An Outback Affair/Runaway Wife/Outback Bridegroom/Outback Surrender/Home To Eden (53 page)

Eula leapt up from her chair, feeling a great rush of hope. If anyone deserved to be compensated for all he and his lovely mother Catherine had suffered, it was Brock. That wicked old man owed him. Eula happened to know how much Brockway money had helped forge the Kingsley empire. A lot of people said money didn't matter. Eula thought it did.

 

The moment Brock and Shelley walked in the front door of the homestead, a great stillness about them, Eula hurried to give them the good news. Had she known it, triumph was emblazoned all over her face, her arms raised aloft in thanksgiving, her expression near ecstatic.

How happy it would make them, Eula thought, ignorant,
as she would remain, of Brock's tragic discovery. She wasn't sorry at all she had snatched up Maitland's handwritten document and copied it on the fax machine. She would swear that God had told her to do it.

Even so she had been amazed when she read it. Brock had been named the sole heir. There was no mention of anyone else. No bequests to the usual institutions—family, friends, servants. Including her. That blew her legacy, but she didn't care. Brock would never sack her. Of that she was certain.

What an extraordinary, unpredictable old man. Or maybe by the end he'd had no strength left but to make his will short and sweet. Brock had been the victim of his cruelty. Knowing Brock as well as she did, Eula was certain Brock would do the right thing by his cousin, Philip, but she sincerely hoped her ladyship wouldn't get a dime. She was an awful woman. Just awful.

Brock gave the housekeeper a piercing stare. “What is it, Eula?” God, the worst thing to do was to jump to conclusions.

Eula stumbled a little in her excitement to get to him. “I found it, Brock.”

Brock reached down and grasped Shelley's hand, feeling as if his nerves were rubbed raw. “And?”

“I was just so happy that before I knew where I was I'd read it,” Eula confessed, tossing Shelley a happy smile. “You get the lot. The whole shebang!”

Brock and Shelley stared at her as though they were trying hard to understand what she was saying. “What about Philip and his mother?” Brock questioned, his voice a little harsh, a pallor to his tanned polished skin.

“There's no mention of them!” Eula whispered from behind her hand.

Brock waited no more. “I've got to see this,” he said, striding down the entrance hall, pulling Shelley with him, needing her, wanting her, releasing his feelings through the strong pressure of his hand. “Okay, so where is it?”

“It's just as I told you, Brock.” Eula hurried after them, slightly out of puff. “Don't worry. It's in the kitchen. I wasn't going to let it out of my sight.”

“So who do you love?” Brock suddenly demanded, halting to stare into Shelley's surprised emerald eyes.

She lifted her face to him, a dawning radiance chasing all the dark clouds away. She had a sudden mental image of herself as a bride, and knew happiness, a sense of belonging unrivalled in all the world.

“Do you love me?” he urged, seeing she was too overcome by emotion to speak. “Go on—say it, Shelley. I love you, Brock Tyson, even if you are a very difficult man. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my days with you. Swear it, Shelley. Suddenly the thought of losing you terrifies me.”

He sounded in deadly earnest, his expression taut, his eyes like diamonds.

Very gently she reached up on tiptoe, locking her arms around his neck. “Brock Tyson, you fill me with wonder.” Her voice communicated a deep loving intensity. “Love, what a miracle! I can't believe I've found it. Of course I love you. I was born to love you. I'll love you until I draw my last breath.”

“And through eternity!” Brock slipped his arms around her, answering with corresponding emotion. As he gazed down at her a great hush grew between them, a full awareness of their commitment to each other. The great wisdom of it.

“Go on, kiss her!” Eula finally burst out, a beaming smile on her face. Picture it, picture it—these two lovely young people coming together! It was wonderful, and didn't they both deserve some happiness in life? “Bless me heart, Brock,” she chortled. “You oughtta kiss her. Come on now, a big kiss.”

