by Diana Palmer
“Better for you, Sophie. Or Sam. Not me,” said Darcey, her eyes stinging with tears.
Whatever they were fighting about, Sophie saw her son continued to keep a supporting arm around Darcey’s waist. Darcey for her part appeared to be leaning into him. It had the quality of an embrace to Sophie, a recognised expert at reading body language. “I would take it as a personal favour if you would do it for me, dearest Darcey,” she said, her panic ebbing away like the tide.
Darcey bowed her gleaming head in acceptance. Sophie made her feel welcome and wanted. Made her feel like she still belonged. “Then of course I will, Sophie.”
“Hey presto, that’s settled!” Scott announced with great irony, dropping his arm. He turned on his heel, making for the double front doors with the beautiful stained glass fanlight above. Beyond him the playing fountain shimmered like a mirage except for the presence of two gorgeously coloured little lorikeets flying to and fro in the cooling spray, dousing their iridescent feathers. The extreme Outback light was a key factor in perceiving shapes and objects, even colours.
* * *
The game of polo had originated in ancient Persia in the sixth century BC. In the modern polo playing world, a professional match lasted around two hours. Today’s match was set for an hour, scheduled for three o’clock, when the heat would have started to die down. Traditionally it was played on grass on a field four times the size of a football field. Today’s teams consisted of four riders each, with two mounts for chukka changeovers. The term “pony” had always been used, but the horses were full-sized, super-fit thoroughbreds with great speed and manoeuvrability.
Planet Downs polo field was a good ten-minute walk from the main compound, surrounded for shade with a great diversity of mature eucalyptus and a few introduced exotics that had managed to thrive in the Outback heat. Darcey knew it had been quite a feat keeping the playing field in good condition. The station, like the entire Outback Australia, relied heavily on the bore water from the Great Artesian Basin, the largest artesian basin in the world. It covered an area of some 1.7 million square kilometres, the only truly reliable source of water in the arid and semi-arid regions of four states, Queensland, New South Wales, South Australia, and the Northern Territory. The Melville Cup had been named after a much-loved cousin of the MacArthur family and a great horseman who had died in France only days before the end of World War One. Some six thousand Australian war horses had been sent to the front. Only one had returned home, and only then because that strong, brave horse, a “Waler” born and bred in New South Wales had belonged to an Australian general. Australians regarded horses as “mates.” Horses had been the only form of transport in colonial times. Horses in the lonely and remote Outback were often man’s only companion.
Darcey had been taught to ride from an early age. Her skill and her love of horses had been an invaluable asset when she had come as a bride to Planet Downs.
As she was to present the prize, she paid close attention to her appearance. She knew all eyes would be on her. Especially those of close friends and fellow conspirators, Ashlee and Julie.
In the end she settled on a white silk top, sleeveless and oval necked, and a pink loose-legged divided skirt, falling from the tightly shirred waistband to the ankle. The skirt wafted around her long legs, creating a delicious breeze much like an Arab’s long tunic. Silver bracelets on her arm. Silver earrings. Silver wedge-heeled sandals on her feet. She had intended to tie her long hair back, but Sam had talked her into wearing it loose.
“What’s the point of having that glorious mane if you keep tying it back?”
So Darcey parted her hair to one side, allowing her abundant mane to fall around her face, over her shoulders, and down her back.
“Perfect!” Sophie said, casting a last-minute approving eye over Sam and Darcey. “My two beautiful girls!”
Both “girls” took a bow. The news of Darcey’s beauty had spread over great distances when she and Scott had become engaged. In her own way Darcey was a MacArthur legend, Sophie thought. Sam too had taken extra trouble with her outfit, a sleeveless printed top with a royal blue divided skirt echoing the dominant colour in her camisole top. The blue went wonderfully well with her hair. The two young women snatched up their wide-brimmed straw hats, ribbon trimmed, to provocatively shade their faces. An exciting day lay ahead. Hopefully accident free.
