by Margaret Way
“Maybe because I’ve learned my lesson,” he said suavely.
She stood looking into his eyes. “For a sweet man you have a cruel streak. At least take me up to the house to say hello. I can see what Storm thinks. If she doesn’t need a woman’s help I swear I’m prepared to fly back home.”
“Is that a promise?” he asked in a very wry tone.
“Trust me, Luke,” she exclaimed, thinking if he did, he’d be dead wrong.
Storm heard Carla’s voice before she saw her. She’d been sitting quietly in the sunroom, perfecting some of her blueprints for a new collection of jewellery when the sound of Carla’s bright confident voice broke into her concentration.
Oh Lord, she thought, mourning the temporary loss of privacy. She and Carla had never been close. In fact they had seen little of each other over the years for all the two stations Winding River and Mingari bordered. They had gone to different boarding schools. Carla had not gone on to University preferring to come back to the Outback. Storm had forged a career in Sydney.
Then there was Luke. A state of affairs that now had a tremendous bearing on their never too friendly relationship.
A minute later and Carla all but bounded into the room, as eager and attractive as usual, dressed in a pink shirt and matching jeans that set off her tan. Luke was a few steps behind her, looking not altogether happy.
Briefly their eyes met.
“Storm!” Carla gave a little sympathetic cry and rushed forward to drop a peck on Storm’s cheek. “Poor old you! We had news of your accident. Mum and I decided that the nice, neighbourly thing to do was for me to come over. You must be finding it difficult hopping about on crutches?” Her eyes went to the crutches Storm had placed beside her.
Storm felt quite unable to be ungracious. “That was kind of you, Carla. You flew yourself over?”
Carla nodded, looking towards Luke and smiling as though the three of them were the greatest of friends. “I came prepared to stay a few days. That’s if you want me.” There was a little catch in her voice as though being wanted was important to her.
It threw Storm slightly, making her revise her recent impressions of Carla. Still, she didn’t want Carla’s company. She had Luke. But how to convey that without hurt? “That’d be nice, Carla,” she said injecting as much warmth as she could, “but Noni is coming home tomorrow.”
A light flush swept Carla’s face. “That’s great! Good news. I knew she’d want to be with you. Until tomorrow then,” she suggested, her gaze going back and forth, a little anxious. “Until Noni arrives. Mum and I felt sure you’d want another woman on hand.”
Storm’s mind filled with wry humour at that. “That was kind of you both to think of me, Carla, but I’ve been managing okay.”
Carla’s voice became more persuasive yet. “It’s important you don’t try to do too much, too early,” she warned. “I know you’ll be wanting to get back to Sydney as soon as you can. I see you’re doing some sketches.” Her inquisitive eyes flew to the table.
Storm nodded and gently closed the sketchpad. “A new collection. It’s not really the time to be doing it but I made a commitment. I sell some of my jewellery through an art dealer who arranged a showing of my work with that of a simpatico artist. The combination worked well in the past.”
“You’re so clever,” said Carla in an admiring undertone. “Please don’t think I’m here to get in your way. I only want to be on hand should you need help.”
Storm wondered how she could possibly get out of this short of rudeness. She didn’t want that. “I do have Luke,” she pointed out gently, allowing her gaze to settle on Luke’s tall, rangy figure.
“Not all the time!” Carla protested, just barely keeping her feelings of outrage to herself, “besides we’re all into the big muster, aren’t we, Luke?” She looked to him for back-up.
“We’re going well,” Luke remarked so briefly, Carla pulled a face.
“Oh dear, it almost sounds like you don’t want me to stay?” Her face fell visibly, the expression in her golden-brown eyes full of hurt.
Storm lacked the toughness to tell Carla to go, “Oh please, Carla,” she said, “stay overnight by all means. It’s a long way home.”
Carla made a lightning recovery, turning to Luke with now dancing eyes. “I brought just one overnight bag with me. It’s in the Jeep. I’ll go with you and get it. Mum and I would hate to think we left Storm alone with her swollen ankle. Let alone her grief. Never underestimate the importance of friendship I say.”
