Golden Hope (42 page)

‘We just had breakfast together,' Finch said carelessly. ‘He told me he'll be back in a few days.'

Clytie caught her breath.
Thank God. He's alive. My sighting of him was real.

She managed to ask the question. ‘So where is he now? He's matey enough with
you.
When is he going to show his face to
me
?'

‘I don't know the details. He said he needed to settle a few things. He asked me to look after you until his return.'

Clytie felt buffeted between relief and anger. She hoped her words sounded confident, concealing how vulnerable she felt.

‘I don't need any man to look after me. I've been managing all right on my own,' she snapped. ‘Look, I'll lay it on the line, Finch. Good manners are all very fine, but I don't trust you. I can smell a villain a mile off.'

‘You might well be right,' he said with a shrug. ‘I only know I haven't committed a crime since the day I woke up in hospital with amnesia. Look, Miss Hart, I understand your caution. But do you have to keep that gun trained on me? It's
loaded.
It could be useful to hunt a rabbit. I understand they're good tucker.'

‘They are – if you're hungry enough.'

Clytie gripped the rifle even harder, never taking her eyes from Finch's face. She tried to read his every expression as she had been taught when reading fortunes. ‘Tell me everything you know about Rom – every conversation you've had with him. But I warn you, Finch. Try and pull the wool over my eyes and I'll know if you're lying.'

‘That covers a fair bit of talk. Rom's been around me most of the time since I woke up in Jo'burg hospital. How about I make us a cup of tea while I answer your questions?'

Clytie nodded warily.

Finch carefully removed his hand from beneath the blanket and gestured to his body. ‘Please turn your back while I get up. All my clothes are on the line.'

‘Sorry, I still don't trust you.'

‘Wise girl,' he said. ‘Never trust any man who's desperate to get a woman into bed. We're all liars.'

With a slow, deliberate movement he pulled back the blanket to reveal his naked body – strong, browned by the sun except for the wedge across his loins which was pale. She was startled to see it was the body of a man ready for action.

‘I did warn you,' he said lightly.

She was determined not to flinch or blush. ‘Is that supposed to tempt me?'

‘Read it anyway you want. If you still don't trust me here's your golden opportunity. Tell the jury I tried to rape you.'

He shaped his hand into a gun and with a mocking smile pulled the trigger. ‘No jury would convict you of murder. Go on. Perhaps you'd be doing me a favour. I'm tired of being an empty shell of a man with no past – and no future.'

Clytie felt unnerved. ‘I couldn't shoot a kangaroo in cold blood.'

Against her better judgement Clytie averted her gaze but retained her grip on the rifle as Finch stepped outside to strip his clothes from the line and dress himself.

‘It's all right, Miss Hart, I'm decent now.'

She watched him deftly get the fire going, in the confident manner of a man to whom it was second nature. His body was strong, lithe, with muscular arms devoid of tattoos. But it was his hands that surprised her. They were strong, capable, yet the long fingers suggested the hands of an artist more than an artisan.

He began in a quiet, low tone, describing people, scenes. When quoting Rom's words she recognised traces of Rom's special brand of humour.

Despite the fact she had retained the balance of power in her grip on his rifle, Finch now appeared to be relaxed. His version of events sounded close to the truth. It was clear to her that he half admired Rom but was sometimes irritated by his mercurial changes of mood, his arrogance. That also rang true.

Although hungry for every detail, Clytie felt it was strange to see Rom revealed through a stranger's eyes.

So
unds to me as if he and Rom were pretty close. But why? They're like chalk and cheese.

‘Twice I was sure I'd seen Rom watching me – but he disappeared. What makes you so sure he will return?'

‘How can you doubt it after everything I've told you? Rom tricked me into coming here with him to Hoffnung. Why? Because of his concern for you. I don't have all the answers. I don't think Rom has either – but there's something important he has to resolve. I'm dead sure of one thing. He really cares about you, Clytie. You do believe that, don't you?'

