Born of the Wind

by Margaret Pargeter

  Bitterly she retorted, 'Was it very admirable to want to show Kim and me up?'

  'That's beside the point,' he replied. 'It was you, yourself, who suggested it. All I'm interested in is holding two people back from what could be a monumental disaster. If this could have been achieved discreetly, well and good, but as it seems impossible, I won't waste any more time. From now on I shall forbid Ellen to see your brother, and I want your promise that you won't encourage Kim to go against my ruling.' 'Or else, Mr Brady?'

  His teeth flashed, hard and white in the darkness. 'I must say, Sherry, I admire your intelligence. Go against me and you're in for the shock of your life. If anything happens to Ellen, I guarantee there'll be reprisals.'

  When he used her name, all her senses heightened. His eyes held hers, very dark and challenging. She had to shake her head to get rid of the sensation that she was drowning. From a great distance she heard her own voice, amazingly light and disdainful. 'Threats, Mr Brady?'

  His mouth thinned. 'At the moment, but not idle ones.'

  Sherry tried to calm the strange buoyancy which was driving her on. She might have shared some of Kim's recklessness, for the desire to goad Scott Brady was irresistible. 'What could happen to Ellen?' she asked, deliberately provoking. 'Isn't a girl of twenty-four old enough to be responsible for her own destiny?'

  'Do I have to keep repeating?' he said curtly. 'Ellen's led a very sheltered life. She could be seduced. In the hands of a fortune-hunter it could easily happen.'

  Sherry went still, completely stunned by such bluntness. She ignored the small voice within her that said she had asked for it. 'Kim wouldn't!' she spluttered. 'And he's no fortune-hunter.'

  'He acts like one,' Scott had no pity for her surprising paleness. 'And it's a mistake to pretend he's a saint.'

  Sherry lost control of herself then, incited beyond endurance. 'Are you?' she cried ridiculously, raising small fists to begin hitting him.

  He didn't flinch, she might merely have been patting his broad chest. He caught hold of her, though, giving her a little shake. 'That's enough, Sherry.'

  How could she ever listen to such a relentless voice, devilishly overtoned in velvet though it was! Never had she felt less like pulling herself together. Everything was getting too much, and pounding this impossible man might be the best way of releasing her pent-up fury. She forgot she was wearing practically nothing until he pulled her hard against him, his arms encircling her slight body, his hands biting in to her soft skin.

  While she gasped, he taunted mockingly, 'You'd be a fool if you believed any man a saint, Sherry. This little exercise might prove it.'

  He eased her slightly away, subjecting her to a cool, searching scrutiny. Helplessly, Sherry looked at him, her lips quivering, her wide blue eyes darkening in horrified anticipation. He couldn't be thinking of kissing her, could he? She had never meant to drive him that far! 'Don't dare touch me!' she breathed.

  His enigmatical gaze was roaming her face, his voice cynical. 'You throw yourself at me, then ask me not to touch you. You imply I'm a scoundrel, the least you can expect is for me to kiss you.'

  'No!' she cried numbly, only being able to appeal to him verbally, all physical strength having left her.

  Derisively he drawled, 'Don't worry, I won't ask the supreme sacrifice. When I really want to make love to a girl, I pick one with more experience.'

  He bent to touch her lips with his, clearly intent, from his sardonic expression, on frightening her more than anything else. There might have been no thought of his own satisfaction, otherwise. So why, after the first brief second, did the pressure of his mouth suddenly deepen and a shudder run through his tall frame?

  Sherry felt boneless and quiescent, drugged to her extremities. She heard the harsh intake of his breath as his mouth forced hers open with ruthless precision. As his arms drew her closer, her own went fiercely round his neck. It was the first time any man had kissed her but she acted as if it had been happening for years. His hand shaped the back of her head, his technique so sensual she couldn't match it, but she began returning his kisses passionately, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she clung to him.

  Just when her blood was beginning to take fire, he lifted his head abruptly. Every nerve end suddenly pulsing with awareness, she might have fallen if he hadn't continued holding her. After a moment, when she regained her balance, he thrust her nearly savagely from him.