Despite her professed wish to be “on hand” for Storm, Carla spent several hours of the afternoon going in search of Luke before finally catching up with him at Cash’s Crossing. This was a drafting camp near the river where branding, earmarking and other operations were being carried out. Calves and mothers in particular were always treated as gently as possible. Not only were the most humane methods in operation, gentle handling was a big asset to beef production for docility of temperament in cattle was an important factor in increased beef production. On no account was rough handling of the stock on Winding River permitted under punishment of “the sack.”
Carla returned to the homestead towards sunset full of everything she had seen around the station; loudly applauding Luke for the many improvements he had made; how wonderfully quiet was the big muster.
“Dad always says the boss of any outfit has to have great people sense as well as great cattle sense. Luke is marvellously skilled at both. I know I shouldn’t be asking this, Storm…”
So don’t, Storm pleaded inwardly knowing if a question had to be so prefaced it was better left unasked.
“…but Luke tells me the Major’s will has been read,” Carla continued, eyeing Storm off. Storm felt a stab like betrayal then she reminded herself of Carla’s devious nature. She kept silent, so Carla rushed on.
“Of course it was just in passing,” Carla explained, “he didn’t go out of his way to tell me or anything. Feeling about Luke as I do.” She gave Storm a bright-eyed glance. “I just wondered if the Major had left him anything. I expect he did. The Major was such a wonderfully generous man. Luke is a living testament to that.”
Count ten. Why ten? She asked herself. She really needed half an hour. “Surely if you discussed my father’s will, you and Luke being so close, he would have told you?” Storm asked very coolly.
It didn’t put Carla off, she shrugged. “You know Luke. He’s a bit like the Major the way he keeps things to himself.”
Storm considered. “My father did remember, Luke, Carla.” Her tone she kept even. “I’d rather not discuss it however.”
Carla’s eyes lit with little golden flames. “Substantial, I would say, from the expression on your face. I know he’ll get around to telling me. It’s no secret Luke wants his own cattle run. He’s a man who likes doing things his way.”
It really was time to shift, if she could. Storm eyed her crutches. “I’m absolutely certain Luke and Dad saw eye-to-eye,” she said.
“In most things I guess, but Luke did have concerns…” Again Carla left it up in the air; to be guessed at. “That’s the difference between us, Storm,” she pointed out kindly. “You never bothered your head about the McFarlane operation. I quite understand that. Your interests are artistic. In my own case, I wanted to know exactly how Mingari works. Dad sometimes says I know more about it than the boys.”
Storm didn’t doubt it. The Prentice boys weren’t overly bright. “I’m sure you’ll be a great asset to your husband,” Storm said. “Whether he’s a cattleman or not. Just for the record, Carla, I always wanted to know about the station but Dad thought women and cattle operations didn’t mix. I guess in many ways, however, as much I loved him, he was the ultimate chauvinist.”
Carla gave her a shocked look, then a faint smile. “What a thing to say about your father.”
“Dad wouldn’t have minded.” Storm shrugged. “He was the first to recognise that quality in himself only he thought it was greatly to be desire
d.”
“You do have a sharp tongue.” Carla’s tone was censorious.
“I like to tell the truth, yes.” Storm moved restlessly, causing Carla to jump up.
“Now what are we going to have for dinner tonight?” she asked in very bright tones. “I’m not quite as good as Noni but pretty close. Mum always saw to it I knew my way around a kitchen. We never had a live-in housekeeper and cook like you.” She gave Storm a look that set Storm’s teeth together.
“Noni’s family, Carla, not just an employee. Many’s the time I’ve cried on Noni’s shoulder.”
“You have?” Carla looked amazed. “I can’t imagine you crying, Storm. You always seem so self-contained. We were all amazed how composed you were at the funeral. I found it so hard…now I thought we might ask Luke up for dinner? Does that suit you?”
Storm had the sense of brushing up against a steamroller. “Carla, I couldn’t have stopped you asking if I tried.”
