A Wife at Kimbara Read online

“I’ve organised one of my famous polo weekends for your enjoyment,” he told her, realising she was making him feel younger with every passing day. “The Matches will be followed by a gala ball, Saturday night with a big breakfast cum brunch in the garden Sunday morning through to noon. After that our guests like to get off home. Most fly, some make the overland trek.

  “It sounds exciting.” Rebecca struggled a little to sound enthusiastic. In truth her heart was thumping though none of her disquiet showed in her face. “I’ve never actually attended a polo match.”

  “Why do you think I’ve organised this weekend?” he chuffed, his handsome mouth curving beneath a full, beautifully clipped moustache. “I overheard you telling Fee.”

  She felt a sudden loss of safety. Stewart Kinross for all his charm was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. It would be a disaster if he wanted something from her she couldn’t possibly provide. “You’re very kind to me, Stewart,” she managed to say. “You and Fiona,” she stressed. “I do appreciate it.”

  “You’re very easy to be kind to, my dear.” He tried to keep the feeling out of his voice but failed. “And you’re making Fee so happy with what you’re doing with her book.”

  “Fee has a fascinating story to tell.” Rebecca turned slightly away from him, leaning her slender body against the white wrought-iron balustrade. “She knows everyone who’s anyone in the English theatre as well as so many powerful international figures. There’s just so much subject matter. An abundance of it.”

  “Fee has lived a full life,” he agreed somewhat dryly. “She’s a born actress as is my daughter, Alison.”

  His voice was surprisingly cool for a proud father.

  “Yes, I’ve seen her many times on television,” Rebecca said admiringly. “Some of the episodes have been remarkably affecting because of the wonderful quality of her acting. She brings her character, the country doctor, to such life. I’d love to meet her.”

  “I don’t think you’ll see Alison back here.” He sighed with evident regret. “She’s well and truly settled in Sydney. She rarely comes home on a visit. Then, I sometimes think, it’s only to see Brod not the father she’s almost forgotten.”

  Rebecca looked at him more sympathetically.

  “How can that be? I’m sure she misses you. Being the star of a top rating television series must put a lot of pressure on her. I imagine she has very little free time.”

  “Alison was raised in the Outback,” Stewart Kinross said his expression judgemental. “On Kimbara which if I say so myself is a magnificent inheritance. She has no need to work.”

  “You can’t mean you’d deny her a career?” Rebecca was taken aback.

  “Of course not.” He took his cue from her tone. “But Alison made a lot of people unhappy when she left. Not the least the man who loved and trusted her. Rafe Cameron.”

  “Ah the Camerons.” Rebecca remembered all the stories she’d heard. “I researched their family history at the same time I was researching yours. Two great pioneering families. Legends of the Outback.”

  He accepted her accolade as though she were speaking directly about him. “Our families have always been very close. It was my dearest wish Alison would marry Rafe. A splendid young man. But she chose an acting career just like Fee. I’m telling you because you’ll be meeting Rafe at the polo. I’ve scheduled it for the weekend after next.

  “Rafe will never forgive, never forget what Alison did to him and even as Alison’s father I don’t blame him. Rafe is Brod’s best friend, I think a good steadying influence on him. Brod is a rebel, which you might have gathered. Has been since his childhood. A pity because it makes for a lot of friction between us.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rebecca responded. “Will he be coming for your weekend?”

  “He’s certainly been invited.” Stewart Kinross looked away over her head. “But Brod likes to keep me begging. The thing is he’s needed to captain the opposing team. At least he inherited his prowess from me. I expect I’ll hear from him at his leisure. I’m very keen for this to go well, Rebecca. I want you to enjoy your time out here as much as possible.”

  “It’s wonderful to be here, Stewart,” Rebecca said, her heart sinking at the look in his eyes.

  “What would you say to a ride this afternoon.” He put his hand on her arm leading her back into the house lest she escape him.

  “That would be lovely, Stewart,” she responded, careful to inject a note of regret, “but Fiona has need of me. We’re really moving along with the book.”

