Rafferty's Legacy (7 page)

Her face flushed as she acknowledged this, and her green eyes sparkled with indignation. 'I think I'd prefer to forget we had this conversation,' she said bitingly. 'And I can't think what made you presume I'd even be willing to consider your dubious proposal, but I can tell you here and now ...'

He did not allow her to finish, but cut in sharply

with, 'What the devil do you mean by "dubious proposal"?'

Teresa moved back against her desk. His eyes were blazing into hers, and she had a feeling she was treading on very thin ice and wished that Michael or his father were there.

When she did not answer, he nodded grimly at her. 'Still playing little girl lost, are you? Well, I'll give you one week to come to your senses. I thought I knew you, but it appears I've a lot to learn about you, as you have to learn about me. I don't play games, and the sooner you realise that the better.' He strolled to the door. 'It's up to you now.'

The door slammed behind him, leaving Teresa staring at the closed door. Her head ached with sharp intensity, and she held on to her desk for the support she so badly needed.

As time passed the headache receded, and she was able to sit down and make an attempt to come to terms with Carl Elton's extraordinary statements.

The thing that most worried her was the fact that he had been so sure of himself, and of her blind acceptance of his outrageous suggestion. For goodness' sake, what sort of a girl had she been? Even the most tenacious pursuer wouldn't have dared voice such an arrangement without encouragement, and she must have given him that encouragement—no wonder her uncle had been worried about the situation

She frowned. What had he said about her uncle? She shook her head; the words ran into one another, but it was something on the lines that he didn't want anything to do with him. She bit her lower lip;

had she been told not to tell him of their association?

Her frown deepened. But her uncle knew of it; Mr Oates had proved that by asking her to keep out of Carl Elton's way!

She pushed back a lock of hair from her forehead with a weary gesture. It was no use, whatever had happened now remained locked behind an impenetrable screen—but not for long, she told herself fiercely. It appeared her uncle Patrick had left a few gaps in his narration—gaps she was determined to have filled in, even if it meant confirmation of her earlier suspicions of the kind of girl she had been.

He had told her she was shocked after losing her family—had it so affected her that it had made her lose all sense of propriety? Was that why he had suddenly changed the conversation when he was trying to explain the reason why she had lost her memory? She had had the feeling then that he was holding something back, and now she knew what it was.

Bleakly she acknowledged the reason why he hadn't mentioned her association with Carl Elton. It was hardly a matter to bring up at such a time. No wonder he had put Mr Oates in the picture and asked for his co-operation in shielding her from any future contact in that direction!

The rest of the day passed too slowly for Teresa's liking. She was impatient to finish work and get back to the chalet and get the truth out of her uncle. Somehow she managed to contain herself until the evening meal had been eaten and cleared away, and

waited until her uncle had rolled his after-dinner cigarette and sat contentedly puffing at it, then threw the question at him.

'What happened between Carl Elton and myself?' she asked bluntly, noticing the start he gave at the name.

`Now who's been talking?' he demanded, assuming an indignant pose which told Teresa he was playing for time.

'No one,' she answered calmly. 'He came to see me today.' She met her uncle's wary eyes and held them. 'He asked me to go up north with him,' she added bluntly.

`Whist, girl! ' he began, 'the devil of a cheek, has he. 'Tis better forgotten, I tell you. Too proud to marry you now I Sure, didn't I tell you how it was before?'

'No,' said Teresa firmly, 'you didn't, and I want to know now—all of it, do you hear? And don't bother to spare my feelings. I rather gathered he was of the opinion that I would agree to his suggestion.' Her soft lips twisted as she added, `I'd rather know, Uncle, no matter what happened, do you understand?' she added softly.

He gave a loud sigh and studied the end of his cigarette. 'Sure, girl, I'll tell you. Thought I was doing right in leaving things as they were. You'd had enough to put up with as it was, losing your folks like that.'

Gradually the story came out, and an amazed Teresa was told of the engagement party, and her uncle's appearance. It was a slightly biased account, she realised; for one thing, her uncle pointed out

with much emphasis that once the connection between her and the Raffertys had been established, Carl Elton had jilted her and she had left his home immediately after the party, and joined her uncle.

But, Teresa reasoned silently with herself, Carl Elton had told her she had walked out on him, and she found herself more inclined to believe his version of it rather than her uncle's. As she listened while he went over the past history of the feud, and why an alliance between the two families would never work, she was even more inclined to believe the other man.

The other man! Her spirits lifted at the thought that this other man had been no less than her fiancé. So she hadn't been playing fast and loose with him, hadn't been the sort of girl one puts dubious proposals to. Her brow furrowed. But Carl Elton had asked her to go away with him. Had her uncle at least been right when he'd said he was too proud to marry her now?

It was a point she had to concede. It did rather look that way; he had said nothing about marriage, yet he'd seemed so infuriated when she had refused him.

It was odd really, she mused, looking back on what appeared to be someone else's life. She could well see Carl Elton's point of view if she had walked out on him, and as he had said with such bitterness, with someone she hadn't known existed until he had shown himself that day.

