Home to Eden (10 page)

Drake's wide shoulders slumped a little. “My uncle could have been disabled in some way. Both of them taken unawares.”

“Or maybe they knew the person. Judged him harmless.”

“This person who couldn't control murderous impulses?” Drake asked in a taut, incredulous voice.

“People do things they believed they never could. We read it in the papers. See it on television. All it takes is a single moment of unpremeditated, ungovernable rage. Which brings us to Heath. The culprit had to be Heath. He had the motive. A crime of passion.”

“Maybe he'll tell us on his deathbed,” Drake said in a splintered voice.

“Which can't be far off.” She moved restlessly, rising to her feet. “Show me the house, Drake. I can
remember playing here. Your parents didn't blame me for my mother's actions.” Or had Drake's mother and father believed it possible she could have been David's child? That would have accounted for their softening attitude toward her. They never did forgive Corrinne.

“How could they, Nicole? You were the innocent victim.”

She nodded. “Yes, but the family secrets! So many that are not to be spoken about, just lived with,” she lamented.

“Well, I, for one, want to compensate for lost time. Only a week ago I never imagined you'd be here with me. Now the unimaginable.” For a long moment they traded looks, intense and searching, both aware of their growing intimacy as they let down their guard. They had bonded so well as children, and now they were brushed by very real adult desire.

It seemed to Drake her fragrance was all around him, so intoxicating it made him feel reckless. Her masses of curls were a rosy cloud around her face, tiny tendrils damp in the heat around her forehead. How easy it was for a woman like her to bewitch a man. He was filled with a mad impulse to wrap skeins of her hair around his hands. He stared at her lovely mouth, the upper lip so finely cut, the lower as full and ripe as a peach. Passion was a whirlpool that caught a man before it sucked him under. It had happened to David. Yet staring into her beautiful questioning eyes that seemed to mirror his own recklessness, he realized he wanted her with a fierceness that startled and even appalled him. Despite all his talk about making up for lost time, his uncle's tragic past
was never distant. David had gone down into the vortex, never to fully return.

“Don't look at me that way,” she said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“How is that?”

“A little bit of everything. Attraction. Rejection.”

“Rejection, no. I'm just giving us a chance to get our bearings.”

“Is that so?” She raised an eyebrow. “How perfectly you, Drake. You always like to be in control.”

“Agreed.” There was a glint of wry humor in his eyes. “Let's see the house, then.”

“I have memories of your father's study,” she said as they moved out of the garden room.

“My study now.”

“Have you kept all the trophies? Those wonderful paintings of horses, the huge mahogany partners desk?”

“I have. I've hardly changed a thing.”

“And the smoking room with all the artifacts and curios? The fascinating things your family gathered. I especially loved the huge Indian paintings on cotton.”

“They're still there. Most of the guns have gone, except the antiques which are under lock and key. No smoking allowed anymore. Callista has done quite a bit to the main rooms of the house. It keeps her happy shifting things round, constantly refurbishing.”

“That happens with people who love houses,” she murmured. “Why do we love houses so much?”

“Because they're our castles. We want to keep them intact for our children.”

They moved into the formal drawing room with its series of double-hung windows and four sets of French
doors, allowing light to flood in. Whatever Callista's failings, she had mastered the art of decorating, Nicole thought. Hanging above the fireplace was a magnificent painting, a landscape-skyscape she'd never seen before.

“That's amazing!” She was irresistibly drawn to it.

“I bought it in Melbourne. It spoke to me across two rooms. A new artist, Nick Osbourne.”

“He'll be going places.” With her trained eye she was impressed.

“He already is. His prices have jumped accordingly. There's a lovely portrait of a young woman in the dining room, I'd like you to see. I found it on one of my trips. It keeps my male guests at the table.”

“I can't wait to see it.”

As they entered the spacious dining room, which had in the old days hosted many a party, Drake switched on the overhead chandelier for additional light. A huge antique mirror over the long sideboard reflected the painting on the opposite wall. “Why, she's a redhead.” Nicole spun around, thoroughly intrigued. It was an oil-on-canvas portrait of a beautiful young woman in a satin evening gown that showed off her lustrous skin and the upper curves of her breasts. She was half sitting, half reclining on a deep wingback chair upholstered in a rich ruby silk brocade, slender arms extended, one lovely hand adorned with a huge diamond-set emerald.

“That's another Blanche,” she said, referring to the turn-of-the-century French artist.

“It is. He certainly knew how to paint women.”

“She looks a little bit like me.” Nicole moved in for a closer inspection.