  His voice came rasping. 'Words are wasted on a girl like you!'

  Brushing a tear from her eye, she hoped he didn't notice. 'What were you trying to prove?' she whispered, her mind shattered in chaos.

  'Do I have to spell it out?' His dark face was once again formidable. 'I curtailed myself to a few kisses, but I'm sure you're quite able to imagine how much more difficult it might have been if we'd fancied ourselves in love.'

  His tenaciousness was astounding! Kim and Ellen didn't stand a chance! She couldn't begin to analyse her own feelings, they were so complex she wouldn't dare examine them! With a choked cry, she turned and ran from him, but even as he let her go she doubted if she would ever escape the new emotions he had roused in her.

  The following days became weeks and passed slowly. After the dinner party at Coomarlee, Kim had grown strangely secretive. Amazingly he took to following a more regular routine of work, going out early in the morning and frequently staying out all day. Old Sam and his son weren't saying much—but then they rarely did. Perhaps they were waiting to see if Kim's transformation was genuine before they lauded him with praise. If she didn't see a lot of Kim herself, it was because she worked nearer the homestead. Mustering the big Merinos was a tiring operation for a slip of a girl. By sundown she was exhausted and glad to return to the homestead to prepare the evening meal. Afterwards she usually went straight to bed.

  Of Scott Brady she had seen no sign since the dinnerparty. Having seen nothing of Ellen, either, she concluded Scott had carried out his threat and removed her to one of his other properties. She was sure Kim wasn't still seeing her. Since trying to get a few straight answers out of Kim about his relationship with Ellen, she hadn't broached the subject again. It wasn't easy to talk to him. She had to catch him in the right mood, and she was always busy.

  She didn't know when she first noticed that Kim had lost weight and looked depressed. Believing he was settling down, it was a rude shock to suddenly realise he was brooding a lot. One evening she plucked up courage to ask what was wrong.

  'Everything,' he replied cynically, 'and nothing.' Sherry immediately felt apprehensive. 'Is it Ellen?' 'How did you guess?' he muttered sarcastically. She looked at him doubtfully. 'I hadn't seen her round, I thought she might be away.'

  Kim's eyes hardened as he returned his sister's gaze, but he was obviously seeing other than Sherry's tired face. 'Scott wanted her to go, but she refused, He watches her like a hawk, though. If he's not keeping an eye on her, he makes sure someone is.'

  So Scott's threats hadn't been idle ones! Sherry frowned unhappily. How much of this had been her fault? She hadn't collaborated with Scott; if she had, ironically she might have been able to do more for Kim, indirectly, than she was able to do now. Yet mightn't a complete break be better, in the long run? She had to agree with Scott that Kim wasn't in the position to be thinking seriously of any girl. Sherry felt it would be cruel to keep on telling him that, and found herself weakly observing, 'He can't keep her prisoner!'

  'No, but he can be damned awkward.'

  She could imagine! She asked tentatively, 'When was the last time you were with her?'

  Kim's hesitation was so slight as to be scarcely discernible. 'The night of the dinner party.'

  Sherry recalled that night with flushed cheeks. How long had Scott and she been under those trees? Ten minutes or half an hour? She had refused to allow herself to dwell on such a humiliating episode! Whenever it impinged on her mind, she refused to think about it. Scott must have felt a similar aversion, for she had scarcely seen him again that even
ing. He had rejoined the company indoors while she had shakenly re-dressed and hidden in a quiet corner of the garden to contemplate her shame. Not until she gauged the swimming session over had she returned to join the younger ones on the terrace where they had danced to the music coming through the open windows.

  So absorbed did she become in the sudden rush of recollections that she wasn't prepared for the shock that rushed through her as she heard Kim muttering bitterly, 'Sometimes I feel like doing something desperate!'

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sherry visibly started as she was immediately besieged by memories of events even more disturbing than those she had been thinking of. As Kim spoke, all the doubts regarding their father's sudden death returned devastatingly. Flooded by barely controllable apprehension, she stared at her brother, despairing to see how pale he looked, and indeed desperate.