  He bowed his handsome head powerfully, protectively over her. “My dear, you can’t refuse me. I can do some persuading when I have to. I’ll set it straight with Fee and you and I can take the horses out. It’s wonderful you ride so well. I want you to look on your time with us as part work part vacation.”

  “Thank you, Stewart,” Rebecca murmured, feeling trapped and somehow ungrateful as well. Stewart Kinross had been the kindest and most considerate of hosts. Perhaps her early experiences had left her a bit paranoid.

  In the early evening Broderick Kinross rang. As it happened Rebecca was passing through the hallway so she backtracked to answer the call.

  “Kinross homestead.”

  Whoever was at the other end said nothing for a moment then a male voice so vibrant, so unforgettable, it gave her a shock responded. “Miss Hunt, I presume.”

  “That’s right.” She felt proud of her calmness.

  “Brod Kinross here.”

  As if she didn’t know. “How are you, Mr. Kinross?”

  “Just wonderful and such a tonic to hear your voice.”

  “I expect you want to speak to your father,” she said quickly, feeling the sharp edge to the black velvet delivery.

  “I expect he’s enjoying his pre-dinner drink,” he drawled. “No, don’t disturb him, Miss Hunt. Instead could you please tell him I’ll be at Kimbara….

  Not home? She listened.

  “For the polo weekend. Grant Cameron is giving me a lift should my father decide to send the Beech for me. Dad’s pretty devoted you know.”

  Sarcasm without a doubt. “I’ll tell him, Mr. Kinross.”

  “I trust in time you’ll be able to call me Brod.” Again the ghost of mockery.

  “My friends call me Rebecca,” Rebecca finally said.

  “It suits you beautifully.”

  “Why must you sound mocking?” She brought it out into the open.

  “That’s very good, Miss Hunt.” He applauded. “You know how to pick up nuances.”

  A sparkle of anger lit Rebecca’s eyes. She was glad he couldn’t see it. “Let’s say I know how to pick up warning signals.”

  “Quite sure of that?” he responded just as coolly.

  “You don’t have to tell me you don’t like me.” He could scarcely deny it after that first time.

  “Why in the world wouldn’t I,” he answered and rang off with nothing resolved.

  What was he getting at? Rebecca let out a short pent-up breath, replacing the receiver rather shakily. Their one and only meeting had been brief but disturbing. She remembered it vividly. It was late last month and he had flown in to Kimbara unexpectedly…

  She had put on her large straw hat before venturing out into the heat of the day. Fee had had a slight headache so they had taken a break. Every chance she had she liked to explore this fantastic environment that was Kimbara. The sculptural effects of the trees, the shrubs and rocks, the undulating red dunes on the station’s south-southwestern borders. It truly was another world, the distances so immense, the light so dazzling, the colours more sun-seared than anywhere else. She loved all the burnt ochres the deep purples the glowing violets and amethysts, the grape-blues that made such a wonderful contrast to the fiery terracottas.

  Stewart had promised her a trip into the desert when the worst of the heat was over and she was greatly looking forward to it. It would be too much to expect she would be granted the privilege of seeing the wild heart burst into bloom. No
rains had fallen for many long months but she had seen Stewart’s collection of magnificent photographs of Kimbara under a brilliant carpet of wildflowers and marvelled at the phenomenon. Not that localised rain was even needed to make the desert bloom, he had told her. Once the floods started in the tropical far north sending waters coursing southward, thousands of square miles of the Channel Country could be irrigated. Swollen streams ran fifty miles across the plains they were so flat. It was such a fascinating land and a fascinating life. Stewart Kinross had to live like a feudal lord within his desert stronghold.

  She had just reached the stables complex, which housed some wonderful horses, when she heard the clash of voices. Men’s voices not dissimilar in timbre and tone. Angry voices that made her go quiet.

  “I’m not here to take orders from you,” Stewart Kinross was saying in a rasping voice.

  “That’s exactly what you’re going to do unless you want to scuttle the whole project,” the other younger voice answered none too deferentially. “Face it, Dad, not everyone likes the way you operate. Jack Knowles for one and we need Jack if this enterprise is going to succeed.”

