Heart of the Outback

by Lynne Wilding

  “That’s thoughtful of you, Bryan, I appreciate it.”

  “I…” he hesitated for several seconds. “I just hope that it makes it easier to forgive me for what happened. It was all my fault, you know.”

  She smiled into the receiver. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Bryan. It takes two to make a romance. You didn’t have to coerce me into your arms.”

  “Are you happy, Francey? I mean, is there …?”

  “Yes there is and I am.” Only half a lie, she convinced herself.

  “Then I’m happy for you,” his voice sounded sad. “Bye.”

  As Francey replaced the receiver a feeling of melancholy flowed through her. Strange how things had worked out. Bryan was alone, at least she presumed he was and she had got over him. Finally. Definitely. But where did she stand with Steve? In some weird no-man’s-land, a situation that he had insisted upon. Well, she would give him a little time — to miss her, she hoped — then, she decided, if she had to she would go after him. What they had found together few people in life ever found and it was too good to walk away from, no matter how difficult the circumstances might be. But first she had something to do. She and Natalie needed to have a talk.

  Shellie was enjoying a late cup of coffee in the kitchen with Barry when she heard the noise. It sounded uncannily like women’s voices. Screaming.

  When she investigated, she found Francey and Natalie standing on opposite sides of the table in the conservatory yelling abuse at each other.

  “If you and that damn bitch girlfriend of your’s ever pull another trick like that I’ll tear you limb from limb,” Francey threatened, her eyes blazing, her head thrown back aggressively.

  “Do you think you scare me?” Natalie taunted.

  “You should be scared. Half the genes in my body are CJ’s,” Francey raged. “And we both know what he’s capable of.”

  “So you’re a chip off the old block after all?”

  “I could think of worse things to be,” she paused for dramatic effect, “like a spoilt, frustrated cow who wishes she had half the talent I have, and the affection CJ feels towards me.”

  “You’re the cow. You lead men on, tease them. Bryan Steinberg, Aden Nicholson, oh yes, I know about him. Les too and you even managed to get your hooks into Steve Parrish.” Natalie lunged across the table, her arm long enough to swipe at Francey. She missed her face but her fingers, with their long painted nails scraped down Francey’s forearm leaving two red welts across the skin.

  “Ouch! You bloody cat,” Francey retorted, rubbing at the marks on her arm; they stung like hell. “At least I’m not a psychopath, unlike you.” Francey ducked back to avoid a second swing from the other hand.

  “I hate you, you Aboriginal slut’s daughter. That’s what you are, you know, no better than that. You’ve ruined everything for me.”

  Francey kept her cool, and despite the provocation she smiled. “Aahh, then there is some justice in the world.”

  “Girls, girls,” Shellie tut-tutted as she came into the room. “You’ll disturb CJ with all that shouting.” She looked reprovingly at Francey then at Natalie. “You should both know better.”

  “Oh, shut up, you old fart,” Natalie muttered. She could feel the heat in her cheeks, her heart was pounding and a vein in her temple throbbed with unrelieved fury. She stared across at an unrepentant Francey, a self-satisfied, very confident Francey. Sure of her position in CJ’s heirachy. Natalie could kill her, yes, she could.

  “Such language,” Shellie’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Francey, I suggest you retire. Haven’t you got a business meeting in town early in the morning?”

  “You’re right, I have.” But as Shellie turned towards her stepniece, Francey said sotto voce to her opponent, “Don’t think this is finished yet, Natalie. There’ll be another time, another place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Shellie sat at the foot of CJ’s bed while she waited for him to wake. The medication Barry had given him yesterday for pain, which had rendered him unconscious for nearly ten hours, was beginning to wear off. A few minutes earlier she had poked her head around the door, seen him stir and hoped it would be a comfort for him to see her when he first opened his eyes.

  She knew she had to appear unworried by the bad turn he’d had yesterday but that would be hard. Last night she’d prayed that it was an aberration and that the operation and radiotherapy he’d had in Geneva would assure a complete recovery. He was happy, now that Francey and he were getting along so well, and he’d finally been able to put Richard’s sorrowful death behind him. She’d seen a softening in him too, and had welcomed it, knowing that his daughter was responsible.