Carla hadn’t been exaggerating when she said she was a good cook. In fact she had pulled out all the stops over dinner, turning it into a gala occasion when it was only a handful of days since she had attended Athol McFarlane’s funeral and found it very hard. Surely not the most sensitive woman in the world, Storm thought, and this is not to impress me. She was impressed all the same.
“Where did you find all this?” she had to ask, unaware there was so much produce at hand.
“You’d be amazed at what you have in the cold room.” Carla looked smug. “Noni has stocked up on just about everything you can think of. The little pasta entrée was very easy. I’ll be happy to give you the recipe. I know Luke loves pasta. The aged beef was to hand. All I’ve added is a grilled vegetable salad with anchovy butter.”
“I wish I were more hungry to do it justice,” Storm said without malice. “I’m not the country’s most brilliant cook.”
Carla’s reply was instantaneous. “I’d be glad to give you a few lessons. You don’t have to ask Luke if he’s hungry!” she added, looking at Luke’s near empty plate with satisfaction. She touched him affectionately on the hand. “There’s lots more.”
“All in good time, Carla,” Luke said smoothly.
“You’re going to love dessert.”
“There’s more?” Storm concentrated hard on not groaning.
“I have to remind you, Storm, the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
“Maybe that’s just an old wives’ tale,” Storm said.
“My dear Storm, but it is. Mum says it’s absolutely critical a woman knows how to cook.”
“It would seem so. This is turning into a banquet.”
Carla started to laugh. “Come on, this is a nice meal. Remember the reason I’m here. I want to look after you.” She turned her head to Luke. “I think you’re going to love my peppered pineapple with vanilla coconut ice cream. It might sound funny but it’s delicious.”
“Carla,” said Luke, “your mother must be very proud of you.”
Afterwards they had coffee out on the verandah, the black velvet sky incandescent with stars. The evening had gradually merged into Carla’s telling one preposterous story after another, but Storm had to admit quite a few of them were funny. Carla liked to act out the various parts, changing her voice frequently to suit the character. She was an excellent mimic, leading Storm to remark she would have made a good actress.
Carla looked at Storm quickly to see if she was joking, which she wasn’t. “For God’s sake, Storm,” she burst out, “the very last thing I’d want is to strut my stuff on a stage.”
Luke lifted his head a fraction from the back of the chair to say, “You don’t have to relinquish the idea, Carla. All the world’s a stage according to our friend, Shakespeare.”
“But darling.” Carla touched him lightly on the arm. She was always touching him: his shoulder, his hand, his arm, his cheek. “There’s nothing more I want than to be a good station wife.”
“And mother of a brood, I hope?” Storm broke in. “Being the only one isn’t a great blessing.”
“Well, you would know,” Carla laughed. In reality she was quite miffed at Storm’s exotic appearance. It just had to be for dramatic effect to put her in the shade. From somewhere Storm had got hold of an Indian sari, glowing emerald in colour, printed with gold medallions with a wide gold border. She had draped it around herself in a surprisingly expert fashion, Carla thought. I mean how many times had Storm worn a sari? Yet tonight she looked like a young maharanee or something with that mane of raven hair and those cat’s eyes that echoed the colour of the sari. It was all so threatening Carla thought. No one should be that beautiful. The sooner Storm was back where she belonged the better!
Storm, not entirely unaware of the trend of Carla’s thought, leant back in her peacock chair, her injured foot resting on a cushioned footstool. For a while now she had been pretending to listen to Carla while taking the opportunity to study Luke’s striking face as familiar as her own, yet she never tired of looking at it. He had such a beautiful mouth. A sensual mouth. It had left its imprint on her. It had left its imprint on Carla. Small wonder Carla still wanted him. Certainly that was why Carla was here. Not to be on hand for her. To be near Luke. To impress on him she was the kind of wife he needed. Luke’s breaking off the relationship with Carla had only strengthened Carla’s resolve. Love affairs were sad, Storm thought. Someone had to lose. And so she felt pity for Carla who despite her determined camaraderie had no love in her heart for Storm. In fact she was coming close to hating her.
