A Wife at Kimbara

by Margaret Way

  “You were concerned.”

  She stared up at him, revealing nothing. “Why not?”

  He shrugged and flung an arm up to rest on the rail. “He’s been thrown before and survived. We all have. I’m curious to know, what do you think of my father?”

  “I’m sure I’m not supposed to say I hate him,” she said coolly. “I think he’s many things. As are you.”

  “Include yourself in that, Miss Hunt,” he answered sardonically, studying the way her dark satiny hair curved around her face. What did she do? Polish it with a silk scarf? “Even Fee knows remarkably little about you.”

  “Have you asked?” she challenged, her rain coloured eyes widening.

  “Indeed I have.”

  “I can’t imagine why you’d be interested in me.”

  Yet she bit her lovely full lower lip. “I’m sure you have many a dramatic revelation to divulge,” he drawled. “I’m just blunt enough to point out you’re turning my father’s head. It’s not often I see him take such glowing pleasure in a young woman’s company.”

  “I think you’re exaggerating.” Perhaps she, too, would have made an actress.

  He laughed. “Then why is that magnolia skin stained with colour?”

  “It could be your lack of discretion,” she countered.

  “Actually I’m trying to be frank. You’ve only been on Kimbara a short time yet you’ve made a considerable impact on my father and Fee.”

  “Obviously not you.” She was still managing to speak with perfect calm even if she couldn’t control the fire in her blood.

  A taut smile crossed his striking face. “I’m not as susceptible as Dad or as trusting as Fee.”

  “Goodness you ought to set yourself up in the detective business.” She kept her voice low in case anyone was watching. They were.

  “Come on, all I’m suggesting is you tell me a little more about yourself.”

  “You won’t find my face in a rogue’s gallery if that’s what you’re thinking.” She stared back at him.

  “How about an art gallery?” he suggested. “Your style of looks is incredibly romantic. In fact they ought to name a flower after you.”

  “No artist has offered to paint me so far,” she told him. “What exactly is it you suspect me of, Mr. Kinross?”

  Her face was still flushed, her eyes as lustrous as silver. “You’re angry with me and quite rightly.” He dropped his hand off the rail and stood straight. Another foot and their bodies would be brushing.

  “I think so.”

  “But from where I’m standing I think you might be trying to steal my father’s heart.”

  She felt so affronted she tossed her silky mane in the air. “Part of it might be because you’re screwed up.”

  He stared back at her for a moment then threw back his handsome head and gave a genuine peal of laughter. A warm seductive sound. “I’m not hearing this,” he groaned. “You think I’m screwed up.”

  “It must be a very heavy load to carry,” she said without sympathy.

  He laughed again, white teeth dazzling against dark copper skin. “Actually you might be right.”

  “We’ve all got our hang-ups to disengage,” she pointed out with clinical cool.

  “I can hardly wait to hears yours.”

  “You’re not going to hear them, Mr. Kinross.”

  “Pleez,” he mocked. “If we’re going to have these conversations you’d better call me Brod.”

  It was a mystery to her she was keeping her cool. “Thank you for that. I’d love it if you called me Rebecca. All I’m asking, Brod, is you give me the benefit of the doubt before starting to label me ‘adventuress.’ From what I’ve seen, your father is perfectly charming to women in general.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” he answered, his voice dangerously gentle. “Charming, yes. Possessive, no.”

  “Is that how you read it?” She kept the worry out of her tone.

  “Most women can’t resist being the object of desire.”

  She felt as if they were engaged in some ritual dance, circling, circling. “That’s something I know nothing about.” She’d been determined to play it cool but her simmering temper was making her eyes sparkle.

  “Quite impossible, Rebecca.” His lips curved. “If you put on your dowdiest dress and cut off that waterfall of hair, men would still want you.”

  She had the disturbing sensation he had reached out and touched her, run his fingers over her skin. “I don’t think you’ve reckoned on whether I want them,” she answered, too sharply, as her heart did a double take.

  His blue eyes filled with amused mockery. “Now where is this leading us?”