  Shellie had something important to tell him too, about herself … and Barry. They were going to be married, as soon as the arrangements could be made. She tried to subdue the pang of sadness that swept through her at the thought of leaving Murrundi. She’d been here for so long. Everyone was used to her seeing that the homestead and the bunkhouse supplies as well as a hundred and one other things ran like a well-oiled machine. But it was time to go. The opportunity for a happy life with the man she had loved for such a long time was irresistible … and she was so looking forward to living it with him.

  CJ’s eyelids opened slowly, dopily. For several moments he felt disorientated, unsure of where he was but then, as his gaze focused, he recognised his furniture and a familiar figure sitting on the end of the bed, gently patting his feet under the blankets.

  “How are you feeling?” Shellie asked.

  He grimaced. “Like a road train’s run over me.”

  “Barry said the after-effects of the drug would make you feel a bit woozy for a while.”

  “Woozy? That’s an understatement. I’m as weak as a kitten.”

  “I’ll get Alison to make some tea. That’ll perk you up. And then there’s something I want to tell you.”

  CJ knew it would take a damned sight more than a cup of tea to perk him up. He was nothing if not pragmatic. Yesterday’s attack was clear evidence that the tumour was growing again. The medicos had said the treatment would only give him a brief remission: too bloody brief as far as he was concerned. There were things he had to do before … he became as useless as a vegetable. Taking a deep breath he summoned a much needed inner strength. It was time.

  “Before you get Alison to bring me the tea, Shell, I’ve got to get something off my chest.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Not more revelations, CJ. Don’t tell me you have a bevy of children somewhere else?”

  Despite himself he grinned. “No, nothing like that.” God if it were only that! “It’s about the tumour, sis. You, me, we’re both going to have to be brave …” He paused, took a deep breath and finished it, “You see, it isn’t benign it’s malignant. Terminal.”

  “What?” Shellie stared at him, her gentle features contorting into an expression of disbelief as she tried to absorb the dire meaning of what he’d just said. “But … surely, Barry can do something. I don’t believe it.” Thoughts of her own happy tidings fled to the back of her mind, blanked out by this unbelievable news. It couldn’t be. Terminal!

  “I know it’s hard but it’s true. Those treatments in Geneva, all they did was buy me some time.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” she murmured reproachfully, tears brimming in her eyes and then overflowing down her cheeks. Why hadn’t Barry told her? Professional etiquette, she supposed. Oh, dear God, the ramifications of what this meant … she couldn’t bear to think about it.

  CJ looked at her for several moments, his mouth tightening as he tried to control his own emotions. He reached forward to touch her cheek and wipe away a tear, his smile tinged with a mixture of sadness and compassion. “That’s why. I knew it would cause you pain and I wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.”

  She nodded understandingly. “Who else knows? Francey?”

  He shook his head. “Just Barry and Les whom I swore to secrecy.”

  “Oh,
this is awful. I just can’t believe you’re calmly sitting there telling me you’re going to, going to …”

  “Die?” He dragged in a noisy breath and his shoulders shrugged in resignation. “It happens to us all, sometime. I’ve made my peace, accepted it.” But he knew that it hadn’t been easy. Every time he looked at his daughter and felt the joy inside him at having come to know her and see what she was capable of, he felt cheated by what life had thrown him. Because all too soon he’d no longer be around to share that pleasure and feel the warmth of her love. Suddenly his own eyes filled with tears.

  “Oh, CJ …”

  “It’s all right. Really.” He cleared his throat and brushed the tear off his cheek.

  She asked the dreaded question. “How long?”

  “A month. Maybe six weeks. It’s one of those galloping tumours, the kind that spreads rapidly. But before it debilitates me completely, I have a lot to do and I’ll need your help.”

  “You’re going to tell Francey, aren’t you?”

