by Margaret Way
"Anyway, David can look after himself better than anyone I know," Samantha said, intensely irritated by this line of talk.
Matt gave a sceptical shrug. "You said yourself Dave is highly susceptible to beauty. I have to admit she's a looker if you like the type. I see her as a cold shallow person, untouchable, no real feeling or emotion there, yet she's a manipulator of men. Dave's a strong guy, but you should have seen him the day they spent together. The time and trouble he went to, to photograph her. Forget the scenery, it was Isabelle he focused on."
"And it will come out wonderfully," Samantha said loyally. "For the record, and I happen to have met quite a few people in my life plus the fact I'm supposed to be `highly perceptive' according to one book review, I think Isabelle is simply beautiful. In every way."
"You don't know her." He gave a short bark of a laugh. "Or her brother. There's something about those two. They're heartbreakers. Believe me too many people were of the opinion Hartmann was a nice guy, willing to give her everything he loved her so much. It couldn't have been enough. Word is she told him she was going to leave him. I ask you ! A couple of years of marriage and she wants out. Sunderland is the big he-man, the macho figure, the bloody cattle baron with a homestead much too big for ordinary people and jammed packed with stuff most people could never afford. Don't get too close to him, Sam. I feel it my duty to warn you. Like his sister I have him pegged for a callous breaker of hearts."
"Could it be you're jealous?" she asked bluntly, not caring if he was offended. She wondered how far the party had gone. She could run after them.
"Jealous?" Matt repeated the word. "Hell it's more like being flayed alive seeing the two of you together. You'd be better off without someone like
him in your life, Sam," he said turning to her urgently. "He'd make a bloody awful husband, arrogant bastard. I care so much about you can you blame me if I feel the greatest concern?"
"Don't do this, Matt," she said.
"I have to. These days I rarely get the opportunity to speak to you alone."
Her nerves grated. "It's never occurred to you I can handle my own life? That includes the men in it."
"Most men, Sam," he emphasised. "Not this guy. He's different."
"He is indeed."
He took it badly; the soft expression on her face. "I'm only trying to warn you as a friend, Sam. Please don't take it the wrong way."
"So what do you think could happen? Tell me?" she challenged, her warm, musical voice slightly harsh.
He looked back at her, eyes concealed, his thin face colouring up a little. "He's working on you like his sister is working on Dave. He's not married. Why not? He must be thirty or thereabouts? Perhaps he prefers affairs?"
"A lot of men do even when they're married." She said dryly. Her own father among them.
"That wouldn't be my way," he said and caught her fingers. She had beautiful hands. He could see one of those slender fingers wearing his ring.
"You're so beautiful, Sam. I couldn't bear to lose you to someone like Sunderland."
She dragged her hand away, thinking she should get up and run. Why oh why had she acted as if she were quite relaxed about staying with Matt? Because she had wanted to flout Ross. She had wanted to let him know he couldn't control her. "Matt, knowing me as long as you have," she asked with exaggerated patience, "have I ever given you reason to believe we could become something more than friends?"
"A man can catch a star, Samantha," he said. "Hold it in his hand. You're not serious about anyone. I've seen them come and go. At least not serious until you had the misfortune to run into Sunderland. You could have any guy you wanted. They were all standing in line but you chose to come out with me. You know why?"
"No, Matt, I don't," she lamented.
"It's because you know you can trust me." He whipped off his glasses and stared into her eyes. "Can you really and truly say you trust Sunderland? He's a wild card. Just look into his eyes. Spooky eyes, I reckon. He's a dangerous guy. This trip is nearly over. Dave isn't going on to the Red Centre. He's concentrating on the Top End. He has to be in Brunei early next month anyway."
"I know that. David does discuss his itinerary with me."
"Well then, you know the trip is nearly over. I know he wants to photograph the Arnhem Land escarpment and get to see all the rock art but he's more for evoking the moods of the land. He's already said when the Wet really gets underway he wants to come back and do a lot of filming from a helicopter. Much of the place, the wetlands, will be inundated and the major waterfalls will be inaccessible by land. Dave likes filming things in a completely different way."
Samantha glanced around the broad clearing not quite knowing what she was looking for, but taking stock. "I know my brother's work, Matt. I sell it. I've even sold yours."
"Of course you have," he said immediately. "No one better. You do a marvellous job of running the gallery. You must want to go back to it?"
"Anyone can sell, Matt," she pointed out.
"That's not quite true. Not all that many are as good with people as you are. That's a gift. I couldn't do it. I couldn't charm visitors to the gallery into buying."
"David's work sells itself, Matt. I think you're overestimating my powers of persuasion. I could find someone to take over from me. In fact I know someone who could make a change over a smooth transition. I actually want to write. Not just children's stories which I enjoy but mainstream fiction. At least I'd like to give it my best shot."
