Outback Bachelor Read online

  Keefe shook his head incredulously. “It’s a sad story, Gran, but it hardly warrants all this secrecy. Unless Skye’s mother came to you pregnant with no place to turn?”

  “No, no!” Margaret McGovern vigorously shook her pure white head.

  “I’m asking you again, Gran,” he said tautly, wanting to keep her on track.

  “Katrina wanted to put half the world between herself and the past.” Lady McGovern was showing her agitation. “She came on her own to Australia. She knew about me, of course, from her mother. It took great courage what she did. She could have had a splendid life. Personally I believe Leonora was Axel’s child. Axel was very blond, blue eyed. But then so was Leonora, Iona and Katrina,” she sighed. “The look and the colouring passed to Skye. I used to think I saw a resemblance to Axel Werner in my friend. Even in Skye.”

  “DNA could have solved it but then it wasn’t available in those days.” Keefe frowned.

  “Good enough reason for a lot of women to fear it now it is,” Lady McGovern shot back, her tone harsh. She began to flex her arthritic fingers.

  “So what you’re saying is at some time Katrina aka Catherine met Jack McCory, who is still a fine-looking man, fell in love with him, maybe became pregnant before they got around to getting married. Is that it? Lift your head, please, Gran. I can’t see your eyes.”

  Lady McGovern felt like she was suffocating, a pillow held over her head. Airless, struggling for breath, she answered, “I’ve always believed Katrina married Jack McCory when she found herself pregnant. What has caused me endless trauma over these long years is that I don’t believe Jack is Skye’s father.”

  A deadly silence filled up the opulent room.

  Keefe sprang up from the sofa, a man pole-axed. “Dear God!” His exclamation of shock resounded like a rifle shot.

  “I can’t bear to say it again,” Lady McGovern told him, very piteously for her.

  “Then who, Gran?” Keefe at that moment was laying full blame on his grandmother’s shoulders. “Put a name to your fears. But be very, very careful. My father was a great man. He was a married man. Maybe his marriage didn’t work out the way he hoped, but he was no adulterer.”

  Lady McGovern blinked rapidly. “What are you saying, Keefe?” Her tone soared. “What are you thinking? Your father, Broderick, never! Please calm yourself.”

  “I’m calm enough,” he retorted angrily. “I repeat. Who?” Keefe, realising he was shouting, reined himself in.

  Lady McGovern drew a long quavering breath. “Jonty,” she managed at long last. “My dead son, Jonty. Your Uncle Jonathon.

  As a revelation it had never crossed Keefe’s mind. He slumped back onto the sofa, holding his head in his two hands. “Uncle Jonty?” he asked in patent disbelief. Uncle Jonty, who had taken a fatal crash off his motorbike while rounding up a few head of cattle. Uncle Jonty, who had died at roughly the same age as Katrina Neumann.

  Lady McGovern looked across at her splendid grandson, seeing his tremendous shock. “I could be wrong,” she said, very timidly. “But they fell in love.”

  Keefe felt the tension in every knotted muscle of his body. “God, Gran! We’ve been focusing on Catherine and all along you’ve been worrying yourself sick thinking Uncle Jonathon could have been the father of Katrina’s child. Which would make Skye my first cousin.”

  “Exactly.” Lady McGovern drew a jagged breath, wondering if she was about to have a panic attack. “Of course, first cousins have married, but—”

  “A damned big but!” Keefe cried, making no excuse for swearing in front of his grandmother, something he had never done. Skye would be horrified. She could even call a halt to their relationship, even if he already knew he was prepared to go ahead. No matter what. His mind was working furiously. He wasn’t exactly certain but he was pretty sure there was no legal or moral impediment to first cousins marrying. If his grandmother’s revelation was true, he knew in his heart it would have a devastating impact on Skye. And Jack. No getting away from it! “Stop there, Gran,” he said with the voice of command. “Just stop. I need time to take this all in.”

