AS HER senses began to return Shelley opened her eyes to Brock’s face. He was leaning over her as she lay naked on the sand. She was sighing voluptuously without knowing it, filled with the strange feeling that her body wasn’t her own any more but his.
“Shelley!” He stroked the wild tangle of damp curls away from her face. “Are you all right? I was a little worried.”
She didn’t answer, but continued to stare into his eyes, jewels in a dark copper mask. Her initiation into the rites of love seemed to be the only real thing that had happened to her in her entire life. Even the terrible trauma associated with the drowning of her beloved twin was steeped in mystery, almost like a ghost story.
“You wanted me as much as I wanted you.” He spoke with tenderness. This from a man who had so recently shown the full range of wild passion.
“I think you must love me a little,” she said dazedly, huge eyes lustrous, her breath still unsteady.
She was trying to take in all that had happened. The tiny aches and hurts in her body told her it was no fantasy. They really were one flesh. She knew this man, body and soul, but never in her most erotic dream could she have conjured up such an extraordinary sexual encounter. A great storm of emotion when her every want her every need had been fulfilled. How long had it lasted? She didn’t know. She might even have lost consciousness so great was the stimulus.
He remained above her, gazing into her eyes. “Perhaps I do.” His answer was barely audible as he bent to kiss her. “How do you feel? I tried hard to be gentle but I must have hurt you.”
“At the beginning,” she answered gently. “But then I was—possessed. I wanted everything you did to me. You’re the most wonderful lover. You’ve taught me what making love is all about.”
He stroked her cheek. “Lovemaking only becomes special when a man and a woman truly care about each other. Then it’s a communion of bodies and a communion of souls.”
“Yes,” she agreed dreamily. “I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. The downside is, I don’t think I can get up. I don’t think I want to. I want to stay here in this cave with you for ever. I’ll always think of it as our cave.” Tears filled her eyes.
“Please don’t cry, Shelley,” he begged, his tongue gathering up a single tear, only to swallow it.
“Don’t you know women cry when they’re happy?”
“That’s all right, then.” He slowly leaned forward to kiss her waiting mouth, his lean body superbly naked, totally unselfconscious with it. “I want you again,” he confessed. “You’ve seduced me.”
“I want to.” Delicately she let her hand move down over his velvety body, feeling it tremble beneath her touch.
“So what are we going to do about it?” he demanded, his voice deep and husky. “I was supposed to be taking you home. I should be back on Mulgaree, mourning my grandfather, guarding my own interests.”
“Instead you’re with me,” she whispered, lifting her arms to link them like the lightest chain around his neck. “I think we’ve earned ourselves a little piece of heaven after what we’ve both endured.”
“To have you like this always,” he muttered, sliding an arm beneath her beautiful naked body so perfectly constructed for his loving, entering her again powerfully.
The entire family in its wisdom was waiting for her when she arrived back on Wybourne. It was sundown and the sky was a glory of deep crimson and gold, with long streaks of pink, yellow and amethyst on the horizon. It was a spectacular change after the blazing blue of the day.
“Where have you been?” Amanda demanded to know before Shelley even put a foot on the verandah where they were now assembled. “You left Mulgaree hours ago. Where have you been?” she repeated, frowning blackly.
“With Brock, obviously,” Shelley said, trying desperately to act normally, convinced she couldn’t possibly after her life-changing experience. When she wanted her family they were never there. When she didn’t want them she had their undivided attention. “That was him flying the helicopter. He’s pretty upset. What business is it of yours anyway, Amanda?” Shelley did a rare thing. She rounded on her sister.
“Come into the house, Shelley.” Her father rose from his planter’s chair, giving the stern order. Once a handsome man, with good features and black Irish colouring, Patrick Logan looked what he was: a sick wreck, his looks and health eroded by drink and grief. But at least he was sober. Her mother, too, was present, hovering like a blonde shadow of herself near her father’s shoulder. In their youth and up until the death of their little son, the Logans had been a popular, fine-looking couple, hard-working, with every expectation of a good life in front of them. The tragedy had affected both parents profoundly. Both had cracked wide open.
“You’ve got sand all over you,” Amanda accused, her eyes moving all over her sister, cold with suspicion. “You haven’t been up to any tricks with Brock Tyson, I hope? He has that reputation.”
Shelley flushed violently. “That would be the first thing you’d think of, wouldn’t it, Mandy? You’ve got such a lily-white reputation yourself.”
