Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  “I’m going to see him as soon as your plane takes off.”

  “Bene,” Carlo said. “I like him. He’s good husband material,” he added with a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, Papà, you never give up, do you?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Francey parked the Rolls unobtrusively under several low-growing eucalypts in Steve’s street, and headed for his front door. Unlocked, as usual, she turned the knob and went inside, her heart beat accelerating simply because she could hardly wait to see him. Doubts had been niggling at her subconscious since the party, growing, festering. Why hadn’t he been in touch with her since CJ’s announcement?

  “Steve?” Francey called a greeting. She found him in the kitchen fixing a cup of coffee. “Hi!” she said, too brightly, as she gave him a hug. He hugged her back but didn’t kiss her. Yes, something was definitely up!

  “Hi, yourself,” he answered in his deep policeman’s voice. “Want a coffee?”

  With the filled coffee mugs in their hands they went back into the living room. Steve waited for Francey to sit then he found a chair for himself, as far removed from her as possible. He noted that she looked tired, strung out, and a little agitated but was desperately trying not to show it. He’d never seen her like that before, not even when she’d been lost in the bush. He knew the cause. Coming to terms with being CJ’s daughter and all it entailed. Frankly, it was something he wouldn’t have wished hoisted on anyone he was fond of.

  “Some birthday party, hey? I turn twenty-seven and find I have a new Dad as well,” she began tentatively. Her smile was tremulous as she tried not to allow the insecurities warring inside her to take control. Certain, disquieting vibrations were emanating from him. Cool and contained. Worrying. Her stomach began to tie itself into knots. Where was the old Steve, the one she knew so well? The warm, compassionate, good-humoured guy she had fallen in love with. This Steve was acting like a virtual stranger instead of the passionate lover he’d been a couple of nights ago. She desperately wanted and needed the old Steve to resurface.

  “Yeah,” he shrugged his wide shoulders. “I guess joint congratulations are in order. It’s not every day you hear that you’re closely related to a multimillionaire.”

  “It’s taking some getting used to, believe me. I’m not sure I —”

  “Well, I think it’s great,” he interrupted, averting his eyes so he didn’t look directly at her. “You fit right in. It’ll work out well, I’m sure. CJ’s got a worthy heir and you have the chance to be the mega-successful businesswoman you’ve always wanted to be.”

  Highly tuned, she listened to the nuances in his tone. Again, cool, distanced, as if they were discussing an absent third party instead of herself. Support and understanding was what she had come here for. She wanted to pour out her feelings about the doubts and uncertainties she felt inside, and the awesome responsibilities that would arise some time in the future. She valued his opinion, needed his affection and what was she getting? “Mr Cool” and his remote analysis. Why was he behaving this way? Was it her fault? She firmly believed that the best approach was a direct one. Ask!

  “Steve, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” He shrugged again, deliberately nonchalant. “I couldn’t be happier for you. You have a great opportunity, Francey. Think of all the things you can do in the future, with CJ’s money behind you.”

  “Yes, I know that,” she said impatiently. “But … it won’t change us, will it? I mean what we have together is too important, too precious.” There, she’d said it, got it out in the open. Now she waited, almost afraid to breathe, for his answer.

  “Oh …” he began consideringly, as if only now giving it some thought. “I think it’s bound to change our relationship. It’d be unrealistic to think otherwise. You’re going to be one hell of a busy lady ‘cause I’m sure that now you’ve been acknowledged as CJ’s heir he’ll up his training program. You’ll be dealing with important businesspeople. Rubbing shoulders with politicians, the rich and famous, and jetting to all manner of wonderful places, I imagine. I doubt there’ll be much time for us in the future.”

  “That’s crazy.” The hard knot in her stomach tightened. What was he trying to tell her? “We’ll make time. We have in the past.”

  “Which hasn’t always been easy,” he stated. “Things have changed, Francey, whether we like it or not. CJ’s announcement saw to that. Surely you see it too?”

  “I haven’t changed and what I feel for you hasn’t changed,” she said stubbornly.

