Kitabı oku: «Australia: Outback Fantasies», sayfa 3

Like all inhabitants of the great island continent, in particular of remote Western Australia, he was used to vast open spaces, to incredible emptiness, but on his own admission something about Daramba spooked him. It was there, after all, that Gulla Nolan had mysteriously disappeared. The verdict after an intensive search at the time was that Gulla had been drunk and had slipped into one of the maze of waterholes, billabongs, lagoons and swamps that criss-crossed the station. Everyone knew Gulla had had a great liking for the booze. Gulla Nolan had been the famous tracker Sir Theodore Macallan and her own grandfather had taken along with them on their expeditions. Gulla had been with them when they had discovered Mount Gloriana.

To this day no one knew Gulla’s fate—although it was Sir Theo who had set up a trust fund which had grown very substantially over the years, for Gulla and his descendants. One of them was a well-known political activist—a university graduate, educated through the Gulla Nolan Trust and—ironically—a sworn enemy of the Forsyths. It was quite possible, then, that her uncle would sell Daramba, if not the whole chain.

CHAPTER TWO

THE funeral of Sir Francis Forsyth was unique in one respect. No one cried. Though it should be said there was no easy way to shed a tear for a man more often described as ‘a ruthless bastard’ than a jewel in the giant State of Western Australia’s crown. Nevertheless, the Anglican Cathedral St George’s—Victorian Gothic Revival in style, and relatively modest compared to the huge Catholic Cathedral, St Mary’s, built on the site that had actually been set aside by the Founding Fathers for St George’s—was packed by ‘mourners’. This covered anyone who was anyone in the public eye: a federal senator, representative of the Prime Minister, the State Premier, the State Governor, who had once privately called Sir Francis ‘an appalling old villain’, various dignitaries, representatives of the pastoral, business and the legal world. All seated behind the Forsyth family on the right, the Macallan family to the left.

The truly ironic thing was that Sir Theodore Macallan, co-founder with Sir Francis of Titan, had been universally loved and admired. But then, Sir Theo had been a great man, with that much-to-be-desired accolade of being a true gentleman bestowed on him. That meant a gentleman at heart as well as in the graciousness of his manner. It had helped that he had been a huge benefactor to the state as well. Sir Frank, on the other hand, had always kept his philanthropy in line with tax avoidance schemes—all legal, naturally. He had long been known to proclaim he paid his taxes along with everyone else, of course. One didn’t get to be a billionaire and not have an army of lawyers whose whole lives were devoted to protecting the Forsyth business empire against all comers—including the government.

The Forsyth heiress, Carina, looked wonderful, they all agreed. Everyone craned their heads for a look, even though footage of the celebrity funeral would appear on national television.

The whole funeral scene had been revolutionised over recent years: the style of eulogies, the music that would never have been allowed in the old days, the kind of people given the opportunity to speak, even the things they got away with saying. The entire ritual had been rewritten. And today most of the mourners, some of whom had expressed behind-the-scenes opinions that the world was a better place without the deceased, had dressed up as much as they would have if they’d been going to a huge social function like the Melbourne Cup. There was even the odd whiff of excitement in the air. Many, on meeting up with old friends, had to concentrate hard on not breaking into laughter, though some light laughter would be allowed during the eulogies.

Carina Forsyth attracted the most attention. She always wore the most glamorous clothes and jewels—even to her grandfather’s funeral. Everyone looked at the size of her South Sea pearls, a steal at $100,000 a strand! The state had always been famous for its pearling industry. No one was about to bring up a fairly recent scandal when a society wife—present on this sad day—had accused the heiress of having an affair with her businessman husband and labelled her ‘a tramp.’ Well, not today anyway. Not before, during or after the service. Possibly over drinks that evening.

The ‘spare’ Forsyth heiress, as Francesca had long been dubbed by the press, by comparison was very plainly attired. A simple black suit, modest jewellery, no big glamorous hat, and her long hair arranged in a low coil at her nape, held with a stylised black grosgrain ribbon. She even wore sunglasses in church—a sure sign she wanted to hide. Not that the ‘spare’ needed to hide. Francesca Forsyth had already established herself in the general community’s good books. As a Forsyth, like her cousin, it wouldn’t have been necessary for her ever to lift a finger, but Francesca was creating a real niche for herself in public-spirited good works—like the aunt who had reared her, the much admired Elizabeth Forsyth, who—oddly—was seated with the Macallans. Then again, everyone knew about the split in the Forsyth family ranks.