“That will do, Shelley,” her father suddenly roared. There was no way Shelley was allowed to attack her older sister. “Amanda is right to ask. We were worried about you. Philip Kingsley has rung several times.”
“What on earth for?” Shelley felt a great spurt of anger. Who the hell did Philip think he was? Her husband?
“He wanted to know why you weren’t home,” her father replied, as though that were reason enough. “You left Mulgaree shortly after two p.m. We all had fears you might have crashed.”
“More likely Philip had fears I was with Brock,” Shelley answered sharply, forgetting to keep her tone respectful. Her father had a hair-trigger temper, though he had never struck her. He knew she wouldn’t have tolerated that. Maybe he knew as well. “Philip is very jealous of Brock. I’m sorry if you were all worried. Brock wanted a little time out. He landed in the desert. He’s always loved it there. It gives him comfort.”
“So that’s where you got the sand?” Amanda continued to stare at her sister, picking up immediately the fact that there was a change in her. Shelley, after an afternoon in the heat of the desert, looked ravishingly pretty. And ravished? Amanda glared at her.
“I’d really like to take a quick shower. May I? It was so hot.”
“Make it very quick, Shelley.” Her mother spoke for the first time. “We have things to discuss.”
When she returned, in fresh clothes and smelling of boronia, her family was sitting in the living room, her father staring at his knees, her mother with her eyes shut, Amanda almost on fire with impatience.
“Sit down, Shelley,” her father said, lowering his gaze from her face the way he always did. “I took the first call from Philip. He confided in me about his grandfather’s will. As I understand it he is the main beneficiary—Rex Kingsley’s heir. Mulgaree is his. The other boy, Brock, was not mentioned in the will. Personally I find that totally unjust, though I suppose it’s none of my business. He was a hard, hard man, Kingsley. Cruel, really. I can’t imagine why he brought the boy home.”
“Brock’s not a boy, Dad. You remember the boy. He’s very much a man. Philip couldn’t hold a candle to him.”
“So much for that!” Amanda, her father’s favourite, hooted. “It’s Phil who’s got the money. He must be worth millions and millions. Oh, God, I wish he was attracted to me, but it has to be you.”
“You’re welcome to him,” Shelley said.
Her father glanced up quickly, a strange light in his faded blue eyes. “I hope we can all come together on this, Shelley. Philip tells me he loves you and he’s ready to marry you. Isn’t that enough for any girl? By the way, I should tell you I cancelled that party of tourists who were coming out here. I don’t like strangers around the place. I know they’ve brought in money, but we won’t need it now.”
Shelley felt it like a betrayal. “Oh, Dad, why did you do that? I have everything planned. They’ll feel very let down. I’ll have to give the deposits back. You should have consulted me. We do need the money.”
Her mother leaned closer, took hold of Shelley’s hand. “Listen to your father, Shelley. Don’t think we don’t appreciate how hard you’ve worked on your project. We do. You’re a very clever, capable girl. You could be anything you want to be, given the opportunity. Now you have it. No young woman in her right mind would turn down Philip Kingsley. He can give you the world. Moreover, he’s prepared to do it.”
Shelley felt her face burning. “Except I don’t love him, Mum. When are you going to take that into account? I’ll never love him. He doesn’t attract me in that way.”
“Not like Brock, I suppose?” Amanda broke in, expression taunting. “I agree he’s very sexy, but he’s not the type to offer marriage.”
“We’re not talking sex here, Amanda.” Patrick Logan stared at Amanda angrily. “But we are talking marriage. That’s a most serious business. The most important in a woman’s life. Philip is a good-looking, decent young man. All right, he never was a patch on his cousin, but he’s young and healthy and love will come later. You both have many interests in common, Shelley. You’ll be a great asset to him.”
“Dad you’re not listening,” Shelley cried out despairingly. “I’m not interested in Philip.”
“Then you’d better get interested in him,” Patrick shot back. “He’ll devote his entire life to looking after you. He loves you, you fool of a girl. You should be honoured.”
“And think how he can help us,” Amanda piped up in all seriousness. “If you became Mrs Kingsley that would be a big step up for us. The Kingsleys are important people. Now his grandfather has gone Philip will be rich and powerful. He’ll probably blossom and gain in confidence. If you gave him a little help he could turn into the man you want him to be.”
Shelley stared incredulously at her sister. “What are we talking here, Mandy? Prostitution?”