* * *
The polo grounds were in full colour. A brilliant blue sky, rust-red earth, bleached-out grass now coaxed into a wonderful green. A happy babble of voices and laughter. Flags and bunting fluttered in the breeze. The men stood around together, rehashing their own feats in the saddle; the women sat talking, laughing, looking as glamorous as they possibly could. This was a stand-out social occasion. All knew they were on show. Some were looking for husbands. This was a good place to do it. Furthermore, a few had suitors in today’s match.
If the women looked their best, it was the players who were the true peacocks. The day belonged to them. To all their female fans, they looked outrageously sexy in their polo gear. All wore the traditional white cotton-denim tight jeans. Duncan’s team wore red polo shirts; Scott’s a light blue embroidered with black. Given the feet and lower legs were the most vulnerable areas under attack, players wore the best boots they could afford. Helmets too were extremely important. Hence, Polo Gear Extreme. No one had to be told this was a dangerous game.
Two very attractive young women, blond, blue eyed, friends from childhood, physically enough alike to be sisters, sat amid the groups of spectators, a striped, navy-fringed umbrella over their heads, sipping slowly at frosty drinks. The match was due to start in under thirty minutes, at which time they would have to leave the shelter of their umbrella.
“Will you look at that?” one of them burst out. Julie Sanderson. “How’s that for disloyalty!” she exclaimed as if she had all but given up. “Didn’t take Sam long to extend a welcoming arm to the traitor.”
Ashlee sat bolt upright. “Where, where?” she asked, looking frantically to her left.
“Right, lovie,” Julie told her, shading her eyes with her hand. “They’re darn nearly hand in hand. Is it some kind of welcome back?”
“How could it be?” Ashlee felt such rage she thought she was going to be sick. “That bitch repudiated him. Scott is not a man to tolerate that. He divorced her. His mother is at the centre of this comeback. Sophie always did dote on her impeccably bred daughter-in-law. Damn. Damn. Damn,” she muttered, her eyes now fixed on Darcey and Samantha strolling along most companionably. She felt shocked. Devastated. Outraged beyond belief. Both young women were smiling as though they didn’t have a care in the world.
“She wants him back,” Julie muttered, thinking the ex-wife was back in. She was just so damned beautiful! Worse, sexy as all hell in her supremely ladylike way. “Is it possible Sophie is working to get them together again? Don’t forget Sophie is a powerful force in the family. She has tremendous clout packed away in that tiny frame.”
“Too darn right she has!” Ashlee let loose her poisonous feelings. “What’s so remarkable about bloody Darcey, anyway? She’s skinny. No bust to speak of. The softly spoken buttoned-up lady. No personality.”
Skinny? More like a nymph. No personality? Really! But Julie saw no point in upsetting her friend further. “She must be clever, though. An award-winning architect, I’ve been told, just like her dad. He’s got scads of money. She really doesn’t have to work at all. Like you.”
Ashlee was too worked up to respond to Julie’s little jibe. “I hate her,” she muttered, clearly telling the truth. “If breaking Scott and me up weren’t enough, she’s back for another go.”
Julie placed a soothing hand on her friend’s arm. There was pity in her voice. “Give it up, Ash. You never had a real chance with Scott, even before Darcey arrived. A few dates in the old days. A couple of recent times. Gatherings. He never did get around to courting you. You’re friends!”
“We’re much more than friends,
” Ashlee retorted, with a kind of irrational certainty. “I love Scott. She’ll only trample on him again. I have to stop it.”
Julie gave her friend a level stare. “Take my advice. Love Cy Bishop instead,” she advised. “You’re well suited and Cy won’t wait forever. I’m tempted to have a go myself.”
Ashlee wasn’t listening. Ashlee never listened. Her feelings for Scott MacArthur were too strong and they went back a long way. What she had to do now was devise some sort of scheme. Some sort of trap? Scott had been through the trauma of divorce. He wouldn’t want to do it again. He hadn’t found anyone to replace his traitorous wife. She and her mother had long since agreed all she had to do was wait it out.
If Ashlee had one great gift, it was patience.
It was Samantha who realized it was Julie Sanderson in a very stylish dress that must have rolled off the same designer line as Ashlee’s who was standing up waving at them and making a great show of it.
