Sarah's Baby Page 13

  The two of them had had their babies within an hour of each other, both of them emerging from the experience with unusual fragility. She was a sturdy girl from sturdy stock, but it had taken her quite a while to recover after Noni’s birth. Her mother, delirious with joy, had come to her aid. The youngster’s baby had died. It had developed respiratory problems, poor little mite. As a new mother herself, she’d been devastated by the girl’s cries. No happy event for that poor girl, little more than a child herself.

  When Alan had come to take her and their beautiful baby home, the girl had still been there, sedated for her suffering. Stella had wanted to say goodbye, whisper words of deepest sympathy, but the girl had been asleep, pale as a marble statue, her golden curling locks spread over the pillow like a halo. Her profile was as perfect as a painted angel’s. The straight nose, the sculpted cheekbones, the lovely molded mouth…

  The dimpled chin.

  How remarkable she should remember that. Or had she, at the deepest level, been pushing it out of her mind? Noni—short for Fiona, after her mother—was their baby. Hers and Alan’s. They had prayed and prayed she would conceive some three years into the marriage. No sign of a child. They’d both been highly emotional at that time. Both on the verge of despair before she finally got pregnant after a peaceful beach holiday.

  Such joy! She’d been almost overwhelmed by a sense of failure, but overnight had turned into a woman of confidence. The birth of their darling Noni had called forth the most wonderful maternal instincts. She was a good mother. Alan was a good father. Everyone said that.

  “Take the Hazeltons. Such a happy family.” Only a few people took note of the fact that Noni resembled neither parent. As well, these same people pointed out, she shone at school, her intelligence clearly a lot higher than her mother’s or father’s. But these were women who liked to pass the odd spiteful remark.

  Noni was theirs. Stella was positive until that day, the day of Joe Randall’s funeral in a far-distant town. Her eyes red from weeping, sodden tissues balled at her feet, Stella sat holding one of her daughter’s school photographs. Not the class photo. The individual portrait. Noni at fifteen. Class Captain. Grade 10. She was smiling, showing her beautiful white teeth. No dentist’s bills there. Noni didn’t have a single filling, while Stella had a mouthful of them. Noni’s curling mane was pulled back into a single thick rope. Long hair, ponytail or braid, was a school requirement. There was such a sparkle in her glorious eyes. Brown, long-lashed velvet. Not her dad’s light blue. And that beguiling shallow dimple in her chin…

  I can’t take this, Stella thought in fear and trembling. I can’t even continue to speculate what might have happened. Noni is ours. She was the most loved member of their family. Her grandparents on both sides adored her, to the extent that Stella’s sister, Debra, with two girls around the same age, often got jealous.

  The truth was lost fifteen years ago. This was her subconscious erupting like a volcano, Stella thought, punishing her. Well, given a little time to hurdle the shock, she would suppress all knowledge. Noni was their golden child. Hers and Alan’s.

  Stella remained in her bedroom for the rest of the day, dozing fitfully or weeping, trying to manage her distress. Finally, when she heard the front door open and her darling Noni call out excitedly, “Mum, Mum, where are you? Guess what? Clemmie’s invited me to spend the June holidays with them. Please, please, could I go? I’m dying to see the outback.”

  Why not? Clemmie Hungerford was a lovely girl, a boarder at Noni’s excellent school. The Hungerfords had a big pastoral property way out in Western Queensland. It would be a new experience for Noni. A wonderful experience!

  Stella pulled herself together. She rose from the bed, went to the mirror and ran a comb through her hair before going downstairs to hear what else her daughter had to say. After all, she’d reared Noni. She’d done everything for her. She and Alan. That made Noni their daughter. No reasonable person would deny that.

  SARAH BEGAN HER TENURE at the hospital under sad circumstances. She hadn’t expected Joe to go so quickly—but she consoled herself with the thought he’d been spared months of incredible pain and the terrible nausea that was one of his cancer’s manifestations. She had been present at the funeral. The biggest surprise was Ruth McQueen’s obvious distress. Joe’s dying at the homestead must have come as a dreadful shock. Death was like that, even when expected. Ruth, for once, looked her age, a fragile figure in her elegant black outfit, her body vibrating with distress. Ruth was growing old. It came as almost as big a shock to Sarah as Joe’s dying. Sarah continued to stare, watching the tears slide down Ruth’s white cheeks. Did this mean Ruth had to be considered human, after all?