While Carina was feted, and treated with a near sickening degree of deference—at least to her face—her cousin was winning for herself a considerable degree of affection and admiration of which she was unaware.

What everyone needed to know now was this: what were the contents of Sir Francis Forsyth’s will? It was taken for granted that his only son Charles Forsyth would be the main beneficiary, though Charles had always been judged by the business community as ‘dead wood’. There were all sorts of interlocking trusts in place to provide income for various members of the extended family, but the bulk of the Forsyth fortune would pass by tradition to his eldest son—Sir Francis’s younger son, Lionel, with whom he had fallen out anyway, being deceased.

The entire business world could clearly see Charles Forsyth’s clear and present danger. He was sitting in the front pew on the left.

Tall, stunningly handsome, powerfully lean and sombre of expression, Bryn sat between his aristocratic grandmother, Lady Antonia Macallan, and his beautiful mother, Annette Macallan, who had never remarried despite the many offers that had followed in the wake of the tragic death of her husband. Bryn Macallan was firmly entrenched as a power player. It was said he had handled without effort everything the late Sir Francis had thrown at him—and Sir Francis had done a lot of throwing. Considered one of the biggest catches in the country, he was not yet married. Everyone in the state knew Sir Francis had worked for an alliance—a business merger—between Macallan and his granddaughter Carina, but so far nothing had eventuated. It was generally held that it was only a question of when.

The mining giant Titan was too big to be owned by any one family—indeed, any one person—but Macallan, through his family history, his prodigious intellect and business acumen, looked very much as if he could at some stage become the man in control. Surely that was reason enough for him and Carina Forsyth to finally tie the knot? Both of them had ‘star quality’.

Hundreds of people flocked back to the Forsyth mansion, a geometric modern-day fortress, wandering all over the huge reception rooms and the library as if it was open house and the property would soon be up for auction. Very few of them had ever been invited inside, so most faces were stamped with expressions of wonderment, amazement and occasionally dismay—but huge curiosity none the less.

Although the day was quite hot, Charles Forsyth stood in front of a gigantic stone fireplace—one might wonder from whence it had been acquired … from one of the Medici clan, probably—looking chilled to the bone. The aperture, filled on that day with a stupendous arrangement of white lilies and fanning greenery, was so vast a fully grown man could have been roasted standing up.

‘Buck up, Dad, for God’s sake!’ Carina uttered a wrathful warning into her father’s ear. Though she loved her father, sometimes his manner simply enraged her. She quite understood how it had enraged her grandfather.

‘The devil with that!’ her father replied. ‘I’ve seen the will.’

‘So?’ Carina drew back, as if a particularly virulent wasp, hidden away in the lilies, had chosen that moment to sting her. ‘It’s what we expected, isn’t it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Charles Forsyth admitted, his face abruptly turning red.

Carina turned her back to the huge crowded living room, squarely facing her father. Her eyes had turned a chilling iceberg blue. ‘So when were you going to tell me?’

Her tone was so trenchant, so much like his father’s, that for a moment Charles Forsyth looked terrified. ‘You’ll know soon enough. I wish you weren’t so much like him, Carrie. It frightens me sometimes. You’re right. I should buck up and circulate. Most of them have only come to goggle and giggle anyway. This place is in appalling taste. Forget any notion Dad was revered, or even liked. Even the Archbishop was hard-pressed to come up with the odd kind word. My father has the rankest outside chance of getting into heaven.’

Carina gritted her perfect white teeth. ‘Get a grip, Dad! There is no heaven.’

He laughed sadly. ‘You may be right. But there is, God help us, a hell. There’s no glory in inheriting a great fortune, Carina. Whatever you believe. You’ve no idea of normal life because you’ve been so pampered. Nothing has been expected of you except to look glamorous. The job of stepping into your grandfather’s shoes is bigger than you and I can possibly imagine. I’ll be the first to admit I don’t have the intellect. And I’m far from tough. Everyone knows my bark is worse than my bite. We need someone as tough as he was, even when he was slowing down. He knew it himself. He was coming to rely more and more on Macallan’s judgment, and the good will that goes with the Macallan name. Sir Theo wasn’t a scoundrel.’

