Heart of the Outback (13 page)

Smiling at the offer, Trish’s hand reached up to trace the contours of Natalie’s sharp features and to run her fingers through her platinum hair. She moistened her lips with her tongue, knowing full well that it turned her lover on. “You always keep your promises, don’t you, love?”

With surprising strength Natalie pulled an unresisting Trish onto the bed. “You know I do.”

Half an hour later and mutually sated, both women lay on their backs, the sheet twisted around their limbs, their fingers lovingly entwined.

In a voice still husky from lovemaking, Trish said, “You never got around to telling me how you went with that builder. Nick Pola … what’s his name?”

“Nick Poladouris.”

Yesterday Natalie had spent several hours inspecting the building renovations for her proposed art gallery. The work was going slower than expected, which didn’t please her. She wanted it finished so she could cash in on the coming high season. Nick, she’d decided, was on a deliberate go-slow to up the price. Thought he could get away with charging her the earth for materials and labour too. Well, she’d sorted him out.

“We had an enlightening session. Nick gave me the grand tour. He pointed out how expensive everything had got, claimed that there was so much work around the tradesmen were being picky over the best jobs, and that’s why costs were escalating. Bastard! Had his greedy Greek eyes all over me too, mentally stripping me.” She chuckled. “Nick must have thought he had a chance because as he showed me my office, he went for the grope. Pushed me up against the wall, hands all over me like a bloody octopus. He said he knew I wanted it and maybe we could do a deal on the costs.

“I let him get steamed up then I returned the compliment and grabbed his balls. You should have seen his face.” The laugh that erupted from her was tinged with menace. “At first Nicky boy thought all his Christmases had come at once. You know, the man has no finesse — he wanted to do it there on the floor.” She watched Trish’s eyebrows flutter upwards in distaste. “No bloody way was that pencil dick of his getting anywhere near me. I put the squeeze on him. Literally. Ever seen a Greek tan pale? Little rivers of sweat began to run down his forehead.” Enjoying the memory she thought for a moment, “It’s interesting how the right
kind of pressure on a certain part of a man’s anatomy can reduce him to a snivelling wreck. Then I told him what
I
wanted. That he wasn’t going to screw me physically or financially and he’d better think twice about the escalating costs.”

“How did he take that?”

“Nick wasn’t in any position to argue otherwise, believe me. As you know, I have very strong fingers. But, for backup I told him who my stepdaddy was — in case he’s the only man in Queensland who doesn’t know. I said CJ would be only too happy to send several of his more interesting friends — the type who make the mafia look like wimps — around to visit him.” She chuckled as she stroked Trish’s hair. “That made Nick go white as a ghost. And then I remembered CJ’s advice. I’d heard him once tell Richard that when your opponent’s down you don’t help him up, you kick him again to let him know who’s really the boss. So … after I kneed Nicky boy in the groin, I walked out.” Then she added in a mock solicitous tone, “Must call in today to see how he is, mustn’t we?”

“You are deliciously wicked,” Trish said with some admiration.

“Thank you. I’m just practising for when I run CJ’s empire.” Natalie stretched her long limbs and sat up. “I’m starving. Let’s drive to Mossman for breakfast. A little cafe there serves scrumptious apple muffins.”

“Okay.” Trish sighed. “It’s a shame we only have two days here. I could stay a week.”

“I agree.” Then Natalie had an idea. “Come back to Murrundi with me. CJ won’t mind. He likes my friends to visit. Livens the place up.”

“Perhaps I could interview him?”

“I don’t know,” Natalie mused, thinking out loud. “He’s a bit journo shy since
The Bulletin
did that job on him. Negative bastards. It took three months, but CJ managed to get the journo who wrote the piece fired.”

Trish bit her lower lip. At thirty she was too street-smart to want to get on the wrong side of either Ambrose. “Perhaps not.”

“CJ’s all enthused about building some cock-a-mammy conference centre at Murrundi. Says big business can come to him for a change. I can’t see the sense in the outlay myself but I guess he wants to play the big shot landowner. He’s had architects coming and going, one’s due up from Sydney. There might be a story in that.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’d love to see Murrundi. I’ve read about how your mother built and decorated the place.”