  “That’s your gut feeling is it?” There was such a sneer in it Rebecca recoiled.

  “You should have some,” Stewart Kinross’s son quipped, sounding to Rebecca’s ears convincingly tough.

  “Don’t lecture me,” his father came back thunderously. “Your day is not yet and don’t you forget it.”

  “Not with you on about it all the time,” the son retorted. “An argument, Dad. That’s the best reward I ever get. But hell, I no longer care. In case you’ve forgotten I do most of the work while you sit around enjoying the benefits.”

  At that Stewart Kinross exploded but Rebecca waited for no more. She turned abruptly shocked by the palpable bitterness of the exchange. She had heard Stewart Kinross and his son weren’t close but she hadn’t been prepared for the depth of that disaffection. She had heard as well Broderick Kinross at the age of thirty ran the Kinross cattle empire from distant Marlu. Something he seemed to have confirmed. It was all very disturbing. Even as an outsider she felt the emnity. It was a new insight into Stewart Kinross as well. Fee had assured her her nephew and niece, Brod and Alison, were wonderful young people. Not that Fee had seen a great deal of them with a life based in London. But she spoke of them both with great affection.

  It occurred to Rebecca for the first time, though Fee was a great talker, she was remarkably reticent about her only brother. Certainly Rebecca felt appalled by the cold venom of Stewart Kinross’s tone. She would have thought he would be immensely proud of his son.

  Troubled by what she had overheard Rebecca walked quickly away. The last thing she wanted was to be seen but her efforts were doomed to failure. Both men must have moved off in her direction because a few moments later Stewart Kinross’s commanding voice required her to stop.

  “Rebecca,” he called in a nice mix of authoritarian and genial host.

  She turned watching them emerge from the stables complex, probably on their way back to the house.

  “Stewart!” Even with her large shady hat she had to put a hand to her eyes against the brilliant sunlight.

  Two men in silhouette. Both very tall, a couple of inches over six feet, one with the full substance of maturity, the other a whipcord rangy young man, both wearing the standard Akubra, the younger man with a decidedly rakish tilt. He had a great walk, she thought, putting her in mind of some actor, a kind of graceful lope.

  She felt little tears in her eyes at the near unendurable light and wondered why she hadn’t brought her sunglasses.

  They caught up with her easily and she had her first sight of Broderick Kinross, heir to the Kinross cattle and business empire.

  She didn’t know how she had pictured him. Handsome certainly, given the family good looks but not this. He literally blazed. The blue eyes so vivid they trapped her gaze. For an instant she had the extraordinary sensation something had cut off her breath.

  “Rebecca, may I introduce my son, Broderick.” Stewart Kinross looked down at her, sounding as though he preferred not to. “He’s here for an interim report to me.” He continued more briskly. “Brod, this is the very clever young woman who is writing Fee’s biography as I’m sure you’ve heard. Rebecca Hunt.”

  Rebecca gave Broderick Kinross her hand perturbed by the adrenaline that was pouring into her body. She looked up into a lean, striking face, beautiful glittering blue eyes. For someone who had laboured long and hard to maintain a fail-safe cool facade she now felt bathed in heat.

  “How do you do, Miss Hunt.” He was perfectly courteous, on the formal side, yet she felt the shock and hostility that was in him. Why? “When I last spoke to Fee she was very happy with the start you’ve made on the book. Obviously she has confidence in you.”

  “I’m very grateful that she thought of me at all,” Rebecca said, subdued by the tingling in her hand. “I’m not terribly well-known.”

  “Don’t be so modest, my dear,” Stewart Kinross responded in a voice like warmed syrup. He draped a proprietorial arm around her shoulder. Something he had never done before. “I read your biography and thoroughly enjoyed it.” Very gently he turned her around, enchanted by the way the large straw brim of her hat shadowed her face. “You really shouldn’t go wandering around in the heat. For all that charming hat you risk burning that lovely skin.”

  Why the hell don’t you hug her, Brod thought with black humour.

  He never thought he would live to see adoration in his father’s eyes, but this was coming mighty close. Fee had confided to him on the side “your father is quite taken with Rebecca.” More like infatuated.