  “Probably nowhere.” She managed a shrug. “The whole conversation was your idea.”

  “Only because I’m trying to learn as much about you as I can.” He realised he was getting an undeniable charge out of what amounted to their confrontation. It was like being exposed to live wires.

  “I’m thoroughly aware of that,” Rebecca said, “but I do hope you’re not going to start checking on me. I might have to mention it to your father.”

  Ah, an admission of power. Why had he ever had one minute’s doubt? His eyes narrowed, lean body tensing. “I’ll be damned, a threat.”

  She shook her head. “No threat at all. I’m not going to allow you to spoil things for me, that’s all.”

  “I can do that by checking you out?”

  “That’s not what I meant at all.” Her voice went very quiet. “I’m here in one capacity only. To write your aunt’s biography. Both of us want it done. It’s a pity you’ve made up your mind I’ve more on the agenda. It’s almost like you’re waging war.”

  “Isn’t it,” he agreed.

  “Perhaps you’ve got nothing to win.” She threw out the challenge, suddenly wanting to hurt him as he was hurting her.

  “Well we can’t say the same for you then.”

  The sapphire eyes gleamed.

  Both of them were so involved in the cut and thrust, neither noticed Stewart Kinross approach until he was only a few yards away. “I was trying to make out what you two were talking about?” He smiled, though it never quite reached his eyes.

  “Why don’t I let Rebecca tell you,” Brod drawled.

  “Clearly it was something serious,” his father said. “Everybody else seems to be laughing and relaxed.”

  “Brod was taking me through the technicalities of the match.” Rebecca was worried her voice might tremble but it didn’t. It sounded very normal. “I’m hoping to understand the game better.”

  “But, my dear, I could have explained all that,” Stewart Kinross assured her warmly. “Sure it wasn’t something more interesting?”

  Rebecca twisted round to look at Brod. “Nothing except a few words about my work.”

  “I’m sure it will be so good you’ll have people dying to read it,” Brod said suavely. “Ah well, I’d better circulate. Some of my friends I haven’t seen for a long time.”

  This caused Stewart to frown. “You can see them anytime you want to, Brod.”

  “I guess I’m too damned busy, Dad. Especially since you promoted me. See you later, Rebecca.” He lifted a hand, moving off before his father could say another word.

  Stewart Kinross’s skin reddened. “I must apologise for my son, Rebecca,” he rasped.

  “Whatever for?” She was anxious not to become involved.

  “His manner,” Stewart replied. “It worries me sometimes. I’ve had to deal with a lot of rivalry from Brod.”

  “I suppose it’s not that unusual,” Rebecca tried to soothe. “powerful father, powerful son. It must make for clashes from time to time.”

  “None of them, I assure you, initiated by me,” Stewart protested. “Brod takes after my father. He was combative by nature.”

  “And generally regarded as a great man?” Rebecca murmured gently just to let him know she had read up extensively on Sir Andrew Kinross and liked what she had learned.

&
nbsp; “Yes, there’s that,” Stewart agreed a little grudgingly. “He positively doted on Fee. Denied her nothing that’s why she’s so terribly spoiled. But he expected a great deal of me. Anyway, enough of that. What I really wanted to know is did you enjoy the day? I organised the whole thing for you.”

  “I realise that, Stewart. It’s something I’ll always remember.” Rebecca tasted a certain bitterness on her tongue. Remember? But for wrong reasons. Most of the time her eyes had been glued to Broderick Kinross’s dashing figure. She could still feel the rush of adrenaline through her body.

  “You know, sometimes I get the feeling I’ve known you forever,” Stewart Kinross announced, resting a hand on her shoulder and staring down into her eyes. “Don’t you get that feeling, too?”

  What on earth do I say? Rebecca thought, suffused with embarrassment. Whatever I say he seems to misinterpret it. She allowed her long thick lashes to feather down onto her cheeks. “Maybe we’re kindred spirits, Stewart,” she said. “Fee says the same thing.”

