Outback Bachelor (4 page)

Jack watched on, sensing an odd tension between the boss and his daughter. It hadn’t always been like that. Skye had adored Keefe all the time she had been growing up. Keefe had been there for her, like an affectionate and protective big brother. It was only half a joke, suggesting Skye might change her mind. His beautiful girl, his princess, belonged in a palace, not a bungalow. Keefe was right. The bungalow wasn’t a fitting place for her now she had grown into a lovely accomplished woman. A lawyer no less! At home in her city world. His Skye, far more than the caustic Rachelle, the McGovern heiress, looked and acted the part, Jack thought with pride. Skye’s beauty and her gifts came from her mother. They certainly didn’t come from him. He was just an ordinary bloke. He still couldn’t believe Cathy, who had come into his life as Lady McGovern’s young visitor, had fallen in love with him and, miracle of miracles, agreed to marry him. It had been like a fairy-tale. But, like many a fairy-tale, it had had a tragic end.

G
RIEF
was contagious. The faces of the hundreds of mourners who attended Broderick McGovern’s Outback funeral showed genuine sadness and a communal sense of loss. There was no trace of mixed emotions anywhere. This was a sad, sad day. He had been a man of power and influence, but incredibly he had gone through life without attracting enemies. The overriding reason had to be that he had been a just man, egalitarian in his dealings; a man who had never wronged anyone and had never been known to go back on his word. Broderick McGovern had been a gentleman in the finest sense of the word.

All the men and most of the women, except for the elderly and the handful of young women who were pregnant, had elected to make the long walk from the homestead to the McGovern graveyard set down in the shadow of a strange fiery red sandstone monolith rising some hundred feet above the great spinifex plain. The McGovern family from the earliest days of settlement had called it Manguri, after one of the tribal gods. The great sandstone pillar did, in fact, bear a remarkable resemblance to a totem figure, only Manguri was the last remaining vestige of a table-topped mountain of pre-history.

Like all the desert monoliths, Manguri had the capacity to change colour through the day, from the range of pinks commencing at dawn, to the fiery reds of noon, to the mauves and the amethysts of evening. It was a fascinating phenomenon. Generations of McGoverns had been buried in Manguri’s shadow. Curiously, Skye’s own mother was buried in an outlying plot when the custom was for station employees right from the early days to be buried at another well-tended graveyard. In the old days there had been some talk of Cathy being distantly related to Lady McGovern. The rumour had never been confirmed. Certainly not by the McGoverns. As a lawyer, Skye could have checked out her mother’s background had she so chosen. Instead, she found herself making the conscious decision
not
to investigate her mother’s past. She didn’t know why, exactly, beyond a powerful gut feeling. Was she frightened of what she might find? She would admit only to an instinctive unease. Her father had always said her mother had been an orphan Lady McGovern had taken an interest in. Much like her own case.

She wasn’t the only young person on the station the McGoverns had sent on to tertiary education either. Most of the sons and daughters of station employees elected to live and work on Djinjara. It was home to them. They loved it and the way of life. But others, of recent times, all young men of exceptional academic ability, had been sent on to university by the McGoverns. One was a doctor in charge of a bush hospital. The others were engineers working in the great minefields of Western Australia.

All three were present today.

Keefe had made it perfectly plain she was expected to come up to the house afterwards, even if her father was not. Jack held an important position as overseer but he knew and accepted his place in the social scheme of things. It was the last thing Skye wanted to do, but her father had urged her and she was painfully aware of her obligations. The scores of ordinary folk who had made the long hot overland trek in a convoy of vehicles were being catered for in huge marquees set up within the extensive grounds of the home compound. The more important folk, the entire McGovern clan, fellow cattle barons and pastoralists along with their families, and a large contingent of VIPs crowded their way into Djinjara’s splendid homestead, which had grown over the years since the 1860s when Malcolm James McGovern, a Scottish adventurer of good family, had established his kingdom in the wilds. Oddly, Djinjara with its fifty rooms looked more like an English country mansion that anything else, but Malcolm was said to have greatly admired English architecture and customs and had kept up his close ties with his mother’s English family. The bonds remained in place to the present day. Lady McGovern was English, and a distant relative. She had come to Australia, a world far removed from her own, as Kenneth McGovern’s—later Sir Kenneth McGovern—bride. In her new home, despite all the odds, she had thrived. And, it had to be said,
ruled.