“She's a lot like you,” he answered dryly. “I wasn't immune to the fact when I bought it.”

“Surely it's not why you bought the painting. That's unreal.”

“You're a bit unreal yourself.”

“I'll take that as a compliment, Drake. Callista can't like the painting much.”

“Well, I love it. Wherever you go, her eyes follow you, and look at those beautiful hands.”

“Hands are very difficult to paint. She's a sexy little wench. I'm awfully flattered, but surely I'm not that seductive-looking?”

He glanced at her. “You have your moments.”

“I don't see myself that way,” she said, faintly surprised by his words.

“I know you don't. That's what makes the appeal more potent.”

“Well I've no wish to be a femme fatale,” she said tightly, and turned away.

“I guess you have no say in the matter.”

 

T
HE LIBRARY
like Eden's library, was a grand room at the heart of the homestead. Nicole knew the magnificently carved bookcases that rose almost to the high ceiling were the work of the gifted cabinetmaker George Wingate. Wingate had been transported to Botany Bay as a convict for what today would be a misdemeanor. Once there, however, his career didn't suffer. He found plenty of work in the homesteads of the rich “squattocracy.” As well as the huge collection of beautifully bound books in all their jewel colors, the shelves held curios and dozens of small sculptures of horses. The McClellands, like the Cavanaghs
and other Outback dynasties, had always been horse crazy.

In Drake's study she discovered he'd added another large painting of a splendid palomino, its coat a rich dark gold, its flowing mane and tail platinum white.

“I love this!” She gazed into the large liquid-brown eye the palomino presented in profile.

“You wouldn't be an Outback woman if you didn't,” he said.

“Such beautiful creatures! Remember our journeys on horseback over desert sand, tangled scrub and all those rocky creek beds? When Joel rode along, he did a lot of complaining—I never did know why. I've missed a fast gallop, I can tell you.”

“I bet.” He smiled. “You're a natural in the saddle. Straight from the crib onto a pony's back. Sir Giles saw to that. You never had the least fear.”

“You're right. I must have started before I knew fear. I had so much faith in Granddad. He would never have allowed anything to hurt me. Besides, horses have always known what I'm saying to them.”

“It's a gift.”

She moved to a wall covered in photographs that chronicled moments in McClelland family life. Friends, too, and the many celebrities who'd visited the station over the years. There were numerous photographs of Drake, an unqualified photographer's dream especially when he smiled—as a boy, as a young man, action shots playing polo, others beside the twin-engine Beech Baron, many shots with his father. Invariably his father's arm was slung proudly around his shoulders. There were other shots of Drake's father with various VIPs, photographs of ex
tended family at celebrations; the young Callista in evening dress looking not unlike the elfin actress Winona Ryder. She was smiling brilliantly, a study in happiness and excitement. Sitting on a couch beside her was her brother, David, young and remarkably handsome in black tie. There were more photos of David farther up the wall. Full of life, smiling. It was difficult to look at them without feeling a great sadness for the loss of life, the loss of a future.

“It must be hard looking at these,” she said, a knot in her throat.

“They came down for a long while,” he answered quietly. “Callista especially couldn't bear to look at them. Now I think she's desperate to find his image anywhere.”

An idol to be worshiped! “Poor Callista!” Nicole, a woman of sensibility, recognized the extremes of love. “The loss of love embittered her.”

Drake stared at the photograph fixedly. “That happens to a lot of people.”

“Hopefully not beyond repair.”

“They were great pals, you know. You see her there. What was she? Twenty? So happy, dazzling in her unusual way. Princess for the night. Joy is written all over her. They were at a ball.”

“This must have been before David succumbed to my mother.”

“And Callista lost her role. The world was her oyster before Corrinne came on the scene. David shifted his attention entirely to Corrinne. That must have hurt Cally. She's always been extravagant with her joys and her sorrows.”

“Do you suppose she could have gone off the deep
end?” Nicole looked away from the photograph and met his eyes.

“We can all go off the deep end, given the right circumstances. What are you saying, Nic?” A vertical line appeared between his black eyebrows.

“The unacceptable, apparently.” Nevertheless, Nicole forged on. “Maybe it was an abortive attempt to break up the lovers—my mother and her brother. Maybe something went drastically wrong. A horrific accident just waiting to happen. You said yourself you're familiar with Callista's big mood shifts. She can work herself into a rage over a dropped tray.”

