A Wife at Kimbara

by Margaret Way

  To Rebecca’s searing shame her whole body reacted to being clamped to his. It was a dreadful weakness that she thought long buried.

  “It can’t hurt you.” He released her almost immediately, staring up at the peacock-blue sky. “They’re a damned nuisance when they’re nesting.”

  “You’re all right aren’t you, Rebecca?” Stewart Kinross asked, genuinely solicitous. “You’ve gone rather pale.”

  “It was nothing, nothing,” she began to laugh the moment off. “It’s not my first magpie attack.”

  “And you’ve told us you’re pretty brave.” Broderick Kinross caught her gaze. A moment that spun out too long.

  “I told you I don’t wilt,” she corrected, a tiny blue pulse beating in her throat.

  “No.” A ripple of something like sexuality moved like a breeze across his face. “Wasn’t she magnificent, Dad?” he teased.

  “You must understand that Broderick likes a little joke, Rebecca,” Stewart Kinross said, a crack appearing in his grand manner.

  “Then I generously forgive him,” Rebecca spoke sweetly even though her breath still shook in her chest.

  What she wanted out of life was peace. That she intended to guard fiercely even against a cyclonic force. Broderick Kinross had the dark, dangerous power to sweep a woman away.

  On the Saturday morning of the polo match, Fee woke late, still feeling weary from insufficient sleep. She turned on her back easing the satin pads from her eyes. Living so long in England she had all but forgotten the brilliant light of her homeland. Now she had these eye pads on hand for the moment when the all powerful sun threw golden fingers of light across the wide verandah and into her bedroom.

  She was a chronic insomniac these days. Nothing seemed to cure it. She’d tried knock out pills—get up in the morning and have a good strong cup of coffee advice from her doctor—but she hated drugs, preferring herbal cures, or relaxation techniques, not that she had ever been a great one to relax. Too much adrenaline in the blood. Too many late, late nights. Too many lovers. Too many after performance parties. Too many social events crammed into her calendar. She thought she might be able to unwind once she returned home but it wasn’t happening.

  Of course she and Stewart never did get on, as children and adolescents. Stewart so absolutely full of himself. Since birth. Fiona had taken herself out of the jarring environment of playing second fiddle to her swaggering brother, The Heir, by setting sail for England. Of course her beloved dad, Sir Andy, shocked out of his mind at the prospect of losing his little princess had tried to stop her but in the end when faced with her shrieking virago acts sent her off with enough money to keep her in great style while she studied drama in preparation for her brilliant career. She’d managed this through a combination of beauty—let’s face it, even at sixty she could still make heads swivel—lots of luck, the Kinross self-confidence and a good resonant speaking voice, possibly from all that yelling outdoors. She had the lung capacity to fill a theatre like her good friend La Stupenda. And the Gods be praised, native talent. If you didn’t have that you had nothing.

  The thing that was really niggling away at her was this new potentially destructive situation with Stewart and Rebecca. God knows she’d seen enough of ageing men wearing pretty things young enough to be their daughters even granddaughters on their sleeves, but she wasn’t at all happy about Stewart’s interest in this particular young woman she’d become so fond of. Apart from the big age difference, part of her wanted badly to warn Rebecca against her brother’s practised charm. How could any young person, a near stranger, know what lay beneath the superbly self-assured manner? No wonder little Lucille, her dead sister-in-law had run off. Lucille so gentle a spirit would have fared badly trying to withstand Stewart’s harsh nature. In the end she’d shrunk from it.

  And there was the way Stewart had treated his children, especially Broderick, who had his mother’s glorious eyes although he was clearly a Kinross. Sir Andy had written to her often about his concerns and she had seen for herself Stewart’s coldness towards his children whenever she returned home. Those were the years when her darling Sir Andy was still alive. She wouldn’t be here now much as she loved the place of her birth only for the fact Stewart was trying to talk her into selling her shares in several Kinross enterprises. There were many family interests to discuss. No need for her to run off. This was the home of her ancestors.