Patrick Logan’s face turned beetroot with anger. “You should go and wash your mouth out with soap. I won’t have you speaking like that, Shelley. What we’re talking about is making a good marriage for you. We love you.”
“Do you, Dad?” Finally she decided to ask it—what she had always wondered in her mind. Shelley looked at her parents sadly. “You can hardly look at me, Dad, and Mum scurries away every time I try to talk to her. You don’t love me. You bitterly resent me for surviving when Sean didn’t.”
“Stop now, Shelley,” her father thundered, as though she had no right to broach the subject.
“Please, Dad, allow me to speak. All this avoidance of anything connected to Sean has been bad for all of us. He was my twin. My other half. He’s never left me. He’s still around. He wakes me every morning of my life. I talk to him. I tell him things that I can’t possibly tell anyone else.”
“Are you going to stop?” her father gritted, shaking his head like an enraged animal.
“Yes, stop, Shelley!” Her mother and Amanda cried together.
“Oh, yes, you’d all like me to. It suits you. Since that day you’ve treated me like I was involved in foul play. I was six. I can’t remember much except the screaming. Everything else has gone white. I know I didn’t cause Sean any harm. I couldn’t have. I loved him. He loved me. He loved me more than any of you. He always ran to me. Never Mandy.”
“Such a pity, then, that you pushed him,” Amanda said bitterly. “Oh, don’t look like you’re going to faint. Everyone knows.”
“How cruel you are, Amanda.” Their mother spoke in shock and pain. “I never knew.”
“You’re all cruel.” Shelley’s voice broke. “One day I’m going to remember. Some little chink of light is going to fall into my brain. You’ve always been the accuser, Amanda, but you couldn’t have been fully engaged looking after us.”
“I want this to stop,” Patrick Logan bellowed, actually capturing his younger daughter’s gaze. “No purpose can be served by trying to unravel the events of that terrible day. Sean was loved by us all. He was my son. I don’t suppose you women know what that means to a man—having a son.”
“You’ve never given your daughters a chance, Dad,” Shelley said. “Especially me.”
“It’s not like you’re saying,” her father claimed. “Are we to be condemned because you remind us so terribly of Sean? Our little Sean! He was so very, very special.”
“I’m special too, Dad, if you could only see it.”
“Shelley, you mean so much to us,” her mother broke in, blue eyes full of remorse. More and more frequently these days she was coming to see the great wrong the family had done her younger daughter. “You’re a dear girl. A strong girl. Your father and I know how difficult it’s been for you.”
“And me!” Amanda insisted, looking outraged.
“You look like Mum,” Shelley said by way of explanation. “Sean and I took after Nana. We inherited her colouring. If my colouring wasn’t so different—if I’d been blonde and blue-eyed like Amanda—you might have been able to love me, too.”
Her mother hung her head in shame and sorrow, as though her deepest secret was out. “All I can say is your father and I do love you, even if we’ve found it very hard to put it into words. We want the best for you. And the best for a woman is a good marriage. You can work wonders on Philip if you try. He’s a one-woman man. He’ll be faithful to you.”
“We just want you to have security,” her father urged, as though that was the greatest goal in life. “Philip is coming over in the morning to formally ask my permission.”
Shelley was thunderstruck. “You’ve got to be joking, Dad. Ask your permission? Am I wrong? Are we not in the twenty-first century? Is Queen Victoria still on the throne?”
Patrick Logan looked as if he was running out of his scant store of patience. “It’s the right and proper thing to do,” he said, looking as if he believed it. “I am your father. Lots of people do it. It may be old-fashioned but I consider it a necessary courtesy.”
“I think it’s kinda cute.” Amanda touched her father’s hand, backing him. “Think it over, Shelley. You’re on a winner here. And if you’re on a winner so are we.”
Shelley made sure she was the first to greet Philip—though greet was hardly the word. More like confront. Philip had a blind spot. Her parents were about to sell her off to the highest bidder. Her sister, only four years older than herself, was fully in agreement.
They made it sound as if all their thoughts were of her and her future. Her security, her position in life. When in fact the whole lot of them were thinking of the benefits to themselves. Her marrying Philip was obviously intended to help them out. The Logan family fortune, such as it was, had dwindled to an all-time low, despite Shelley’s best efforts, and it was her job now to restore it by making a good marriage. This so-called marriage of convenience. God knows, it still went on. Love alone apparently wasn’t enough for some people. A strenuous attempt was being made to hassle even harass her into it. Well, she wasn’t falling for that one.
