by Margaret Way
Driving back to their motel, some twenty-five kilometres away, it had appeared in the distance, Namitjira’s larkspur.
But now, at sunset! The island-mountain went through its most magnificent displays, the colours deeper, richer—the glowing golden orange of a fire’s embers, blazing terracotta-red, and then, as the sun began to sink, the Rock turned a soft velvety mauve, purple in the folds, the deep shadows at its base creating the illusion that the mighty monolith was floating above ground.
Evan, one arm around her shoulder, remarked quietly, “Easy to understand how the Rock is such a sacred ceremonial place for the aboriginals. The caves around the base are considered to be shrines.”
They had been privileged to examine the hundreds of rock paintings decorating the walls. The numerous Dreamtime legends associated with the Rock, most known only to the tribal people, commemorated the exploits of their totemic ancestors.
Laura, mindful that the tribal elders, the guardians of Uluru, didn’t appreciate tourists climbing all over their holy place, had elected to view the mighty monolith from the ground.
“My father and I climbed it when I was sixteen,” Evan told her. “I’ll probably never get to see the summit again, but the panorama from the top was worth all the effort. You can see sheer across the desert to the Musgrave, Mann and Petermann ranges to the south, the Gil ranges and the salt lake Amadeus to the north. All those minarets, cupolas and domes we can see in the distance, some thirty kilometres west, are the Olgas. The Pitjantjatjara named them Kata Tjuta—many heads. We’ll visit them tomorrow.
“Some people think they’re even more spectacular than Uluru. They turn on the same colour displays, but at certain times when the winds are howling through the ravines Kata Tjuta can be a very forbidding place. Tourists are forbidden to visit Kata Tjuta after dark anyway. It was the explorer Giles who said the Olgas were more wonderful and grotesque, the Rock more ancient and sublime. I think he got it right. The aboriginal people agree.
“Far off to the east is the majestic crown of Mount Connor, another island-mountain. The Rock is a formidable climb. In some places the angle of ascent is something like sixty degrees, and with the wind blowing!”
“Why do men like to climb everything?” she asked, giving him an impulsive hug because he was so very dear to her. “Why do they go off to the Poles, risking death, stand on the rim of active volcanos, peering down into the abyss. Women would find it absolutely terrifying, even insane.”
He smiled to himself. “No one has come up with a better answer than Mallory’s comment when asked why he wanted to climb Mount Everest. ‘Because it’s there.’”
“But Everest killed Mallory. I thought it terrible, the publication of photographs of his body when it was found seventy-five years later. It seemed like a violation. I was shocked.”
He shrugged. “Obviously the media was going for maximum impact, maximum drama, but that went over the line. Tired?” he asked solicitously.
“Not in the least.” She shook her head. “I’m having the most wonderful time, but I am hungry.”
“That’s good.” He took in her lovely colour, wanting nothing but to make her happy. “The air’s like wine. And a bit of exertion always makes one hungrier. The food’s good at the restaurant.
“We’ll come back one day and see the Rock under rain,” he promised her as they were driving away. “As you can imagine it doesn’t happen all that often, but it’s an unforgettable sight. The Rock turns a glittering metallic grey, and all the gullies on top fill with water, turning into rock pools. Cascades of water rush down the ravines, forming beautiful white waterfalls. The green belt you see around the base of the Rock is the result of the big run-offs during the rains.”
“This is a magic place,” Laura said.
“It is.”
“I’m going to hold you to your promise,” Laura warned him, so happy for a moment she all but forgot the spectre of Colin.
“No need.” He smiled at her. “When I say we’re going to do something, we will.”
As supremely spiritual as Laura had found Uluru, she was astonished by the Olgas—Kata Tjuta. A true romantic, she was captivated by the thirty or more magnificent dome-shaped monoliths separated by deep ravines, clustering over some thirty-five kilometres of desert floor.