"Good for you!" Matt smiled at her delightedly, looking for a moment his old amiable self. "You need to stretch yourself to the limit. You need to travel. I can see the two of us wandering the world." His hazel eyes lit up. "I know you're attracted to Sunderland now. God knows he's a handsome devil, and he wants as much as he can get of you, but you'd be a plain fool to lay your emotions bare. He'll use you, then when you're gone, he'll pick up with someone else and begin all over again. One day he'll get around to marrying-some suitable girl from a rich pastoral family-someone who understands life on the land. That's the way it goes, isn't it? They marry their own. It won't be you, Sam. You couldn't survive the life. You'd wither and die. You're too bright and beautiful-you have too much to offer-to be stuck in the wilds with all your dreams trampled on. You can't have missed he's a domineering bastard."
That really stirred up her anger. "Well he's certainly the dominant male but domineering, no," she said forcefully. "I didn't stay back, Matt, to listen to your bitter criticisms of the Sunderlands. I think them unfounded."
"Lordy, Lordy me! Don't get angry. It's because you don't want to believe them, Sam."
She made one last attempt to turn him off his line of thinking. "Matt, can't we drop the subject or I might have to take a hike." Surely she could walk a little distance. She could take a stout stick like Joe or maybe pick up a rock for protection. There were plenty of them scattered about.
But Matt wasn't about to be deflected. He wanted to get it all off his chest. "God, weren't you humiliated when he told you to stay put like you were a child?" He sneered.
"This is what's called ear abuse, Matt," she said shortly. "Ross told us to stay put for a very good reason. Both of us are out of our depth in this kind of environment."
"There were nicer ways of saying it," Matt protested, suddenly seizing hold of her wrist.
"Matt, that hurts!" She jerked away, rubbing her skin.
"I could never hurt you," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "I love you. You're magic. I've wanted you ever since Dave introduced us. I've learned to be patient. I have photographs of you all over the walls of my flat."
"Me? You can't have."
Her lovely face registered not surprise and pleasure but utter dismay. "Beautiful photographs," he insisted, stung by the repudiation in her voice. "The thrilling part was you never even knew I was there."
A moan escaped her. "Matt, that's sick."
"Don't spoil anything, Sam." He stared at her with a peculiar gleam in the depths of hi
s eyes. "How do you define sick anyway? How do you define love?"
She tried to push up but he pulled her back. "Matt, you're getting right out of line here," she said sharply. "You'd better reel yourself in. The last thing I want to do is tell David you're starting to harass me. I don't think he'd like that." She didn't like to think how Ross would handle it either.
Matt shut his eyes, his expression deeply offended. "Tell me what I have to do to convince you I love you. Tell me. I'll do anything."
"Right!" Samantha seized the moment and stood up. "Go jump in the river. It will cool you off."
"It's no joke, Samantha." He stood and took a few threatening steps towards her. "You're mine, Sam. Forever mine. He stole you."
"You're not trying to scare me, surely?" She stared at him, willing him to regain control.
"Be nice, Samantha," he begged, giving her the sweetest smile. "Otherwise I might hurt you. I wouldn't want to but your little jabs are coming close to my heart."
"You're losing it, Matt," she warned him. "If I were you, I'd get some professional advice."
"Would you now?" The attractive mask slid off. He came at her at a lunge, determined to knock some sense into her as his father had to do to bring his mother under control, but the little bitch turned on her heel and ran.
"Samantha!" he yelled. "What the hell! Come back."
She stumbled. Fell over a prop root and crashed to the sand.
He was on top of her, his skin paled to a curious grey patched with red. "Samantha what are you doing?"
"What are you doing, more like it!" she yelled. "Get off me. Have you gone quite mad?"
"Mad, yes." He struck her across the face, stealing her breath away. "He's had you, hasn't he?" He grasped her long hair, tugging it back painfully as he lifted her face to him. This wasn't working out at all like he expected. Nothing was.
Nightmare time Samantha thought, her heart quaking, her voice full of fury and outrage. "How dare you hit me. How dare you!"
Incredibly he began to mumble. "Oh I'm sorry, sorry. Forgive me, Sam. You made me so angry. It was your fault. You shouldn't do that. Just let me kiss you and make up." He forced his mouth down over her, his teeth grinding against hers, which were clenched tight against the invasion of his tongue. His fingers dug in to prise her jaws apart.
"Planning to rape me, Matt?" she gritted, struggling for all she was worth. She would never have believed Matt was so strong. "Try that and there's nowhere you can run."
He scarcely heard her, trying to fight his old demons. The black anger that wouldn't die. It was stirring within him, egging him on.
Take your medication and you'll live a normal life, Matt.
He had, with or without it. Until now.
The eyes staring back at her were empty. Samantha knew he couldn't get his will to obey him. Let someone come, she prayed, knowing no one was going to come. She had to brave this out. Get through by herself. She had to fight.