It took all of Carina’s self-control not to lash out in anger. She had adored her grandfather. She adored strength and ruthlessness in a man. They were assets, not mortal sins. ‘I’m not going to listen to this!’ she said, her eyes turning hard and cold as stones. ‘Gramps was a great man.’

‘That’s your view, certainly,’ her father answered wearily. ‘But you won’t find many to agree with you.’ For a minute Charles Forsyth was almost tempted to tell his daughter just a few of her grandfather’s venial sins, even if he left out the mortal ones. But what purpose would that serve? ‘We owe our great success in the main to Sir Theo,’ he told his daughter patiently. ‘We owe him many times over. What we need now is a fighter! You must be aware Orion is awaiting its opportunity to move in on us? I’m not a fighter. I’m a coward. Your mother told me that at the end, before the divorce. I have no guts. She was right. She was always right.’

‘Leave Mum out of this,’ Carina said furiously. ‘She betrayed us both when she left you. See the way she was sitting with the Macallans? Hiding behind that black veil? She hated Gramps.’

‘And she despised me while she was at it,’ Charles Forsyth said sadly. ‘I don’t blame her. Every time Dad bawled me out I crumpled like a soggy sponge. I spent a lifetime being despised by my father. I was so in awe of him, so desperate to please him, I never got a chance to develop my own character. Can I help it if with his passing it seems like an intolerable burden has been lifted from my shoulders—?’ He broke off, as if exhausted. ‘The best thing you can possibly do, Carrie, for yourself and for the rest of us is get Macallan to marry you. That would solve all our problems. He’s a man who could handle the Forsyth Foundation as well. But Macallan doesn’t seem to be in any rush to ask you.’

That touched an agonisingly raw nerve. ‘Keep out of it, Dad,’ Carina warned, staring at her father with something approaching ferocity. ‘I’ll handle this in my own way.’

‘No doubt!’ Charles shot a troubled glance across the room, to where Bryn Macallan was standing in quiet conversation with his niece, Francesca. Macallan’s height and his superb athletic build made Francesca, who was tall for a woman, look as fragile as a lily on a stalk. Beautiful girl, Francesca. Totally different style from his daughter. Far more elegant, he suddenly realised. And so much more to her. Already at twenty-three she was making quite a name for herself as an artist. Not that any of that mattered any more …

Carina’s gaze had followed her father’s, because she always followed Bryn and Francey’s whereabouts. ‘Just like Gramps didn’t tell you everything, neither do I. Sometimes it’s best not to know. Francey’s no threat, if that thought has ever crossed your mind. It’s me Bryn wants, but he needs to bring me to heel. I rather like that.’ She gave her father a vixen’s smile. It was more chilling than her glare.

For some years now it had been Charles Forsyth’s worst nightmare that his daughter would morph into his father. It was happening right in front of his eyes.

‘There is a bond between them, you know.’ Unwisely he found himself pointing it out. ‘Bryn did save Francey’s life all those years ago.’

Carina’s eyes flashed blue lightning. ‘Bryn—always the hero! Dear little Francey had taken Mum over even then.’

Charles Forsyth was shocked by her tone. ‘Nothing deliberate, Carrie. Francesca was such a lovely child.’

‘And I wasn’t?’ Carina asked fiercely, her creamy flushed cheeks only heightening her knock-out beauty.

‘Of course you were. You were perfect. You are perfect,’ her father lied desperately. Often as a child Carina had been truly horrible. Once she had even ransacked her mother’s study. Horrible! ‘Poor little Francey was an orphan,’ he said, in an effort to win his niece some sympathy. ‘She was in desperate need of tender loving care, which your mother gave her. You were never neglected, Carrie. Not for one moment. Why do you blame your cousin so? She was the innocent victim.’

‘Actually, I was the victim,’ Carina said, never more serious in her life. ‘Though you and Mum never noticed. Francey was no innocent. She might have started out that way, but as time went on she and Mum were always in league in a conspiracy against me.’