She couldn't have loved Carl; it was the only answer. You didn't do that sort of thing to someone you loved. Somehow she must have realised it, and

taken the only way out by joining her uncle.

Teresa knew a great sadness. She ought not to have done that to him. No wonder he had been so bitter; under the circumstances he had every right to be. It also explained why he had accused her of pretending to lose her memory, for as he had said, it did give her a valid reason for forgetting his existence.

She sighed. Perhaps it was just as well she hadn't loved him, for she would have been greatly hurt by his assumption that she would have accepted the terms he had offered her, when marriage was out of the question.

As she lay waiting for sleep to come that night, Teresa's thoughts were anything but peaceful. She kept going over the amazing disclosures the evening had brought. She hadn't given her uncle any peace until she had heard the whole of it. How she had been brought to Australia by Carl Elton as his bride-to-be. How her uncle had learned by sheer chance who she was, and had claimed her as his niece.

Even allowing for his slightly biased account of the subsequent events, it did not alter the fact that the man she had walked out on had made no attempt to contact her until now. Although he had made a point of explaining that he had been away, she couldn't somehow see a man like that calmly accepting the situation.

Teresa bit her lower lip. She was forgetting the feud, wasn't she? and Carl Elton's pride. She nodded slowly to herself; he certainly had pride, it was in every fibre of his being, and it must have cost him a

lot to decide to forgive her, not only for walking out on him but for being a Rafferty!

He was a man used to having his own way, that much she knew, and it looked as if fate had dealt kindly with her by shielding her from whatever persuasive methods he would bring into force to gain her acquiescence.

THE following morning, Uncle Patrick lingered over his breakfast, and it occurred to Teresa that he had something on his mind.

It appeared that he had also done some thinking during the night, for after downing his second cup of coffee he said abruptly: 'You don't owe Elton anything, girl. Jist you remember that. I did as I said I'd do—gave back that land, like you wanted.' He stared at her under frowning brows. 'So you've paid your passage, like. As I said afore, that land's worth more than a dozen trips out, an' I ain't taken a penny piece for it, nor shall,' he added fiercely. 'From now on we pay our way.'

Teresa wondered whether he was trying to tell her that there was no need for her to see Carl Elton again, and was grateful for the fact that he didn't actually say so, for she would have hated to have gone against his wishes in-this, as she most certainly was going to see him again.

They were very busy that morning in the office, and although Teresa worked much as usual, she was very preoccupied with her thoughts. So much so that Michael, after watching her for a short while, asked, 'Everything okay, Teresa?'

At that precise moment Teresa had been thinking that a week could be a very long time, particularly when it concerned your future, or in her case her

past, and his question had to be thought about before she answered. She smiled brightly at him. 'Yes, thank you, Michael.'

However, he was not entirely convinced by this answer, and said solemnly, 'I think it's about time you had a change of routine. How about attending the local hop with me tomorrow?'

Teresa grinned at him; she would like that very much, she thought, and considering that Michael didn't care for social gatherings, she was well aware that he was making a concession in her case. 'Are you sure you want to go?' she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

He grinned back at her. 'I'm willing to risk it if you are.'

'Willing to risk what?' queried Mr Oates as he joined them.

'The local hop,' answered Michael. 'You know, Dad, where you used to go in your courting days.'

Teresa flushed and wondered how Mr Oates was going to take to the idea of his son courting her, which was what Michael had more or less implied.

Michael's father looked from his son's grinning countenance to Teresa's flushed one and raised his sandy-coloured brows, then grinned at them. 'In my day, it wasn't always certain we'd come out with the same young lady we went in with. You take good care of her, Mike,' he added, gravely now, to his son. 'There's a gang of shearers expected this weekend, and those boys can be rough.'

'On second thoughts,' murmured Michael, 'I'll take her out to Bathurst, and we'll do the thing in style—dinner and dance, how about that?' he asked Teresa.

Before she could answer Mr Oates said, 'Now that's a much better idea,' and turning to her said, 'You'll like that, Teresa.'

Having had her mind made up for her, all she had to do was nod her acceptance; there was no other course left open to her. Mr Oates then had no objection to Michael taking an interest in her, she thought as she watched him lumber back to his office.

Within a few minutes he was back again. 'Dang me! ' he exclaimed with a rueful grin, 'I forgot what I came in for. I've got Bill Stokes on the line, Mike, he wants a word with you on pig prices. I told him you were up at Comba last week.'

Teresa watched the two men walk back to Mr Oates' office with mixed feelings. She wasn't sure whether to be pleased or worried over Michael's sudden declared interest in her. She didn't feel ready yet to enter into the romantic stakes again. There were too many loose ends left to tie up, and she wanted to be absolutely sure that she wouldn't repeat what must have been a narrow escape with Carl Elton.

The phone on her desk rang then, and she answered it 'I'll pick you up straight from work this evening,' was the brusque message, and before Teresa could answer there came the familiar buzzing that told her the caller had rung off.

She replaced the receiver with hands that trembled slightly. She was in no doubt as to who had called. It appeared she wasn't the only one who thought a week was too long. Carl Elton thought so too, apparently.

Her fingers were still a little unsteady as she