  Brod felt a bit shell-shocked himself and he’d had more than his share of girlfriends.

  She was lovely in a way that didn’t appeal to him at all. The hot-house flower. Good bones, but delicate like a dancer. A little scrap of a thing. No more than five-three. Big light-filled grey eyes, satin near-black hair that fell almost to her shoulders and curved in under her chin and that fabulous skin. All the girls he knew had a golden tan, were tall and athletic and they didn’t wear beautiful silly hats with brims that dipped and flowers and ribbons for a trim. Miss Rebecca Hunt was no wildflower. She was an exotic. A vision of cool beauty.

  “I take it we’ve finished our business for the day, Brod.” Stewart Kinross turned his handsome head with its immaculate cream Akubra to address his son.

  Brod took his eyes off Miss Hunt for a moment to answer. “Please, Dad, give me a break. I can’t go away without speaking to Fee.” The words were said with gentle irony, but Rebecca could see he had no intention of going.

  “Well then, come along,” Stewart Kinross answered pleasantly, but with a certain glint in his eye. “I’m sure Mrs Matthews—” he referred to Kimbara’s long time housekeeper “—can provide you with some afternoon tea.”

  “So have you had sufficient time to form an opinion about our world, Miss Hunt?” Brod asked, falling back into line with the petite Miss Hunt in the middle. He was glad his father had at last removed his arm from her delicate shoulders. He felt like flinging it off himself.

  “I love it.” Her charming voice was filled with sincerity. “It may seem strange but I don’t know my own country as well as I know some places overseas.”

  “There is the fact Australia is so big,” he offered dryly, indicating the vastness around them.

  “And you can’t be all that long out of university?” He glanced down at her meaningfully.

  “I’m twenty-seven.” She gave him a shimmering cool glance.

  “My dear, in that hat you look seventeen,” Stewart Kinross complimented her.

  “Scarlet O’Hara,” Broderick Kinross murmured, sounding none too impressed. “You didn’t once travel Outback?”

  “As I say, oddly no.” Rebecca gathered her defences around her. “My work kept me in Sydney for the most part. I spent two wonderful years overseas, based in London, though I never got to meet
Fee. I’ve visited all the state capitals, tropical North Queensland many times. I love it. I’ve holidayed on the Great Barrier Reef, but this is another world after the lushness of the coastline. Almost surreal with the vast, empty landscape, the monolithic rocks, and the extraordinary changing colours. Stewart is going to take me on a trip out into the desert.”

  “Really?” Broderick Kinross shot a glance at his father, his cleanly cut mouth compressed. “When is this?”

  “When the worst of the heat dies down a little,” Stewart Kinross said with almost a bluster.

  “Magnolias wilt in the heat,” Broderick Kinross lowered his head to peer at the curve of Rebecca’s cheek.

  “Trust me, Mr. Kinross.” Rebecca’s head shot up as she gave the sardonic Broderick a brief sidelong glance. “I don’t wilt.”

  “I’m holding my breath until you tell me more about yourself,” he retorted, a faint catch of laughter in his voice. “I’m sure any young woman as beautiful as yourself has a boyfriend somewhere.”

  “Actually, no.” She wanted to cry out, “Please leave me alone.” He was getting to her as he obviously meant to.

  “What is this, Brod, an interrogation?” his father asked, drawing his thick black eyebrows together.

  “Not at all. If it seemed like that I apologise,” he said. “I’m always interested in your visitors, Dad. Miss Hunt seems more interesting than most.”

  Interesting wasn’t the word. A true femme fatale.

  They had just reached the main gate of the compound, a massive wrought-iron affair that fronted the surrounding white-washed walls when a nesting magpie shot out of a tree, diving so low over their heads Rebecca gave an involuntary cry. She was well aware magpies could be a menace when they thought the nest was under threat. The bird wheeled with incredible speed clearly on the attack but this time Broderick Kinross, with a muffled exclamation, pulled her against him with one arm and made a swipe at the offending bird with his black Akubra.

  “Go on, get!” he cried, with the voice of authority.

  The bird did, keeping just out of range.