A Wife at Kimbara

by Margaret Way

  “He’s dead, Ally,” Brod said very quietly when she picked up the receiver and identified herself. “Our father was killed in a lightning strike this afternoon.”

  She didn’t cry though it was the last thing she had been expecting to hear. Her father had hurt her too badly over the years for tears but she felt a tremendous grief for what might have been. “Where, Brod? How?”

  She listened while Brod told what had happened. Not exactly what had happened. How his father had invited Rebecca to ride with him when he obviously knew a lot better. Unless as Brod suspected his father had some plan of his own in mind. That was a large part of the way his father had worked. Hidden agendas. Besides, he never had introduced the subject of his father’s infatuation with Rebecca Hunt to Ally. He wasn’t going to. Not now. Though Ally would hear of it. He was certain of that. He continued to talk, his tone grave and quiet

  “I’ll come,” Ally said finally. “I’ll fly out in the morning.” She struggled with the thought of what it was all going to mean.

  “Charter a flight,” Brod advised her. “Just get here quickly.”

  “I love you, Brod,” she said. Brod her powerful big brother. The brother who had always looked out for her and treated her with such affection.

  “I love you, too, Ally.” His vibrant voice was subdued. “I can’t imagine how we’re going to get through this, but we will.”

  When Ally put the phone down a moment later, she was conscious of the trembling right through her body. The party was over for her. She would make her excuses to her hosts then go home and pack.

  The end of an era she thought. The beginning of Brod’s reign.

  As she walked to the tall double doors of the study, the light caught the lustrous gleam of her strapless emerald dress. There would be many difficulties ahead, she thought, not the least of them having to see Rafe again. Her father’s funeral would be big. He’d been—dear Lord the past tense—an important man. Members of most Outback families would be there. Politicians, the legal fraternity, businesspeople. The Cameron brothers would be singled out as close family friends. The old gossip would circulate. Everybody knew of her love affair with Rafe. Hadn’t she gloried in it? But in the end, overcome by the sheer tempestuousness of their feelings, she had run away. She had run like her mother and Rafe, her beloved Rafe, had wiped his hands of her. The very thought of him might still fill her with longing but she knew she had lost him forever.

  When Fee rang her daughter, Francesca, in London she never expected Francesca to tell her, “I’m coming, Fee. I’ll book a flight as soon as I get off the phone. I know you and Uncle Stewart had your differences. I know why but he was always very nice to me. It’s the very least I can do. Besides, I’m longing to see you and the family, Brod and Ally.” It seemed a far too inappropriate time to mention Grant Cameron even when his golden unashamedly macho image kept popping into her mind at the oddest times. Like someone you can’t possibly forget.

  “The funeral is on Friday,” Fee was saying. “My poor brother in a cold room but it will give Brod the time to make all the arrangements. I can tell you everyone is shocked out of their minds. Not a lot of people have liked Stewart. A lot feared him. But he had such vigour. Surely he can’t be dead.”

  “I can’t really take it in, either,” Francesca confessed distressed, sweeping her hair back off her forehead. “So now Brod is master of Kimbara. He’s taken over the inheritance he was born for.”

  “Kimbara will be a different place,” Fee vowed. “Though it grieves me to say it, Stewart served himself. Brod is like my darling, Sir Andy. He’ll serve his heritage.”

  “It’s so sad about Ally and Brod,” Francesca said, depressed by her own intimate knowledge of family matters and the lack of love.

  “Do you think I don’t realise what you missed, Francesca,” Fee asked with a pang. “I was a terrible mother.”

  Francesca couldn’t help nodding. “I know!” She gave a kind little laugh, then sobered. “But I love you.”

  “I know and I don’t deserve it.” Fee cleared her throat.” I couldn’t feel more comfort knowing you’re coming. Such a long flight! I want you to meet Rebecca. She was out riding with Stewart when he was struck so she’s taking it very hard. In fact she wants to leave.”

  “Well I can understand it,” Francesca breathed. “It must have been awful for her.”