  “Not until I have to,” he told her. “She’s got enough on her plate with the workload I’ve given her, and she’s having a hard time getting over Steve.”

  “She’ll be angry with you.”

  He grinned. “I know. I’ll deal with that when it happens.”

  Natalie looked at the rug as she paced backwards and forwards in her bedroom. She stopped. Christ, she’d been stomping up and down so much she’d worn a tack in it. Hours. Inside she seethed, bubbled and boiled with frustration, half of it directed at CJ the rest at Francey, the smart-mouthed bitch. Implying she was a dyke. How had she known? She and Trish were very discreet. At Murrundi they’d taken pains to be careful, and she’d even indulged in a mild flirtation with Mike Hunter to make herself appear straight. Obviously she hadn’t fooled Francey or … had someone told her? Perhaps Les.

  She ground her teeth together so hard that her jaw began to ache. And that Les was just as bad. How delighted he’d looked the night of the party when CJ had made his startling announcement. She’d seen the smirk, the smugness. He’d thought it a wonderful payback. Oh, why was everyone against her? No-one cared a damn about her feelings. Except Mumsie, she had been the most wonderful, the only person in the whole wide world who understood her.

  She’d do anything for Mumsie, hadn’t she always? Whatever Mumsie had asked of her she had done … so … if Mumsie could accept Francey she would too. Her staring eyes flickered with some emotion then steadied. No, something inside her head screamed, Mumsie would never accept CJ’s love child, she’d know it would alter her inheritance. But … but, a shudder ran through her, her precious Mumsie was dead. A melancholy tear slipped down her cheek. There was no-one to confide in now except Trish but sometimes even Trish didn’t understand.

  Her eyes narrowed to dark eyelash fringed slits as her concentration jumped from one person to another. CJ banning Trish from Murrundi. The nerve of him. Hateful. Hateful! All he wanted was Francey, he’d never wanted her, only Richard and Miles, never her. She ran her fingers through her platinum hair as she thought about the intruder who had irreparably damaged her credibility with CJ.

  She hated everything about her: her cleverness, her dark good looks, her ability to attract men and her sickening popularity. So different from herself. She didn’t get on with people, so from the time she’d understood the principles — she had been in her teens — she had wielded power and money, and issued threats to get what she wanted. Francey didn’t have to do that. She had the knack of drawing people to her and getting the best out of them in either a work or social situation. It wasn’t fair.

  Francey, the illegitimate half-caste bitch had come along and ruined everything she had planned, schemed and worked for. She had to be removed, somehow. Permanently! A thoughtful smile spread her thin lips wide across her face. What was the term crims used? Eliminated. Yes, Francey Spinetti, permanent thorn in her side, had to be eliminated.

  She sat on the side of the bed, plucked a piece of lint off her red shirt and then she folded her arms across her chest and began to rock backwards and forwards. Yes, yes, yes. It could be done. After all, her smile was secretive, sly, it wasn’t the first time she had eliminated someone who’d got in her way …

  It wasn’t her fault, it was CJ’s. He had, chauvinist pig that he was, forced the situation because of his plan to leave the bulk of his estate to Richard. It wasn’t fair! She remembered well the day he’d called them all into his study, six weeks after her mother’s death, and told them he’d rewritten his will, leaving just about everything to Richard. She shook her head, she couldn’t, wouldn’t, let CJ do that to her. She deserved better. More, a more equal share of his millions. So … Richard had had to be eliminated. A small muscle flexed in her cheek as the memories came flooding back to her with a clarity that made her tingle.

  Engineering the stampede had been easy, well, relatively easy. Knowing about the muster and the trail Richard and Billy would take to the cattle pens, via the waterhole, all she’d had to do was wait at the appropriate place.

  A half moon had guided her through the scrubby brush to the rise above where Richard and Billy had made camp. With a pair of infra-red glasses she checked the camp site and the cattle. All was quiet as she stole into the camp — thank God they hadn’t brought dogs with them. She found Richard’s saddle, half sliced through the cinch and then left as silently as she’d come.