  Sherry trembled like a wind-tossed leaf. It struck her suddenly that she must do something. She had been considering the whole affair mainly from Ellen's point of view, the apparent hopelessness of it, as pointed out by Scott Brady. But surely if Ellen's happiness depended on having a permanent relationship with Kim, Scott should be prepared to help him?

  At Googon, Kim was like a square peg in a round hole, but his potential in the right place might be enormous. He had a lot of their father in him. Her small face set in lines of painful concentration, Sherry tried to recall instances almost forgotten, and her groping mind eventually pounced on something concrete: her father in conversation with one of his top men. Harold Gibson, entirely dependable and trustworthy, had always been a tower of strength. Though his own health had failed a few months before the crash, he had wanted Kim to stay in London and stick it out, sure that something could be salvaged. She had heard him remarking to her father that Kim showed great promise. No unparalleled recommendation, one might think, but no one knowing Harold Gibson would have failed to be impressed. If she could convey some of this to Scott Brady, mightn't he believe it would be worthwhile giving Kim a chance in one of his own companies? It might mean explaining something of what had happened in London, and after three years of silence that wouldn't be easy, but if it was for Kim's ultimate happiness she believed she could do it.

  The question of Googon's possible fate, should Kim leave, she thrust to one side. She hadn't lived here for three years without learning that survival could depend on conserving her strength for the problems on hand, not those which might never happen. She only let herself conjecture that if Scott wanted Googon it might be an added incentive to transferring Kim to a job he liked, but she shied away, with the caution of someone twice her age, from imagining it was something already accomplished.

  Not obviously eager to await any comments on his bitterness, Kim slammed out violently, leaving Sherry in a terrible state of indecision. Despite Harold Gibson's opinion of him, Kim's moods were often so unreliable that she hesitated to recommend him to anyone.

  Advising herself to think carefully, she did nothing for the next few days, yet the sight of Kim's unhappy face became more than she could stand. Desperately she tried to think of another course of action, somewhere between Scott's ruthless one and her own perhaps too ambitious one. When one evening Kim came home from Bourke, in what could only be described as a drunken stupor, Sherry was driven to making up her mind. She had to make one last attempt to help Kim or somehow she would always believe she had failed him, as well as their parents.

  Having put him to bed, with the help of old Sam, she took the truck and set out for Coomarlee. She didn't give a thought to the fact that she might arrive in the middle of dinner. She was so wholly concerned for Kim, the certain knowledge that he needed help, she didn't spare a thought for anything else.

  On the way she collected a flat and had to change the wheel. Fortunately the spare was all right, but as she parked outside Coomarlee's imposing front door, she glanced ruefully at her dirty hands. She had done her best with a rag, but hadn't been able to get rid of all the grease.

  There were two other cars in the drive. Stopping near them, she had no means of knowing if they belonged to Scott. If he had guests he might be annoyed if she disturbed him, but she had no means of finding out. Brushing back her hair, which she had returned to its usual practical braid after being here last, she squared her thin shoulders and knocked on the door.

  An elderly woman, presumably the housekeeper, answered.

  'I'd like to see Mr Brady, please,' Sherry said.

  The woman frowned. 'Mr Brady has guests.'

  'I see.' Sherry didn't retreat—her mission was too important. That Scott was at home was too great an advantage to dismiss easily. 'I wonder if you could ask if he would spare me a little of his time?'

  'I think,' the woman advised doubtfully, 'you'd better make an appointment to see him when it's more convenient, Miss ?'

  'Grant,' Sherry supplied absently.

  'Grant…!' The pair of brown eyes studied her a little more sharply. 'From—Googon?'

  'Yes,' Sherry nodded as casually as she was able. 'It's a long way.'

  It wasn't, and the woman didn't look impressed. Far from it! 'I'm afraid I have my orders,' she began.

  Sherry wasn't listening. Beyond the housekeeper's sentinel shoulders, she saw the lounge door opening and Scott coming out, closing the door behind him. Glancing .at the girl hovering on his doorstep, he might have been blind, for his feet never hesitated in the way he was going.

  Incensed at being so ignored, Sherry acted on impulse. Angrily brushing past his housekeeper, she flew after him, catching his arm. 'Mr Brady!' she exclaimed. 'I'd like a word with you.'