  Oddly enough it had been Stewart who had begun all the talk about her writing her biography. He had even suggested a possible candidate for the job. A young award-winning journalist called Rebecca Hunt, already the author of a successful biography about another family friend, opera singer Judy Thomas. Dame Judy lest any of us forget. Stewart had read Judy’s autographed book and been impressed. He’d also seen the young Hunt woman being interviewed on one of those Sunday afternoon programs about the Arts.

  “Ask her out here, Fee,” Stewart had urged her, laying a compelling hand on her shoulder. “If only to see if the two of you could get along. After all, my dear, you’ve had a dazzling career. You have something to say.”

  She’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker, closing her eyes to the past, gratified by his interest, thinking Stewart could be very charming now that he’d mellowed. Clever, clever, Stewart.

  She’d done what he wanted. Lured Rebecca into his trap. Stewart had obviously fallen in love with her. On sight. She was just the sort of patrician creature he had always liked with her pure face and haunted eyes. Oh, yes, they were haunted for all Stewart thought they were cool as lakes. Rebecca had a past. Behind the immaculate exterior, Fee suspected Rebecca had her own story to tell. A story involving some very bitter experience. One that lay hidden but not buried. Fee knew all about the wilderness of love.

  She threw back the silk coverlet, putting her still pretty bare feet to the floor. Much as she adored the company of her nephew, secretly revelled in watching him outplay his father in all departments on the polo field, she just knew this weekend was going to bring plenty of tension and heartache.

  Why had Stewart invited Brod in the first place? He had to know by now Brod outstripped him as a polo player. Then there was the tantalising presence of the beautiful, unusual Rebecca. What middle-aged man, however wealthy, would set out to woo a young woman then expose her to the likes of Brod for goodness’ sake. It didn’t make a scrap of sense unless Stewart was applying yet another test.

  Stewart was a great one for putting people through hoops. Such an arrogant man. Perhaps if the seemingly perfect Rebecca didn’t pass the test she would fall from her golden pedestal and be made so uncomfortable she would be forced to leave. Fee was now certain her brother had marriage on his mind and it wasn’t out of the question. Even after all these years. Not that they had been womanless. Stewart had had his affairs from time to time but he had obviously never found the woman he wanted to keep for himself. The prize possession. Lucille lovely as a summer’s day had been that for a time but somehow Lucille had found the courage to run away. The next one wouldn’t be given the opportunity.

  Fee didn’t like to think it could be Rebecca. She was worried Rebecca might be someone who’d been hurt so badly she could settle for security. An older man, rich, social, establishment, grounded in the conventions. Rebecca could easily mistake an impressive facade for safety.

  CHAPTER THREE

  HOURS later, in the golden heat of mid-afternoon, Rebecca found herself watching the main polo match of the day with her heart in her throat. She’d enjoyed the morning matches played with such high spirits and comradeship but this was another league again.

  All the players were exceptionally fast and focused, the ponies superbly trained especially with all those clubs swinging near their heads and the competition it seemed to her anxious, dazzled eyes exceptionally fierce.

  Once she thought Stewart charging at full tilt would come off his horse trying to prevent his son driving the ball through the goal posts. He didn’t succeed but it appeared to Rebecca to be too
dangerous an effort. For all his fitness and splendid physique, Stewart was in his mid-fifties. No match really for the turning, twisting, speeding Broderick, the most dashing player on the field, though the commanding Cameron brothers ran him close. But for sheer daring, Brod Kinross had the added edge if only to beat his father. They certainly acted as if they were engaged in a highly stylised joust.

  “That was close,” Rebecca, a little frightened, murmured to Fee who was lounging in a deck chair beside her. “I thought Stewart would be flung out of the saddle.”

  Trying to impress you, my dear, Fee thought. “It’s a dangerous game, darling. I had a dear friend, Tommy Fairchild, killed on the polo field. That was some years ago in England but I think of him almost every other day. Brod’s a dare devil. I think it’s important to him to even up a few scores.”

  “Meaning?” Rebecca turned her head to stare into Fee’s eyes, finding them covered by very expensive sunglasses.

  “Good Lord, Rebecca, I know how perceptive you are,” Fee said. “Didn’t it strike you that afternoon you met Stewart and Brod that they don’t get on.”

  “Perhaps a little.” She kept the fact she’d overheard them quarrelling to herself.