  Spending the night on the hill, not daring to drop off to sleep had been the most difficult part of the exercise … and keeping her horse quiet. She’d used a Walkman and up-tempo music to stay awake and as the half moon had waned and the sun began to show as a pale glow in the eastern sky she had mounted her horse and waited until she’d seen movement.

  When Billy crawled out of his bed-roll and stirred the embers of the fire she waited, waited for a last glimpse of her half-brother, the man she was about to kill.

  The rocking stopped for a moment. A single tear dripped down her cheek and she squeezed her eyes shut. Over. That was over. Done. Pangs of remorse flowed through her and her rocking movements began again, this time faster. She had killed her half-brother because he threatened her inheritance, an inheritance she thoroughly deserved. And with Richard out of the way she would have inherited it all after CJ’s death.

  A nerve began to twitch at the side of her mouth. Her mother’s inheritance had allowed CJ to take the first few steps up the ladder to the ultimate success he now enjoyed. Without the deWitt money he may not have been quite so successful, that was irrefutable. Yes, she’d had moments of regret for having gotten rid of Richard but Mumsie had taught her that self-preservation and holding onto what was rightfully hers were the most important things in life

  Dear Mumsie, she missed her so much. Mumsie would understand about Richard.

  The rocking motions sped up, her breathing increasing with the pace of her movements. Francey was the real threat now and, like Richard, she had to be dealt with. She’d almost managed it before, until Steve Parrish had come along and saved her. But she was smart, cunning, and out here in the bush — which she knew so well — accidents happened. All the time. Maybe a snake bite. Maybe a situation where her car broke down and she was attacked and killed by unknown parties. Maybe she could make it look like her horse had fatally kicked her in the head. So many possibilities. It shouldn’t be too hard to arrange something fatal for Francey. All she had to do was to work on the scenario, plan it down to the finest detail, as she had done with Richard.

  Then everything would be as it was before she’d come here. She smiled, the twitch stopped and the rocking began to slow. Something to look forward to.

  Billy Wontow yawned, stretched and scratched his full belly with his left hand as he moved off the verandah of the small cottage he shared with Alison. He looked up and the first rays of a wintry sun warmed his face. The sky was blue, not a cloud anywhere and as he loped along to the homestead for a meeting with CJ and Mike Hunter, he noted that the dew was heavy on t
he lawn around the pool. Then his dark eyes blinked and he stared hard at the water’s surface.

  Something was floating in the water, it’d probably been blown in by the strong wind they’d had last night. Whatever it was would sink to the bottom and make Henry, the part-time gardener and pool cleaner cranky, not that that was unusual, Henry was often cranky when people messed with his plants and such. He’d better do the right thing, fish it out before the meeting, otherwise he’d forget about it.

  Moving onto the patio for a closer look before he found a length of wood to hook it out, his eyes widened as the something became recognisable. Holy Mary, mother of God. He made the sign of the cross even though he wasn’t really religious.

  It was a person, not a something. No, he corrected himself, by the way it was floating, face down, it was a body. If he hadn’t recognised the platinum blonde hair he could have identified her from the red shirt she liked to wear. Natalie.

  Natalie deWitt-Ambrose was dead.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Steve Parrish dropped to his haunches and pulled back the blanket to view the remains. Billy Wontow and Mike Hunter had removed Natalie’s body from the pool and laid her at the pool’s edge on a blanket with another covering her. Two other policemen, Senior Constable Neil Smith and Probationary Constable Erin Cooper stood close by, content to let Steve make the preliminary inspection of the body. The immediate family and workers at Murrundi remained indoors at his request.

  With what dispassion he could muster Steve’s expert gaze studied what had once been a vibrant, attractive woman. Contusion on the left temple, he wrote in his black, vinyl bound notebook. Multiple bruises and indentations on each side of the neck. Contorted expression, slight bulging of the eyes. Red shirt has two buttons missing. A struggle may have taken place. Bruise above right breast. Possible rape and murder.