She was uncomfortably aware of the intense blue of Finch's eyes as he waited for her answer. She could almost believe her response really mattered to him. Was his switch to the use of her first name simply a ploy to make her trust him?

‘I would like to believe you're right. Time will tell,' she faltered. ‘Rom never answered a most important letter of mine.'

Finch averted his eyes for a moment. ‘Rom never said what it contained, but I suspect your letter drove him to search for some way to come back to you before his year's service was up. A Boer sniper's bullet changed his plans.'

‘Was he badly hurt?'

‘There's a scar on his forehead. He's no coward – but something changed him. He didn't want to return to the Front.'

‘You mean he planned to desert?' Clytie was startled by the possibility.

Finch's gaze was steady. ‘I wouldn't call it that.'

‘I only wrote him the good news.' Her voice broke. ‘I never told him I lost the baby.'

‘He knows
now
.' Finch made a tentative move towards her but thought better of it when she instinctively drew back.

‘How did he find out?'

‘I honestly don't know. He showed me little Robert's grave. He was upset that the baby took your surname, not his.'

Her voice had a bitter edge. ‘That's the first answer of yours that has the ring of truth.
He's
upset? He didn't leave me any choice!'

‘Look, Clytie Hart, I made a promise to Rom and I'll stick by it. Until his return I promised to look out for you. I'll build up your wood pile, fix whatever needs repairing. If I know one thing about myself it's that I'm something of a bush carpenter. I won't intrude
on your life, but I'll check on you every day – to keep my promise to Rom.'

She gave a sharp laugh. ‘That's a turn up for the books. I'm usually the one who keeps promises. No offence, but I'd rather wait for Rom to keep
his
promise. Thanks all the same but I don't need any man's help.'

As she rose to leave Finch asked, ‘As a matter of interest, how did you know where to find me? This cabin's hidden from sight until you're almost on top of it.'

‘The Kelpie was Rom's shadow,' Clytie said, irritated to find herself sharing her memories with a stranger. ‘Rom and I used to meet here.'

‘I'm sorry. I feel like a real interloper. This place you shared with Rom must seem like holy ground.'

She was startled by his insight. Sensual images of Rom flashed before her eyes. Yet Finch's instinctive words made her even more guarded. Despite his respectful manner, his straight gaze and sensitive hands, there was something about Finch that she did not trust.

Shadow seemed to be sizing up the man as if reserving his judgement.

So I'm not the only one who's suspicious.

Finch began bundling up his few possessions. ‘Don't worry, Clytie. This place belongs to you and Rom. I won't stay here.'

‘Please yourself,' she said, shaken by his reading of her mind. ‘Nobody owns it. No need to move on my account. It sometimes rains cats and dogs here even in summer.'

On the point of leaving, she added casually, ‘You survived the Boers. I wouldn't want to cause any V.M.R. volunteer to die of pneumonia.'

With Shadow in the lead Clytie hurried away. Something drew her eyes back to the cabin.

Finch remained stock still watching her, the rifle clasped between his hands.

He's on guard – against what?

The old road that now led to the Golden Hope mine had once been a track flooded with diggers en route to a rumoured gold strike that later proved to be a bonanza for some. Like the diggings, the road was now deserted, the only sound being the crunch of Rom's boots.

Yet all around him was the sound he remembered as being peculiar to the Australian bush. That feathery, furry, high-pitched, deceptively distant yet close sound was like a faint orchestration of birds, wind, rustling of leaves, waterfalls and creeks – a mysterious meld that sang in the ears somewhat like the sound of cicadas.

Rom did not want to be here. Didn't want to face what was waiting for him at the end of the road. But he knew push had come to shove.

I used to be restless for new places, fresh adventures. Now nothing seems real. Yet somehow I have to put things right. My problem was women – I couldn't leave them alone. Clytie was the one girl who could tame me. But is it too late?

He looked up at the sky and fancied he saw her teasing face beckoning him between the clouds. The illusion was destroyed by a gust of wind.

I made you a promise, girl. I'll try my damnedest to keep it. But maybe not exactly in the way you hoped for.