  “Darling, you can’t fool me. You’ve noticed, all right. Both of them were trying but it’s just something they have to live with.”

  “But you said Brod has to even up the score?” Just to speak his name gave her a peculiar thrill.

  “Brod has been on the receiving end for a long time,” Fee confided. “I dote on him as you know. And Alison. I’m going to make sure you meet her. Stewart became very withdrawn after the children’s mother left. Brod, despite the fact he’s a Kinross through and through, has his mother’s beautiful eyes. Perhaps looking into them brings up too many painful memories for Stewart.” After all it wasn’t inconceivable.

  “Do you really think that?” Even Rebecca sounded sceptical.

  “No.” Fee delicately grimaced. “The truth is Stewart wasn’t cut out to be a father. Not every man is.”

  “Then Brod and his sister must have suffered?” Rebecca rested back in the recliner prepared to listen.

  “Assuredly, my dear,” Fee agreed. “Money can’t bring everything to life, not that I’ve ever been without it,” she had the grace to admit. “But so far as Brod is concerned his upbringing has only made him tougher. Unlike his little mother. Petite, like you. Lucille was her name. Pretty as a picture.” Fee’s mind instantly conjured up a vision of Lucille on her wedding day. Young, radiant, madly in love with her Stewart. She’d flown home to be Lucille’s chief bridesmaid. Her little pal from their schooldays but she’d never been around to lend Lucille her support. She’d been too busy becoming a celebrity.

  “She didn’t last long,” Rebecca observed sadly, echoing Fee’s own thoughts.

  “No. It was all quite dreadful. You can’t imagine how shocked I was when I got the news. Sir Andy rang me. I always called my father that. He was knighted by the Queen for his services to the pastoral industry.”

  Something Rebecca already knew. “Stewart didn’t ring you?” she interrupted gently.

  “No,” Fee answered rather grimly, then remained silent for a time.

  Sensitive to her pain Rebecca changed the subject. “I have to say I’ll be relieved when the match ends,” she confessed with a wry laugh—Brod’s team had scored another goal. “I can’t really enjoy it with my heart in my throat.”

  “You’re a tender little thing.” Fee moved to pat her hand. “Though at this level I agree it’s pretty lethal and Stewart and Brod are going at it hammer and tongs. Half-time coming up. Ten minutes usually. Stewart is bound to want to know if you’re enjoying yourself. If I were you, my dear, I’d tell him you’re finding it all terribly exciting.”

  “But I am.” Rebecca twisted to smile at Fee, marvelling as ever at her glamorous appearance. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  “Ah, look at Brod,” Fee broke in gleefully. “Isn’t he luv-er-ly,” she cried, Eliza Doolittle style. He was indeed. On the other side of the field Broderick Kinross was stripping off his polo shirt to exchange it for another. His jet-black hair, thick and waving, gleamed in the sunlight with a matt of dark hair spreading across his darkly tanned chest then narrowing down to his close fitting jodhpurs.

  He was an incredibly handsome man. So much so Rebecca felt a sudden uprush of desire that alarmed her. Not that he was flaunting his splendid body or paying any attention to the heated glances of the female spectators enjoying the spectacle from around the field. He was too busy sharing a joke with his friend, Rafe Cameron.

  Rebecca wished for a moment she had a camera. She’d like to photograph these two magnificent young men together. Of a height, wonderfully fit, perfect foils. Brod for all his brilliant blue eyes was dark, deeply tanned by the sun whereas his friend had a thick mane of pure gold hair that was quite stunning. The other brother, Grant, busy chatting up a pretty girl, shared the family fairness, but his hair was more tawny with a touch of red. Both she had remarked when introduced had hazel-gold flecked eyes.

  “Quite something aren’t they?” Fee hooted, following Rebecca’s gaze. “A pride of lions only Brod is the panther among them.”

  “They’re all very handsome,” Rebecca agreed. “I’m surprised they’re not all married.”

  Fee shook her beautifully coiffured head. As dark as Rebecca’s until her fifties she was now close to blond. “But surely you know?”

  “Know what?” Rebecca stared directly at her. More revelations?