Drake turned away from her, overcome by his own complex thoughts. “Callista is excitable, not flagrantly mad. What about Joel? Let's turn the tables on you. Isn't he overly demanding of your time and attention? Your mother had concerns about him. Maybe she threatened to send him away from you. Callista isn't the only one with a capacity for self-dramatization. He couldn't imagine life without you. How's that for an alternative scenario?”

The green of her eyes was intensified by strong emotion, he'd always noticed. “That's coming from a skewed viewpoint,” she said calmly.

He shrugged. “Well, I'm supposed to allow yours.” How easy she found it to rouse him. He didn't enjoy the sensation. “Would you even recognize the truth when you heard it, do you think?”

“God knows.” She sighed, baffled, confused. “I'm sorry, Drake. Talking about the past only seems to tear us apart.”

“Because we're chasing phantoms. Chasing secrets. What you need is a strong dose of reality. Get your
father to give a DNA sample. Living with doubt is disturbing your mind. I don't know how much longer I can tolerate it. I really don't want you as a cousin.”

“I don't want you that way, either,” she retorted. “But we can't count out the possibility yet.”

“The devil we can't!” he said emphatically. “This is the age of great scientific advances. The way you persist with this, Nic, you're flaying us both. I'm just frustrated enough to try something. A little experiment.”

“What?”

Something she saw in his eyes made her inwardly quake. Her heart knocked a loud warning. She knew if she showed the slightest vulnerability, he could exploit it. “Not a good idea, Drake.”

“Why?”

“I'm unsettled enough.” Indeed, she felt curiously fragile, acutely conscious of being a woman.

“So you're going to stop me?”

“Knowing you, I probably can't. You've got a lot of nerve.”

“My successes have been determined by nerve. It seems you've lost yours.” He reached for her slowly, drawing her into his arms.

“I won't let you do it.”

“I think you will. This is it, Nic. An experiment or only folly? Either way, it's been a long time coming.”

S
HE CLOSED
her eyes as his mouth covered hers.
You have no power over me,
she thought dazedly. Determined to keep a cool head, she was immediately lost.

Sensation after sensation unfolded. She had anticipated an element of vengeance; instead the feelings were so voluptuous she felt herself go limp against him, almost desperate to lie down. A strange weakness was in her legs, yet she had never felt more sensually alive.

This is something I can't fight.

She felt his arm encircle her body, near the hip, taking her weight. She might have been a woman abandoned in the desert only to stumble upon a crystalline pool overflowing with sweetness. She could feel the contractions start up in her body, the tight pull of her breasts, the vibrations deep in her womb. Sexual excitement took control.

With her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to hold all sensation in, she gave him her open mouth, allowed his tongue entry. The kiss was unbearably pleasurable, inexpressible. It was a tremendous effort to contain her rising excitement. Soon the last shreds of pretense would be torn away.

Passion was a glory or a curse. She had never experienced such delirious want, and never from a kiss.
This shivery, shuddering excitement, her whole body curiously heavy and languid with desire.

As if from a distance, she heard him murmur her name. Her senses were reeling. She should stop now, she thought, while she could…

Then he released her, and she almost cried out, grasping the front of his shirt, her fingers unconsciously clawing his chest.

“Lord God!” he breathed, exhaling a long breath. “It's not often reality exceeds imagining.” He looked down at her, unaware that his voice, strangely harsh, projected his inner turbulence. He wanted to peel that pretty little top from her, put his mouth to her breasts, catch the budded nipples; feel them like succulent berries between his teeth.

She stared up at him as though hypnotized. “I'm sorry. I have to sit down or fall down.”

He quickly moved, assisting her to the sofa where she lay back, legs outstretched.

“Is it hot in here?” she asked vaguely. Her body felt damp with sweat.

“No. It's the heat inside you. But you have lost color.”

“That's because of what you've done to me.”

“What have I done?” He smiled, but he, too, had taken long moments to collect himself.

“Kissed me like I've never been kissed before. I'm twenty-four. No innocent, but…” She felt robbed of words.

He lowered himself into a leather armchair, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Nic?”

“I've known you all my life, but that's the first time you've ever kissed me.”

“It isn't the first time I've
wanted
to kiss you,” he said sardonically. “Only you've been too ready to slice me up with your scalpel tongue.”

“I wanted to hurt you,” she admitted almost sadly. “I don't understand why. If I did, I'm sorry.”

“You didn't believe we'd ever kiss?” he asked in a highly skeptical voice.

“Maybe I did. Women should be warned about men like you.”

“Now you know what to expect. You're getting your color back. That's good.”

She realized her right hand was clenched. Slowly she unbent her fingers, still waiting for her heart rate to return to normal. “Odd how sexual excitement makes one lose color.”