  It was far from being the response Stewart Kinross wanted, but he knew damned well he would never give up. Many good years remained of his life. Maybe Rebecca was a little young. It didn’t strike him as too young. In their conversations she sounded remarkably mature, in control. Besides, as his wife she would be well compensated. He was definitely a very rich man and if that had to do increasingly more with Brod’s managerial skills he wasn’t about to admit it.

  Meanwhile half-way across the field Brod, the centre of an admiring circle, continued to observe this disturbing tableau. They could have been father and daughter, he thought with the cold wings of anger. Only he could read his father’s body language from a mile. Her dark head so thick and glossy reached just about to his father’s heart as it would his. Her face was uptilted. She looked very slender and delicate in her outfit, boyish except for the swell of her breasts. His father’s hand had come up to rest on one of her fine-boned shoulders. He was staring down into her eyes. God, the utter impossibility of it but it was happening. His father had fallen in love. The thought shocked him profoundly. He turned away abruptly, grateful that his friend, Rafe, was approaching with a cold can of beer. A black fairy story this.

  Rebecca stood before the mirror holding two dresses in front of her in turn. One was lotus-pink, the other a beaded silk chiffon in a dusky green. Both were expensive, hanging from shoe-string straps and coming just past the knee rather like the tea dresses of the early 1930s when women looked like hot-house blooms. It was the sort of look she liked and one that suited her petite figure. Fee had told her much earlier their guests liked to dress up so now she studied her reflection trying to decide which dress looked best. She was glad she’d packed them, though again Fee had advised her at the outset to bring a couple of pretty evening dresses.

  “Stewart likes to entertain whenever the opportunity presents itself.”

  Hence the polo weekend. And all for her. Only a couple of weeks ago it would have given her the greatest pleasure. Now the fact that Stewart Kinross had somehow become infatuated with her raised a lot of anxieties. Not the least of them Broderick Kinross’s attitude.

  Knowing his father better than anyone else he had immediately divined the exact quality of Stewart’s interest. She would bet every penny she had Brod believed she had gone along with the situation. Even encouraged it.

  Becoming involved with a much older man was one thing. Becoming involved with a very rich older man was another. It happened all the time and society accepted powerful influential men could get anything they wanted. Lots of money, it seemed, made a deep impression on everyone.

  Stewart Kinross, if he suddenly remarried, could even father another family, increasing the number of heirs to the family fortune. It all left Rebecca feeling freezing cold. Life had been terrible when she had had a man in her life. She’d been so young and she had had no idea what jealousy and obsession meant. But she had learned. How she had learned!

  Rebecca stared at her haunted eyes in the mirror. She was standing absolutely still, holding the lovely dusky green dress in front of her like a shield. She told herself she didn’t care what Broderick Kinross thought. His suspicions understandable maybe were absolutely groundless. From her first day at Kimbara she had considered Stewart Kinross to be an exceptionally charming and generous man. Now she saw that might not be the case. The only thing that was becoming increasingly clear was he was smitten. She had seen that look of possession in a man’s eyes before. She didn’t want to see it again.

  Abruptly Rebecca turned away from the mirror. The green dress would do. It even lent some of its colour to her eyes. She wasn’t afraid of Broderick Kinross, either, though she half dreaded seeing him tonight. If she really were an adventuress looking to snaffle his rich father she couldn’t have made more of an enemy. In a way she understood. A new wife would automatically become part heiress to the Kinross fortune. Perhaps gain a controlling interest. She was probably right at this moment news. A few of the women guests hadn’t been able to hide their speculation. Thank God Fee was on her side. She had come out here simply to write a celebrity’s biography, never thinking she could be catapulted into a Situation.

  Almost an hour later, when Rebecca was ready to go downstairs and mingle with the guests, a knock came at her door. She went to it expecting to see Fee resplendant in one of her stunning outfits only Stewart Kinross stood outside the door holding a long velvet box in his hand.

  Rebecca moved forward a little blindly not wanting to invite him into the bedroom.