  “Just like Stewart to go and do something dreadfully dramatic,” Fee wailed. “Let me know your flight, dearest. We’ll organise a connecting charter flight. Maybe that marvellous hunk Grant Cameron could pick you up. He’s sure to want to meet you again.”

  I hope! Francesca thought, breaking the connection. She looked up from the bed where she’d been sitting to catch sight of her reflection in the pier mirror. She looked nothing like her beautiful mother. She took after her father’s side of the family. She had a cousin, Alexandra, with the same red-gold hair and flower-blue eyes. People often mistook them for sisters.

  The quintessential English Rose, Grant Cameron had called her with amused admiration, but with the suspicion her beauty and strength would be sapped in the harsh environment of the Outback.

  Maybe just maybe, he didn’t know enough about her.

  Rebecca, who had sought refuge in a lovely cool seating area on the far reaches of the garden, lifted her head at the sound of footsteps on the gravel path. Hurriedly she tried to smooth the marks of tears from her face. Stewart’s sudden violent death had hit her terribly hard, the shock compounded by feelings of guilt as though her rejection of him had somehow led to his death. It was irrational. She knew that, but it didn’t help. It was Stewart who had made the dreadful mistake of not seeking protection for both of them yet her part in the tragedy weighed heavily on her.

  Fee had given her the news Ally and Francesca were both coming for the funeral. Both intended to stay for a time. There was no place for her here with the family arriving, though Fee had been quick to beg her to stay. The footsteps grew louder. A man’s footsteps.

  Brod’s. He was coming towards her, more formally dressed than usual as different people were flying in all the time to express their condolences and lend their support. Rebecca had never thought to see roses blooming so prolifically in the Outback yet now he passed under a double arch aglow with large yellow roses. Soon he would reach her.

  Rebecca drew a deep, shaky breath, not fully understanding her own powerful reactions to the man. Both of them had made it their business to avoid each other. Now he had come to seek her out. For what reason? To ask her to leave? Innocent of all blame she regarded it as only natural. She threw aside a cushion, standing up as though readying herself for a verdict.

  “Don’t hurry away, Rebecca,” he said, as good as blocking the narrow path with his tall, wide-shouldered frame. His tone was crisp but not unfriendly.

  “What is it, Brod?” she asked without further hesitation, unhappily aware her voice was husky.

  “I thought it was about time we had a little talk.” He stored up the sight of her in his mind. “I haven’t bothered you. I’m sympathetic to your shock but I want to know what happened yesterday.”

  It was so quiet only for the sound of the birds. She felt trapped.

  “I can’t talk about it, Brod,” she said and turned away from him urgently, as he moved into the leafy garden sanctuary. She wanted comfort. She felt this man could have given it, except he had locked his mind and his heart against her.

  “You will tell me, Rebecca,” he warned quietly. “You owe it to me.” He put out a hand not to restrain her but to turn her to face him. “Tears. Lots of tears. For my father?” She looked hurt like a child, her womanly powers of seduction not sending the usual messages from her beautiful drowned eyes.

  “I can’t help think I was somehow to blame.”

  Her voice was so deeply pained he found himself trying to ease it. “My father knew to seek shelter, Rebecca.” He stared at her, trying to read her mind. “But I’m surprised you consented to go with hi
m. Surely you could see a major storm was building up?”

  She sat down again, with him towering over her, locking her hands tightly to calm herself. “I didn’t want to go, Brod, but your father made it seem the tremendous build up of storm clouds was no more than some grand celestial display. He didn’t expect a single drop of rain to fall.”

  Damn it! Dad and his tricks. “That can happen,” he explained, “but my father could read the different skies as well as I can.” He knew he would be too close to her to sit on the padded bench, her graceful body only inches from his, so he moved back a little to sit on the low stone wall surrounding a raised bed of flowers. “I want you to tell me where you were headed?” he asked.

  She looked up briefly, grey eyes dominating her pale face. “Your father was going to show me the aboriginal rock paintings in the caves.”

