by Margaret Way
Philip looked at his mother strangely. "Affair? What affair?"
Shelley's body tensed. She could see in Philip's eyes that he knew nothing about it. She turned her head, conscious of Brock's scornful gaze. "Did you have to air that?"
"Their dirty little secret?" A smile twisted his mouth. "Have I hurt Philip, tender-hearted Shelley? Okay, we'll explore that at a later date. This is all too damned pat, Gerald. I won't be taking it quietly. Especially since my grandfather told me his intentions."
Gerald Maitland suddenly recovered himself, mounting a challenge. "This is all hearsay, I'm afraid, Brock."
Shelley spoke up, for the first time grateful she was there. "Brock told me he'd had a conversation with his grandfather during which Mr Kingsley assured him Mulgaree would be his."
"For God's sake, Shelley, whose side are you on?" Philip burst out in astonishment, not even trying to hide his jealousy. He caught her arm, staring into her face.
"Why don't you get your hands off her?" Brock suggested tightly.
"Perhaps someone can tell me what Shelley Logan has to do with any of this anyway?" Frances started to vent her frustrations. "These are family matters. She isn't family and never will be."
Brock laughed shortly. "Knowing you, Frances, one can see why she wouldn't want to be. I believe everything that has been said here is a lie."
"So what are you going to do?" Frances looked at him with absolute hatred not unmixed with fear. "Call the police? There's no lie. No conspiracy-"
"Did I say conspiracy?" Brock cut in bluntly. "Perhaps I should consider it."
"Now that, my boy, is a tremendous insult." Gerald Maitland's bloodless lips were pressed very tightly together. "You might apologise to your aunt."
"Not me," said Brock. "She's not my aunt either. The fact is my grandfather could well have signed a new will naming me as principal beneficiary-only that would scarcely suit, would it? The new will is now destroyed, without anyone having sighted it. Your answer is you wished to spare the family pain. Obviously you overlooked me. So could there possibly be a conspiracy to defraud the estate? Or is that inconceivable? A man like you, Gerald, wouldn't want to go to jail. But you could never count on a person like me not pressing charges. And there's Eula, the witness. I know she was called in to sign; she told me herself this morning. "
"She had no knowledge whatever of the contents of the document. She merely signed." Gerald Maitland allowed his fury to show through.
"It's illegal to witness a signature without actually seeing that signature written. Sorry, Gerald, there will have to be an enquiry into this matter of the second will and why you found it so necessary to destroy it. It's possible you've got yourself into big, big trouble."
The helicopter lifted off the ground, but they didn't head towards Wybourne, as Shelley had expected. They flew into the heart of the open desert. Heartsore, she realized Brock was near to snapping point so she made no protest. She
remained silent until they touched down on the flat, fiery terrain that marched on to the mirage-stalked horizon
The landscape burst into sound as a response. A great flight of white sulphur-crested corellas swirled above thr mulga, while a herd of emus-some with their striped chicks-rose from behind the thick screening of saltbush to take off at a great rate, plainly outraged by the loud noisy of the rotors that now gradually slowed to a stop.
"I'll take you back in a while." Brock lifted her doN n like a bundle of feathers. "Right now I need time to recover."
She heard the torment in his voice, understood it. It was easy to sympathize with his mood of utter disillusionment "I'm in no hurry."
"So my grandfather continued his torture to the death?" he mused bleakly.
"That would have been too cruel. He did beg you to come home."
"You didn't know him." He took her hand. "I suppose to have found his conscience would have been too radical a change. It could be true, you know. The whole damn lot of it. To the end he devoted himself to smashing me like a pane of glass. Punishing me for not bringing my mother home."
Some instinct told Shelley that that wasn't the case. "I think that's taking your grandfather's bent towards vindictiveness too far. You said yourself he didn't want everything he'd worked for run down or broken up and sold. That could happen with Philip and Frances in charge."
"Would happen, you mean," he said bluntly. "Poor old Phil! Now he thinks it's all happening he's getting cold feel about the responsibility."
"Can you blame him? It's a big job. And he has his mother. She's no fool."
"Philip would fight her over you." His eyes flashed over her, lighting her up like electricity.
"Except there's no possibility of a Philip and me. I thought we'd agreed on that."
"Even with all that money?" He struggled to keep the hitter cynicism out of his voice, but failed.
"Don't turn on me, Brock," she begged.
"Okay, I apologise. I'm humbled by your high principles. You're the most honourable of young women. I'm blessed to know you."
"Stop it," she said, very quietly.
He emitted a deep sigh. "Do they really expect me to swallow all that?"
"Would Maitland try something criminal?" she asked doubtfully.
"He might if it were made worth his while. He could marry dear Frances, for instance."
"I can't see him going so far."
"Seeing corruption in action is always a profound shock. I don't trust either of them."