The isolated houses he passed were the ‘money end' of town where families who hadn't been wiped out by the bank crash had managed to stay afloat. The most gaudy house was a double-storeyed, uneasy marriage between mock Tudor and the new Federation architectural style alive with Australian designs of flora and fauna.

Rom passed it with a derisive snort. The brass nameplate read: ‘Twyman Manor'. It was the place where Councillor Twyman's invalid wife had ‘fallen' down the stairs to her death.

Wealthiest of the wealthy was Boss Jantzen who was said to have wisely diversified his investments. Even if the Golden Hope folded tomorrow he would remain the richest man in Hoffnung – perhaps the only rich man.

Sonny Jantzen is heir to a fortune, so why should I waste my time worrying about Noni? If it really is my kid he'll be well taken care of.

Until now he had totally blocked out the memory of that day he had never had the courage to confess to anyone – the last day he had worked as landscape gardener for Miss Rhoda James. A decent, generous woman, she had praised him for his ideas and innovations and agreed to pay him on her return to Bitternbird in two days' time. The handsome sum was more money than he had earned in years.

She trusted me – and I let her down. That's the story of my life. ‘Cursed by a woman's tears' ought to be carved on my tombstone.

•  •  •

. . . The day had been hot and steamy and the setting sun was a ball of fire promising more of the same tomorrow. Rom enjoyed the freedom of being alone on the property in his employer's absence. Screened from the sight of distant neighbours, he stripped off his clothes and washed himself under the garden hose after his final day's work.

He surveyed with satisfaction the series of botanical ‘rooms' he had created. They ranged from Japanese to the exotic Australian native plants becoming fashionable as a foil for the new Federation style architecture.

Having been assigned a vacant servant's room and given the run of the house, Rom slung his shirt over his shoulder and padded barefoot into the kitchen to helped himself to the beer in the ice chest that Miss James thoughtfully provided for him at the end of each day. Then he carved some left-over cold roast lamb to make a sandwich.

Second beer in hand, he sank into the hammock on the veranda to watch the sunset, enjoying the illusion of being master of the house in her absence.

‘This is the life!' he told the budgerigar love birds in the bird cage.

The still night air was broken by the startling sound of sobbing. It came from inside the house. Yet he knew there was no one home. He was aware that Miss James, an ardent Spiritualist, held séances here. Was this some troubled spirit haunting the house?

‘Ghosts are just bullshit.' He dismissed the crazy thought as he pulled on his trousers and quietly went inside to investigate. The blinds were all drawn to cool the house. He traced the sound to an upstairs room. The door was ajar. He opened it into a bedroom decorated with an elegance he had only seen in pictures.

‘Jesus, what are
you
doing here?'

‘I could ask the same of you, Rom Delaney,' said Noni James.

Stripped of her usual arrogant manner, her words sounded more like those of a little girl lost. She lay in a four-poster bed covered by a fine linen sheet that did not disguise the fact she was naked beneath it. Her honey-blonde hair was strewn across the pillow and her eyes were luminous, brimming with tears.

‘I heard you crying. What's up?'

She sat up, masking her breasts with the sheet as she gave him a look that would melt a stone, forcing out disjointed phrases between her broken sobs.

‘I get it,' he said. ‘You want to marry Sonny, but he's baulking at the starting post.'

‘Oh, how common you are,' she chided, but the words were soft, child-like, drawing him to her side. ‘I'm sure he loves me, but he thinks it isn't fair for me to marry an invalid. I don't care. I just want to take care of him.'

And enjoy being the queen bee of Hoffnung.
The thought was cynical but Rom suspected it was dead on target.

Noni's heart was in her eyes. ‘I know you don't like me, Rom. But I'd do anything to please a man – if I just knew what a man wants.'

For once he felt himself floundering for the right words, but none were needed when she slipped from the bed and coiled herself around his body, hungrily kissing his mouth, his chest and thighs, kneeling at his feet to caress him urgently where he was most vulnerable.