Try as she did to move inconspicuously about the large reception rooms and the magnificent double-height library, Skye was uncomfortably aware that a great many people were looking at her. Staring really. She had to contend with the fact she would never melt into a crowd. Not with the looks she had inherited from her mother. Some people she recognised from her childhood but she wasn’t sure if they recognised her. Others acknowledged her with genuine warmth and kindly expressed admiration for her achievements. She was dressed in traditional black but she couldn’t help knowing black suited her blonde colouring. She had discarded the wide-brimmed black hat that had protected her face and neck from the blazing sun, but she still wore her hair in a classic French pleat. As a hairstyle it looked very elegant, but the pins were making her head ache.

She had sighted Scott with a dark-haired young woman always at his side. She was rather plain of face, conservative in her dress for her age—the black dress was slightly too large for her—but she had a look of intelligence and breeding that saved the day. Jemma Templeton of Cudgee Downs. Skye hadn’t seen her for a few years but she was aware Jemma had always had a crush on Scott. Rachelle, stick thin, fine boned and patrician-looking—the McGoverns were a very good-looking family—kept herself busy moving from group to group, carrying her responsibilities, it could be said, to the extremes. Rachelle was more about form than feeling. Doing what was expected. The show of manners. She had never shown any to the young Skye. Skye knew Rachelle had spotted her but had determined on not saying hello unless forced into it. Rachelle didn’t have
friends
—hadn’t even at school. As a McGovern she only had minions.

I bring out the worst in her, Skye thought regretfully. And there’s nothing I can do about it. Rachelle will never make peace with me. She resents me bitterly. And it’s all about Keefe.

She turned away just as a rather dashing young man with close-cropped fair hair rushed to stand directly in front of her, obscuring her view. “Skye, it is you, isn’t it?” he burst out with enthusiasm. “Of course it is! Mum said it was. That blonde hair and those blue eyes! You’re an absolute knockout!”

Skye had to smile at such enthusiasm. “Why thank you, Robert.” Robert Sullivan was one of the McGovern clan, the grandson of one of Broderick McGovern’s sisters. He had had three. There had been a younger brother too. But he had died tragically when he had crashed his motorbike on the station when he was only in his early twenties. “You look well yourself. It’s been a long time.” The last time she had seen Robert had been at a McGovern family Christmas Eve party some years back.

“Too long.” He gave an exaggerated moan. “I say, why don’t you come and sit with me? I’ll find somewhere quiet. Look at this lot!” His hazel glance swept the room. “They’re knocking back food and drink like it was a party. Terrible about Uncle Brod.”

“Indeed it is,” Skye lamented. “He always seemed so indestructible. The family will miss him greatly.” She broke off as her eyes fell on Lady McGovern, who was seated in an antique giltwood high-backed chair not unlike a throne. She was indicating with a slight movement of her hand that she wanted Skye to come over. “Rob, would you excuse me one moment?” she said, placing a hand on Robert’s jacket sleeve. “Lady McGovern is beckoning me. I haven’t had a chance to offer my condolences as yet.”

“Tough old bird,” Robert murmured, with not a lot of liking but definite respect. “Not a tear out of her. Stiff upper lip. Straight back. Father was a general, don’t you know?”

“Yes, I do,” Skye answered a trifle sharply. Robert’s words had annoyed her. “Because Lady McGovern doesn’t cry in public, it doesn’t mean she’s not crying inside, Robert. I know she will be grief stricken even if it’s her way not to show it.”

“Okay, okay.” Robert held up placating hands. “Training and all that. She’s always made me feel as though I’m not quite up to scratch. Of course, no one
could
be beside Keefe. Come back to me when you’ve finished paying your respects. I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing, you clever girl! Mother is very impressed. She spotted you the instant you walked into the room. You
do
stand out. ‘Why, that’s little Skye McCory all grown up! And she looks simply stunning! One would never know she had such a humble start.’”

Skye hadn’t forgotten how patronising the McGoverns were.

“There you are, my dear,” Lady McGovern said, indicating with her heavily be-ringed hand an empty chair beside her. Lady Margaret McGovern was a diminutive woman but she had enormous presence. Even at eighty it was easy to see she once had been a beauty. The bone structure was still there. Her skin stretched very tight over those bones was remarkably soft and unlined.

Skye obeyed. “I’m so very sorry, Lady McGovern,” she murmured as she sat down. “I couldn’t get to you before with so many people wanting to offer their condolences. I know how much pain you’re in. I feel so sad myself. Mr McGovern was a wonderful man. He was always very kind to me.”

“Who could not be?” Lady McGovern said. She took Skye’s two hands in her own, her face carefully in control of emotions. “Welcome home, Skye.”