He moved to the couch to sit beside her. “So you admit to feeling pleasure?”

She made more room for him. “Some kind of pleasure. Hard to describe it.” Her hand fumbled with the dense masses of her hair. “You don't play fair. I didn't expect what just happened. Or maybe I did.”

“Ah, the truth at last. You don't do a bad job of kissing.”

“What's kissing—pressing lips?”

“A lot more than that, don't you think?”

She sank her head into a cushion. “It could be the beginning of a chain of something. Strategy. I don't altogether trust you, Drake.”

“I don't trust you, either.” His eyes traveled the slender length of her, while he wrestled with the idea of pulling her back into his arms. “Would you like me to massage your hands?”

“No, thank you. The kiss was quite enough.”

“Not for me. I couldn't function exclusively on your kisses.” He didn't add that already an unbearable ache had begun because of the kiss.

“One thing I have to get perfectly straight. You're not in love with Karen?”

“I've already told you.” He met her eyes.

“Tell me again.”

“Unlike your kisses, once is enough. Is there anyone in your life you want to go back to? Some man?”

She looked away. “Half a dozen. Intelligent, good-looking, well connected.”

“Who of course know nothing about your trauma because you haven't told them.”

She turned her face back to him. “How did you guess?”

“I don't talk about mine, either.”

“I bet you don't suffer horribly from nightmares.”

He stared into her eyes. Crystal clear, blue-green like the sea.

“You need someone to sleep with you,” he said, aware that with the one kiss they had redefined their relationship. “Someone who can dominate your dreams.”

“You?”

He shrugged. “It's going to happen.”

“Is it now!” She made a determined effort to sit up. “You're too sure of yourself, Drake. I don't like that. Weren't we arguing about our relationship only ten minutes ago?”

“Don't bring that up again,” he warned. “I thought we'd settled it. You've only used it for self-protection, anyway.”

“I've never thought about our relationship that
way.” She grasped his elbow, offering him her white brow. “I think I must have a fever. Feel.”

He slid his fingers back and forth across her forehead. It was warm, but not feverish. “What about a swim to cool off?” he suggested in a mocking voice.

“Have your fun. Are you going to let me up?”

“I don't know. I rather like having you in my power.”

Maybe you've always had me in your power,
she thought. Happy memories began to surface, and she found herself leaning against him. “Remember when Granddad used to have those big weekend gatherings? Everyone used to come from near and far. When the adults were talking, a group of us used to find the best lagoon to swim. I was just at the stage when I thought you were wonderful, and didn't Joel hate it.”

“That hasn't changed. As for you, we'll make allowances for your age.” He was loath to disturb her mood, the near-affectionate attitude that was a relic of the days they'd both been young and carefree.

“We're carved into one another's lives, Drake.”

“It seems like it.”

She brought her head up abruptly, as some thought struck her. “As I recall, you were very much interested in the Minareechi even then.”

“Nothing remarkable about that. The Minareechi is the finest deep-water, permanent stream in a vast area.”

She maneuvered herself gracefully to a sitting position beside him. “Just think, you could have it if you have me.”

His tone was sardonic. “It has occurred to me. Are you offering yourself?”

Her heart fluttered like a bird caught in the hand. “If I were, wouldn't it be too good an opportunity for you to pass up?”

“Not if you're more trouble than any other woman in the world.”

“I wouldn't be a problem to a man like you.” She gave him a sidelong smile.

“I wish I could believe you.”

“So the idea's crossed your mind. Why wouldn't it? You're great at making arrangements. That's what's bothering Callista, who has her hopes set on Karen. The Stirlings have a very nice property, but they're relative newcomers and they couldn't compete with Eden.” She waved the obvious taunt like a flag.

He looked directly into her eyes. “You're safe enough. Unless you'd rather you weren't?”

She stood up. “What happened today was a mistake. Think again if you think I'm going to bed with you.” Despite her strong words, she saw herself poised at the brink of a chasm.

“I'm as interested in your soul as your body, Nicole. So don't worry. You're my guest. I'll be the perfect gentleman.”

So why didn't that give her a lot of joy?

