An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (46 page)

His anger was triggering her own, the air between them crackling with tension. “If you're so much against my coming, I won't.”

“Ah, please do. We don't want Philip desperately upset,” he scoffed. “Who am I to stop you?”

She looked full into his dark handsome face. “You could be a little more understanding.”

“Well, I'm not a nice person.” He stared back at her moodily.

“You certainly aren't on occasions,” she answered crisply. “But please—don't let's fight.”

“But I'm eager for more!”

His eyes dazzled her. “I'll do whatever you want.” She sighed. “Philip has his mother to hold his hand.”

“Except she seems to have gone to pieces.” He gave a grim laugh. “That's why I'm here. For once it's Philip who's supporting Mama. Frankly, I never thought Frances capable of such feeling. She may not be weeping buckets, but she's giving a good impression of being distraught.”

“Maybe you've been selling her short,” Shelley suggested dryly. “It's possible she had some gentle feelings towards your grandfather.”

“Never!” he mocked, bending down to press a brief hard kiss on her mouth before drawing away. “Her boyfriend's there, of course. She may be trying to impress him. Probably he was brought up to believe a daughter-in-law should grieve.”

“Who's the boyfriend?” she asked, realizing her heart was pounding after that short, disturbing contact.

“You mean you really don't know?” Brock gave her a cynical glance.

“I'm not exactly in on your family secrets.”

“What? With Phil's high regard for you on open display?”

She glanced away, trying to hold onto her temper. “I'd feel for you too, Brock, if you'd only let me. But you're too damned proud. So, who's the boyfriend? Should I know?”

“Phil must have been too embarrassed to tell you,” he drawled. “Gerald Maitland of Maitland-Pearson, the family solicitors. They've had fun and games for years now.”

“Surely not?” Shelley fought a stirring of alarm.

“You don't approve?”

“To be frank, I'm shocked.”

Brock laughed briefly. “You're an innocent after all.”

“And it opens a Pandora's box.”

“It does indeed,” Brock answered, with a hard mockery that said reams.

S
HELLEY
found a household far more upset than she could ever have imagined.

Frances was the biggest shock. Always supremely self-assured, to put it kindly Frances was a mess. She might have been a different person. Gerald Maitland, too, was behaving as though the death of one of his most valued clients had brought him a new experience in life. Perhaps without Rex Kingsley's patronage Maitland-Pearson would go to the wall.

When it came time for the will-reading, what occurred was a far greater shock than the actual death. Shelley sat sandwiched between Brock and Philip, wishing herself elsewhere, but strangely even Frances hadn't objected to her presence. Obviously in deference to her son, the heir.

Gerald Maitland, the very picture of a high-level solicitor, sat with fingers steepled behind his departed client's impressive antique desk. All of them stared back at him with varying expressions.

When it came, it was like a great bolt from the blue. There was no new will.

Rex Kingsley had passed away before he had had a chance to sign the document. It had been drawn up under the worst possible circumstances, given the client's precarious state of health and doubts as to his lucidity of mind; he had been on strong medication.

Maitland, to save the family further distress—and by this presumably he meant Philip and Frances—had destroyed the handwritten unexecuted document as soon as he'd heard his client had died during the night. The only valid will at his
disposal—signed, properly witnessed and notarised—was the one he was now prepared to read.

It was dated a scant month after Catherine Tyson and her son had left Mulgaree Station after a terrible showdown with Rex Kingsley.

If Brock had genuinely expected his grandfather would make up to him for his repudiation of himself and his mother, all the wrongs he had done to them, he was now doomed to devastating disappointment. Nonetheless, he rallied strongly, voicing serious doubts.

“It won't wash, Gerald,” he said very coldly. “And don't question my grandfather's state of mind. He'd cut back on the drugs at the very end. His nurse will verify that.”

“So what are you saying, Brock?” Philip asked angrily, fixing his eyes on his cousin. “We have a will. Why don't you hear it? For all we know Grandfather didn't cut you out at all. I'm not such a bastard I'd want to see you totally ignored. You're a grandson, just like me.”

“Not like you.” Brock rounded on him. “I have grave doubts about what Maitland here is saying.”

Gerald Maitland cheeks puffed up angrily. “No one has ever questioned my ethics. My aim is always to serve the best interests of my client. I think I can safely say my firm is very highly regarded.”

“By yourselves,” Brock snapped back. “What right had you to destroy that document?”

Gerald Maitland's eyes sparkled with outrage. “I judged it in the best interests of the family. I stand by my decision. I believe another solicitor would have done the same. Anyway, it's too late now.”

“Why don't you read the will, Gerald?” Frances cut in, wanting desperately to put a stop to Brock. “The real will. I'm sure it's just as Rex promised.”