It was so unexpected, so enormously comforting, that tears sprang to Skye’s eyes.
Home?
With an effort of will she forced the tears away. Too many people were watching.

“Let me look at you,” Lady McGovern said, turning her full scrutiny on Skye. “You’re even more beautiful than your mother. But the colour of your hair is
exactly
the same. The same radiant blue eyes full of expression. She would have been very proud of you.”

“Oh, I hope so!” Skye released a fluttery breath. “But I wouldn’t be where I am today without
you
, Lady McGovern. I will never forget that.”

“Enough of the Lady McGovern!” The old lady spoke as if she were heartily sick of the title. “I want you to call me Margaret, or Lady Margaret if you feel more comfortable with that. Margaret is my name. It’s a name long in my own family. I would like you to use it. I rarely hear it any more. It’s Gran and Nan, Aunt and Great-Aunt and, I dare say, the Old Dragon. Don’t try to tell me you can’t do it. I look on you as family, Skye.”

That touched a finger to an open wound. Some things would seem to be hidden, but they couldn’t be hidden for ever. “I’ve always felt something of it,” she confessed. “But why? Can’t you tell me?” The plea came straight from the heart. “Who
was
my mother really? I never knew her, which is the tragedy of my life. Dad always said she was an orphan.” Skye’s frown deepened. “He said she spoke beautifully. Not an educated Australian accent, but an English voice. Like you. Was she English?” There was something in Lady McGovern’s fine dark eyes that was making Skye very uneasy.

“As a solicitor, Skye, you’ve made no attempt to trace your mother’s background?” Lady McGovern asked with a grim smile. Could it be pain or disapproval?

“Very oddly,
no
, Lady Margaret.” Now that she had said it, “Lady Margaret” came surprisingly easily to her tongue.

“You had concerns about what you might find?” Again the piercing regard.

Skye shook her head. “After all, my mother had a connection to you.” Though she didn’t expect to be answered, Skye prepared herself for whatever might come.

In vain. “I was very fond of her,” Lady McGovern said briefly, then changed the subject. “Your use of my name comes sweetly to my ear. Kindly continue to use it, no matter what. I’m fully aware my granddaughter has always been jealous of you. Jealous of Keefe’s affection for you. That is her nature. She’s going to find it very hard to find a husband if she’s expecting someone like Keefe to come along. It won’t happen.”

“No,” Skye agreed quietly. “Rachelle loves both her brothers, but she adores Keefe.”

“Exactly.” Lady McGovern brushed the topic aside. “I want you to know Cathy herself chose your father.”

“But of course!” Skye was startled. “She fell in love with him.” She knew she was supposed to hold her tongue but it got away from her. “But how did they find the opportunities to meet? She stayed at the house on her visits. My father at the time was a stockman. Times have changed somewhat, but there was a huge social divide.”

“Of course,” Lady McGovern acknowledged, as if the divide was still firmly in place. “Nevertheless, Cathy knew Jack McCory was the man for her. And a fine man he is too. He mourns your mother to this day. As do I. Let’s not talk any more about this, Skye. It upsets me. I don’t know if Jack ever told you, but Cathy knew the baby she was carrying was a girl. She had the name Skye already picked out for you. And doesn’t it suit you! Somehow she knew you would have her beautiful sky-blue eyes.”

Skye stayed a few minutes more talking to Lady McGovern, but it was obvious others wanted the opportunity to express a few words of sympathy to the McGovern matriarch. She no sooner moved away than Robert Sullivan made a bee-line to her side.

“I don’t really know why but you and my great-aunt look more comfortable together than she and Rachelle,” he announced. “Why is that, do you suppose?”

“I have no idea, Robert,” she responded calmly.

“Neither do I. Just one of those quirky things.” Robert took her arm and began to lead her away. “Look, how long are you staying?” He stared down at her smooth honey-blonde head.

“No more than a week.” Actually, she had weeks of her leave left. “I only came for the funeral.”

“But we’ve got to meet up.” Robert spoke with extraordinary determination. “I’ve thought of asking Keefe if I can spend a little time here. I’m sure he won’t mind. The house is big enough to billet an army.”

“But won’t you be expected back home?” Robert worked for his father, a well-known pastoralist running both sheep and cattle on a large property on the Queensland/New South Wales border.

“I could do with a break. I’ll check it out with Dad. He was as impressed with you as Mother. I want you to come over and say hello. That’s if I can find them in this crush. Even in this huge house there’s hardly room to move. And just look at Keefe!”