  Right outside Lady McGovern’s door, one ear pressed against the woodwork, a third party stood and listened. Keefe’s voice, deep and resonant, carried at any time. When he shouted—he did so rarely, no need to when everyone stood to attention—the sound carried into the carpeted hallway.

  So Skye McCory was a close relative after all! That was enough to break up any family. Enough to break up a passionate love affair. This piece of information, which had come as just as much of a shock as it had to Keefe, cried aloud to be used…

  Skye spent all morning in court. She was seated just behind Derrick Sellway, a big blond handsome thirty-five-year-old man in an expensive dark suit. Derrick was the barrister representing her client. She had done her job to the best of her ability, assembling all the information necessary for Derrick to plead their client’s case and hopefully win her a fairer deal. This was a particularly messy fight over money. Not big money as money went, but rather an unholy war between a brother and sister who had gained far bigger legacies from their late father’s estate, and the other sister, much younger than the other two, their client, presenting her case to the court for a fairer deal. The brother and elder sister were prosperous people very much acting together. The younger sister had come through a sad divorce and had been left holding the children, in her case twins. She had had a falling-out with her father over her choice of a husband. But now the husband was gone. Literally fled overseas. Their client’s circumstances had been considerably reduced. Skye thought she had done enough background checking on the brother and elder sister. In her view—and she hoped in the view of the court—a whole lot of undue influencing had gone on with the ailing father, obviously in an effort to gain, if not the entire estate, the lion’s share.

  Derrick was doing a fine job of presenting the facts to the court. He had just the right appearance and a fine, persuasive speaking voice. She had high hopes for her client, who was trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered life. Skye genuinely liked and admired her. Now it came down to what the court thought…

  The afternoon was spent at a community legal centre where she did pro bono work from time to time. The numbers of women in distress; the numbers who couldn’t afford legal representation! The case she had elected to take on was just another in a long line of domestic abuse cases. She wouldn’t have any difficulty obtaining a restraining order against the husband, even though she knew only too well some men didn’t know the meaning of the word “restraint”. Such men picked their victims. Her client, a pretty, vulnerable woman with very low self-esteem and badly hurting, was just as likely to return to the abusive marriage no matter how much counselling and free representation she received. That was the sad part. Still, one had to try. The bravest fought free if only for the sake of their children. Even then, no one was assured of a good outcome. There was terrible danger in making an enemy of a violent man.

  It was well after six when she drove into the underground parking area of her apartment complex. She had cancelled a work-related function. That upset Derrick, the high flyer, who appeared to have settled on her, quite without encouragement, as a suitable wife. Both of them were lawyers. They had much in common, except, on Skye’s side, love. Derrick was attractive, clever and dryly amusing, inclined to be pompous but able to take a joke against himself. They had spent a good bit of time together one way or another. The only thing wrong: he wasn’t Keefe. There was only one Keefe. Nothing could change that.

  Inside her apartment she went about switching on a few lights, taking pleasure in her surroundings. After a lifetime with the McGoverns, having access to the Big House with all its splendid furnishings, she had acquired “taste without the big bucks”, as a friend had once said. She had been admiring Skye’s latest acquisition—a large abstract canvas titled Purple Haze—at the time, a surreal sky, line of hills, boulders tumbling down it into the highly swelling waves of the d
ark blue sea. Was that a sea-tossed small boat in the middle? She thought so. The sea reflected in just the right spots the purples, pinks and amethysts of the sky. The artist was young, clearly very gifted, but not as yet in a position to ask big money. Even so, it hadn’t been cheap, neither would she have expected it to be. The painting looked stunning on the living-room wall. It was mounted above the three-seater sofa and matching armchairs. The colours she loved prevailed in the room, the blues and golden hues, the accents of lime green and amethyst.