Shelley, her nerves on edge, reached for Brock's hand, half expecting he would reject it. She could feel the waves of anger and outrage coming off him like hot spice.

“Please, Brock,” she begged, very softly. “Hear what it says. Then you can decide.”

He stared down at her for a moment, daunting in his anger, but after a moment resumed his seat.

Philip Goddard Kingsley was named as the main beneficiary, heir to the Kingsley fortune—which was considerable when Rex Burkett Kingsley's net estate was calculated to be about two hundred and fifty million dollars, maybe more. There were also bequests to institutions, relatives, and staff of long standing.

Frances, who had waited patiently to hear what the old man had left her, couldn't have been more shocked. She received a fraction of what she had confidently expected and her expression was livid—though her legacy was in the very early millions. She had been well provided for in life, and Philip would have more than enough to look after his mother's future needs.

Brock was totally disowned.

“I won't accept a word of this.” He addressed the lawyer directly in a deadly quiet voice that eerily had overtones of Rex Kingsley. “My grandfather brought me home to tell me something. To atone, if you like. He was leaving me Mulgaree and everything that went with it. We had words to that effect just days ago. He had come to the conclusion I was the one to run it. Philip had his chance, but he couldn't deliver. He and Frances were to be properly provided for. Was that in the unexecuted will, Gerald? Can you tell us that?”

Gerald Maitland shook his head with great regret. “I gave my reasons for destroying the document, Brock. I knew speculation would only cause pain. I swear I tried to alter things in all fairness, but the terms of the unexecuted will were not as you hoped.”

“Why should I believe you?” Brock asked, not disguising his contempt.

“I'm a highly respected lawyer.”

“I have no great regard for your profession,” Brock said
with a hard edge. “Lawyers have lost a lot of ground. These days people don't confuse the legal system with justice like they used to. Your prestigious firm is mainly into hefty fees. There's also the fact you've managed to get away with conducting an affair with a female member of my family—may I remind you, your clients—for many years now. I wouldn't call that ethical.”

Gerald Maitland threw up his hands, his florid skin blanching. Frances had convinced him no one in the family had an inkling of their affair because they'd been so discreet. So much for her smug beliefs. They weren't worth a bumper. The old man had known, and now Brock.

Philip looked at his mother strangely. “Affair? What affair?”

Shelley's body tensed. She could see in Philip's eyes that he knew nothing about it. She turned her head, conscious of Brock's scornful gaze. “Did you have to air that?”

“Their dirty little secret?” A smile twisted his mouth. “Have I hurt Philip, tender-hearted Shelley? Okay, we'll explore that at a later date. This is all too damned pat, Gerald. I won't be taking it quietly. Especially since my grandfather told me his intentions.”

Gerald Maitland suddenly recovered himself, mounting a challenge. “This is all hearsay, I'm afraid, Brock.”

Shelley spoke up, for the first time grateful she was there. “Brock told me he'd had a conversation with his grandfather during which Mr Kingsley assured him Mulgaree would be his.”

“For God's sake, Shelley, whose side are you on?” Philip burst out in astonishment, not even trying to hide his jealousy. He caught her arm, staring into her face.

“Why don't you get your hands off her?” Brock suggested tightly.

“Perhaps someone can tell me what Shelley Logan has to do with any of this anyway?” Frances started to vent her frustrations. “These are family matters. She isn't family and never will be.”

Brock laughed shortly. “Knowing you, Frances, one can see why she wouldn't want to be. I believe everything that has been said here is a lie.”

“So what are you going to do?” Frances looked at him with absolute hatred not unmixed with fear. “Call the police? There's no lie. No conspiracy—”

“Did I say conspiracy?” Brock cut in bluntly. “Perhaps I should consider it.”

“Now that, my boy, is a tremendous insult.” Gerald Maitland's bloodless lips were pressed very tightly together. “You might apologise to your aunt.”

“Not me,” said Brock. “She's not my aunt either. The fact is my grandfather could well have signed a new will naming me as principal beneficiary—only that would scarcely suit, would it? The new will is now destroyed, without anyone having sighted it. Your answer is you wished to spare the family pain. Obviously you overlooked me. So could there possibly be a conspiracy to defraud the estate? Or is that inconceivable? A man like you, Gerald, wouldn't want to go to jail. But you could never count on a person like me not pressing charges. And there's Eula, the witness. I know she was called in to sign; she told me herself this morning.”

“She had no knowledge whatever of the contents of the document. She merely signed.” Gerald Maitland allowed his fury to show through.