“Thank you for that, Eula.” Brock threw her a devastating smile that pinked her cheeks. Then, spreading his long
fingers along Shelley's soft cheek, he bent his head and very thoroughly obliged.

This love of mine! he thought, filled with tenderness and desire. So precious. How had he got through life without loving Shelley? From this day forth there were new worlds to conquer. The prospect was tremendously exciting. He knew he could accomplish anything with Shelley by his side.

Mulgaree Station, four months later

A
CROSS
the huge bedroom Shelley caught her reflection in the free-standing cheval mirror. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than she had ever hoped to look in her life. Her wedding dress was gold-tinged ivory silk, with a strapless bodice hand-sewn with exquisite crystals, tiny pearls and beads. The skirt, tightly waisted, was similarly decorated, billowing in a wonderfully romantic fashion to the floor.

She wore a three-quarter veil, the tulle bordered for some inches in the same ivory-gold shot silk as her gown, held in place by a diadem of roses fashioned from ivory and gold silk. It curved around her head, the colour and lustre accenting the red-gold of her hair, which she'd left flowing because that was the way Brock liked it. That he loved her so deeply she still found astonishing. Brock was her future, her dream, her heart.

Around her neck and in her ears she wore his gift to her.

“With your skin, it just has to be pearls,” he'd told her, bending to kiss her cheeks, her mouth, her throat.

And what pearls they were! The finest in the world. They had flown to Broome in the Northern Territory, the headquarters of the Australian pearling industry, to select them. They were perfectly matched, their lustre unique.

“I want nothing less for my bride!” Brock had declared proudly.

Today she and Brock were drawing a line between their past life and their future. The past, with all its traumas, pain and uncertainties, had found closure. Their future they faced together. Happiness in place of grief.

She had two bridesmaids. One was her childhood friend, Nicole Cavanagh, a redhead like herself, but so much more beautiful, Shelley privately thought. Nicole had recently returned to her illustrious family home, Mara Station, after several years abroad, living and working in Paris and New York. Nicole had her own dramatic story to tell. Traumas she hadn't yet said goodbye to. Shelley realized with a feeling of accomplishment that Nicole had gained comfort from renewing their friendship over the last few weeks.

Her other bridesmaid was her sister, Amanda. Shutting Amanda and the family out of her big day would have been more than she could deal with.

Philip was Brock's groomsman. His best man was Drake McClelland. A name to contend with. It had bothered Shelley immensely at the beginning, bringing Nicole and Drake together in the bridal party, but Brock had convinced her it might be a good thing. The Cavanaghs and the McClellands, once the greatest friends, had been turned into mortal enemies for over a decade because of one terrible event that had destroyed the relationship. Shelley didn't want to dwell on it on this day of days, when happiness reigned.

Brock might have banished Philip's mother from Mulgaree for ever, but these past hectic months had forged a bond between the cousins. They had reached a private agreement whereby Philip had a substantial stake in Kingsley Holdings with Brock holding the reins. Philip, with the help of an excellent overseer, now lived and worked on Strathdownie Station, a central link in the chain. These days he was a different man. He'd been able to move on, though Shelley suspected he would always have a soft spot for her.

Although he had been in the ideal position to, Brock had not pressed charges against Philip's mother and her lover Gerald Maitland. Not a decision taken easily or lightly, it had all been designed to protect the family. Frances had received an allowance from her son and a dire warning to
stay away; Gerald Maitland had been made to retire from his prestigious firm, citing a need to “wind down”. The decree was absolute. Both obeyed. In many families some things were kept secret. Nevertheless, private justice had to be served.

In preparation for the wedding Mulgaree homestead had been transformed. A small army of decorators had been brought in, working closely with Shelley who had carried with her innumerable sketches to influence the designers. In a way it had been like realizing a dream, especially when the team had taken her creativity seriously. There wasn't one fabric or wall-covering she hadn't picked.

“We could give you a job any time!” she had been told constantly, and this was not flattery but genuine admiration.