Charles Forsyth was torn two ways. Between love for his daughter and a growing fear that he didn’t really know or possibly even like her. ‘That’s not right, Carrie! You should speak to someone about this. What you have is a phobia, and it seems to be growing worse.’

Carina laughed. ‘Sorry, Dad, but I’m spot-on. Mum lived for Francey. Think of it! My own mother loves my cousin far more than she loves me, her only child.’

‘Maybe you wouldn’t let her love you?’ her father countered.

‘How could I, when she was always turning to Francey?’ Carina answered, as though the explanation was obvious. She put up a hand to pat her father’s cheek. Oddly, it caused him to jump as if she had administered an electric shock. ‘Look, Dad, I love Francey. I admire her essential goodness. We’re not only first cousins, we’re the closest of friends. She often comes to me for advice, and I’m delighted to give it. I can’t help it if occasionally I have a little growl about Mum’s affection for her. I’m no saint.’

No, you’re not, God help us! Charles Forsyth felt a blindingly sharp pain in his right temple. Lord knew what might happen if Macallan suddenly switched his attentions from Carina to Francesca. With all he now knew, it could happen. There were all sorts of surprises in life. A huge one was about to hit them like a tidal wave. And there would be hell to pay if ever Carina’s plans were thwarted. Carina had a formidable array of weapons—not the least of them his father’s legendary ruthlessness. He wouldn’t want to be in the shoes of any woman who tried to oust Carina in Macallan’s affections.

Now more than ever early retirement seemed a welcome option for Charles Forsyth. He was ready to quit the stage. He hadn’t really needed to be shoved.

The reading of the will was set for an hour after the last mourner had left. Francesca thought she might faint away from distress and fatigue by then.

‘Are you okay?’ Bryn found her sitting quietly in a corner, partially obscured by a tall and luxuriant indoor palm. He drew up a chair beside her.

‘Sort of,’ she said, enormously grateful for his company. ‘Death is very sobering, isn’t it? What I profoundly regret is the fact I wasn’t able to make a real connection with Grandfather and now I never will. But Carina was his great favourite, after all.’

‘She was so like him,’ Bryn offered by way of explanation.

Francesca smiled faintly. ‘Yes. I always understood it was my job to keep quiet and out of the way. Lord knows how I would have turned out if not for Elizabeth and the innumerable kindnesses shown to me by your family. In a way—’ she looked about them at the daunting opulence of the room ‘—I still feel like I’m in enemy territory in this great terrible house.’

‘It is a bit of a monstrosity,’ Bryn quietly agreed. He’d thought that the first time he had walked into the mansion all those years ago.

‘I used to hope and pray Carrie and I might become inseparable,’ Francesca confided poignantly. ‘The two Forsyth girls.’

‘It never happened.’ A simple statement of fact.

‘No. Our relationship, nevertheless, is close and binding. But somehow, underneath it all, I felt unsettled and confused. I’m much happier now living my own life, standing on my own two feet, looking to the future.’

‘The future is what matters, Francey,’ he told her, continuing to watch her closely. She was very pale, and far more genuinely upset than Carina. ‘You have to let everything else—the bad things—recede into the past. Something inside tells me you’re fated to be a powerful force for good.’

His comment made her heart topple. ‘Oh, Bryn!’ She waved an agitated hand, as if dismissing the very idea.

‘No, I mean it,’ he said. ‘You have a light around you, Francey. You did from your childhood. That light drew me to you.’

She was starting to feel really dizzy. ‘You mean the day I nearly drowned?’ What was going on inside his head? His heart? She couldn’t be mistaken. There was a lot of feeling somewhere there.

‘Then, and now,’ he said.

She gave an involuntary shiver as memories crowded in. ‘I often revisit that day in my dreams. The sense of danger is still with me.’

‘Danger?’ His black brows drew together in a frown. ‘You’ve never spoken of it before.’

‘So much I haven’t put into words.’ She sighed, feeling the weight of her suspicions. Carina, her own flesh and blood, a threat to her? Nothing good could possibly come out of saying that to Bryn. She knew better than anyone the relationship between Carina and him was too close. Her subconscious might grapple with her clouded memories, but she had to keep them under lock and key. Who would believe her anyway? She had often heard Carina describe her as ‘nerve-ridden’, all the while managing to sound deeply concerned. One thing was certain: exposing Carina could only bring heartbreak.