"No, but you have to remain calm so you can think clearly."
"Well, this is the perfect place to do it." His grip tightened. "Even at the worst times this country has nurtured me. When I was a boy I spent so much time in the desert. Much as I loved my mother, I hated to go home. My grandfather was so cold and cutting people were genuinely afraid of him. He had a look that could turn you to stone. And then there was Aunt Frances-and Philip, a boy like meplotting to keep deep divisions in the family.
"Mulgaree was so fraught with intrigue we could have been back in the Middle Ages. Can you blame me if I was forever wondering about my father? Where he went? Was there nothing of a fighter in him? Couldn't he stand up to my grandfather? Hell, even I could. Yet as a small child I loved my father, and I could have sworn he loved me. I have so many questions, Shelley. Why did he put his love for my mother behind him? Is there something of him in me? Could I desert my wife and child?"
Shelley drew in her breath sharply. "I'm absolutely certain you couldn't."
"How can you be so sure?" he asked with grim humour.
"You've said I have a devil in me, don't forget."
"You are a devil, when you want, but you're full of other things. Good things. You're even wonderful at odd, unex
pected moments."
"Maybe I'm a different person with you in my life." "Am I in your life?" She lifted her head to meet his gaze.
"For better or worse." He contemplated her gravely.
"Then let's hope it's not worse."
They walked along in near silence, looking out over the vast saltbush plains, drawing the pure, unpolluted air into their lungs. At this time of day the eroded hills, home of the yellow-footed rock wallabies, appeared purple againsi the piercingly blue sky.
The mirage was still abroad, as it had been from sun-up mischievously creating chains of dazzling lakes in the arid wilderness so silvery-blue they glazed the naked eye.
Paintings and engravings were hidden away in the cave and gorges of those hills. They were reminders of the ancient tenure of the aboriginal people, for forty thousand years the most isolated of all peoples, cut off from all contact with the outside world. It was small wonder they worshipped this land.
"Where are we going, Brock?" she questioned as they moved through the spirit-driven landscape. Its extraordinary silence was almost tangible, broken only by the chatter of birds and the soughing of the acacia-scented breeze.
"Where do you want to go?" He had his thumb on the blue and white translucence of her w
rist.
His sheer excitement invaded her, making her spirit open to him. She had a mad desire to say, Anywhere, with you and barely brought it under control. "Perhaps we could go as far as the hills?"
He halted briefly, still swinging her hand. "I mean seriously-if you could go some place where would it be?"
"Would you take me?" She felt real pressure behind her ribcage. She realized now she couldn't protect herself from this man. She couldn't withdraw her heart.
"Be careful what you wish for."
"You don't think I'd be safe with you?" A poignant little smile touched her mouth.
"Not the way I am these days, Shelley girl. You offer exquisite comfort."
"You're afraid of what you might do?"
He looked down at her. "Outside of my mother, I've never had a woman tug at my heart." There was a hard ache in him that momentarily escaped.
"You don't want that?"
"Tugging on the heartstrings can hurt a lot," he said, handsome mouth down-curved. "You haven't answered my question. Where would you go? Anywhere in the world?"
"The ocean." She didn't hesitate. "The Pacific, the Indian. I don't care. I've never seen the ocean."
"God, I suppose you haven't." If anyone was trapped by love and concern for her family it was Shelley.
"There's such a lot I haven't seen and haven't done."
"That's easily fixed." A certain tenderness softened his expression.
"Money, money, money! It's hard to do anything without it."
"Probably why your family was ready to sell you off to Philip. Wait until they hear he's inherited Mulgaree. They'll be ecstatic."
"I have trouble with what we heard today."
His whole demeanour darkened. "It's Maitland's word. He heads a highly successful legal firm. Still, he's acted unethically."
"Do you mean with Philip's mother?"
He halted so abruptly she thought she might have offended him in some way.
"Of course. But you have to take my word for that. M % mother and I were well aware of what was going on between Frances and Gerald. Kingsley being Kingsley most likely knew as well. Perhaps it amused him, in a devilish kind of way."
"Wouldn't Gerald Maitland hate doing something that would put his career at risk?"
They walked on, lost in speculation.
"People who know a great deal about the law know best how to break it," Brock responded grimly. "I don't believe what he did-or said he did-was open and above board. The difficulty will be to prove it. Then there's the time factor. The case could take years. Forget the scandal."
They were approaching the base of the hill country and she could see the little wallabies moving among the rich chocolate rocks streaked with yellow, magenta and blood red. "Can you?" she asked.
He was silent for a moment. "My family is full of scandal."
"There's a lot of gossip about my family as well. Not on the level of yours, of course. The Logans are small fry. But it seems to me this whole business of the unexecuted will is on slippery ground."
"As are you." Brock caught and steadied her, one hand at her elbow as a section of rubble gave way beneath her flat-heeled shoes.