  Francey tried to ignore the terrible fear that was beginning to spread through the tightness in the pit of her stomach, through her limbs to her very soul. Up to now they had always been on the same wavelength, she could always tell what he was thinking, feeling and vice versa. Now she didn’t like what she was hearing nor did she understand the vibes coming from him. Steve was distancing himself from her and she couldn’t understand why. She loved him and she thought he loved her with the same depth of passion. Maybe — the thought brought a crushing pain to the middle of her chest — she’d been wrong.

  “Is it because I’m part Aboriginal, not Italian?”

  “Don’t be bloody silly. That has nothing to do with it,” he bit back, hiding the hurt that she might even consider such a possibility. He took another sip of coffee, his dark eyes clashing with hers, and when he spoke his tone was hard. “Face reality, Francey. You’ve moved upwards, into a very elite and different circle. It was fine when you were Francey Spinetti, architect — at a stretch we were kind of on the same level. Can’t you see that everything is different now? You’re going to be incredibly wealthy one day — I never will be. I have my pride, you know. I don’t want people saying: ‘Oh, look at Parrish, he’s latched on to Francey because of her money. What’s the male equivalent for a gold-digger? The same — gold-digger!’”

  “That’s ridiculous!” she shouted, despair replaced by anger. Another part of her life, the status quo, what she’d come to expect between them, was falling apart. No, she cried inside, dismayed, disappointed and confused by his reaction. She couldn’t let this happen to them, what they’d had together was too good. Somehow she had to make Steve see that. “People do it all the time. Rich people marry not so rich people. It’s what you feel inside that counts. Not the money, not the trappings.”

  “Not around Mt Isa,” he said succinctly. “People love to gossip, believe the worst. It’s the same everywhere.” He’d seen it here and in Sydney, he knew he was right and that Francey had to be a touch naive to believe otherwise. God, he hated what he was doing to them but wasn’t it kinder to make the cut now rather than later when their feelings were more deeply engaged? If he had to be strong for both of them then he damned well would be even if it meant that she’d hate him for the rest of their lives. Somehow, right now he didn’t know how, he would live with it.

  In silence she stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing. He wasn’t making any sense. Didn’t what they feel for each other count enough to outweigh the imbalances? It did as far as she was concerned. But then, she suddenly realised, maybe from Steve’s angle things were different … and he had his pride. Litres of it! Pride had made him walk away from a career in the NSW Police Service instead of toughing it out … Could it make him walk away from her too? And … then there was the remote possibility that maybe, with her rose-tinted glasses on, she had imbued him with qualities he didn’t really have.

  Well, she decided, it was time to ask the question, find the bottom line. “Are you saying that we shouldn’t see each other any more?”

  Try as he might he couldn’t look her in the eyes again. “Maybe that would be a good idea, for a while. Let things settle. Give ourselves time to rethink our relationship and where we want it to go.”

  “I thought we both knew where we wanted it to go,” she murmured, trying to keep the dismay out of her voice. Don’t let him do this to us, a voice inside her head said. Steve was the best thing that had come into her life. She
loved him and had intended to plan a life with him. She had thought that was what he wanted too. Perhaps she had been wrong about that.

  Oh, God, had she made yet another mistake about a man and misjudged the depth of his feelings? All at once she had to get out of his living room — before she began to cry. She had her pride too and something deep inside her couldn’t let him see how much she was hurting.

  “I … I’d better go,” she stammered as she got to her feet.

  She wanted to say so much, to plead with him to work their way through the difficulties together, but she glimpsed the set expression on his face and knew it would do no good. He had decided she wasn’t right for him or he wasn’t right for her and in his policeman mind that’s all that counted. Damn him to hell. In fact, damn all men …

  Steve sat in the chair as if he had been turned into stone. He was numb from head to toe but he’d done it. Turned her away from him. He didn’t feel good about it. He hurt. Immeasurably. For himself, for her, for what might have been and never would be. For the lonely days and lonelier nights, years, ahead of him.

  Shit, his breath expelled in a low, growling sigh, he might as well take that transfer to Brisbane. Make a new start somewhere else.