  It occurred to her she was hungry. She had been constantly on the go, missing lunch with only a welcome cup of tea and a biscuit at the community centre. Swiftly she changed out of her smart grey business suit worn with a blue silk blouse, hanging it up before pulling a loose caftan over her head. On the job she usually wore her long thick mane pulled back from her face in some way. Now she pulled the pins out of her updated knot, setting her hair free. A nice cold glass of Sauvignon Blanc would go down well. Maybe smoked salmon and scrambled eggs, a green salad? She only wanted something light.

  Just as she was pouring the wine, she was surprised by the sound of the buzzer on her security video unit. Who could be buzzing her at this time of the evening? Whoever it was, she intended to answer or ignore the call, depending on who showed up on the brightly coloured screen. She paused, put down her wineglass then went to check the video picture.

  At first she couldn’t make out who it was, he was so tall. In the next second the man’s head came into focus as he moved nearer the security door.

  It was Keefe! She pushed the talk button, saying breathlessly, “Come up.” She pressed the unlock button, glancing around quickly. All was in order. Her blue caftan was a bit see-through, but this was Keefe after all. He knew every inch, every curve, of her body. But what was he doing here? Why hadn’t he let her know he was coming into town? It was almost too much excitement to handle. Her heart was beating in double time. Was he here on McGovern business, or had he brought her some kind of news? Thrilled as she was by his totally unexpected visit, she sagged back against the wall. No rationality to it, just an intuitive sense that something could be wrong. She couldn’t think further…

  When she opened the door to Keefe she felt the same electric jolt she always felt at the sight of him. She stepped right into his outstretched arms. He held her with one arm around the waist, shutting the weighted door after him. He didn’t speak. Instead, he lowered his head to kiss her with passionate intensity, gathering up her body and holding it close against his as though her satiny woman’s flesh possessed some special magic for him.

  “You’re here?” She showed her surprise when at last they pulled apart.

  “Sorry I didn’t let you know.” His brilliant eyes saw through to her inner trepidation.

  “That’s okay.” She drew him by one hand into the living room. “It’s wonderful to see you. That’s if you’re real.” She turned back to soak in the sight of him. He always looked sublimely handsome to her eyes; the beautiful dominant male, his expression brooding, which struck her as also romantic, his aura beyond compelling. He was wearing street clothes, a fitted casual jacket over designer jeans, an open-necked white cotton shirt with fine multi-stripes beneath. This was the first time he had ever been in her apartment, and she saw him take a quick, enveloping look around.

  “Your sanctuary from the world?”

  “Like it?” she asked.

  He inclined his dark head. “You’ve got great taste in everything.” He walked towards Purple Haze. “This makes quite a statement,” he said. “Is it a boat out there in that spectacular ultramarine sea?”

  “I think so. I’m glad you do too. Would you like a glass of wine? I’ve just opened a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.”

  “A Scotch would be better if you’ve got it,” he said, shouldering out of his jacket and placing it over the back of a Chinese chair. Next he rolled back the long sleeves of his shirt to the elbow, the gold Rolex on his left wrist gleaming in the light.

  “One Scotch coming up. I always keep a bottle on hand. Don’t like it myself.”

  “But the odd colleague or two does?” He turned back to look at her. The overhead lighting in the galley kitchen was turning her hair to spun gold. It glanced off the gauze of her long dress, the contours of her beautiful breasts, clear to his gaze. His need for her; his desire was incurable. He wondered if such a powerful connection was rare.

  “Actually, it’s a female colleague of mine who can really knock it back.” She laughed. “Ice?”

  “Just a cube or two.” Hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, he walked slowly towards a set of four desert photographs she’d had framed and hung—two up, two down—on the end wall. “You’re an artist yourself. These are very good. You shot them on Djinjara.”

  He knew his land. “My impressions,” she said. “I love photography. I love it even better than practising law. There’s so much heartache in what I do. So much I can’t prevent.”