Her job, her life's work, was to become Brock's perfect partner. Wife, mother, best friend. She always consulted him, but he was kept very busy indeed with Kingsley affairs.

“I want what you want. It's that simple,” he'd told her. “I couldn't say that to too many people,” he'd added dryly, hugging her to his side. Indeed, he had been very critical of the gloomy old mansion, asking that light and fresh air should be brought in.

And from the old Kingsley mansion a new house had been born.

 

At precisely three p.m., as the lovely processional music began in the grand formal drawing room, Shelley put her hand over her father's. Today he looked so much better than he had looked in a very long time, and even her mother's face was soft and pretty with pleasure. Since she'd woken up Shelley had had a sensation of being very close to her twin, Sean. In her heart she knew he would always be there.

Her father's hand tightened on hers. Strong hands. There were no whispered words. No talk of love. No plea for forgiveness. But still he tried to communicate through his hand. She would have to accept this as enough.

They paused on the threshhold.

Everything came into vivid focus.

Up ahead was her wonderful bridegroom with his attendants. All of them six footers plus. All of them cattlemen from family dynasties. Pioneers of the industry and descendants of some of the first settlers to open up the vast Outback. They were standing in front of great banks of beautiful, fragrant white flowers—orchids, lilies, roses, clouds and clouds of white baby's breath.

Each step would take Shelley closer to Brock. She knew from the set of his tall lean body, so marvellously elegant in his wedding finery, that he was struggling not to turn round and look back at her.

A smile bloomed radiantly across Shelley's face. A wonderful light lit her eyes.

Let life begin! She was ready for the challenge.

“What stopped you, Drake?” Nicole picked up a pebble and sent it skimming across the water. The movement startled a flock of white corellas that exploded into the air in protest.

“I have to let you decide what you want.” He glanced down at her. She wasn't wearing makeup—she didn't need any with her skin—not even lipstick, which he found strangely erotic. “Which isn't to say I'm going to wait a long time.”

“For me to decide to sleep with you?” Her head tilted, her eyes more green than blue in the shade of the wide-brimmed Akubra.

“You will, whenever, wherever. We both know it.”

She looked back at the peaceful, unspoiled scene. “It could be a mistake. Neither of us is exactly reconciled to the past.”

“I'm trying, Nic. You find it very hard to trust.”

“I'm concentrating on getting my life right.”

“You think increasing intimacy with me will interfere with that?” His tone was deeply serious.

She nodded. “I can't deal with you like I've dealt with other men in my life.”

Dear Reader,

Home to Eden
is the final book in the KOOMERA CROSSING series. I hope both my loyal, much-valued readership and welcome newcomers will have enjoyed the previous four in the series. I burned the midnight oil on one of them. I'll leave you to guess which!

Throughout the series, indeed my long career, you will have noticed I enjoy writing about families—in particular, dysfunctional families. These problematic families crisscross society, from the most privileged to the severely disadvantaged.

Small wonder I'm drawn to exploring family life. There are so many mysteries connected to families: past secrets, double lives, things that are never spoken about but forever hover in the consciousness. Most bondings bring comfort, friendship and support. Some emotional attachments, however, can go beyond the norm. I've drawn on this for
Home to Eden,
coming at it from the angle of obsessive attachments. One can readily see such attachments could be a by-product of certain conditions such as loneliness and isolation. Families who live in remote areas are more dependent on each other for survival and emotional support. Outback stations certainly qualify as remote. The wonderfully inspiring, frightening and funny, tragic and violent stories of Outback life are legion. There are heroes and heroines and, inevitably, as anywhere else, villains.

The heart is a very strong yet very vulnerable organ. Love and hate coexist there. Human beings can love fiercely, yet still be capable of hurting the object of that love. Jealousy has to be regarded as a great catalyst for disaster. Some jealousies pave the way to tragedy and death.
Home to Eden
is such a story. My aim, as always, is to give my readership good stories they can enjoy. I hope I've succeeded with KOOMERA CROSSING.

Best wishes,

Margaret Way