And trouble.

There was always that nagging thought. Crossing people like Carina, who thought what she wanted should be the law of the land, could develop into a life-threatening matter.

‘No point in keeping it locked up inside you.’ Bryn’s frown darkened his handsome face. ‘Better to speak to someone you trust about these things. I’ve told you I’m always ready to listen.’

‘And I appreciate that, Bryn.’ She made no attempt to conceal it. ‘Life can be a lot tougher when you’re rich.’ She gave a little laugh, but the sound was very tense. She didn’t want to be around for the will reading. She wanted to be well away.

Bryn briefly touched her hand, giving her his beautiful magnetic smile. ‘Isn’t that the truth? Look, you sit here quietly. I have to have a word with Frank’s elder sister and her husband. But I’ll be back.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ she said, realising her head was lolling slightly forward. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll be back,’ he repeated, looking every inch the hero.

Hang in there, Francey, she urged herself as Bryn walked away to join the Forsyths. Everything passes.

A moment later, Carina zoomed across the room to chide her. ‘Don’t droop, Francey. We have a duty to support one another.’ Her eyes flicked over Francesca’s slender figure. ‘And couldn’t you have done better than that suit? It’s okay, I guess, but you try much too hard to pretend you don’t have money when the whole damned country knows you have.’

‘Perhaps you’re right. Anyway, you look a billion dollars.’

‘That’s my job. Gramps took such pleasure in how I looked. It’s no easy task to look this good every day—especially when one has to attend the funeral of the person who loved me most in this world.’

Francesca realised that just might be true. ‘I’m sorry, Carrie,’ she murmured. ‘Truly sorry. Grandfather did love you. He adored you.’

‘And he would have loved you too, only there was always something difficult about you, Francey. You didn’t fit in, and you never gave Gramps the reverence he deserved. He was a great man, yet that seemed to mean nothing to you.’

It took an effort, but Francesca had to deny the charge. ‘That’s not true. I gave Grandfather all the respect in the world. I couldn’t rise to reverence. I associate reverence with saintly people—fallen war heroes, great humanitarians and the like. And, let’s face it, I didn’t have your wonderful self-assurance and I didn’t have the Forsyth blonde, blue-eyed good-looks.’

‘No, you missed out there. But you’re attractive enough,’ Carina told her, quite objectively. ‘The pity of it is you don’t do much for yourself.’

‘Well, I intend to make a start,’ Francesca said, making a visible effort to straighten her shoulders. ‘Maybe tomorrow. I apologise if I’m looking a bit fraught. I haven’t had much sleep.’

‘And I have?’ Carina cast her large blue eyes towards the ceiling. ‘You do have dark circles under your eyes. No wonder you were hiding behind those sunglasses. Perhaps I should give you a good shake?’ She glanced at Francesca sidelong. ‘Remember how I used to shake you awake when we were kids? You used to keep me awake with your night terrors. Mum had fixed you up with a nightlight too. Sconces were left burning along the corridor, and if that weren’t enough, I was in the next room. No one seemed to care much if I didn’t like all that light shining in on me.’

‘Poor, poor Carina. I do remember.’ Francesca reached out a hand for the high back of a chair that really should have been in a museum to steady herself.

‘You were always having such terrible dreams. What were they about? Nightmares about drowning?’

Why did Carina always bring that subject up? Was she constantly checking to see if Francesca’s memory of the near tragedy remained dim?

‘They were the worst.’ Francesca gave a shudder. Pitching or being pushed headlong into the dark green lagoon. Even when she woke up she had felt bruised.

‘Needless to say Mum always had to get up to comfort you. You weren’t happy with little me. Mum had to come to pet you and soothe you back to sleep. Pathetic, really. Sometimes I used to think Mum loved you more than me.’ She smiled into Francesca’s eyes as if asking a question: what sort of mother would do that?

‘Have a heart.’ Francesca shook her aching head. ‘I was only a little lost kid, Carrie. Your mother was just looking out for me.’

‘Something she’s doing to this day.’ Carina only just succeeded in covering her intense resentment. ‘Dad and I were terribly upset she sat with the Macallans. We could see that as a betrayal.’

