by Margaret Way
"Sit down, Shelley," her father said, lowering his gaze from her face the way he always did. "I took the first call from Philip. He confided in me about his grandfather's will. As I understand it he is the main beneficiary-Rex Kingsley's heir. Mulgaree is his. The other boy, Brock, was not mentioned in the will. Personally I find that totally unjust, though I suppose it's none of my business. He was a hard, hard man, Kingsley. Cruel, really. I can't imagine why he brought the boy home."
"Brock's not a boy, Dad. You remember the boy. He's very much a man. Philip couldn't hold a candle to him."
"So much for that!" Amanda, her father's favourite, hooted. "It's Phil who's got the money. He must be worth millions and millions. Oh, God, I wish he was attracted to me, but it has to be you."
"You're welcome to him," Shelley said.
Her father glanced up quickly, a strange light in his fade(] blue eyes. "I hope we can all come together on this, Shelley. Philip tells me he loves you and he's ready to marry you. Isn't that enough for any girl? By the way, I should tell you I cancelled that party of tourists who were coming out here. I don't like strangers around the place. I know they've brought in money, but we won't need it now."
Shelley felt it like a betrayal. "Oh, Dad, why did you do that? I have everything planned. They'll feel very let down. I'll have to give the deposits back. You should have consulted me. We do need the money."
Her mother leaned closer, took hold of Shelley's hand. "Listen to your father, Shelley. Don't think we don't ap predate how hard you've worked on your project. We do. You're a very clever, capable girl. You could be anything you want to be, given the opportunity. Now you have it. No young woman in her right mind would turn down Philip Kingsley. He can give you the world. Moreover, he's prepared to do it."
Shelley felt her face burning. "Except I don't love him. Mum. When are you going to take that into account? I'll never love him. He doesn't attract me in that way."
"Not like Brock, I suppose?" Amanda broke in, expression taunting. "I agree he's very sexy, but he's not the type to offer marriage."
"We're not talking sex here, Amanda." Patrick Logan stared at Amanda angrily. "But we are talking marriage. That's a most serious business. The most important in a woman's life. Philip is a good-looking, decent young man. All right, he never was a patch on his cousin, but he's young and healthy and love will come later. You both have many interests in common, Shelley. You'll be a great asset to him."
"Dad you're not listening," Shelley cried out despairingly. "I'm not interested in Philip."
"Then you'd better get interested in him," Patrick shot hack. "He'll devote his entire life to looking after you. He loves you, you fool of a girl. You should be honoured."
"And think how he can help us," Amanda piped up in all seriousness. "If you became Mrs Kingsley that would he a big step up for us. The Kingsleys are important people. Now his grandfather has gone Philip will be rich and powerful. He'll probably blossom and gain in confidence. If you gave him a little help he could turn into the man you want him to be."
Shelley stared incredulously at her sister. "What are we talking here, Mandy? Prostitution?"
Patrick Logan's face turned beetroot with anger. "You should go and wash your mouth out with soap. I won't have you speaking like that, Shelley. What we're talking about is making a good marriage for you. We love you."
"Do you, Dad?" Finally she decided to ask it-what she had always wondered in her mind. Shelley looked at her parents sadly. "You can hardly look at me, Dad, and Mum scurries away every time I try to talk to her. You don't love me. You bitterly resent me for surviving when Sean didn't."
"Stop now, Shelley," her father thundered, as though she had no right to broach the subject.
"Please, Dad, allow me to speak. All this avoidance of anything connected to Sean has been bad for all of us. He was my twin. My other half. He's never left me. He's still around. He wakes me every morning of my life. I talk to him. I tell him things that I can't possibly tell anyone else."
"Are you going to stop?" her father gritted, shaking his head like an enraged animal.
"Yes, stop, Shelley!" Her mother and Amanda cried it together.
"Oh, yes, you'd all like me to. It suits you. Since that day you've treated me like I was involved in foul play. I was six. I can't remember much except the screaming. Everything else has gone white. I know I didn't cause Seain any harm. I couldn't have. I loved him. He loved me. he loved me more than any of you. He always ran to me. Never Mandy."
"Such a pity, then, that you pushed him," Amanda sail bitterly. "Oh, don't look like you're going to faint Everyone knows."
"How cruel you are, Amanda." Their mother spoke in shock and pain. "I never knew."
"You're all cruel." Shelley's voice broke. "One day I'm going to remember. Some little chink of light is going it, fall into my brain. You've always been the accuser. Amanda, but you couldn't have been fully engaged looking after us."
"I want this to stop," Patrick Logan bellowed, actually capturing his younger daughter's gaze. "No purpose can he served by trying to unravel the events of that terrible day. Sean was loved by us all. He was my son. I don't suppose you women know what that means to a man-having a son."
"You've never given your daughters a chance, Dad," Shelley said. "Especially me."
"It's not like you're saying," her father claimed. "Arcewe to be condemned because you remind us so terribly of Sean? Our little Sean! He was so very, very special."
"I'm special too, Dad, if you could only see it."