And what of Brock? What would Brock think when he found out Philip had come over to see her?
Her mother had been giving her worried looks all morning, otherwise she might have thought her mother was secretly thrilled. It broke her heart that such a thing as a marriage between herself and Philip Kingsley could inspire such rare pleasurable emotions in her mother. She even looked younger, brighter. She was wearing one of Amanda’s summery shifts and she had shampooed her hair, fluffing it up into soft curls. It was easy to see how pretty she had been and could be again. Even her father wore a smart casual shirt and trousers instead of his usual dingy T-shirt and shorts.
It was as though what they so ardently wanted just had to happen. Fate owed them. They needed a helping hand up.
But Shelley was filled with a wild rebellion. I’m no sacrificial lamb, she fumed. Even if I married Philip I’d have to slit my own throat. Let Amanda find herself a millionaire to save the family fortunes.
She stood well back until the rotors of the helicopter had stopped, watching Philip jump to the ground, looking immensely spry. Her father was right. He was good-looking when he wasn’t looking defeated. This morning he looked triumphant, like a man coming to claim his bride. She inhaled deeply, then let it out. She reminded herself to keep calm, nevertheless there was only so much she was prepared to take.
“Shelley!” he called to her in delight. “I didn’t expect you to come down for me. I was going to walk up to the homestead.”
“We can drive,” she said, waiting for him to reach her. “But first we’re going to have a little talk. What do you think you’re doing here, Philip? You can’t be serious about asking Dad for my hand?”
His expression underwent a rapid change. “But, Shelley, I thought you’d be thrilled.”
“How did you come to entertain such a wild idea? I’ve told you in every way I know how that I have no romantic interest in you. We’re friends. Period. Where do you get off, spying on me? Ringing the house yesterday? Three or four times, wasn’t it?”
“I was concerned about you,” Philip protested. “I don’t trust Brock. Not with any woman, let alone you. I love you deeply. If you let it love for me will come.”
“Oh, rubbish!” she said angrily, not caring now how much she hurt him. “I—do—not—love—you. I know you’re finding that very hard to deal with but it’s true. We have a friendship of sorts. If you persist, we won’t even have that. How dare you presume to think you could speak to my father about marriage plans? My plans don’t include you.”
“Because you’re stubborn, Shelley,” he insisted. “You like to fight things. You would love me if you gave me a chance. I explained that to your father. Your parents like me. They approve of me. Isn’t that important to you? Don’t you want to help them? A marriage between us could bring them back to life. I’m a very rich man. Hasn’t it sunk in yet?”
“You need to consider what Brock is going to do,” she said sharply.
“There’s nothing he can do. The will is airtight. Would you come back to Mulgaree with me afterwards?”
“In a word—no!” she said shortly, exasperated with Philip’s persistence.
“It’s my mother, isn’t it? She’s never made you welcome. I’ll change all that. Don’t let her worry you. She’s had too big a hold on me for too long. My mother can go. Maybe not at once, but when we’re settled. She’s assured me Brock’s filthy claim she had an affair with Gerald Maitland is totally untrue.”
“That’s the ostrich in you talking, Philip,” Shelley said wearily. “You’re forever hiding your head in the sand. My parents are expecting you for morning tea, heaven help them. They’re as single-minded as you, but it won’t make any difference. Maybe the two of us could put our great brains together on this one,” she remarked flippantly. “I happen to know Amanda has need of a rich husband.”
He laughed briefly, his expression a perfect copy of his snobbish mother’s. “I have no interest in Amanda whatsoever. In fact I can’t believe you’re sisters. I find her vulgar.”
“That’s interesting. I’d take her before I’d take your mother. We might as well go up to the house and get this over with. But I warn you. Don’t attempt to speak any nonsense to my father, or I might go ape.” Shelley walked away quickly to the Jeep. “Did you tell Brock where you were going?” she asked when they were underway.
“As a matter of fact I did. He laughed in that devilish way he has. He thinks I’m a perfect fool, but I know I’m not. With Maitland there I might as well make my own will and you can witness it. I have huge responsibilities now. I might even be able to work out a plan to help Brock. I’m going to have need of him to ensure our operations run smoothly. He’s a pretty cluey guy and he’s tough. The men respect him. What do you think?” Philip turned slightly to stare at her. “He could take up Strathdownie. Manage things from there. That’s bound to please him.”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure!” Shelley said with extreme irony—only Philip missed it, gratified by her response.