By ten o’clock Storm was tiring of what struck her as an incongruous mage à trois. As the evening wore on Carla adopted an increasingly proprietorial attitude towards Luke, her manner intent on conveying to Storm their brief affair was far from finished. Luke countered with a few sardonic remarks that should have urged her to change tack, but Carla chose to ignore them.
“What about a walk?” she suggested, as though the evening’s entertainment wasn’t over. She looked towards Luke, pressing his arm. “We won’t leave Storm long. Just a quick stroll.”
“Don’t feel bad about it,” Storm said, when Carla was looking anything but glum. “I feel a little tired anyway. I’ll say good-night. Many thanks for cooking dinner, Carla. It was excellent.”
“Why you hardly touched a bite!” Carla exclaimed. “I’ll help you upstairs. We can take the lift. What a help to have it in the house like this.”
Luke side-stepped Carla’s suggestion. “It’s okay. I’ll carry her.” He stood up, as superbly fit as a man could be. “Straight up the staircase, along the hall. I don’t like to see you struggling with those crutches.”
“Hey, I thought I was getting good.”
“She is good,” Carla maintained stoutly, in no mood to see Storm in Luke’s arms.
“Not good enough for me.” Luke shifted his chair out of the way, then moved over to the peacock chair where Storm reclined. “Ready?”
“My hero!” Storm sighed lightly.
Carla didn’t like that. She didn’t like it at all. Worse, she found she couldn’t bear to see Luke cradling Storm in his arms. Something about the attitude of their bodies deeply disturbed her. They looked so comfortable together. No, comfortable wasn’t the word, though Storm’s body accommodated itself easily to Luke’s. They looked like…primitive emotions surfaced…they looked like lovers. There wasn’t the tiniest doubt in her mind. Oh God, Carla thought. They’ve slept together. Their body language said it all.
“I’ll tend to the dishes,” Carla called, watching Luke carry Storm up the grand central staircase. Why didn’t he drop her, Carla thought, instead of doing a Rhett Butler. Before she could stop herself she made a bee-line to the rear staircase, which gave onto the upper gallery. From there she swept out onto the verandah inching down to Storm’s bedroom, as though there might be an orgy in progress. She was taking a risk, she knew. Luke might walk out onto the verandah, but she thought not. The French doors and the wooden shutters were fastened back. An
d there was cover. Golden canes in big glazed pots were set at intervals all along the verandah, their billowing fronds providing shelter.
For years, and no exaggeration, she had done everything in her power to make Luke Branagan notice her. Finally she had succeeded though her strategies, frenetic as they were, hadn’t been good enough to hold him. She had always known about the strong bond between Luke and Storm but that had been kept in balance by endless conflicts. Now this! How and when had it happened? When had the gulf been bridged?
By the Major’s will? Luke had been named as a major beneficiary. That was a little difficult to swallow. Storm would be mad and she didn’t seem mad at all. Determined to know, no matter the cost, Carla stole along to the bedroom, positioning herself stealthily beside one of the golden canes that flanged the bedroom door. Jealousy was slicing through her with the sharpness of a blade. She felt a twisted sense of betrayal. Didn’t Storm McFarlane have enough without taking Luke? She was a witch. There were a few still around. One of those dark-haired, green-eyed women that cast spells. Storm didn’t want Luke. They’d been combatants for years. She just wanted to show her power. She could hear them talking inside the bedroom, their voices low.
“I think Carla knows,” Storm was saying, sounding like she was dismayed.
“Knows?” That was Luke. “You mean about us? It wouldn’t surprise me. Carla’s very sharp. I suppose it’s all spelled out the way I look at you.”
Carla heard the sigh. I don’t want your pity, Storm McFarlane, she thought. I want you to disappear to Sydney and never come back.
Then Luke spoke and Carla sobered enough to listen. “I’m afraid you’re right,” he said. “But Carla has to face facts. Noni will be here tomorrow. Carla will be free to go home.”