Silence was so thick and heavy around them their harsh breathing sounded almost inhuman. She feigned surrender, allowing her body to sink back into the sand. His demands were only going to increase.
I won't let this happen. I won't!
She'd have to hit him with something. A rock. A rock big enough to control him. They were all over the place. She spread-eagled her arms as if she were in ecstasy, her fingers searching ...burrowing ... while she sucked in air between his vile kisses.
Oh, let it stop !
She writhed further sideways pretending emotion was swamping her. He must have been convinced because he began crooning her name, his hand fumbling with the buttons of her shirt, spreading it open.
He lowered his head and she rolled a little more, her body near rigid with horror and loathing. Her fingers continued the search. She felt no inclination to cry. She felt an overpowering urge to immobilise him.
A stone large enough for her purpose miraculously found its way into her hand when she was certain it was a way off.
How had they ever thought this unstable man was normal?
Because he had acted normal, that's why.
His primal jealousy of Ross was the catalyst to set him off.
Somewhere a bird shrieked as though there was need for loud protest.
God forgive me! Samantha thought as she struck out.
Out of the corner of a delirious eye Matt Howarth saw her hand rise. He saw the rock in it. Pain burned through him. She had been pretending after all. His heart broke as she struck him midway between his ear and his temple.
He swayed a little, crumpled on top of her, then as Samantha pushed him off violently, he toppled to the sand.
At first she couldn't stand. She was in shock. She tried again. Fell to her knees. Stood up again. Her face was smarting where he had struck her. The corner of her eye was sore.
Get up, Sam.
A voice inside her head gave the order. Strangely it sounded like her beloved Grandad, long dead. Grandad had been a hero who had gone into a neighbour's burning house to save their small child. As a child, herself, he had been wonderful to her.
Get up, Sam. Run. I'll be with you.
I haven't killed him? Please tell me I haven't killed him.
He's not dead.
Matt was breathing. She brushed her long mane from her hot swollen face. "I'm too weak to stand. Too sick."
Who was she talking to?
No you're not! You'll be fine. Go to the boat.
CHAPTER NINE
THEY came upon a nest down stream in the primal fastness of dense green scrub. It was a good distance from where king tides could sweep the structure away. David set to quickly, photographing the rotting pile of dead leaves, grasses, reeds and other dank vegetation. The mound, some three feet high in the middle was shaped like a pyramid, the circumference of the nest a good thirty feet.
As soon as David was ready Joe parted the pungent rotting vegetation that was generating a considerable amount of heat. He dug down carefully, while Ross kept a watchful eye in case the female crocodile decided to make an early return to the nest. Normally there was a certain excitement in these expeditions but today there was a feeling of restlessness, call it anxiety, about everyone and everything. He for one couldn't wait to get back to the camp. Though he seemed harmless enough Ross didn't have a good opinion of Matt Howarth.
The leathery looking eggs, some fifty or more, about three times the size of a large hen's egg, lay in a rough circle. A good many it might seem, but fewer than 1 per cent of eggs laid resulted in mature crocodiles. Muttering in his own language, very slowly and very carefully Joe prised open a shell already cracked and immediately a tiny little monster, exhibiting all the fierce characteristics of the adult began viciously snapping at his hand.
"Savage little beggar, aren't you!" Joe said fondly, handling the little creature gently. He got his thumb and forefinger behind the neck to hold the belligerent little head still for his photograph. "Stay little fella," he cautioned. "I'll put yah back in the nest soon. Mumma will be back."
David gave a snort of wry laughter and took his shots.
"We should pack it in, David," Ross warned a short time later. "Got all you need?" His waves of anxiety weren't altogether connected with fear of their being overtaken by a man eating croc.
"One more, that's it!" David too had been working under pressure, something gnawing away at him about leaving Sam. Not that there was any real reason for concern. Matt would look after her.
He doted on Sam. Nevertheless he, like the others weren't feeling the usual exhilaration. They all wanted to get back to camp.
They broke out of the deep green vine shrouded jungle to an empty clearing where the sun had a pellucid brilliance. Everything glittered in the light. The sandy earth, the rocks, the shining leaves on the banyan trees.
No sign of Samantha or Matt.
Anxiety built up quickly, especially when there was no response to Ross's loud bush call. Only wild duck flew overhead in their curious V shaped formation.
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"Where could they be?" Isabelle asked the obvious question, her womanly intuition never to be taken lightly going into overdrive. She knew far too much about needy men. The time bomb ticking on the short fuse. Her heart started to thud against her ribs. "Surely they can't have gone far?"
"Sounds travels. They should have responded to my call. It's rough country out there and its swarming with snakes. I told them to stay put." Ross's light eyes glittered beneath the brim of his akubra.
Joe had walked off studying the flurry of imprints. There was a newly roughed up area, deep depressions in the sandy ground. Within seconds he called to Ross who was already heading towards him. "Two lots, boss," he said quietly.