“I wouldn’t want you to think I didn’t have a heart.”
She was terribly distressed and embarrassed by her family’s behaviour. They piled on the pressure, treating Philip like visiting royalty. Philip, being Philip, lapped it up. He really was incredibly pretentious. It seemed he believed his ambition of marrying her could be achieved as soon as possible now that they’d all decided. Except for the prospective bride, who might not have been there for all the notice they took of her.
I could be a prize cow, Shelley thought angrily. Why don’t I try mooing? She wondered when they would start haggling over her selling price. I’m not a human being at all. I have no mind of my own. It wouldn’t even matter if I disappeared under the table or got up and screamed blue murder. All that was needed was for Philip to propose. Her family was giving him every possible indication that he would be welcomed with open arms. They didn’t care a whit about her. She was the means to an end. She could see by the look on Philip’s face he knew what was expected of him. There was a price to be paid but he was willing to pay it. He was, after all, master of Mulgaree—the flagship of the Kingsley chain.
She knew then that her position at home was untenable. Unless she did what they all wanted and agreed to marrying Philip her life would be made a misery. The truth was it had been a misery for years. Misplaced love and loyalty had bound her to her family. Now their total disregard for her wishes had set her free.
She had no real place on Wybourne. It wasn’t hers and it never would be. It was her father’s. She couldn’t stop him from closing down her operation. He’d already done one dreadful thing by cancelling a booking out of hand. The agency had been very disappointed in her when she’d spoken to them and she didn’t blame them.
Finally anger overcame her embarrassment. She desperately needed to get away. To be on her own to think. She would spend a few days in the town. The pub would put her up. But would her father let her take the truck? For all the hard work she’d done and the money she’d brought in, she didn’t own a damned thing. She’d have to think of something. Be inventive! She could say she had to approach the general store to see if they’d take some of their supplies back. Her father would go along with that.
In one way or another Rex Kingsley’s death had forced decisions on them all. Her father had made his, and once his mind was made up there was no power on earth that would shift it.
She just couldn’t stay.
Shelley didn’t even remember making the long, hot trip into Koomera Crossing. Her mind was preoccupied with all the remarkable events of the past few days. Her father had made little fuss when she had asked for the four-wheel drive. She’d kept to the excuse that she was returning a lot of the supplies for refund, plus she had to pick up a few odds and ends for herself. She’d told them she might stay a day or two. She had a lot of things to think over.
Her father had nodded at that, as though he knew that given time and the proper reflection she would come to the right decision about Philip’s offer of marriage. After all, she owed him. She had lived when Sean hadn’t.
Afterwards she had gone to her room and packed a small suitcase, carrying it out through the rear door to the large shed where the station vehicles were garaged.
No one had waved her off.
She arrived in the town mid-afternoon, exhausted, eyes sore from the glare even with good sunglasses, her back, neck and legs aching. She parked the vehicle at the back of the pub, checking in a few minutes later.
“Would you like the same room, luv?” The publican, Mick Donovan, asked her.
“Fine, Mick. I’m used to it.” She smiled and waved as she made her ascent up the curving wooden staircase.
An hour later she was back on the main street after a quick word with Annie Hope, the woman running the general store. Mercifully Annie agreed to take back all the non-perishable supplies she’d ordered in.
The talk in the town was all of Rex Kingsley’s death, following so closely as it had on that of Ruth McQueen, the late matriarch of the McQueen dynasty, a woman as ruthless in her fashion as ever Rex Kingsley had been. Two peas in a pod. Two products of an era. No one in Koomera Crossing as yet knew which way the will went—evidently Shelley wasn’t expected to know—but the betting was that justice would be done to Brock. The whole town was behind him.
Leaving the general store, she heard footsteps rushing up to her, then felt a hand on her shoulder. “Shelley, the very person I need to see!”
Shelley turned, her face wreathed in smiles. She’d recognise that voice anywhere, the honeyed American accent that overlaid native Australian.
“Christine, how lovely! Hi, how are you?”
An extraordinarily stunning, tall young woman stood before her, the picture of happiness and glowing health, unbelievably chic in long tight-legged jeans, a low-slung turquoise studded belt, blue tank top, midnight-blue akubra and high boots. Christine Claydon, ex-international fashion model, now wife to Mitch Claydon of Marjimba Station.
“I’m fine. Never better.” Christine rolled her beautiful sapphire-blue eyes. “I’ve got some wonderful news for you. I can’t wait to tell you. Could we grab a cup of coffee?”