"Shelley, you mean so much to us," her mother broke in, blue eyes full of remorse. More and more frequently these days she was coming to see the great wrong the family had done her younger daughter. "You're a dear girl. A strong girl. Your father and I know how difficult it's been for you."
"And me!" Amanda insisted, looking outraged.
"You look like Mum," Shelley said by way of explanation. "Sean and I took after Nana. We inherited her colouring. If my colouring wasn't so different-if I'd been blonde and blue-eyed like Amanda-you might have been able to love me, too."
Her mother hung her head in shame and sorrow, as though her deepest secret was out. "All I can say is your father and I do love you, even if we've found it very hard to put it into words. We want the best for you. And the best for a woman is a good marriage. You can work wonders on Philip if you try. He's a one-woman man. He'll be faithful to you."
"We just want you to have security," her father urged, as though that was the greatest goal in life. "Philip is coming over in the morning to formally ask my permission."
Shelley was thunderstruck. "You've got to be joking, Dad. Ask your permission? Am I wrong? Are we not in the twenty-first century? Is Queen Victoria still on the throne?"
Patrick Logan looked as if he was running out of his scant store of patience. "It's the right and proper thing to do," he said, looking as if he believed it. "I am your father. Lots of people do it. It may be old-fashioned but I consider it a necessary courtesy."
"I think it's kinda cute." Amanda touched her father's hand, backing him. "Think it over, Shelley. You're on a winner here. And if you're on a winner so are we."
Shelley made sure she was the first to greet Philip-though greet was hardly the word. More like confront. Philip had a blind spot. Her parents were about to sell her off to the highest bidder. Her sister, only four years older than herself, was fully in agreement.
They made it sound as if all their thoughts were of her and her future. Her security, her position in life. When in fact the whole lot of them were thinking of the benefits to themselves. Her marrying Philip was obviously intended to help them out. The Logan family fortune, such as it was had dwindled to an all-time low, despite Shelley's best efforts, and it was her job now to restore it by making a good marriage. This so-called marriage of convenience. God knows, it still went on. Love alone apparently wasn't enough for some people. A strenuous attempt was being made to hassle even harass her into it. Well, she wasn't falling for that on
e.
And what of Brock? What would Brock think when he found out Philip had come over to see her?
Her mother had been giving her worried looks all morning, otherwise she might have thought her mother was secretly thrilled. It broke her heart that such a thing as a marriage between herself and Philip Kingsley could inspire such rare pleasurable emotions in her mother. She even looked younger, brighter. She was wearing one of Amanda's summery shifts and she had shampooed her hair, fluffing it up into soft curls. It was easy to see how pretty she had been and could be again. Even her father wore a smart casual shirt and trousers instead of his usual dingy T-shirt and shorts.
It was as though what they so ardently wanted just had to happen. Fate owed them. They needed a helping hand up.
But Shelley was filled with a wild rebellion. I'm no sacrificial lamb, she fumed. Even if I married Philip I'd have to slit my own throat. Let Amanda find herself a millionaire to save the family fortunes.
She stood well back until the rotors of the helicopter had stopped, watching Philip jump to the ground, looking immensely spry. Her father was right. He was good-looking when he wasn't looking defeated. This morning he looked triumphant, like a man coming to claim his bride. She inhaled deeply, then let it out. She reminded herself to keep calm, nevertheless there was only so much she was prepared to take.
"Shelley!" he called to her in delight. "I didn't expect you to come down for me. I was going to walk up to the homestead."
"We can drive," she said, waiting for him to reach her. "But first we're going to have a little talk. What do you think you're doing here, Philip? You can't be serious about asking Dad for my hand?"
His expression underwent a rapid change. "But, Shelley, I thought you'd be thrilled."
"How did you come to entertain such a wild idea? I've told you in every way I know how that -I have no romantic interest in you. We're friends. Period. Where do you get off, spying on me? Ringing the house yesterday? Three or four times, wasn't it?"
"I was concerned about you," Philip protested. "I don't trust Brock. Not with any woman, let alone you. I love you deeply. If you let it love for me will come."
"Oh, rubbish!" she said angrily, not caring now how much she hurt him. "I-do-not-love-you. I know you're finding that very hard to deal with but it's true. We have a friendship of sorts. If you persist, we won't even have that. How dare you presume to think you could speak to my father about marriage plans? My plans don't include you."
"Because you're stubborn, Shelley," he insisted. "You like to fight things. You would love me if you gave me a chance. I explained that to your father. Your parents like me. They approve of me. Isn't that important to you? Don't you want to help them? A marriage between us could bring them back to life. I'm a very rich man. Hasn't it sunk in yet?"
"You need to consider what Brock is going to do," she said sharply.
"There's nothing he can do. The will is airtight. Would you come back to Mulgaree with me afterwards?"
"In a word-no!" she said shortly, exasperated with Philip's persistence.
"It's my mother, isn't it? She's never made you welcome. I'll change all that. Don't let her worry you. She's had too big a hold on me for too long. My mother can go. Maybe not at once, but when we're settled. She's assured me that Brock's filthy claim that she had an affair with Gerald Maitland is totally untrue."