  His suspicions confirmed. “He said that, did he?” he asked bleakly.

  “I didn’t really want to see them.” Even then she vehemently shook her head. “I mean I do want to see them, but I’d been feeling so anxious all day. Now I know why.”

  “So you didn’t manage to get that far?” he persisted with his line of thought.

  “Put it this way—” she shrugged “—I kept heading in a different direction. Along the chain of billabongs. I love all the water lilies and the bird life.”

  “What are you hiding, Rebecca?” he asked all of a sudden, very blunt.

  “What is it you think I should say,” she pleaded. “I have to live with this.”

  God only knows what happened, he thought, sick to death of it all. “You sound distraught.”

  “I am.” Her shadowed eyes flashed. “I want to go home.”

  He found he was violently opposed to that. “You’re not a child. You’re a woman and you have professional commitments.” He said the first thing that came into his head.

  “Your family is coming.” She spread her elegant hands. “All your friends. I have no place here.”

  His eyes blazed. “You’ve made quite a place for yourself, though, haven’t you, Rebecca. Did my father tell you he was in love with you?” He wanted desperately to know what had gone on.

  “What does any of it matter, Brod?” She turned her face away from him.

  “That means he did.”

  “I don’t know what he was saying,” she evaded, when she would never forget.

  “Don’t give me that. Please. He was so caught up with you.” The dappled sunshine fell over his taut face. “You knew it.”

  “I learned it the hard way.” Now she almost gave herself away.

  “How?” he rasped.

  “Your father never touched me,” she whispered, a little shocked by his expression.

  “All right,” he answered. “Calm down. But he said something to send you galloping madly away.”

  “And that’s when it happened,” she sighed deeply, “the tragedy. I don’t want to talk about it any more.”

  “The thing is, Rebecca, there are consequences for our actions,” he pointed out. “Look at me and tell me you didn’t intend for my father to fall in love with you?” Hardness broke through his quiet tone, cruelly cutting her.

  “What difference would it make?” She flew up and turned fully to face him, finding the very air was suffocating. “You believe what you want to believe.”

  He caught her shoulders, smelling her fragrance. “That’s a cop-out really, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t want to quarrel with you, Brod,” she said, locked into his magnetism.

  Now the woman sprang to vibrant life. He saw it flare out of her eyes, wrapping them both in a desperate hunger. “Well tell me what you do want?” he asked harshly, his thumbs moulding her delicate collar-bones.

  “I want to forget I ever met you,” she heard herself saying. God knows he was out to hurt her. “I want to forget all of this.”

  “All of what?” he asked forcefully, feeling she was stealing something from him. His self-control. “I thought you were set on marrying a Kinross. You don’t care which one?”

  As antiviolent as it was possible for a woman to be, Rebecca, driven beyond her normal behaviour, threw back her hand intending to slap his beautiful, hateful face only he caught her wrist in mid-air, overwhelming her with his strength. His eyes flashed danger. “Tell me what you came here for, Rebecca? The biography was only the start. When did you decide there was a great deal more on offer?”

  She could hear and see the tumult that was going on in him. Tumult that was heating her own blood. “Go on, lash out at me if it can help you through it,” she cried, pushing against him with trembling hands. “I know I hate you.”

  “Ah, yes.” He narrowed his eyes. “We’ve already discovered that.” He brought her face up to him with insistent fingers, lowering his head to claim her mouth, while she in agony of mixed emotions tried to offer resistance.

  Flames danced around them, locking them in a dangerous circle.

  “You drive me mad,” he muttered, as his lips finally left hers.

  “I’m going home, Brod.” Incredibly she leaned her head against his chest. She had to be crazy. Only he was so physically perfect to her she didn’t know if she could possibly withstand him.

  “Where’s home?” Now he was absorbed in kissing her throat and she was letting him do it, allowing passion to convulse her.

  “Away from you.” Her voice broke with emotion.