  He paused on a half turn, immediately detaching her less than clean fingers from the sleeve of his immaculate suit. His eyes, no less unfriendly than his housekeeper's, coldly surveyed her flushed face. 'Do you make a habit of invading a man's privacy, Miss Grant?'

  Had she ever been held in this man's arms, kissed by him as though he enjoyed what he was doing? Glaring at him, she retorted, 'I asked to see you and was refused. It was the only way.'

  'Really, Miss Grant,' he shamed her wildness by being derisively reasonable, 'you could have returned another day, if it was important. I have guests.'

  'So she told me.'

  Her perhaps less than reference to a member of his staff tightened his lips. 'Mrs Fox.'

  'Well, she has that look. I didn't know her name!'

  'Remember it, if you ever have the occasion to use it again.' His tone implied she wouldn't. 'Now, will you please get out of my sight!'

  'No, I won't!' Sherry's incredulous gasp held a determination to stay right where she was until he listened. 'It's about Kim and Ellen,' she added quickly, as he seemed about to eject her by bodily force.

  He paused, uncharacteristically uncertain, and Sherry had to press a momentary advantage. 'I have something to say, and you must listen!'

  Again the odd hesitation, but if he was waging a battle it wasn't with herself. 'I don't have to listen to anything, Miss Grant.'

  'I know!' she flung back her head despairingly. 'You never listen unless you want to. Perhaps that's where you go wrong, Mr Brady!'

  If she had expected him to be annoyed, she wasn't prepared to find herself being thrust so forcibly into his study. As the door closed, he checked a gold watch on his hair-sprinkled wrist. 'I'll spare you five minutes, Miss Grant.'

  Sherry stared at him, maybe a shade more anxiously now she had got her way. Five minutes! She didn't underestimate the command in the dark-timbred voice—it wouldn't be a minute longer. Sighing at her own foolishness, she wished she hadn't lost her temper. Anger wasn't easy to get rid of at the drop of a hat, and time was ticking away inexorably.

  'It's about Kim.

  'And Ellen, you said,' Scott prompted impatiently as she hesitated.

  'Yes. Yes, I did.' If only she could get on with it instead of reducing what time she had with inane observations. The trouble was her mind had gone blank! She tried again. 'Well, Kim has been so depressed lat
ely, I had to come and see if you wouldn't relent. About letting Ellen see him, I mean.'

  'He sent you?'

  Did he have to sound so disparaging? If Kim had, would it have been a crime? 'He has no idea I'm here,' she said.

  'Why not?'

  Sherry stared at him, unconsciously mutinous. The way he was sniping at everything she said wasn't helping. 'We don't always tell each other where we're going.'

  His mouth curled, reflecting the contemptuous look on his face. 'I saw him in Bourke, round five o'clock.'

  'Oh.' Her glance wavered frustratedly. That said everything! Scott Brady would never want anyone who was indiscreet enough to get drunk on the streets for a brother-in-law.

  'So,' he continued, with aggravating astuteness, 'after putting him to bed, you decided you couldn't put up with it any longer and raced over here.'

  'I got a flat tyre,' she muttered distractedly.

  'Which explains why you're covered in grease.'

  She hadn't given it much thought, but he was looking so hard at her face, she realised there must be grease there too. Hastily she took a handkerchief from her pocket and began scrubbing her cheeks.

  'Leave it!' he muttered tersely. 'It's only a smudge.'

  She shrugged her shoulders but immediately obeyed. What difference would it make if she was spick and span and beautiful? He had made up his mind about the Grants and nothing she either said or did was going to change it! She ought to go straight home.

  Yet she was loath to leave before making one last plea on Kim's behalf. Scott was watching her narrowly and she tried to be coolly rational. It might not be fair to expect him to be impressed when he knew so little of the real Kim.

  'In the right place,' she said carefully, 'my brother could do well, Mr Brady. He has a degree and it was considered he had a brilliant future.'

  'By whom?'

  Was there no pity in the man's iron soul? Sherry had to gaze at the floor to hide a despairing indignation. 'Harold Gibson, my father's right-hand man…'