They were a fantastic sight silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky, glowing a jewel-bright red at the time they arrived. She had never expected the domes to be so high. Quite a few rose much higher than Uluru, which she knew was over a thousand feet. On that particular day they were blessed by the weather conditions. The frightening winds that so affected the atmosphere were in abeyance. Only a gentle breeze blew through the ravines.
“Well, what do you think?” Evan asked, smiling quietly at the fascinated expression on her face. This beautiful young woman, his lover. It must have been destined she would conquer his heart.
“The domes are so extraordinary they’ve stolen my breath away. How would you describe them?”
“Again I don’t think you could beat Giles’s ‘rounded minarets, giant cupolas and monstrous domes’. They’re like the ruins of some fabulous ancient city, built by giants for giants.”
“I’m surprised by their height. In the distance they didn’t appear so very tall.”
He came behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, caressing the fine bones. “Perfectly flat desert plain,” he explained. “No trees or hills to give perspective.”
“And it’s greener.” Laura lifted her head as a great flight of budgerigar in a long V formation flashed emerald-green and gold over her head.
“The deep ravines provide enough shade to retain rain-water over long periods, consequently Kata Tjuta supports a large animal population. Most of them live among the domes without even venturing out onto the desert plains.”
“Wonderful things have happened to me.” She sighed blissfully, resting back against him.
“More wonderful things are in store,” he promised, letting his hands drop to the tender swell of her breasts.
At about the same time Laura and Evan were making love in the wild splendour of the desert Dr Colin Morcombe was poring over a magazine his receptionist had brought to his attention. Insufferable bitch, he would sack her, he thought, detesting the humiliation.
It was Laura, of course. Lovely little Laura, looking as pretty as a picture at Sarah Dempsey’s wedding. She looked radiantly happy, which was more of a shock.
I don’t believe it! A terrible rage broke over him, otherwise he would have laughed and laughed. He’d been convinced her mother was hiding her somewhere in New Zealand, where he had a private investigator still on the job, costing an arm and a leg. And who was the big, tall dark-haired bastard standing so possessively behind her? Every instinct told him the two of them were having a relationship. It was all in the body language. He knew about such things.
Unfaithful bitch! he raged, wanting to kill them. Not enough to leave me; you betray me as well.
It had been a huge shock to him when Laura had found the guts to run away. He had convinced himself she was too soft, too weak. The ideal victim. How he missed her! Her soft flesh. He had never got over his insatiable hunger for her. Women were goddesses—or devils.
What he was seeing now was Laura the betrayer. He could kill her. Take that white throat between his hands and squeeze and squeeze. Only he’d have her first.
The thought brought up little quivers all over his spine. He was one step away from arousal. Only lovely Laura with her soft pleading voice could do that to him. Only with Laura did he have power. With other women, more brash and worldly, at the last minute he’d be stricken impotent. The humiliation was terrible, though they pretended to laugh it off. He needed to have power. Control. He needed to intimidate. That was what it was all about.
Power!
The wall clock in his room infuriated him with its endless ticking. He sat at his desk, his hands, his very clever hands, pressed over his ears. His nurse came to the door, peere
d in, obviously about to say something—but he glared at her. At least she had the sense to murmur an apology and shut the door. She wasn’t like that bloody receptionist. She wouldn’t run out and tell everyone something was definitely wrong with the doctor.
Only it was!
Laura deserved to be punished. She deserved to be taught a lesson. One she would never forget.
He was a very busy man, with a big operation scheduled for three days’ time. None of that mattered. He’d get Romsey to do it. He was so enraged that for a moment he didn’t realize he was thrusting his letter-opener into his palm. He flung it away, narrowly missing a cut-glass paperweight.
“God, the bitch!” he whispered, though his anger was like a roar in his head. Tears of self-pity began to pour down his face. He’d teach her a lesson she’d remember all her life. “You’re going to be sorry, Laura.”
As for her lover? He drove a fist into his chest. From the size of him, the look of him, he wasn’t a man to take on in broad daylight. But there was always the cover of darkness.