  “I can imagine.” He paused a breath away from her, inhaling her fragrance. “We’re going to have a talk, Sky-Eyes.”

  “I thought so.” Now she gave vent to a troubled sigh. “You’ve spoken to your grandmother?”

  “I said I would.”

  His expression was enigmatic. “So what did you find out?” She set about pouring a measure of single malt Scotch into a crystal tumbler, aware of her trembling hand. She walked to the refrigerator to release two ice cubes from the dispenser on the door. Playing for time. Her heart was hammering in her breast.

  “Come and sit down.” He took the tumbler from her. “You look magical. I’m reminded of the way Jack always called your mother his princess. I love the dress.”

  “Caftan.” She tried to smile, but butterflies were flitting madly about in her stomach “I usually slip into something light when I’m on my own.” She curled herself into one corner of the sofa, watching him take a quick swallow of whisky. “Tell me, whatever it is.” Following his lead, she sipped her citrus-scented wine, then set her glass down on the long red-laquered Chinese chest she used as a sofa table.

  Keefe told her what he knew. Up to a point. The question of her paternity he held back. He feared her reaction. He could see she was already reeling with shock.

  “So my mother’s name was really Katrina Neumann? But that’s a German name.”

  “A strong German connection,” he confirmed. “Your great-grandfather Axel Werner was German born. Perhaps the Neumanns were involved with Werner in business.”

  “And Dad was so infatuated, so far gone, he made my mother pregnant?” she asked in disbelief. “It could have been a disaster. I don’t believe Dad would have let himself do that. Not before marriage. I mean, it was such a risky relationship. God, I don’t believe this!”

  Keefe studied her in silence. Because he loved her so deeply he was absorbing her upset, which was proving far greater than his own. The beautiful shining masses of her hair stood out like a halo around a face that was unnaturally pale. “I admit it’s quite a story. And it doesn’t end there.”

  “Oh, no,” she moaned. “Not another sexual secret?”

  “A little darker than we both supposed.”

  Skye sat straight, the lawyer in her coming to the fore. “Spell it out, Keefe. Keep nothing back. Though I fear you’ve managed to up to date.”

  Keefe’s tone turned grim. He was starting to doubt she could handle this. “Gran believes—she has no actual proof of it, please hold fast to that, Skye—that your mother was romantically involved with my Uncle Jonty.”

  Skye’s stoic expression changed to one of sheer astonishment. “What?” For all her legal training she couldn’t fasten on this new development. Was it fact or fiction?

  “It never occurred to me, either,” he told her, head bent. “I was just a little kid when Uncle Jonty was killed. We’ve been looking in all the wrong places.”

  Skye felt like all the oxygen had rushed out of her body “Oh, my God!” she gasped in horror, putt
ing a hand to her heart. “Why didn’t we just leave this alone?” Tears stood in her beautiful blue eyes. “I knew you were keeping something from me, something that would drive us apart.”

  “Never! I won’t let it,” he said forcefully. “We’ll meet this head on. Come here to me, Skye.” He caught her to him, pushing her head back against his shoulder. “We can work this out. We can get to the bottom of things.”

  “Can we indeed?” She spoke as if she was relinquishing all hope. “We’re first cousins. Isn’t that what you and your grandmother believe?”

  He tightened his arms powerfully around her, not about to ever let her go. “So what? What point is there in jumping the gun? It could be quite untrue. It’s something Gran has fastened onto down the years. She has no real proof. Either way, I’ll be damned if I’ll let you go. The cousins bit isn’t even a real issue. It’s the shock. Our souls are linked.”

  “Of course. We’re first cousins,” she whispered, feeling too devastated to move.

  “Even if you are Uncle Jonty’s child and something inside me screams you aren’t, it’s legal for first cousins to marry in most countries of the world. The UK, Australia, most of the United States, Europe, the Middle—”

  She cut him off, fiercely. “Don’t tell me the law, Keefe. I’m a lawyer, remember?”