 

T
HE AFTERNOON WAS SPENT
outdoors where the air was as sweet and heavy as syrup. Inside the Toyota it was mercifully cool, the air-conditioning pouring into the vehicle full blast. Drake drove to various parts of the station, pointing out all the improvements to the giant operation. Along the way there were conversations with colorful characters; mostly trackers and stockmen. Also a man called Boris, an exile from
“Mother Russia” who could speak five languages fluently, mend any piece of machinery and restore it to full running order, but wanted nothing more out of life than the peace and freedom of Outback station life. Nicole had Drake stop frequently so she could take photographs. They even fitted in billy tea and fresh scones with the brumby hunters when they rode in. These highly experienced stockmen—two she acknowledged as ex–Eden employees—had spent much of the previous day scouring the vast station for wild brumbies that could be successfully trained as useful workhorses. Afterward they continued their leisurely drive surprisingly in accord. It was the land, Nicole reasoned, its calming effect on them both.

The spinifex plains marched their countless miles to the Larkspur ranges, which ran in a series of east-west parallel lines to the horizon. Not high as mountain ranges went, the Larkspurs nevertheless presented a spectacular outline, deep ragged indentations and long, inviting valleylike chasms against the brilliant cobalt-blue sky. Their purplish hue was the same dry-pottery purple used by Namatjira, the famous Aboriginal painter. It contrasted wonderfully with the orange-red of the desert soil, the burnt gold of the spinifex and the patches of gray-green of the extraordinarily hardy desert vegetation.

Nicole viewed the natural terrain in all its drama and brilliance with her painter's eye. She wondered if there was ever going to be a time when her work reflected her spirit at peace with itself. Surely that spirit was starting to emerge. She knew she was feeling stronger.

Majestic river-red gums lined the white sandy banks
of the innumerable watercourses—billabongs, lagoons, remote swamps where pelicans built their nests—that crisscrossed all Channel Country stations and allowed the raising of giant herds. Despite the drought, there was quite a lot of water in most lagoons, with splendid water lilies of cerulean blue, deep pink, cream, standing aloft, turning their lovely smooth faces to the sun.

As always the birds were out in their teeming millions. Nicole viewed them with the greatest pleasure; the great winged formations of budgerigars passing overhead like bolts of emerald- and gold-shot silk, the clatter of flocks of whistling duck, the white sulfur-crested cockatoos that completely covered trees like huge white flowers, the chattering pink and pearl-gray galahs, the countless little finches and chats of the plain. The great wedge-tailed eagles and the falcons dominated the skies, no other birds a match for them.

She would never forget the falcons, wings spread, coming closer and closer to the sprawled, defenseless body of her mother.

“What's the matter?” Drake asked perceptively, registering the abrupt change in her.

“I never see falcons without thinking of that terrible day,” she said in a pained, low voice. “The way I ran about crazily trying to frighten them off. The way Granddad was trying to hold me while we both died inside. I wasn't going to let them come anywhere near my mother.”

Recognition of her terrible trauma was in his eyes. “It was a ghastly experience for you, Nic.”

“I'll never forget it no matter how long I live. I've never been able to go back there. The escarpment used to be a favorite resting place, remember? A marvelous
vantage point, the best on Eden, though it isn't high, a couple of hundred feet. It's amazing how hills and ranges seem to tower when everything else is so flat. It's the way Uluru astounds, rising so abruptly from the desert floor. It appears mighty. Remember how we used to go to the escarpment after the rains to see the miracle of the wildflowers? Miles and miles of flowers shimmering away on all sides, clear to the horizon. And the heavenly perfume! The desert Aboriginals used the escarpment as a resting place on their walkabouts.” She suddenly seized his wrist.

“For God's sake, Nic, be careful,” he warned, the muscles of his arm flexing.

“I'm sorry. Stupid of me. But what if some of the desert nomads were in the area that day? They could have seen something.”

He sighed heavily. “Many people asked that question, Nic. There was no sighting of any Aboriginal party.”

“That doesn't mean a thing. They move like shadows. They could have been there and feared to come forward.”

“You're only torturing yourself.”

“Okay, then. But so many odd things have been happening lately. I've only recently heard that Siggy paid Dot off without a word to me.”

“She shouldn't have done that.” He swung his head to her in surprise. “I would have thought Dot would die on Eden. Or die if she had to leave it.”

She nodded with a small frown. “I have to follow up on that, as well as what happened to Dr. Rosendahl. Hit-and-run driver? It doesn't sound right to me. I know that street. Narrow. Cars lining both sides. An
unlikely street for a hit-and-run. What I don't know is if anyone was caught.”

“Don't go thinking there's a connection. I can't believe Rosendahl's death had anything to do with the old tragedy, Nic.”

“Don't dismiss the idea out of hand,” she said slowly. “Dr. Rosendahl knew an awful lot about us.”

“If he was murdered, surely you're not suggesting the person responsible could have been someone we know,” he asked incredulously.