"That's the ostrich in you talking, Philip," Shelley said wearily. "You're forever hiding your head in the sand. My parents are expecting you for morning tea, heaven help them. They're as single-minded as you, but it won't make any difference. Maybe the two of us could put our great brains together on this one," she remarked flippantly. "I happen to know Amanda has need of a rich husband."
He laughed briefly, his expression a perfect copy of hip snobbish mother's. "I have no interest in Amanda whatsoever. In fact I can't believe you're sisters. I find her vulgar."
"That's interesting. I'd take her before I'd take your mother. We might as well go up to the house and get this over with. But I warn you. Don't attempt to speak any nonsense to my father, or I might go ape." Shelley walked away quickly to the Jeep. "Did you tell Brock where you were going?" she asked when they were underway.
"As a matter of fact I did. He laughed in that devilish way he has. He thinks I'm a perfect fool, but I know I'm not. With Maitland there I might as well make my own will and you can witness it. I have huge responsibilities now. I might even be able to work out a plan to help Brock. I'm going to have need of him to ensure our operations run smoothly. He's a pretty cluey guy and he's tough. The men respect him. What do you think?" Philip turned slightly to stare at her. "He could take up Strathdownie. Manage things from there. That's bound to please him."
"Oh, yes, I'm sure!" Shelley said with extreme irony only Philip missed it, gratified by her response.
"I wouldn't want you to think I didn't have a heart."
She was terribly distressed and embarrassed by her family's behaviour. They piled on the pressure, treating Philip like visiting royalty. Philip, being Philip, lapped it up. He really was incredibly pretentious. It seemed he believed his amhition of marrying her could be achieved as soon as possible now that they'd all decided. Except for the prospective bride, who might not have been there for all the notice they took of her.
I could be a prize cow, Shelley thought angrily. Why don't I try mooing? She wondered when they would start haggling over her selling price. I'm not a human being at all. I have no mind of my own. It wouldn't even matter if I disappeared under the table or got up and screamed blue murder. All that was needed was for Philip to propose. Her family was giving him every possible indication that he would be welcomed with open arms. They didn't care a whit about her. She was the means to an end. She could see by the look on Philip's face he knew what was expected of him. There was a price to be paid but he was willing to pay it. He was, after all, master of Mulgaree-the flagship of the Kingsley chain.
She knew then that her position at home was untenable. Unless she did what they all wanted and agreed to marrying Philip her life would be made a misery. The truth was it had been a misery for years. Misplaced love and loyalty had hound her to her family. Now their total disregard for her wishes had set her free.
She had no real place on Wybourne. It wasn't hers and it never would be. It was her father's. She couldn't stop him from closing down her operation. He'd already done one dreadful thing by cancelling a booking out of hand. The agency had been very disappointed in her when she'd spoken to them and she didn't blame them.
Finally anger overcame her embarrassment. She desperately needed to get away. To be on her own to think. She would spend a few days in the town. The pub would put her up. But would her father let her take the truck? For all the hard work she'd done and the money she'd brought in, she didn't own a damned thing. She'd have to think of something. Be inventive! She could say she had to approach the general store to see if they'd take some of their supplies back. Her father would go along with that.
In one way or another Rex Kingsley's death had forced decisions on them all. Her father had made his, and once his mind was made up there was no power on earth that would shift it.
She just couldn't stay.
Shelley didn't even remember making the long, hot trip into Koomera Crossing. Her mind was preoccupied with all the remarkable events of the past few days. Her father had made little fuss when she had asked for the four-wheel drive She'd kept to the excuse that she was returning a lot of the supplies for refund, plus she had to pick up a few odds anal ends for herself. She'd told them she might stay a day or two. She had a lot of things to think over.
Her father had nodded at that, as though he knew that given time and the proper reflection she would come to the right decision about Philip's offer of marriage. After all, she owed him. She had lived when Sean hadn't.
Afterwards she had gone to her room and packed a small suitcase, carrying it out through the rear door to the large shed where the station vehicle
s were garaged.
No one had waved her off.
She arrived in the town mid-afternoon, exhausted, eyea sore from the glare even with good sunglasses, her back. neck and legs aching. She parked the vehicle at the back of the pub, checking in a few minutes later.
"Would you like the same room, luv?" The publican. Mick Donovan, asked her.
"Fine, Mick. I'm used to it." She smiled and waved as she made her ascent up the curving wooden staircase.
An hour later she was back on the main street after a quick word with Annie Hope, the woman running the general store. Mercifully Annie agreed to take back all the non perishable supplies she'd ordered in.
The talk in the town was all of Rex Kingsley's death, following so closely as it had on that of Ruth McQueen, the late matriarch of the McQueen dynasty, a woman as ruthless in her fashion as ever Rex Kingsley had been. Two peas in u pod. Two products of an era. No one in Koomera Crossing as yet knew which way the will went-evidently Shelley wasn't expected to know-but the betting was that justice would be done to Brock. The whole town was behind him.