  “I don’t believe that.” He gave a little laugh, something like triumph in the sound. “God, I don’t believe what I’m doing myself. Is this a plan or are we just part of a pattern. Destiny if you will. You know my father brought you to this place?”

  She grew very still within his arms, touched all over with alarm. “What are saying, Brod?”

  “He never told you himself?” He lifted his head to stare into her eyes.

  Now she had her free will back. “I weep for you, Brod,” she said stormily. “For the sad life you’ve led. You can’t trust anyone, can you?”

  “I trust lots of people,” he proclaimed. “But not a magnolia so white and pure. There’s much too much mystery to you for that.”

  Some relationships are ruined before they start. “I’m going up to the house to pack,” Rebecca said, disgust in her eyes.

  “Won’t do you much good.” He gave a little shrug. “I’ll take the pledge not to ask you too many tough questions but you’re staying, Rebecca, make no mistake about that. No one will fly you out without my say-so and you owe it to my father to attend his funeral. You admitted as much yourself.”

  Alison arrived mid-afternoon, tired from the journey but thrilled to be home on Kimbara. It still exerted a powerful influence on her.

  Her eyes filled with tears at the sight of her brother. Although they talked often, she hadn’t seen that much of Brod in the past few years, now his striking maturity and the enhanced presence of his inheritance was fully revealed to her. It occurred to her suddenly Brod had a decided look of Sir Andy about him. A quality their father by no means had had. She remembered that look of Sir Andy’s well. Brod had it, too. The high mettled pride. Not the arrogance but the pride of real achievement.

  “Ally, it’s wonderful to see you.” Brod gathered his sister into a huge hug, fighting down the impulse to tell her she was much too thin. “I only wish it were happier times.” Still holding her hand he led her to the Jeep. “Climb in. I’ll take care of your luggage. I sure hope you’re going to stay for a while like you promised.”

  “It’s wonderful to know I can,” she called back.

  No more arguments with her father. No more stepping into the combat zone. No more scathing condemnation for not marrying Rafe.

  “I don’t suppose you were worthy of him anyway.” The contemptuous words still rang in her ears. Years later.

  It wasn’t what one expected to hear from one’s father.

  Her few pieces of luggage loaded away, Brod got behind the wheel. “Fran is due in tomorrow. I’ve organised with Grant to
pick her up at Longreach. I’d go for her myself, I guess I can call the Beech Baron my own, only so many people have been flying in and out paying their respects.”

  “I wonder if it’s more wanting to offer you support than mourning Dad,” Ally said bleakly, looking out the window at the vastness of the land. Kimbara was another world. “Dad had no idea how to make friends of people.”

  “That was his misfortune,” Brod said gravely. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about before we got up to the house.” He was worried Ally might hear it from someone else. “You know about Rebecca, of course.”

  Ally gave him a sharp look from her clear green eyes.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked in wonderment. “I thought Rebecca was here to write Fee’s biography. Fee speaks highly of her. Obviously they’ve hit it off.”

  Brod’s chiselled profile was serious. “They have but there’s a little more to it than that. It will come as a shock to you but Dad was utterly infatuated with her.” It had to be in the genes.

  Ally blinked her astonishment. “What?” Her voice cracked. “Could Dad be infatuated with any woman? I hate to say this but I never thought he liked women at all. Not after our mother left.”

  “There were women in his life. You know that.” Brod gave her a brief sidelong glance.

  “True,” Ally conceded, “but he never married one of them.”

  “I think he was beginning to see Rebecca in that light,” Brod told her grimly. “She’s very beautiful in just the way he liked. Cool, poised, patrician. Someone who could easily take over the role of his wife.”

  “For God’s sake.” Ally turned her head to study her brother’s face. “I thought she was my age or thereabouts?”

  “Ally, you’d be familiar with rich men marrying younger women,” he countered.

  “But Fee hasn’t said a word about this,” Ally protested, having difficulty taking it in. Her father thinking of remarrying. Now he was dead!