To Be the Best (51 page)

Philip stared back at him. There was such an odd expression on the surgeon’s face, one he could not quite fathom…

Alan Stimpson said, ‘I’m sorry, so very, very sorry, Mr Amory. I did everything within my skill to save your wife…but I’m afraid she just died on the operating table. I’m so sorry.’

‘No,’ Philip said. ‘No.’

He reached for the chair he was standing behind, gripped it to steady himself. The knuckles of his tanned hands turned white. He swayed slightly. He was devastated. ‘
No
,’ he repeated.

Father Ryan rose, helped Daisy to her feet. Tears had sprung into her eyes and she clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the sob rising in her throat. She moved towards Philip, followed by Shane and Father Ryan.

Daisy’s heart was breaking for her son. She dare not contemplate the effect Maddy’s death would have on him. He had worshipped his wife. Life is not fair, Daisy thought, her eyes brimming. Maddy was too young to leave us.

Philip side-stepped his mother, Shane, and the concerned priest, shaking his head violently from side to side, as though denying the surgeon’s words. His blue eyes were stunned, uncomprehending. He got hold of Alan Stimpson’s arm. ‘Take me to my wife,’ he rasped.

Stimpson led him back to the small ante-room near the operating theatre where he left him alone with Maddy.

Once more Philip stood gazing down at her. How peaceful she looked in death. There was not a trace of pain or suffering on her face. He knelt beside the bed, took hold of her hand. It was icy. Irrationally, he tried to warm it.

‘Maddy! Maddy!’ he suddenly cried in a low voice raw
with agony. ‘Why did you have to die? I have nothing without you. Nothing at all…Oh Maddy, Maddy…’

He bent his head and his scalding tears fell on his fingers which were tightly holding hers. He stayed there with her for a long time until Shane came and led him away.

He took her back to Dunoon.

After a short private service at St Mary’s Roman Catholic Cathedral in Sydney he flew her body to the sheep station at Coonamble. He sat next to her coffin the entire way. Shane accompanied him.

His mother and Jason followed in Jason’s corporate jet, bringing with them Father Ryan and Barry Graves.

Once Philip’s plane had landed, he had her coffin driven up to the manor where it was placed in the long gallery amidst the portraits of his ancestors. It rested there overnight.

The following morning dawned bright and clear with a sky vividly blue and spotless, and in the brilliant, shimmering sunlight the gardens and grounds of Dunoon looked magnificent. But Philip saw nothing. He was numb with shock, doing the things he had to do automatically, by rote, and, for the most part, he was oblivious to those around him.

To carry her coffin on the last stage of its journey he chose as the pallbearers Shane, Jason, Barry, Tim, the station manager, and Matt and Joe, the grooms, who had become devoted to her in the brief time she had lived there.

At exactly ten o’clock on Saturday morning, the six men shouldered her coffin and carried it out of the manor. They followed Father Ryan down the winding path that cut through the spacious lawns and flower gardens and led to the little private cemetery beyond. It was in a sheltered glade surrounded by trees and enclosed by an old stone wall. Here Andrew McGill, the founding father, was buried along with his wife, Tessa, and all of the other Australian McGills who were descended from them, their graves marked by simple marble headstones.

Philip had chosen the plot next to Paul for his wife.

The first day he had ever set eyes on Madelana O’Shea she had been gazing at Paul’s portrait, had later said that she thought it was the great man himself suddenly sprung to life when she had seen
him
hovering in the doorway of the gallery. Maddy had often teasingly remarked that he looked like a riverboat gambler, just as his grandfather had, and she had been as fascinated by Paul McGill as she had been by Emma Harte.

And so he thought it appropriate, very fitting, that her final resting place was with his grandfather. In the most curious way, it was oddly comforting to him to know that they lay close together in this patch of earth.

The priest and Philip and the pallbearers finally came to a standstill by the open grave. It was in a corner of the cemetery, shaded by the lovely golden elms and lemon-scented eucalyptus trees she had come to love, just as she had come to love Dunoon and the glorious land upon which it stood, and which had so reminded her of her native Kentucky.