  Cruising around town in the Range Rover, CJ spied the Rolls parked near the Verona Hotel at dusk. He went up to the reception desk and asked if anyone had seen Francey. The clerk told him she had booked a room for the night. At first the clerk hadn’t wanted to tell CJ which room, that was hotel policy, but after a fifty dollar note subtlely passed across the counter, coupled with CJ’s explosive countenance and an indirect threat to his job, the clerk quietly stated the room number. He further redeemed himself by offering the information that he’d seen her five minutes ago in the bar, talking to Lisa Dupre.

  Francey looked the worse for wear. Her dark hair flew wildly around her face and her eyes were puffy from crying. CJ took a deep breath and, sensing the tears were not for him, approached the table where the two women sat, deep in conversation.

  “Francey, Lisa, how nice …” he said cordially as he moved one of the chairs and sat at their table.

  “CJ, I was just trying to talk Francey into having dinner with me and Pierre,” Lisa said. Her eyebrows lifted meaningfully as they both studied a Francey they had never seen before, a Francey out of control and half drunk.

  “Don’ wanna eat, jus’ get me ’nother drink,” Francey slurred as she acknowledged CJ with a nod of her head.

  “I’ll see to it,” CJ said and snapped his fingers for a passing waiter’s attention. “Three coffees, please and make one black,” he ordered as the waiter came within earshot.

  “Wait a minut’,” Francey objected. “I wanna whisky, the best.” She tried to look steadily at CJ but her eyes wouldn’t stay focused. “I learnt that from you, CJ, nothin’ but the best — Johnny Walker Imported, thank you, waiter.”

  “Coffee,” CJ countermanded and motioned for Lisa to make her excuses.

  “Well, I’ll be off. Pierre’s waiting for me in the dining room. If you both change your mind, please join us.”

  Francey gave Lisa an uncoordinated wave then stared at CJ. “Don’ want bloody coffee. Need ’nother drink.”

  “I suggest we continue this discussion in your room. Shall we?” CJ said firmly.

  Francey stared narrow-eyed at him for a moment until she remembered the well-equipped mini-bar there. “Sure, why not?”

  Once inside Francey’s room CJ sat her in a chair. “Now, young lady, what has brought this on?” He hoped, rather desperately, that she wasn’t reacting to the fact that she was his daughter. The thought that the reality might have driven her to drink caused him great anxiety.

  “Personal.” She got up and went over to the mini-bar. Deftly screwing the top off the Johnny Walker bottle she poured it into a tumbler and drank it down straight, barely shuddering this time. Hard liquor wasn’t usually to her liking, the most she ever had was a light white wine, but she knew the stronger alcohol would achieve the aim of making her insensible faster.

  “That’s enough.” CJ’s tone was harsh. He made them both a strong cup of coffee and gave her a cup. “This is what you need. Francey, we have to talk and there’s little point in us trying to when you’re half under the weather.”

  “Wannabe wholly under th’ weather,” she retorted. Her head was beginning to ache and spin at the same time. And she had this queasy feeling in her stomach too. When had she last eaten? Couldn’t remember. Wasn’t important. Who the hell cared?

  “What brought this on?” CJ asked.

  “It’s personal.”

  “Oh, a man.” He could only think of one man capable of causing her such distress. “Steve Parrish, hey? What’s he done, two-timed you?” Somehow he couldn’t see that happening, Parrish didn’t seem the type.

  She could tell him, she realised. He was her father after all. “No. Worse. Dumped me.” Without consciously thinking about it she began to sip the coffee. “Said it couldn’t work out between us because … ’cause …”

  “Because you’re CJ Ambrose’s daughter?”

  “Right. Th’ bastard. I hate him.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you blame me? I mean, if I hadn’t said anything, gone public …”

  She gave him a funny look. “Wha’! Why should I blame you? Steve’s th’ one with th’ prob. I said it shouldn’t make any difference if we care for each other. He says it does.”

  “I see. It’s hard to fight a person’s perception, isn’t it?”

  “Damned right it is,” she muttered with feeling.

  “Perhaps I should talk to him.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Wouldn’t do any good. I know Steve,” she sighed sadly, “too well. He’s the kind of person tha’ once he makes up his mind, that’s it full stop.”