  “You trust her?” Harriet asked, majestic in a wide-brimmed black hat with a broad silver ribbon. They were walking away from the church service.

  “I gather you don’t, Harriet?” Sarah’s tone was wry.

  “I’ve yet to see Ruth McQueen prove herself human. That, in my opinion, was a total sham, an over-the-top display of crocodile tears. Ruth really cannot be trusted. But for some reason she wants us all to revise our opinion of her.”

  “She must have a tender side,” Sarah suggested dubiously.

  Harriet rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “She adores Kyall.”

  “Ruth is suffering from a personality disorder, which is not to say Kyall isn’t a splendid young man who has a wonderful way with women. But there are two kinds of grandmothers. The very good and the very bad. That’s my conclusion, anyway.”

  “But couldn’t she be good some of the time?”

  “She did build the hospital,” Harriet conceded.

  “She and Joe were lovers at one time. Joe admitted it.”

  “Poor old Joe!” Harriet said with a gusty sigh. “Proof that even a good man can be seduced into dangerous sex. Testosterone overriding all common sense.” She shook her head. “Though I have to admit, Ruth would’ve been really something when she put on her seductive garments. At any rate, she swept Joe off his feet.”

  Sarah shivered, readily picturing Ruth in her younger days. But to kiss her would’ve been to taste poison. “Then she dumped him.”

  “I fully expected her to swallow him up.” Harriet glanced around at the other mourners. “We shouldn’t be talking like this at a funeral, should we?”

  “I suppose not, but I can’t come up with anything pleasant. I feel awful about Joe.”

  “None of us would’ve wanted him to go on suffering,” Harriet said quietly. “Not even Ruth, it seems. I suspect Joe would’ve got a kick out of her tears. But being the cynical old soul that I am, I have to wonder why the display of grief. Ruth worries me.” Harriet’s expression intensified.

  “Actually, she worries everyone.”

  “How does this scenario sound?” Harriet asked, rubbing the high bridge of her nose. “Joe wants to square his conscience. He decides to tackle Ruth about Molly Fairweather. Molly didn’t own that house, you know.”

  “I do know.”

  “How?” Harriet’s thick dark brows executed their usual dance.

  “Like you, Harriet, I did a search.”

  “Very clever!” Harriet acknowledged. “But back to my scenario. Joe calls Ruth and tells her he wants to discuss Molly’s sudden demise. How did the desert taipan fit in? What, pray, attracted it through Miss Fairweather’s open doorway? He implies that Ruth was involved in some way. An incredibly foolish move on Joe’s part. Ruth invites him to dinner at her very grand homestead. Afterward she offers him a nightcap.”

  “Into which she’s just broken a couple of cyanide capsules?” Sarah prompted dryly.

  “Unless…unless…” Harriet snapped her fingers.

  “What?”

  “No…” Harriet looked at Sarah with an odd expression.

  “It couldn’t have happened like that if you’re suggesting poison.” Sarah sounded shocked.

  “Certainly it could,” Harriet argued. “Hasn’t it passed
into folklore that Ruth once sent for a kaidaitcha man to learn his secrets?”

  “What?” Sarah’s mouth fell open.

  “All right, Ruby Hall once tried to sell me that story. I almost bought it. Ruth is a singularly strange woman. She needed her husband to keep her in line, and when he died…” Her words drifted off. “So why were you investigating ownership of the Sinclair house?”

  “That, I’m afraid, opens up another line of inquiry.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Harriet leaned closer, lowering her resonant voice. “When are you and Kyall going to make up? The sooner the better, my dear. He has all the attributes of a wonderful mate. For all his looks and glamour, he’s the kind of man who would take his marriage vows very seriously.”

  “But what kind of wife would I make?”