  “I thought Stewart might have mentioned it,” Fee said. He certainly spent enough time chatting to Rebecca. “At one time we all hoped Rafe and Alison would tie the knot. They were very much in love but somehow Alison got cold feet. Product of a broken home perhaps. She ran off to Sydney much as I ran off to London, though I left no great love behind.

  “As we know she’s become highly successful. So life goes on. Wild horses wouldn’t get it out of him but I believe Rafe was devastated. At any rate he won’t allow Alison back into his life.

  “As for Brod. He’s a hot favourite. Always has been. But Brod will make darn sure he picks the right woman. Grant is a couple of years younger than both of them. He’s been working terribly hard establishing his helicopter business. All three are big catches for the girls.”

  “I’ll bet!” Rebecca smiled. “Stewart did tell me a little about Alison’s broken romance.”

  “So are you interested?” Fee pulled herself up to capture Rebecca’s luminous gaze.

  “My career is important to me, Fee,” Rebecca answered lightly.

  “A woman can’t do without love in her life.”

  “So I’m learning from your biography,” Rebecca quipped instantly.

  “Cheeky.” Fee smacked at Rebecca’s slender arm playfully. “Don’t leave it too late, darling. That’s all.” She spread a beringed hand. “Here comes Stewart. He doesn’t look quite as enthusiastic as he did at the start of the match.”

  “Brod didn’t exactly give him any quarter,” Rebecca pointed out dryly.

  “Each man for himself on the polo field, my chick,” Fee drawled in her distinctive voice, which still had so much sex appeal in it. “How’s it going, Stewie?” she called a little tauntingly, entirely on her nephew’s side.

  Stewart Kinross studied his sister rather stonily for a moment then said with slight indignance. “We’re doing fairly well. Anything can happen in the second half.” He switched his glance to Rebecca, dressed like Fee in a silk shirt and narrow cut linen pants only her outfit was pristine white whereas Fee was a kaleidoscope of colours and patterns with a lot of glitter he didn’t find attractive. “You’re loving it aren’t you, Rebecca.” He smiled at her, a remarkably handsome, mature man.

  “I’m a little worried for you, Stewart,” Rebecca admitted truthfully. “It’s a dangerous game.”

  As a response it was a disaster. “I like to think I keep up, my dear,” he answered, looking a
bit huffed.

  “Oh, Stewart, you do know what I mean,” Rebecca protested softly.

  He looked deep into her eyes seeing God knows what. “That’s fine then, my dear. It’s Brod who’s putting himself at risk. Maybe you could tell him to his face.” He looked back towards the field. “Though I must have done something right…I taught him all he knows. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t. Ah well.” He glanced back to smile at Rebecca. “I must be off. Time’s up.”

  Rebecca realised she shouldn’t say, “Take care.” Instead she gave a little encouraging wave while Fee, enjoying every moment, bit back a laugh. “Darling, were you really suggesting Stewie is over the hill?”

  A soft little cushion was to hand. Rebecca used it.

  “Hey, hey.” Fee leaned forward and caught it. “Stewie doesn’t like to think he’s settling into the twilight zone. For that matter neither do I.”

  In the end Brod’s team won and Rebecca watched as a tall, good-looking blonde in skin-tight jeans and a blue T-shirt that showed off her shapely breasts, went up to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him with much relish.

  “Liz Carrol,” Fee said with a grin. “She likes him. Can’t you tell? Then again, why hide it?”

  “Is she his girlfriend?” Rebecca found herself asking, though she hadn’t intended to.

  “What do you think? Brod sees a few others but most of the time he’s just too darned busy. He’s got a big job—for life. When he picks a wife he’d better pick well.”

  Eventually it was Rebecca’s turn to congratulate the winning team, standing before the captain wondering why she felt so terribly perturbed by a pair of brilliant blue eyes. Had anyone ever looked at her like that? What kind of look was it? Whatever it was it acted like a magnet.

  “Fee told me you were a little anxious at the action,” he said leaning back against a rail, looking down at her. Oh, yes, she was beautiful.

  Rebecca nodded unapologetically. “Today was my first experience of polo. I have to admit some of it scared me. I thought Stewart would be thrown from his horse at one stage during the first half.”