Daisy was waiting with Mrs Carr, the housekeeper, the household staff, and the other men and women who worked on the sheep station, their spouses and their children. Everyone was dressed in black, or wore black armbands on their most sombre clothes, and the women and children carried sprays of flowers or held single blooms in their hands. And as they stood with their heads bowed, listening to Father Ryan conduct the Roman Catholic burial service, they openly wept for Madelana, whom they had held in great affection, and who had lived with them at Dunoon for far too short a time.

Philip’s grief had turned inward.

It was frozen inside him, and he was dry eyed throughout the ceremony. He stood stiffly, his body rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. There was a grim moroseness about
him, and his vivid, cornflower eyes were hollow, empty, his handsome face thinner, wiped clean of all expression. He was a forbidding figure, and there was an aloofness about him that held everyone at bay.

When the final prayer for Maddy’s soul had been offered up by Father Ryan, and her coffin had been lowered into the earth, he accepted the whispered, heartfelt condolences of his employees, then strode swiftly back to the manor.

Shane and Daisy hurried after him. He spoke not at all until they were inside the house. Turning to them in the great hall, he muttered, ‘I can’t stay here. I’m going, Ma. I have to be by myself.’

Daisy looked up at her son. Her face was drawn, white, her eyes red from crying. She touched his arm gently. ‘Please don’t let it be like it was when your father was killed in the avalanche, Philip. You must get the pain out, you must grieve for your Maddy. Only then will you be able to function properly again, go on living.’

He looked at Daisy as if not seeing her. His eyes pierced right through her, focused on some distant image that was visible only to him. ‘I don’t want to live. Not without Maddy.’

‘Don’t say such a thing! You’re a young man!’ Daisy cried.

‘You don’t understand, Mother. I’ve lost everything.’

‘But there’s the baby, your daughter, Maddy’s daughter,’ Daisy said swiftly. She was wretched, heartsick, and her feelings were only too apparent on her troubled face.

Once more Philip stared right through his mother. He made no comment, swung around, crossed the entrance hall and left the manor without a backward glance.

Daisy watched him go, filled with the most enormous pain for her son. She began to weep quietly, turned to Shane. There was a dreadful helplessness about her. She did not know what to do.

Shane put his arm around her, led her into the drawing
room. ‘Philip will be all right,’ he assured her. ‘He’s in shock right now, not thinking straight.’

‘Yes, I know that, Shane, but I’m so afraid for him. So is Paula,’ Daisy said tearfully. ‘She told me so yesterday when she phoned from London. She said, “He mustn’t let his grief fester inside him like he did when Daddy died. If he does, he’ll never recover from Maddy’s death.” I know exactly what she means. And she’s right of course.’

Daisy sat down on the sofa, fished around in her bag for her handkerchief, wiped her eyes, blew her nose. She glanced at Shane standing by the fireplace, added pointedly, ‘Perhaps we made a terrible mistake, stopping Paula from flying out here.’

‘No, Daisy, we
didn’t!
It’s much too long a trip for her to make for only three or four days! Philip was the first one to say so. He was quite adamant that she stayed in England.’

‘She might have been able to help him. They’ve always been close, Shane, you
know
that.’

‘True, she might,’ Shane agreed, softening his tone. ‘On the other hand, I don’t think that even
her
presence would have diminished the shock, eased his suffering. It’s the terrible suddenness, the unexpectedness, that has so thrown him, quite aside from his awful pain. And that’s perfectly understandable, when you consider that less than a week ago Maddy was in blooming health, awaiting the birth of their child. Everything was wonderful for them, and they were so much in love. And then
wham!
Overnight she’s dead. He’s been hit between the eyes, he’s literally staggering from this tragedy, Daisy. But he
will
recoup. He has to…he’s no alternative. We just have to give him time.’

‘I don’t know,’ Daisy said doubtfully, ‘he worshipped Maddy.’

‘That he did,’ Jason said, striding into the drawing room, hurrying to be at Daisy’s side. ‘And he’ll suffer for a very long period. But Shane
is
correct, darlin’, Philip will recover.
Eventually.
Somehow we all do, don’t we?’

‘Yes,’ Daisy whispered, remembering David.

Jason seated himself next to her, placed an arm around her comfortingly. ‘Now, sweet’art,’ he went on, ‘try not to worry about him.’

‘I can’t help it.’ She looked at Shane. ‘Where do you think he’s gone?’