  “Then maybe you have to face the fact that he didn’t care as much for you as you did for him.”

  She’d thought about it but the reality of him saying the words out loud was just too much. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I know … That’s what hurts. I … I seem to have a knack for falling for the wrong men.”

  CJ noted that she’d finished her coffee so he made her another one. She was sobering fast anyway, talking the problem through seemed to be having that effect on her. By the end of the second cup of coffee she still looked terrible but was at least coherent.

  “I thought that we needed to talk, about last night. About everything,” he began. “I knew you wanted time to make the mental adjustment but I’m really anxious for us to get over this … difficulty … and become close again. Can we talk?”

  “We are talking,” she said simply, a wary smile lighting her face.

  “Why don’t I order dinner for us, room service, hey?”

  “Sure. Sounds good.” She doubted that she could eat much but if it made him happy …

  While they waited for room service they began to talk, or rather CJ did most of it and Francey listened.

  “I have to explain about Mary. It’s difficult to admit you were wrong about something, that you made a big mistake in your life. At least it’s always been that way for me. I did back in Coober Pedy. I loved Mary and I should never have left her but back then I was obsessed …”

  “Obsessed with what?” she interjected, instantly interested.

  “It goes back many years, to my childhood. I was just a youngster when my grandfather lost our property, Amba Downs. I loved that place. My Dad would take me mustering on his horse, practically before I could walk. I knew every hectare of the land. I had expectations. One day it would come to me. But we lost everything and were forced to lead a pretty nomadic life.” He grinned. “Almost like the Aboriginals. We’d go from job to job, town to town. Mother was never strong, she didn’t last long living that kind of life, but before she died she instilled in me the dream of the Ambrose’s having their own place one day. It became my consuming passion. As I grew, everything I learnt and did, the money I could save, was
all directed at achieving that goal.

  “The opal mine worked as a short cut for me, a way of making my dream come true earlier than it might have. Of course Mickey and I were damned lucky to come across a vein that made us rich. When Mickey died I got the lot.” He shook his head and when he looked at her there was incredible sadness in his eyes. “They always said I was a lucky bastard.” He was silent for a moment or too, remembering. “You see, I know it’s hard to understand but Mary wasn’t part of my dream. I loved her in my own way but I honestly couldn’t see us having a life together. She was so young, so naive —”

  “Good enough to sleep with though …” Francey interrupted sagely.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “She was a sweet, innocent girl. I guess I destroyed that innocence without consciously meaning to. She never meant to get pregnant, you know. She was on the pill but I guess something happened, or didn’t happen. Maybe she forgot to take it one day and didn’t tell me. Poor Mary. She’d never had a real family, she was brought up at the mission and the other kids and the nuns there were the only family she knew. She so wanted to belong … that’s partly why I think she wanted the baby.”

  “A family should include a father too,” Francey pointed out, her blue-green eyes studying him closely, seeing the play of emotions on his face and through his body language.

  “You’re right. Only I was so caught up in the obsession of making my dream come true, I didn’t think about her dreams.” He expelled a sigh. “Selfish bastard, that’s what I am.”

  “You won’t get any argument from me on that score.”

  “I honestly thought she’d find someone else. Someone who would be more suited to her … and they’d be a family. I sent her money, you know, enough to set herself up. To buy a house and invest the rest to bring in an income. She sent the cheque back to the bank, wouldn’t take a cent.”

  “Too proud to, I expect.” Francey knew it was so. It fitted the mental image Lucia and Carlo had given her of Mary Williams.

  “I guess so. Anyway, when I got back to Townsville I worked hard to get her out of my head and my heart. Brenda, I convinced myself, was the right type of wife for me. Brenda and her inheritance would be an asset to me as I made my way in the world, Mary and a baby would have been a burden. I know that’s cold-hearted and I apologise for it, but it’s the truth. Mary couldn’t have coped with the social aspect, or understood or been interested in the business side. Brenda was, always. But I tried to check on Mary. I had someone check out Coober Pedy, but they’d lost track of her. So I took the easy way out and assumed that everything was okay.”