  “The best.” Harriet’s tone was both tender and bracing. “Don’t let life pass you by, Sarah. You certainly should get married and have children. It’s a far better choice than being on your own. Take it from a woman who knows.”

  THEY WERE ALMOST at Harriet’s ancient car when Kyall caught up with them.

  “Poor old Joe!” he said. “We’re all going to miss him, but I’m glad he wasn’t faced with a painful end.”

  “Your grandmother is very upset,” Harriet didn’t hesitate to say.

  “Obviously she was a heck of a lot fonder of Joe than we realized. I think it’s fairly safe at this point to acknowledge that they once had an affair. Hard to imagine, though.”

  Not when Ruth in her prime was a sex-seeking missile, Harriet thought.

  “Where are you going now?” Kyall asked Sarah.

  “We were going to have something to eat at my place,” Harriet supplied. Until Sarah found somewhere she wanted to live, she was staying with her. “Would you care to join us?”

  “I’d be delighted to, Harriet.” Kyall gave her his beautiful, open smile. “I can’t remember a meal of yours that wasn’t memorable.”

  “Your grandmother wants to talk to you, Kyall, I think.” Sarah had resisted glancing in that direction, but now she noticed Ruth looking their way sternly and lifting an imperious hand.

  Kyall turned his head. “I’ll meet you at the house.”

  “What in the wide world of odd behavior has Ruth got against you, Sarah?” Harriet asked when they were driving away. “I know having all that money and being the matriarch of the McQueen family has made her the world’s worst snob, but she wasn’t a McQueen by birth. I’ve met quite a few of the extended family over the years and they’re not a bit like that.”

  “I think it’s got more to do with the fact that Kyall still wants me,” Sarah said. “She’s a very self-sufficient woman, but Kyall’s her blind spot. Mine, too,” she added almost immediately.

  “To die for, as the young people used to say,” Harriet hooted, driving fast enough to be pulled over for speeding. “Except that Ruth’s obsession is downright unhealthy. Ruth was a terrible mother to her son, Stewart, and to Enid. Both of them suffered. Enid’s loveless upbringing probably explains her manner. She’s been trying all her life to live up to her mother or her mother’s expectations, but thank God she’s failed. There’s nothing really wrong with Enid. She would’ve been a different woman, I believe, had she and Max moved away from Wunnamurra, but Ruth wasn’t going to have that. She cracked the whip. Put Enid and Max to work. What love there was between them seems to have dissipated over the years. Max is an uncommonly nice man, too.”

  “Too much the gentleman?” Sarah suggested ruefully. Harriet snorted. “He tried to get away once. Quite a few years ago.”

  “Did he really?” Sarah was amazed.

  “He’s on pretty short emotional rations with Enid,” Harriet said. “Unlike her mother, Enid is not a passionate woman. I think Ruth’s coldness when Enid was a child dehumanized her somewhat. Enid’s the sort of woman who might put him off by saying things like, ‘Max, dear, I have a headache. Turn off the light.’ Poor Max looked elsewhere, but I think Ruth brought some pressure to bear. Max stayed. More for Kyall than anyone else, although Kyall would’ve been seventeen or eighteen at the time. I honestly think Max will leave Enid one day, but it’ll take up to six months for her to notice.”

  “I didn’t know any of this,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Mum never mentioned a word, but then both of us kept off the subject of the McQueen family.”

  “Fearful of Ruth?” Harriet executed a double clutch.

  “Mum was,” Sarah said with deep regret, stealing a glance at the speedometer. “It’s awful to feel so powerless.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Harriet agreed, “but you’re not. That’s why you came back.”

  AS HARRIET AND SARAH drove away from the cemetery, Ruth held a strained conversation with her grandson from the back seat of the Rolls.

  “It’s not like you to let me down, Kyall. If we’re seriously interested in Numinbar Station, we should work out a strategy.”

  “I already have, Gran,” Kyall replied courteously, acutely aware of her age and the fragility of her diminutive body. “It’s a very attractive property, but I think we can get it for a whole lot less than the three million Bart Colston’s asking. There’s a big opportunity to develop a parallel enterprise like ecotourism along with the cattle—we should go for high-grade Brahman, in my opinion. It’s beautiful country, softwood rain forest, lagoons and creeks, wonderful horse trails, but Bart’s allowed the station to run down. Many, many improvements have to be made to bring it up to scratch. I have everything in hand.”