“It's illegal to witness a signature without actually seeing that signature written. Sorry, Gerald, there will have to be an enquiry into this matter of the second will and why you found it so necessary to destroy it. It's possible you've got yourself into big, big trouble.”

 

The helicopter lifted off the ground, but they didn't head towards Wybourne, as Shelley had expected. They flew into the heart of the open desert. Heartsore, she realized Brock was near to snapping point so she made no protest. She
remained silent until they touched down on the flat, fiery terrain that marched on to the mirage-stalked horizon

The landscape burst into sound as a response. A great flight of white sulphur-crested corellas swirled above the mulga, while a herd of emus—some with their striped chicks—rose from behind the thick screening of saltbush to take off at a great rate, plainly outraged by the loud noise of the rotors that now gradually slowed to a stop.

“I'll take you back in a while.” Brock lifted her down like a bundle of feathers. “Right now I need time to recover.”

She heard the torment in his voice, understood it. It was easy to sympathize with his mood of utter disillusionment. “I'm in no hurry.”

“So my grandfather continued his torture to the death?” he mused bleakly.

“That would have been too cruel. He did beg you to come home.”

“You didn't know him.” He took her hand. “I suppose to have found his conscience would have been too radical a change. It could be true, you know. The whole damn lot of it. To the end he devoted himself to smashing me like a pane of glass. Punishing me for not bringing my mother home.”

Some instinct told Shelley that that wasn't the case. “I think that's taking your grandfather's bent towards vindictiveness too far. You said yourself he didn't want everything he'd worked for run down or broken up and sold. That could happen with Philip and Frances in charge.”

“Would happen, you mean,” he said bluntly. “Poor old Phil! Now he thinks it's all happening he's getting cold feet about the responsibility.”

“Can you blame him? It's a big job. And he has his mother. She's no fool.”

“Philip would fight her over you.” His eyes flashed over her, lighting her up like electricity.

“Except there's no possibility of a Philip and me. I thought we'd agreed on that.”

“Even with all that money?” He struggled to keep the bitter cynicism out of his voice, but failed.

“Don't turn on me, Brock,” she begged.

“Okay, I apologise. I'm humbled by your high principles. You're the most honourable of young women. I'm blessed to know you.”

“Stop it,” she said, very quietly.

He emitted a deep sigh. “Do they really expect me to swallow all that?”

“Would Maitland try something criminal?” she asked doubtfully.

“He might if it were made worth his while. He could marry dear Frances, for instance.”

“I can't see him going so far.”

“Seeing corruption in action is always a profound shock. I don't trust either of them.”

“No, but you have to remain calm so you can think clearly.”

“Well, this is the perfect place to do it.” His grip tightened. “Even at the worst times this country has nurtured me. When I was a boy I spent so much time in the desert. Much as I loved my mother, I hated to go home. My grandfather was so cold and cutting people were genuinely afraid of him. He had a look that could turn you to stone. And then there was Aunt Frances—and Philip, a boy like me—plotting to keep deep divisions in the family.

“Mulgaree was so fraught with intrigue we could have been back in the Middle Ages. Can you blame me if I was forever wondering about my father? Where he went? Was there nothing of a fighter in him? Couldn't he stand up to my grandfather? Hell, even I could. Yet as a small child I loved my father, and I could have sworn he loved me. I have so many questions, Shelley. Why did he put his love for my mother behind him? Is there something of him in me? Could I desert my wife and child?”

Shelley drew in her breath sharply. “I'm absolutely certain you couldn't.”

“How can you be so sure?” he asked with grim humour. “You've said I have a devil in me, don't forget.”

“You
are
a devil, when you want, but you're full of other things. Good things. You're even wonderful at odd, unexpected moments.”

“Maybe I'm a different person with you in my life.”

“Am I in your life?” She lifted her head to meet his gaze.

“For better or worse.” He contemplated her gravely.

“Then let's hope it's not worse.”

They walked along in near silence, looking out over the vast saltbush plains, drawing the pure, unpolluted air into their lungs. At this time of day the eroded hills, home of the yellow-footed rock wallabies, appeared purple against the piercingly blue sky.

The mirage was still abroad, as it had been from sun-up, mischievously creating chains of dazzling lakes in the arid wilderness so silvery-blue they glazed the naked eye.

Paintings and engravings were hidden away in the caves and gorges of those hills. They were reminders of the ancient tenure of the aboriginal people, for forty thousand years the most isolated of all peoples, cut off from all contact with the outside world. It was small wonder they worshipped this land.

“Where are we going, Brock?” she questioned as they moved through the spirit-driven landscape. Its extraordinary silence was almost tangible, broken only by the chatter of birds and the soughing of the acacia-scented breeze.