“Great!” Shelley felt a rush of pleasure. She would have loved to have had a sister like Christine, someone so warm, so friendly, so supportive. “I could feel the good vibes coming off you. You look gorgeous. Married life is agreeing with you.”
“I’m so happy,” Christine said in a near reverential tone. “True love is a miracle, Shelley. I’m going to pray you’ll find it.”
“Maybe I already have.”
“Are you serious?” Christine grasped Shelley’s arm, looking into her face very searchingly.
“I’m serious.” Shelley smiled, albeit wryly.
“Oh, honey, you’ve got to tell me more.” An expression of great interest passed across Christine’s beautiful face.
A few minutes later they were seated at a window table in the town coffee shop, a couple of cappuccinos and a plate of delectable little pastries before them.
“Your news first,” Shelley prompted, settling her shoulder bag on the floor close to her.
“It has to be—it’s so extraordinary! You’ll never believe it.” Christine broke into a little excited laugh. “We found the treasure. Claydon’s Treasure.”
Shelley blinked, feeling a shower of sparks. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“This very morning.” Christine began to tuck in to a tiny caramel tart. “I called Wybourne straight away and Amanda told me you’d gone into town. I’m so damned excited and thrilled and it’s all because of you. Mitch persuaded Kyall it was worth a shot to have another look for it. Both of them have been stuck with so much work they couldn’t do a thing about it before this, but they decided to follow your hunch.”
“And it worked out?” Pleasant little shocks were coming in billows. “This is amazing. And all because I thought a line representing a billabong was in the shape of a turtle. It only occurred to me because I draw. The actual map-drawing was very elementary.”
Christine nodded, her eyes flashing a brilliant blue. “Turtle Creek. That’s where the Claydon Treasure was buried. Right under the family’s nose, so to speak. Of course they took advantage of a metal detector, which was an enormous help, but even then they had to sweep both lines of the creek. About two hours on they began to get hits, then they decided to go to work with the shovels. And bingo! The digging revealed an old, very rusty metal box.”
“And what was in it? Was it worthwhile?” Shelley felt her friend’s buzz right down to her toes.
“Gold is gold, honey,” Christine said in a bright, teasing voice. “Gold and jewels. Mitch said it was quite an extraordinary feeling. He and Kyall started to whoop and jump around like a couple of kids. I can’t tell you what a kick we all got out of it. Sarah and Kyall, Mitch and I. Not to mention his parents. The great mystery has been solved and all because of you.”
“This is really, really exciting,” Shelley said, colour flaring in her cheeks. “I’m so pleased for you all. The story of the legendary cache was right after all.”
“And we’re so grateful to you!” Christine leaned over to squeeze Shelley’s hand. “But that’s not the end of it. We’re all determined you’re to have your reward. A nice little nest egg like you thoroughly deserve. Everyone wants to speak to you, but as the first one to see you I’ve got in first.”
For a moment Shelley could scarcely control her breathing. “Christine—” embarrassed, she began to play with her spoon “—that’s very kind, but you don’t owe me any reward.”
“Hey, kiddo, you’re going to get it. Fair’s fair. Mitch is going to confirm it. The treasure would never have been discovered without you and it’s very valuable.”
“All I did was point out something to Mitch. You’re my friends.”
“And we love you,” replied Christine, clearly meaning it. “We owe you as well. I’ll let Mitch explain it. We want you to visit Marjimba soon. Stay a few days. Mitch will collect you. You only have to say when it suits.”
“I’d love to come, Christine,” Shelley exclaimed. “In fact I’m really touched. I can’t believe I’ve run into you today of all days. I badly need someone to talk to. Someone I trust.”
“Then fire away.” Concern clouded Christine’s face. “Is it about your family situation?”
Shelley swallowed. “You know Rex Kingsley died?”
“Sure. It’s all around the town. Say, Brock doesn’t come into this, does he?” Christine made a shrewd guess. “I heard he’s back. He always was quite a guy!”
Shelley felt herself flush.
“So, Shelley, what’s been going on?” Christine asked, fixing the younger woman with a kindly, experienced eye.
Shelley told her.
“Surely Rex Kingsley didn’t tell Brock one thing then do another?” Christine said finally. “That’s particularly cruel, even for him.” She gazed out of the window, thinking hard. “Brock has a strong case if he goes to litigation. It seems harsh to say this, but I can’t see Philip cutting it as a cattle baron. And that’s awful, your family putting pressure on you to marry him. Can’t Philip take no for an answer?”