  “Does everything include Sarah Dempsey?”

  “Sarah is always that bit beyond reach,” Kyall observed wryly.

  “You could never live with a cold woman.”

  “No. Absolutely not. But I’ve never met a sexier woman than Sarah in my whole life.”

  “What did you say?” Enid, silent until that moment, stared across her mother’s rigid body at her son.

  “God, Mum, I forgot. You don’t know about sex.”

  “Kyall, darling, don’t be coarse. Obviously I do. But sex is…well, messy. Sometimes I think I could do without it in my life.”

  “So Dad tells me.”

  It was a response Enid obviously hadn’t expected. “You’re joking, aren’t you?” Enid looked at him with a mixture of shock, hurt and plain disbelief.

  “Then why would Dad say such a thing?” Kyall said. Max had once, and Kyall had never forgotten.

  “You need help, Enid, you really do,” Ruth interrupted, her voice cold with contempt. “Remember Alice Townsend?”

  “Gracious, Mother, let’s forget about her.” Enid shot her an injured look.

  “Some things just don’t die.”

  “No need for you to go on about it, Mother. You’re not exactly perfect,” Enid responded with a new, cool appraisal.

  “The proof being that I had you.”

  “Please, ladies, this isn’t the moment to enjoy an argument.” Kyall looked at his womenfolk, thinking they both needed psychiatric help, but they were his family. Entitled to his love and support. Or as much as he could give under the prevailing circumstances. “Well, I’m off.” He straightened decisively, standing back a little from the car.

  “May we ask where?” Ruth asked wearily.

  “Certainly, though at this stage of my life I don’t think I need to check in. Harriet has invited me to a late lunch. She’s a very adventurous cook.”

  “One would’ve thought it might have landed her a husband,” Ruth remarked.

  To Enid’s newly awakened ears it sounded like gloating. “Surely she’s too independent.” Enid actually liked Harriet and secretly admired her.

  “Harriet is one of those women who is fulfilled teaching other people’s children,” Ruth scoffed.

  “She certainly had notable success with Sarah,” Kyall said smoothly. “See you later.”

  “Bye, darling,” Enid called after him. “Bye.”

  “Shut up, Enid, and let Jensen know we’re ready,” Ru
th snapped.

  “Please don’t speak to me in that tone, Mother,” Enid said with offended dignity. “It obviously hasn’t penetrated that I’m the mayor of Koomera Crossing. And a good one.” She sat back against the plush upholstery.

  “Really?” Ruth turned her regal head to stare down her daughter. “Then why did you allow Sarah Dempsey to take over from Joe?”

  “Because I’d rather have my son love me than never speak to me again. We need to get over our aversion to having Sarah Dempsey in our lives. She mightn’t have had much to offer years ago—well, actually she did, but we didn’t want to see it. Now she’s a beautiful, confident young woman with great presence. A good doctor, by all accounts. I think this nonsense should stop. We have to throw out our silly prejudices. Must we always act like wretched snobs?”

  Ruth sent her daughter a withering glance. “You may be ready to, but I’m not descending to the common masses, Enid, thank you very much. I’ve been a McQueen of Wunnamurra Station for most of my life. You, on the other hand, seem to be developing independence. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “What are you afraid of?” Enid startled herself by asking. “A flash of intuition? I have them occasionally. You can be cruel and vindictive, Mother.”

  “I’m a real woman, Enid, not a cold fish like you.”

  Enid turned away to wave at Jensen through the window. “Sometimes, Mother, I think I hate you,” she said quietly.

  “Who would care!” Ruth gave a little contemptuous flutter of her hand. “I’ve done everything for you and your wimp of a husband. You’ve lived a life of absolute luxury. No, don’t give me that stare. So what if you worked? You did it all for Kyall. As far as I’m concerned, the only thing we have in common is our love for him. I will never see Sarah Dempsey admitted to this family for as long as I live.”