‘Perhaps Elizabeth wasn’t prepared to be hypocritical?’ Francesca suggested, loyal to the woman who had reared her from the age of five. ‘She didn’t have a good relationship with our grandfather, did she? His fault, not hers.’

‘Hey, hey—be fair now!’ Carina was looking more taken aback by the minute. ‘I suppose it was Dad’s fault she couldn’t get far enough away from him?’ she asked heatedly.

Francesca could see Carina was as upset in her way as she was in hers. ‘Look, don’t upset yourself, Carrie. It’s just that your mother didn’t believe it possible to remain locked in a marriage that wasn’t working.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’ Carina’s matt cheeks were hot with blood. ‘You have no insight into relationships. God, you haven’t even had a real one, have you? You can’t count Greg Norbett … or Harry Osbourne,’ she added contemptuously.

‘Certainly not after you made a play for him.’ Francesca surprised herself by making the charge. ‘Why did you do that? You weren’t interested in Harry.’

Carina backed off a notch, touching Francesca’s cheek very gently. ‘I only did it to make you see what he really was. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I’ve never wanted to see you suffer, Francey. You’re still my little lost cousin. I have to look out for you. Harry Osbourne was no good for you.’

‘Harry was okay,’ Francesca said. ‘He was never as close to me as you thought. We weren’t lovers. Nothing like that.’

Carina made no effort to conceal her amusement. ‘Gosh, are you still a little virgin? I bet you are!’ She trilled with laughter that caused heads to turn.

‘Maybe, as a Forsyth, I don’t fancy the idea of my affairs getting around.’

That appeared to hit the bullseye. ‘What does that mean?’

Francesca shrugged. ‘Nothing, really.’ What sense was there in baiting Carina? ‘Sadly, not all married couples live happily ever after.’

‘Well, I plan to.’ Carina stared fiercely at her cousin, like a fencing opponent determined on slicing her through. ‘I love Bryn. I’ve always loved him. I was meant to have him and I’m going to make certain I do. So don’t ever be fool enough to get in my way, cousin.’

Threat came off Carina in waves.

Francesca was all too familiar with the look. Just so had their grandfather looked when he was laying down the law. ‘When have I ever done that, Carrie?’ she asked quietly. ‘We could have been good friends if you’d only given me a chance.’

‘Given you a chance?’ Carina couldn’t have looked more taken aback. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. To my mind we’re the best and closest of friends.’

‘Surely it’s time to face the truth? We’re not, Carrie. We might as well stop the pretence.’

Carina was holding her hands so tightly together she might be fearing she would lash out. ‘I don’t believe this. And on this day of days!’

‘Maybe that’s the reason. It’s the end of an era; the end of the old life. I wanted to belong. I wanted us to be more like sisters than cousins. But sadly we were never that.’

Carina’s anger suddenly disappeared like a puff of smoke. ‘I hate to hear you talk like this, Francey,’ she said. ‘It makes me feel quite wounded. You obviously have no memory of all the fondness I showed you. What you’re saying sounds quite neurotic. I can’t help knowing all these years that you’ve been sick with envy. Don’t worry. I forgive you. It’s natural enough. But I’ve always tried to be there for you. I’ve always tried to protect you from unpleasantness. I shielded you from Gramps. You made him angry, always looking at him with those big tragic eyes. Anyone would think you were accusing him of something.’

Francesca shook her head. ‘Nonsense!’

‘Not nonsense at all. If I were you, I’d count myself lucky.’

‘A lot of the time I do,’ Francesca freely admitted. ‘Look, Bryn’s coming over.’

‘He’s coming to me!’ Carina pointed out very sharply, her possessive blue eyes following his progress. ‘I dearly need his support.’

‘Of course you do.’

The life force that was in Bryn Macallan made him fairly blaze. Both young women felt it. Both were electrified by it.

Francesca made her escape as swiftly as she could. She mightn’t know the whole truth of Bryn’s relationship with her cousin, but she knew enough not to interfere.

If only … If only …

She made the mistake of glancing back, and any tiny hope she might have nourished withered and died. Bryn held an anguished-looking Carrie against his breast, his raven head bent over hers, a shining blonde against the funereal black of his jacket.

Who said unrequited love wasn’t hell?