“Wishing makes it true.” Shelley shrugged.
“What about Brock?”
Shelley let out a long sigh. “I couldn’t help falling in love with him, Chris.”
“If he’s the guy I remember…” Christine grinned. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”
“Maybe I’m being incredibly naïve?” Shelley looked over at her friend. “Maybe I’m setting myself up for a lot of pain? Brock’s told me he has to put his life in order. That he can’t make plans.”
“You don’t think he’s using you? Brock was a regular ladykiller, as I recall.”
Shelley shook her head. “No, I don’t think that. Brock is tough, but he doesn’t have a callous hand. He’s actually very sensitive. I think he’s a little in love with me as well, but I don’t want him to feel trapped. He’s very bitter and angry about his grandfather and the way he and his mother were treated.”
“He has every right to be,” Christine said flatly. “Rex Kingsley was a tyrant. Not that my family missed out on tyrants. My own grandmother tried to control everyone and run their lives, remember? Too much money and too much power can be a very bad thing. Gran and old Kingsley were two of a kind, yet they loathed each other They must have recognised their own worst traits in each other! Brock had a very bad time growing up. It must have left a lot of scars.”
“It has.” Shelley answered, sadness in her voice.
Christine put out a hand to cover Shelley’s with her own. “But you’re a girl with the healing touch. I think of you that way. You’re brave and resourceful, not to mention lovely and capable. What more could the man want? Is he coming back to stay?”
Shelley shrugged. “Who knows. I don’t think I could bear it if he went away. I imagine it all depends on the final outcome of this will.”
“Would you go away with him if he asked you?” Christine gave her friend a gentle look.
“To the ends of the earth,” Shelley said simply. “There is nothing for me on Wybourne. The only way I can redeem myself with my parents is to marry Philip Kingsley and I can’t do that. Even if there were no Brock, I couldn’t do it.”
“So what are you going to do?” Christine stared at her. “You can always come to us while you think things through. It must be awful at home.”
“It’s not the best place to be.”
“Well, my offer stands. As I said, Mitch is insistent that you visit. You can come with me now if you like. We really care about you, Shelley,” Christine said with affection. “And there’s tons of room.”
Shelley bit her lip. “I really appreciate the offer, Christine. Let me think about it.”
“Sure.” Christine smiled with compassion and understanding. “You’ve put up with a lot. Who knows? It might work out with Brock.”
“Reckon I’m woman enough for him?” Although Shelley laughed there was naked vulnerability in her eyes.
“I’d say you’re just the sort of woman he’s been searching for,” Christine said supportively. “So act totally cool.”
“Not easy when one’s in love and uncertain of the outcome.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Christine smiled wryly. “All I can tell you is if you truly love him go after your dream.”
“Even when circumstances are loaded against me?”
“Am I correct in believing you’re a fighter, Shelley?” Christine looked encouragingly into the younger woman’s lustrous green eyes.
“I hope so.”
Christine smiled. “Then that’s part of the job. Convincing Brock he needs you.”
“Eula’s in town,” Mick Donovan informed her when she came down the next morning for breakfast. “Thought you might want to know, seeing you’re friendly. You might be able to get a word out of her. I can’t. She’s very close-lipped about her employers is Eula. But she ordered up big at the store. Annie told me not a minute ago. It’s hard to believe the larder is empty. Either that or they’re going to give a big party now the old boy’s gone.”
“Maybe the wake?” Shelley suggested.
It was mid-morning before she actually saw Eula Martin, Mulgaree’s housekeeper, grey head burrowed down, coming out of Imprint, the small, well-patronised store that sold materials and patterns.
“Eula!” she called, and watched the woman look up, her kind, jovial face breaking into a wide grin.
“Shelley, love. Don’t you get around, now?”
“You don’t exactly stay put yourself.” Shelley went to her quickly, taking over some of the housekeeper’s large number of parcels.
“Mrs Kingsley sent me in just when I was keeping an eye on things,” Eula confided, lowering her voice. “Seems to me she doesn’t want me around the place.”
“So who dropped you?” Shelley asked.
“One of the men. It’s a hell of a trip. I tell you, Shelley, I just can’t understand Mr Kingsley doing what he done. Even given he was a wicked old devil, God rest his soul. Her ladyship couldn’t wait to rid herself of me presence. I don’t like the chances of holding onto me job now she’s in charge.”