‘Most likely to Sydney…to be by himself. Like an animal in pain he wants to lick his wounds in private.’

Jason volunteered, ‘Philip has a huge conglomerate to run and he’s very conscientious, Daisy. You’ll see, he’ll be at the helm on Monday, as usual, and if I know him as well as I think I do, he’ll throw himself into business with a vengeance.’

‘And the work will be his salvation,’ Shane interjected quietly. ‘He’ll use it as an antidote to grief yet again, as he did when David was killed, and it’ll help him to keep going until the healing process starts.’

‘I hope he
will
come to grips with his sorrow, and that he’ll make some sort of life for himself in the future,’ Daisy said.

She looked from her husband to her son-in-law with a worried frown. ‘Philip can be so odd. He’s been an enigma to many people for years, including me at times.’ She sighed, and then unexpectedly her eyes filled again. ‘Poor Maddy, I loved that girl so very much. But then we all did, didn’t we? She was like a second daughter to me. Why did
she
have to die?’ Daisy shook her head, and before either man could comment, she continued softly, ‘But it’s always the good ones who go, isn’t it? It’s all so unfair…so
unfair.
Life’s cruel…’ Tears spilled from Daisy’s eyes, trickled down her cheeks.

Jason drew her into his arms. ‘Ah me darlin’, me darlin’,’ he murmured, wanting to soothe her, to calm her. He was at a loss, had no words. He knew only too well that words were cold comfort at a time like this.

After a moment or two, Daisy took hold of herself, sat up
straighter, blew her nose, patted her eyes. Her expression was one of sudden resolve, and she said in her bravest voice, ‘We must be as strong as we possibly can to help Philip pull through this tragedy.’

‘He knows we’re here for him,’ Shane said, giving Daisy his most cheerful smile, trying to be as reassuring as he could. ‘Take heart.’

‘Yes, yes, I will.’ She turned to face Jason. ‘Where is Father Ryan?’

‘He’s in the library with Tim and his wife, and some of the others. Mrs Carr is serving coffee and cake, and drinks for those who prefer something stronger.’

‘How rude of us! We should be there!’ Daisy announced, immediately rising. ‘We must stand in for Philip.’ She hurried out.

Jason followed on her heels with Shane in his wake.

Privately, Shane was desperately worried about Philip, despite his encouraging words to Daisy a moment before. He could not wait to leave Dunoon on Monday morning. He was impatient to get back to Sydney, wanted to be close to Philip, to keep a watchful eye on him.

No one ever knew where Philip had gone that weekend after he left Dunoon with such abruptness on the day of Maddy’s funeral.

When Shane had tried to reach him later that night at the Point Piper house, Mrs Ordens had said he was not there. Nor was he at the penthouse in the McGill Tower, according to José, the Filipino houseman.

Whether or not these two were lying on behalf of their employer, Shane could not quite determine; he did not even try very hard, knowing that if Philip wanted to hide behind the domestic help he would do so. He could be as stubborn as Paula. It was a family trait inherited from their grandmother, Emma Harte.

And then, on Monday morning, Philip had walked into his suite of offices in the McGill Tower as he always did at seven-thirty precisely, and called Maggie and Barry into his inner sanctum for their usual early morning confab.

There was an air of such cold containment about him, and he appeared to be so formidable in his iron-clad grief, that both Maggie and Barry were intimidated, dare not make a consoling gesture towards him, or venture any kind of personal comment.

As Jason had predicted, Philip threw himself into work, with a fury that defied description. As the days passed his hours grew longer and longer. He rarely went upstairs to the penthouse before nine or nine-thirty in the evening, where he ate a light supper prepared by the Filipino houseman. He then retired to his bedroom, rose the following morning at six, was back in his office at seven-thirty, never once deviating from this relentless schedule. He had no social life, no contact with any persons other than his employees. In fact, he shunned everyone who was not directly involved with him in business, including his mother and Shane, to whom he was the closest. They became increasingly troubled by his behaviour, but were helpless to do anything.

Barry Graves, who was with Philip most of the time during business hours, kept expecting him to make some sort of reference to Maddy, or to her death, or to the child, but he never did. And, to Barry, he appeared to become colder and more introverted as time passed. There was a sheathed anger in him that Barry knew would have to erupt in some form or another before very long.