“Oh dear, can’t we just wave back and move on?” Darcey was loathe to have her pleasure in the day dimmed.
Samantha took Darcey’s arm, assuming a Chinese accent. “You know what Confucius say: Keep thy enemy in plain sight.”
Darcey laughed. “Sam, Confucius didn’t say that. Could have been St. Paul. He was always banging on about enemies.”
“Okay, try this one on. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Will that do?”
“Enemies, plural,” Darcey amended. “We both have them. They’re sitting over there.”
“Exactly.” Samantha was very disappointed in Julie and her deliberate lies about Linc. “Some people believe all’s fair in love and war. It’s a psychological thing.”
“Maybe it works,” said Darcey.
“We’ll exchange a few pleasantries and then move on,” Samantha promised.
* * *
They were greeted with bright smiles albeit through clenched teeth. Ashlee’s cheeks were a hectic pink, betraying the heat of her feelings. Julie was more friendly. She didn’t want to fall out with Samantha MacArthur. She looked around for more deck chairs as if Darcey and Samantha would be pleased to join them.
“That’s okay, Jules,” Samantha said, holding up a hand. “Darcey has a couple of things to attend to. She’s presenting the Cup, as you know.”
“How very un-us-ual!” There was something disparaging in Ashlee’s comment. “We all thought you or your mother would have that honour, Samantha.”
“Who’s we?” Samantha, the redhead, asked in a voice that bordered on snappy.
“Darcey’s being here has caught us by surprise. That’s all.” Ashlee blinked. She had never liked Scott’s quick-tempered sister. She had even worried about red hair when she and Scott had children.
“A nice surprise, I hope?” Darcey glanced from one young woman to the other. Neither of them were her friends. Or ever likely to be.
“A little jaunt Outback?” Ashlee tried a tight smile. “Then back to the city grind?” She was desperate to hear that was the plan.
“Darcey is her own boss,” Samantha cut in. “We’re hoping she’ll stay on for a month or two.”
“How nice!” Julie managed to answer for herself and her lifelong friend. Both would need time to understand the ramifications.
But Ashlee understood all too well. With a superhuman effort, she kept her inner rage off her face. Some part of her knew her behaviour wasn’t normal, but loving Scott MacArthur was like some fundamental force in her life. How to make him love her had been circling her mind since forever. Well, around thirteen when she ran into puberty and started to let out loud squeaks of delight whenever they met up. It was a schoolgirl crush she had never got over. And nothing much she could do about it, especially when she had received unstinting encouragement from her mother, who was an all-knowing woman, like her. So she had become locked in the jaws of obsession. What of it? Only a fool said love like hers wasn’t obsessive. Love wasn’t a comfortable emotion. It gripped you by the throat. She was convinced it was she who had to find a way to get rid of the ex-wife. Her mother’s advice?
“Mean business this time!”
Perhaps the timing was right after all? Darcey had found out about Scott and her two-timing friend. Why not Darcey’s finding out about her and Scott? Her best chance, indeed her only chance, would be after the ball tonight. No use praying for a miracle. Miracles, along with the numbers of saints, had suffered a great decline down the years. Indeed, Ashlee had come to believe miracles were a lost cause. She had to help herself.
Obsessively making plans, Ashlee lost track of time for the entire afternoon, which was a pity because it turned out to be a thrilling match; fast and furious even in the intense heat.
The two captains were unquestionably the best players. Both carried the number 1 on their backs. Player number one was the front attacking player. Linc, known for his speed and quick thinking, was Scott’s number two, playing defence against his opposite number player and helping his captain when needed. The traditional eight chukkas lasted exactly seven minutes with a break to change ponies. Scott’s number three, a bit of a hothead, earned his team a foul for using his mallet too forcefully, in the side umpire’s judgement. That earned him a few terse words from his captain. The team couldn’t afford a foul. The teams were too closely matched.
It was in the final chukka that Duncan was nearly unseated as he tried to prevent Scott, who was brilliantly controlling the ball, shooting home the winning goal. It was just the sort of thrilling cliffhanger finish the crowd wanted. The grounds exploded. The resounding cheers took ages to wind down. Now it was time for the winning captain to receive the Melville Cup, awarded to Planet Downs for yet another year.