  “My dear girl, you look absolutely beautiful,” he said, his strongly boned face softening into undisguised admiration. “I love your dress. It’s perfect.”

  “And you look very distinguished, Stewart,” she said, edging a little along the painting hung in the hallway. Indeed he did. Commanding, fastidious with the physical presence of someone much younger. Only the eyes were a shade predatory, she thought out of sheer nervousness. What on earth was in that navy velvet box? Not a present surely. She was far from enraptured. She was dismayed.

  “Perhaps we could go back into your room for a moment,” he said in his now familiar richly modulated tones. “More private with guests in the house. I couldn’t be more pleased with your choice of dress, the colour, the style. I have something here I thought you might like to wear tonight. A family heirloom I must of course take back but I notice you didn’t bring much jewellery with you…probably not expecting a do like this.”

  She hadn’t the slightest intention of accepting. “Stewart, I really feel…” she began, watching him raise a heavy black eyebrow.

  “You can’t refuse a simple request, my dear. I want to show you off.”

  “Whatever for, Stewart?” She tried the wide-eyed look. “They must know I’m only here to write Fee’s biography.”

  “I wonder if you realise you’ve found your way into our hearts, Rebecca. I’m sure you’ll be gracious, my dear. Especially when you see this.”

  Somehow he had compelled her to move backwards into the lovely cream-and-gold room with its antique French bedroom suite, its fine paintings and porcelain objects. She’d never been in such a bedroom in all her life.

  A few feet into the room she turned to face her host. He was wearing a white dinner jacket and a white shirt with his black evening trousers, black tie, his thick dark hair deeply waving like his son’s winged with silver. “This hasn’t seen the light of day for some time,” he said, lifting an exquisite necklace from its container before turning to set the container down on a cabinet.

  “Stewart, that looks very important.” She just managed to keep her voice from wavering. Appended from a gold chain was a truly magnificent large oval opal flashing a beautiful play of colours, the legendary gem stone surrounded by full cut glittering diamonds.

  “Important to our family, yes.” He smiled, his large tanned hands undoing the delicate catch. “There’s quite a story attached to this opal,” he said. “When I have the time I’ll tell yo
u but our guests will be waiting.”

  She tried once more to refuse, knowing the sort of man he was, knowing she might offend him. “Stewart, if you don’t mind, I can’t wear such an obviously valuable thing. Besides in some quarters opals are said to be unlucky.”

  “Rubbish!” He banished that idea with a snort. “The Greeks and the Romans valued opals very highly as well they might. Queen Victoria loved the opals that were sent to her from her Australian colonies. The royal jewellers made her up many magnificent pieces. A big opal strike made the Kinross and Cameron fortunes. So no more talk of that, my dear. This will complement the lovely green of your dress. It’s almost as though you knew what I had in mind. Be a good girl now,” he said cajolingly, “Hold up your hair.”

  Short of an argument Rebecca thought she had little option. She held her long hair away from her neck while Stewart placed the necklace around it and did up the catch.

  “There, what did I tell you?” He took infinite pleasure in her appearance. She was sheer perfection from her gleaming head to her pretty narrow feet in evening shoes whose colour exactly matched her silvery beaded dress.

  She thought she’d find herself bright pink with embarrassment when she turned around swiftly to face the long pier mirror. She of all people knew how dangerous it was to court obsession. How much it could devastate a life.

  But the necklace was beautiful. So beautiful lying against her bare skin.

  “My God you’re lovely,” she heard Stewart say, his voice surprisingly harsh. “Lovely in just the way I like.”

  Why hadn’t she seen what this could lead to? Was she a fool? Did she think she was protected by the big age difference?

  “I think after all I’ll take it off, Stewart,” she said quite strongly.

  “No.” He sensed immediately he was giving too much away. He urged caution on himself. He always took getting what he wanted for granted but this young woman was different—very special.

  “Rebecca, Stewart?” Fee, looking every inch the star of the theatre surprised them by appearing in the open doorway, her shrewd glance going from one to the other. “What’s the problem?”