' if she told him often enough he might believe it. I certainly didn't come in here tonight to take up where we left off. If you imagine I ever enjoyed sleeping with you then you're mistaken!'
'Liar!' his tone was wholly menacing. 'Or is it just that you need reminding?'
'Please, Wade!' She had meant to appeal to the better side of him but, as she raised wide blue eyes to his face and her full-lipped, enticing pink mouth trembled, she felt his whole body tense.
There was a sharp intake of his breath. Then the hand in her hair drew her head back and his mouth descended. His lips touched hers lightly at first, then hardened with increasing pressure, and, in spite of her horror of the situation, her lips parted under his. Response seemed to flood through her, overwhelming her with a half forgotten sensuality. His body was hard against hers, as a sudden violence seemed to take hold of him, and she felt his hands tearing savagely at the tightly closed front of her robe. In the process, as it opened, he touched her breasts and she wanted to scream and scream, as his hands burnt.
Amazingly, it was fear of the passionate surge of feeling within her that gave her the momentary strength to free herself. As he ruthlessly removed the robe from her shoulders, she jerked back so quickly she took him by surprise. 'How dare you do this to me?' she cried, shocked as much by her own reactions as by his reprehensible attitude. 'You brought me to Baccaroo to suit your own ends, not because I wanted to come,' she spluttered wildly. 'Don't think this gives you the right to do as you like with me!' '
To her relief he made no attempt to recapture her again. He just stood staring at her, as if he had lost interest. He even viewed her attempts to pull her torn robe together without any change of expression. 'You little fool,' he snapped, his face as grim as ever she had seen it, 'go back to your own bed and keep away from me. I'm warning you, though, the next time you come in here deliberately to provoke me, I won't be answerable for the consequences. You remember what happened before? I'm sure you wouldn't be able to plead ignorance this time if it happened again!'
Vicki, already at the door, turned, her face ashen. 'I had to get a blanket. It wasn't my fault.'
'Are you referring to the, blanket or the baby you had?' he asked coldly. 'As far as blankets go, why not have th
e lot?' He walked over to where she stood, thrusting a pile he had picked up into her arms. 'You'd better take them and get out, Mrs. McLeod. I guess I won't need them. It will take me the rest of the night to cool down!'
He must have been talking of his Temper, Vicki decided numbly as, an hour later, she still lay sleepless on her narrow bed. Bleakly she wondered about the other, how he could have said such dreadful things. The bed was warmer, now she had more to cover herself with, but in no way as nice as the one next door. With shame she found herself remembering the wide comfort of it, the wonder and delight she had eventually found there, in Wade's arms.
Suddenly she was back on the plane, her thoughts taking up where they had left off, when Wade had asked if she was asleep. She went back to the first day she had come here, on her eighteenth birthday. No one had known about that, of course. No one at all until Wade had asked.
Vicki remembered Alice Bell, whose companion she had been. Only a few months younger than Vicki, Alice had left after the vacation to join her parents in America. She was an only child, like Vicki, but unlike Vicki was used to a luxurious home and plenty of money. She had been inclined to criticize the Baccaroo homestead for its shabbiness, its lack of ultra-modern amenities, but other than that she and Vicki had got on admirably.
Vicki, strangely enough, had liked the house, both inside and out, from the very first moment she had seen it. The shabbiness, which she couldn't deny, had only made her feel more at home. It had been old Mr. McLeod and his arrogant grandson whom she'd been nervous of, not the frayed curtains, the faded carpets and thin sheets. Sheets so worn that feet often went clean through them.
She hadn't been there long before she had found herself asking Mrs. Clover, the housekeeper, if she couldn't mend some of the linen. Mrs. Clover had agreed, with lazy good humour, that there was nothing to stop her trying —if she was crazy enough to want to do it.
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