Natalie quietened for a moment. Mention of Mumsie did that to her even after three years. She blinked back a threatening rush of tears and suddenly her voice took on an artificial brightness. “Good. I’ll phone Les. He’s taken a few days off to check out the Reef casino. I’ll ask him to make space for another passenger on the plane.”

F
rancey stared at her plate and the huge breakfast her mother had placed before her. “Mamma, I can’t eat all this. I’ll feel like a stuffed sausage all day.”

“Pah, a little stuffing wouldn’t do you any harm, you’re too skinny by far.” Lucia’s brown eyes took on a mischievous sheen, “Your boyfriend, Aden, he got to have something to grab onto, hasn’t he?”

“He hasn’t complained so far,” Francey responded with a wink. “Besides, I’ll be driving most of the day. A big breakfast will sit like lead in my stomach.”

“
Va bene, va bene
,” Lucia gave up. “Eat what you can. Your papà, he will finish the rest.”

Carlo paused in his steady munching to look up from his plate. “I don’t like the idea that you drive all the way to Mt Isa. Such a long way, it’ll take you three to four days. Why you no take the plane like Aden suggested? It’s free, it’s quick.”

“I considered it. Seriously. But then I thought, what an opportunity for me to see some of the country. Why, you and Mamma have seen more of Australia than I have. From Perth to Adelaide, then Melbourne before you settled in Sydney. By comparison I haven’t been anywhere. I’ll call in on Uncle Guiseppe on the way, and see places I’ve only read about. Bourke and Charleyville, Longreach and Cloncurry. All that country. Think of the photos I’ll be able to take.” Her VW beetle was already parked and ready to go at the front of the shop, loaded up with two suitcases, her cameras and film.

“You and your photos. Mamma,” Carlo looked across the kitchen table to Lucia, “how did we manage to raise such a strong-willed, independent daughter? She will worry me into my grave.”

“Aahh, Carlo, give it up. You know our Francesca will do what she wants, hasn’t she always?” She thought fleetingly about her university days and her buying that little flat up near the Cross. Yes, an independent miss was her Francesca. Then she remembered something else and slapped her hands together with glee. “Be happy that she has met a nice young man and that she seems to like him.”

“He’s nice and he has money,” Carlo admitted, then he shook his head, “but he’s not Italian.”

Francey had been waiting for that remark. “He’s part Italian, Papà. He had a maternal grandmother who was half-Italian, half-French. Her maiden name was Simonet.”

Mollified by that information, Carlo muttered, “Si! I had my suspicions. Somehow I thought he might be. An Italian can always tell another Italian.”

Mother and daughter nodded and exchanged glances but made no further comment.

Carlo cleaned up the food on his plate and took some off Francey’s, finishing his meal in silence. After drinking his coffee he heaved himself up from the table and said, “I must open the shop. That Mrs Duchofsky likes to come early. Always she is my first customer.” He kissed Francey on the top of her mop of dark curls. “Have a safe journey,
cara.
Don’t take any risks on the road. And you show that big man, Mr CJ Ambrose how you can make him a wonderful building.
Magnifico, sì
?”

“I’ll give it my best shot, Papà, you can count on it.”

The drive would be long but she was looking forward to it. It was her first adventure. And then she recalled that Aden hadn’t been impressed when she’d asked for two weeks off, to cover the drive up and back, plus a few days at CJ’s property, Murrundi Downs. It meant she’d be away from the office longer than he wanted her to be but she reminded him that she hadn’t taken a holiday since starting work and, in her book, she was entitled to a reasonable break. Smiling to herself she recalled his put-out expression. He liked to think of himself as the boss, which he was, but sometimes it felt good to do the unexpected, just to see his reaction. When she had put forward her reason for wanting to drive all the way he’d had no choice but to acquiesce, grudgingly though. She sighed a little sigh. On her return it would be decision time as to which way their relationship went.

The muscles in her body tightened and a warmth stole through her as she remembered last night’s
passionate kisses. Being celibate for almost four years hadn’t bothered her because there hadn’t been a man she’d been attracted to. Till now. It was getting harder to say no and she didn’t really want to any more, but the fear of being hurt remained too strong to risk it. Yet.

“I’ve made sandwiches and almond biscuits for you to put in your cooler,” Lucia said, bustling around the kitchen tidying things up.