He reached for his handkerchief and wiped his face furiously. What he had to do was send someone out to that Godforsaken place. What was the name of the town? Koomera Crossing?
Of course he remembered Sarah Dempsey, so beautiful there in her wedding dress. It cut like hell that she’d been part of this. A fellow doctor, goddamn her! And now she had a powerful husband to protect her. There weren’t too many people in the State who hadn’t heard of the McQueens. They were too big to touch, otherwise meddling Sarah would get what was coming to her.
The thought suddenly crossed his mind that they might be waiting for him. Laura’s abusive husband. Wouldn’t little Laura tell a sob story! What he had to do was send someone to check out the town. They had to be quick. It said here McQueen was on his honeymoon. The lover must be lured away. He needed Laura isolated…
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE night before they left the desert Laura woke up in a cold sweat, her heart drumming in her ears.
She’d had a dream. A terrible dream. Chaotic.
She was back in Thailand, the scene of her honeymoon. Colin was pursuing her through a darkened temple, though she could see the glimmering of a river through the windows of the huge wooden building. Numbers of living Buddhas, skin gleaming gold, richly attired, jewel-adorned, were all around her, seated and walking, accompanied by monks in their saffron robes. She could see them all vividly. She threw out her hands, imploring them to hide her within the temple, but they moved slowly past her as though she were invisible or had no voice.
Colin was the hunter. She was the hunted. Incapable as always of overcoming her fear of him and his punishing hands. She ran out of the temple into a shrill and tumultuous thoroughfare, swarming with Asians and the little three-wheeled tuk-tuks that transported tourists. Nobody looked at her as she ran crying for help. Nobody spoke to her. By now she was frantic.
She ran to a great carved and decorated door. At last she would find sanctuary. She pulled on the brass handle. The door didn’t budge. She rattled the handle, pulling with all her strength. Panting, struggling, she managed to get it to give a little—only Colin was behind her, overpowering her.
She threw up her hands to protect her face, screaming out helplessly, “No! No! No!” without any will left to fight.
“Open your eyes, Laura. Open them!” a voice ordered her.
“No, I don’t want to.” She tried to get away.
“Laura! You’re dreaming. Open your eyes. It’s me, Evan. I won’t let anything hurt you.”
“Oh…Evan!” She turned onto her back, releasing her stifled breath. Dazedly she stared up into his strongly hewn face. “Oh, God! My heart is pounding so hard I could be sick.”
“It was a nightmare,” he told her, smoothing her damp tumbled hair off her face. “Just a nightmare. You’re safe now.”
“Ahh!” She had to wait for her heart to slow.
Evan turned away to snap on the light. He stared down at her with jet-black intensity. She looked deeply disturbed, a fine dew of sweat sheened her lovely skin. Desert nights were very cold, but their room was air conditioned, set at a comfortable temperature. He rose and walked to the bathroom. Quickly he found a face washer, wetting it thoroughly, then wringing it out.
“What was that all about?” he asked, gently, wiping her face, her throat and her hands before patting them dry. “I thought one of the mythical Dreamtime creatures was trying to grab you.” He tried for a light touch though he felt quite perturbed.
“I can’t say just yet.” She fought hard to break free of the effects of the nightmare. “Do you think I could have a glass of water?”
“Of course you can.” He went away to get it, by which time she had hauled herself up in the bed, her head leaning back against the wall.
“There’s a nip of brandy, if you want it.”
“I’ll be all right.”
“I think I’ll have one,” he said, going to the small bar. “You sounded so terrified you terrified me.”
“It was so real!” she breathed.
“Here, let me put this rug around you.” He picked up the velvety soft rug that lay like a coverlet at the end of the bed.
She allowed him to wrap it around her, but when he went to walk away she caught at his hand.
“Don’t go, Evan.”
“I’m not going anywhere, my love. I’ll get my drink and come back to bed.”
“Please.” She was wide awake now, but still nervous, still a part of her dream.