Darcey was acutely aware all eyes were on her. She wasn’t simply on her mettle, she was on a high. She stepped right up to Scott, her smile lighting her face to radiance. Scott stood, dark auburn head down bent, regarding her with sparkling, albeit mocking eyes.
“The great thing about you, Darcey, is—”
He got no further. Her whole body stirred under his blue glance. Making a garland of her slender arms, Darcey threw them around his neck, locking her tapering fingers. Next she stood on tiptoe to bring her up to his height.
“Almost there,” Scott softly taunted, his voice pitched low so as not to be overheard.
“Congratulations, Scott,” Darcey said in a clear, happy voice. “Congratulations to your cup-winning team. It was a great game.”
“Time for a kiss, wouldn’t you say?” he murmured beneath his breath, clearly egging her on.
“Which is as far as you’ll get,” she sweetly returned, her smile never faltering. She kissed him on one tanned cheek, then the other, her body reacting to the polished warmth of his skin and the stunning male attraction that bloomed out of him. She didn’t stop there. This was a little game. She awarded him three kisses in all, to delighted if somewhat mystified applause. Everyone remembered the divorce and the horrendous fallout. The MacArthurs were such proud people. And rightly so. They had earned their place. Two years had gone by. Were Scot and his beautiful ex-wife on the verge of making up?
All kinds of currents began to run through the crowd. Anyone who took the time to shoot a quick glance at Ashlee Warrender looked away quickly. Reconciliation between Scott and his ex-wife appeared catastrophic for Ashlee. Everyone knew Ashlee was and always had been a bit on the crazy side about Scott MacArthur. To be fair, she wasn’t the only one.
In response, further fuelling the flames, Scott bent to kiss Darcey’s cheek before slipping an arm around her waist. They looked the perfect couple. Just like the old days.
Cameras clicked. Gossip flew. It scattered around the compound like trained pigeons on a mission. Human beings loved gossip. There was no telling what might happen at the ball. Some went so far as to predict an announcement. After all, the ex-wife had never been replaced, for all the raised hopes. Whether the ex stayed or went, Scott MacArthur needed a wife. As master of historic Planet Downs, h
e needed heirs. Scott was as much aware of that as anyone. Empires were lost without heirs.
Chapter Five
Isolated from the big cities, from ordinary everyday life, the Outback went to town with their celebrations. The MacArthur annual polo match followed up by the annual ball was a huge event on the Outback calendar.
The MacArthur mansion was alight, as fantastic a sight as one would ever see in a desert landscape. The extensive home grounds were so bright it wasn’t all that far off daylight. The immense vault of the sky was crowded with stars in all their unearthly brilliance; the Milky Way they had grown up with. Their own Southern Cross glittered above them as it did on the great monoliths of desert sand dunes that rose out of the surrounding endless plains bristling with spinifex. Van Gogh, who passionately loved stars, couldn’t have wished for a more glorious, a more paintable, sky. The aboriginal people who had settled the remote continent some sixty thousand years before worshipped the stars as the homes of their ancestors. Darcey often had conversations with her mother, up there in the glorious stars.
Inside the Great Hall lovely perfumes softly mingled. Young women who spent their days in shorts and cotton tops, their hair scraped back into ponytails, now looked like goddesses in their beautiful ball gowns that created dramatic plays of colour and style. Most gowns were strapless, bare shoulders a must. All gowns were long in a variety of luxurious fabrics, silk, satin, taffeta, chiffon over petticoats. Most had indulged their love of real ball gowns with billowing skirts that showed off taut tiny waists from their preparatory workouts. The best six-piece band, who loved travelling to exotic locations where everything was laid on, had been re-hired. The entire Outback found dancing a delight. Indeed, the musicianship of the band was making the general enthusiasm take flight.
* * *
Some idiot as about as exciting as a tree stump vacated Ashlee’s side. She doubted he would be stupid enough to ask her for another dance. Her heart had picked up some maddening rhythm she prayed would pass.