Small rocks of curious shapes that probably would have yielded all sorts of fossilized marine life, crustaceans and frogs, rained down the slopes, the sound carrying a long way in the desert. It stirred up a group of red kangaroos and yellow-feathered emus that took off for safer ground, the kangaroos bounding, great tails acting as balance, the huge flightless birds easily outpacing them.
"I suppose we shouldn't explore too deeply," Brock said, taking a quick look around. "Bound to be snakes. But they'll do their utmost to keep out of our way. Is it too hot for you?" He turned to inspect her small face. Both of them were wearing akubras to shelter their heads from the blazing sun, wide brims at a tilt.
"I'm used to it."
Masses of red-gold tendrils like licks of flame encircled her face, her skin the texture of a white camellia. It was flushed with heat and exertion, and little beads of perspiration gathered beneath her lustrous eyes and above her top lip. He found her so sexual. The ever-present desire hit him with such force it almost knocked him off balance.
He wanted this woman and the want would never go away. As he looked into her eyes he was moved to believe he not only wanted but needed her. A thousand threads seemed to bind them, growing stronger by the day.
Already caught in a maze of emotions, including betrayal, confusion, despair, and a grief that he had spent a lifetime keeping to himself, Brock realized he was within a hair's breadth of taking her.
Minutes dragged on as they stared at each other.
"Are you all right?" she asked breathlessly, painfully aware of his brooding expression and the throbbing intimacy between them.
"We should go back." He came to a hard decision. Hurting this girl would tear the heart out of him.
Something about the way he spoke, the glitter in his shining eyes, made her heart lurch. "I thought we were going to find a cave? At least we could take a look inside the largest of them. Just up there."
She pointed to a mesa-shaped dome with a single ghost gum growing at a peculiar angle guarding the cave's entrance.
"There could be some rock drawings. It might make you feel better. Just a few minutes before you go back to all your problems. Mine too."
"It could be dangerous," he warned, not talking about the terrain at all.
She gave a choked little laugh. "Did I hear right? Brock Tyson talking danger?" She grabbed his arm, using it as an anchor to bring her further up the slope. "Come on. I dare you."
As soon as she found firm footing she took off like a gazelle, as though a wonderful Aladdin's cave was about to open up for her.
"Stop, Shelley." His tone was so inherently commanding, she obeyed. "I'll go first. I'll decide whether we go in."
"Okay, boss." She tipped her brim, trying to act cheerful when she was feeling a whole range of emotions: excitement, anguish for Brock, a kind of trepidation for herself.
Apart from the lone ghost gum, with its chalk-white bole there was little vegetation around the mouth of the cavr except for a broad hanging cascade of some desert plant bearing innumerable tiny scarlet balls.
Moving carefully, Shelley picked her way to the toy, watching Brock's tall, lean figure disappear into the semi circular entrance. She stopped once to breathe deeply. It was eerie.
Those little scarlet balls must be the plant's flower-heads and they were releasing some aromatic odour like frankincense. The scent grew stronger the higher she climbed. It wasn't any kind of grevillea or hakea, or any of the widely distributed desert plants she was familiar with and had drawn in detail. She hadn't even seen it before, but the incense was drenching, invading her nostrils and making them flare.
She paused at the entrance of the cave, leaning against the striated rock wall with its furrows of multicoloured ochres. She felt a little dizzy, as though the rich, alluring aroma was overcoming her.
"Shelley!" Brock's tall shadow fell over her. "What's the matter?" He came right up close to her, focusing on her face. "Damn it, it's the heat," he rasped in a kind of sell. disgust. "We shouldn't have covered so much ground. I blame myself and my mood. I felt like walking off the edge of the world. Are you okay?"
He caught the point of her chin, turning her face up to him. It was so delicate, her colouring so exquisite, she reminded him of some ethereal creature in a Old Master painting.
"I'm fine!" She tried a smile to cover up her slight feeling of disorientation. "Have you ever seen that plant over there?" She pointed to the blazing red hanging clusters.
He frowned, forcing himself to focus on the brilliant display. "I don't think I have. The perfume is very strong. Rather like incense. You'd better come inside the cave for a few minutes," he said in concern. "It's amazingly cool in there."
"Any rock paintings?" she asked, only too aware he was deeply disturbed. This complicated man.
"Wait and
see."
It took a few moments for her to adjust to the dim light after the blaze of the sun.
"Well?" He watched the quick play of emotions across her expressive face.
"Oh, Brock!" The interior of the cave began to take form and Shelley looked around her in amazed delight. The space contained strange, secret things! A gallery.
They might have been inside some prehistoric temple. The dome of the cave was high, its depth shallow. The floor of' the cave, perfectly flat, with a tracery of lizard imprints, was ochred sand.