“Let’s go and have a cup of tea,” Shelley suggested.
“Exactly what I wanted m’self,” Eula said, then dropped her bombshell. “I shoulda told Brock before this, but I took a copy of that will.”
Shelley stopped dead in her tracks. “Wh-a-a-t?” She caught Eula’s arm. “Which one?”
“’Struth, love!” Eula looked at her in astonishment. “The one I signed only the other day. I expected Mr Kingsley to change everything but the cruel old tyrant didn’t. Don’t like his chances of gettin’ through the Pearly Gates.”
Shelley scarcely heard her. “Did I understand you to say, Eula, you took a copy of the will you witnessed?”
Although Eula’s plump cheeks reddened, her voice was unashamed. “I don’t feel guilty and I don’t feel I done nothing wrong. Mr Maitland asked me to find a manila envelope for the will—scrawled it, if you ask me, terrible handwriting—and took off down the hallway to speak to her ladyship, who seemed real upset. Hello, I said to m’self. Something’s come as a shock. I acted fast. I’ve got ESP, I reckon. I took off for the study and ran a copy of the will on the fax machine.”
“And you weren’t caught?” Shelley stared at her, her mind a riot of jumbled hopes.
“No.” Eula shook her soft grey head. “They were too busy talking. Thick as thieves, those two. Don’t like ’em. He’s a real fox behind those white teeth. And she’s plain awful. They weren’t worried about me. I’m a good cook and a good housekeeper, otherwise I’m a halfwit—in case you haven’t discovered yet.”
“Listen, Eula, you’re as sharp as a tack.”
“No, I’m not, love. I have to remind m’self of things all the time. I’m goin’ to have a long talk to Dr Sarah about it. You know what they call it?”
“It won’t hurt to talk to Sarah,” Shelley said, “but I’m sure there’s nothing wrong with you, Eula. It’s common to become forgetful as we get older.”
“Older? You cute little thing. How old are you now? Twenty-one? What is it they call that memory disease again?”
“Do you mean Alzheimer’s Disease, Eula?” Shelley asked in concern. “From what I know of you, you’re in the clear. People do gradually lose the excellent memory they had in their youth, but it’s not abnormal. Just part of ageing.”
“I hope so, love. I don’t want to finish up senile.”
“Did you read the will, Eula?” Shelley asked, starting to move towards the same café she and Christine had visited the day before.
“Dear girl, would I do such a thing?” Eula made a business of rolling her eyes.
“Did you?” Shelley knew better.
“Never had enough time, love,” Eula confessed. “Plus the fact I didn’t have m’glasses. I’m blind as a bat without ’em.”
“Did Mr Kingsley sign the will in your presence?”
“’Course he did,” Eula said grimly, looking Shelley right in the eye. “Wasn’t he supposed to? I couldn’t witness nuthin’. I’m not a rocket scientist but I’m fairly bright.”
For a few stunned moments Shelley was silenced. “And where’s the copy now? Surely you’ve read it in the meantime? What does it say about Philip inheriting the lot? About Brock missing out?”
“When he was countin’ on being reinstated? Wouldn’t you? I’m gonna tell you something, love, and I don’t want you to tell anyone else. Not for the minute. It’ll come to me. I don’t know where I hid it. See—that’s what I’m talkin’ about. I’m always doin’ this to m’self. I hide things I don’t want found and then I can’t remember where I put ’em. I still can’t find the only good thing I own. Ma’s gold brooch. It’s got little diamonds on it. It’ll turn up, I suppose. It’s in the house somewhere.”
“But the house is huge, Eula.” Shelley felt dismay. “There must be a trillion places to hide things. Was it the study? Did you shove it into a book?”
“Gracious, no. That’s too close for comfort. It could be discovered. Don’t worry, love. It’ll come to me. Always does, eventually.” Eula looked troubled. “I tried to retrace me footsteps but I was dodging those two. Thought I shoved it in a Chinese vase but I didn’t. That shook me. Sometimes I can remember things I did fifty years ago better than what happened the other day.”
“Don’t put pressure on yourself,” Shelley advised. “Keep calm, go about your business, and it will slip into your mind.” God, I hope so, Shelley thought. “It’s gone nowhere, as you say. It’s in the house. So is your mother’s brooch. Let’s have that tea—and would you like something else? My shout. Now, it’s absolutely vital you talk to Brock….”