“Thanks, Mamma. I’d best make a start. ‘I’ll call you tonight from wherever I’ll be staying.’

“Stay safe,
cara mia.
”

In the midmorning sunlight Steve Parrish watched waves of heat rise off the bitumen on Camooweal Street, one of the main roads through Mt Isa. Lounging comfortably against an awning upright, the position allowed him to passively patrol a long stretch of the road. A mixture of cars, trucks, utilities and station wagons were parallel parked on either side of the street. Shoppers moved sluggishly, chasing shady awnings, from shop to shop to get their supplies, talking to neighbours or simply walking about minding their own business. A pleasant rural scene. On the surface. But Steve Parrish’s eyes, honed by years of detection in the NSW Police Service, knew differently.

It didn’t take undue observation on his part to spot the fact that Mrs Hitchener, who ran one of the takeaway shops at the northern end of town, had two black eyes — they showed because the woman refused to wear sunglasses. Which meant Bill Hitchener had visited the Buffalo Club last night and swallowed a
gutful. The wife had probably chipped him and he’d laid a couple on her. And over on the other side of the street Sam Bianchini slyly ogled pretty Michelle Mason, the wife of one of the foremen at the Isa mine. Rumour had it that they were in the midst of a red-hot affair. Trouble brewing there — when Mason found out. Three male teenagers, dressed for school, were loitering outside a shop when they should have been in class. Most likely trying to decide whether they were brave enough to do a little shoplifting with him so close. He reckoned they wouldn’t. Didn’t have the stomach for the consequences, the little pricks. Yes, scratch the surface of any village, town or city anywhere and it was astounding what shone through. He could just about write a book on it.

Sometimes it amazed him that a city boy like him, from the rough streets of Redfern, had slotted so comfortably into country life. Oh, he had to admit that there’d been a few months of strangeness but then he’d settled and it was as if he’d lived for years in the far north. He liked country people, their honesty, the pace, and he loved the stark countryside too, almost as if he’d been born there. His sister and her family in Sydney would have been highly amused at his easy transition to such a different lifestyle.

He spotted a bright yellow VW speeding down the street and his attention diverted from the school boys. The driver jerked to a stop at the red light then, when it turned green, screamed off and flashed past. Braking suddenly, the car began to reverse until it double-parked close to him.

A tall, dark woman dressed in a lightweight white suit, and wearing high heels that put her close
to his own height, jumped out of the car and rushed towards him. She was worth looking at. Tanned skin and great legs displayed by the mid-thigh skirt, and in an instant he noted that her lipstick matched the bright pink scarf trailing around her neck. Black curly hair bounced all over the place as she moved gracefully. Foreign-looking too. Was she Italian or Maltese? No, maybe Spanish, or even Greek? He straightened up and waited.

“Oh, Officer, thank goodness,” Francey said breathlessly. Then she abruptly stopped. My, he was big. Good country stock, no doubt. But then she remembered her problem and rushed on. “I … back there …” Her heart was still pounding fit to burst from fright. “There’s been an accident. I … I hit … They might be dead.”

Steve frowned. He studied the VW’s dent on the front passenger side fender; it didn’t look serious enough to have caused any deaths. “Miss? You’ll have to give me some details.”

“Of course.” Where were her brains? She took off her sunglasses and looked up into a pair of the darkest brown eyes she had ever seen. Almost black, bottomless. Mesmerising.
Mesmerising
? Yoicks, where had that thought come from? She blinked a couple of times hoping the action would clear her head. “Back that way,” she pointed along the road she’d driven through into town. “About four kilometres, I think.”

“So, you hit them. A car accident. How many people were involved?” Through his peripheral vision Steve noticed Sam Bianchini crossing the street. The man’s curiosity and the possibility of talking to a pretty woman knew no bounds. And she
was
pretty. All that Mediterranean vivaciousness wrapped up in a very appealing physical package. Just passing through, he deduced. He stopped himself, shocked by his level of interest and then disappointment. A faint stirring started inside him and its intensity forced him to sublimate the feelings by adopting a businesslike manner.

“I’m Sergeant Steve Parrish. Your name, miss?”

Francey took a deep breath to steady herself from the fright she’d had and, strangely, from her internal response towards the policeman. Boy, her hormones were really out of whack! “Francesca Spinetti, people call me Francey.”