When Evan returned to bed he gathered her into his arms, settling her head on his chest. She inched even closer, making him bend his head to kiss her.
“Feel better now?” He stroked and soothed her, his deep voice full of concern.
“I think I’m going to pieces.” She tried to laugh.
“Why? You’ve been so happy. We’ve had a wonderful time, haven’t we?”
“I want it to go on for ever, but it can’t.”
“Why do you say that, Laura?” Driven by something in her tone, he turned up her face, held it to him.
“There’s something I have to tell you, Evan,” she said in a bravely determined voice.
“Then you’d better tell me. I’m ready to listen.”
“I pray I’ll say it well. I’m so frightened of losing you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. My world. I can’t bear the idea of it collapsing.”
Anxiety dug its claws into him, but he didn’t allow it to overcome him. “I guess it’s got a lot to do with your boyfriend. You’d better tell me.”
Laura drew herself out of his arms. She feared outright rejection. “He’s not my boyfriend, Evan. I’ve allowed you to believe that. Forgive me. He’s my husband.”
Here it comes, she thought in misery. Disbelief. Disgust. Rejection. She braced herself.
“Your husband!” Evan’s voice was more full of pain than anger. “My God, Laura. Why would you keep anything so significant to our relationship to yourself?”
“I’m a coward, that’s why,” she said simply. “Full of fears to this day, when I’ve been trying desperately to get strong.”
“To think I believed you!” He rose from the bed. Abandoned her. “Has this whole damn thing been a charade? I’ve never had an affair with a married woman before.”
“I wanted to tell you, Evan.”
“What else haven’t you told me?” he retorted, turning to stare at her, even now under her spell. Hell, was he stupid, besotted, or what? “A couple of kids?”
“Colin never wanted children. It was enough to have me. You had your secrets, Evan,” she pointed out quietly.
“I did get around to telling you,” he replied in a clipped voice. “My secrets didn’t include being married.” He stalked to the wardrobe, pulled out some clothes.
“What are you doing?” She stared at him almost fearfully.
“I’m going for a walk.” His tone held a deep, quiet anger.
“Now?�
�� He left her reeling with guilt.
“Yes, now,” he said crisply. “Lock the door after me. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“You can’t bear to be with me another minute, can you?” She rose swiftly, letting the enveloping rug fall to the floor, her slender body barely veiled by her satin nightgown.
“I need a break, Laura.” He looked away from her, angry that he had allowed himself to fall so deeply in love with her. “The fact you’re married—and no matter what you say you can’t bring yourself to break free of that marriage—changes everything for me. I hope to God you’re not playing games.” Memories of Monika and her betrayal suddenly battered him.
“Never.” She shook her head, while her hair foamed like silk around her pale face. “Everything I’ve said to you came from the heart.”
“Don’t start crying,” he warned.
“I won’t.” Her voice broke.
“I just have to get some air.” He picked up a wool-lined jacket and put it on.
“I’m so sorry, Evan.”
“I dare say you are,” he said in an ironic voice. “I’d like to say let’s put it behind us and move on. Except I can’t.”
“You have every right to be angry.”
“Laura, stop.’
But she rushed to him, laying a white hand on his sleeve. “I have to tell you something else that might make you understand.”
“You do have a child, for all your denials?” He stared down at her, his voice taking on a bitter edge. “Why should I be surprised? Does your child look like you or its father?” he asked with black humour.
“Please—there’s no child. I could never leave my child.” She put up her arms to him, her green eyes imploring.
“Don’t!” He dragged her arms down. “It’s all falling apart.”
“I won’t let it! I need you desperately.”
In the midst of his disillusionment desire was devouring him from within. Love was like the open sea. Sometimes tranquil, other times hit by violent storms. He lifted her almost brutally high into his arms, plundering her soft cushiony mouth in a way she wasn’t likely to forget. Wild thoughts, initiated by anger and passion, flashed into his head. He tightened his hold on her beautiful body, then he remembered how small she was. He might bruise her.