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Kieran poured himself a cup of coffee, then sat down beside his sister. The pair of them were so golden they delighted the eye. “It’s good to see you, Guy.” Kieran spoke with warm sincerity. “You don’t get over often enough.”
“Things will start to slacken off as winter approaches,” Guy said. “I was admiring your new landscape in the hallway. It’s quite something.”
“It’s yours!” Kieran declared, strong white teeth biting into a ham sandwich with relish.
It was just as Guy had expected. “I’d be very happy to own it, Kieran, but I’m speaking to you as a buyer. I’d like to pay for it.”
Kieran shook his leonine mane. “That’s not going to happen. You’ve been too good to us, Guy.”
“Could you elaborate on that?” Alana looked quickly from one to the other.
“Haven’t you noticed all the nice things I do?” Guy told her smoothly. “I’ve lent you various equipment from time to time. I’ve sent wine, table grapes, our very best extra virgin olive oil. I’ve given Kieran here plenty of advice when he’s asked.”
Kieran spread his arms wide. “You’re brilliant, Guy. No wonder Lana’s little puppy dog Simon calls you The Man. If you like the painting, Guy, it’s yours. I can knock up another one.”
But Guy was minded to be serious. “You know you have a considerable gift?”
Kieran’s smiling face sobered. “My talent for painting won’t keep Briar’s Ridge going, Guy. You know that.”
“But your talent for painting might carry you far.”
“You sound just like Alex.” Kieran gulped rather than sipped at his steaming hot coffee. “If Alex had her way I’d be mounting an exhibition before the end of the year. She’s guaranteed me a sell-out.”
“Alex knows what she’s talking about,” Guy pointed out, in his quiet, authoritative voice. “She can help you.”
Kieran kept silent.
How mysterious were the connections of the heart, Guy thought.
Alana looked across the table, feeling bewildered. “Do you two know something I don’t?”
Guy managed a lazy smile. “Lots of things I expect.”
Kieran too grinned. The smiles didn’t fool her. Alana turned to her brother. “Are we in deeper than you’ve told me?” she asked, sounding worried.
“We’ll know more after the sales, Lana.” Kieran picked up another sandwich.
She drew a quick breath. “I’ve spoken to Guy about my idea of turning Briar’s Ridge into a show farm, like Morgan Creek.”
Kieran glanced across the wide pine table at Guy, then back at his sister. “Lana, we’ve been over this. It might work with a big influx of money, but even if by some miracle we could borrow it, Dad wouldn’t sit still for it. You know that. He wouldn’t want people wandering around the property. He’d hate it.”
“So we go under? Is that it?” She blinked furiously, amazed she was so emotional these days.
Kieran laid an arm around his sister’s shoulders. “We haven’t gone under yet, kiddo!” Brother and sister stayed that way for a moment, then Kieran rose, pocketing a couple of brownies. “That was great. Just what I needed.” He looked at Guy with his extraordinarily blue eyes. “Dad’s in the Second Paddock, if you want to find him. We’re supposed to have a meeting with Bob Turner at three.” Bob Turner was the local wool representative. “Want me to drop you out there?”
Guy shook his head. “I won’t keep you. I know you’ve got plenty on your hands. Any of the other locals been around yet?” he asked. The local wool growers usually turned up to check out the quality of their neighbours’ clip.
Brother and sister nodded golden heads in unison. “Harry Ainsworth and Jack Humphrey,” Kieran said. “The stack’s growing, but it’s nothing like our best quality. Dad is disappointed, though he really should have been expecting it. I’m keen to see what’s happening on Wangaree.”
Wangaree’s clip always attracted enormous interest. At the important wool sales in Sydney buyers representing the leading woollen mills and the famous fashion houses of the world usually found their clip close to perfection, which meant Guy had a good idea of what Wangaree’s clip would bring even before it was auctioned off. No matter the slump in prices, wool of the quality produced by Wangaree could be eagerly snapped up.
“Why don’t we make it one day next week?” Guy suggested. “The clip will have grown even taller by then. It’s superfine, and unbelievably white. Bring Alana. Stay to lunch. Your father is very welcome too, but I’ll speak to him myself when I drive out to see him.”
Kieran moved off with the grace of a trained athlete. “That’ll be great! By the way, I meant what I said about the painting. It’s yours. I refuse to take money for it.”
“Then I’ll just have to find another way to pay you back,” Guy called after him. “I’ll have it framed.”
“Sure.” Kieran waved a hand. “I couldn’t run to a frame. Good ones cost the earth.”
“After which I’ll hang it in a prominent place at the house,” Guy promised. “In the years to come I’ll be able to say, Yes, that’s a Callaghan. He’s a good friend of mine. I was one of the lucky ones. I got in on the ground floor.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THINGS didn’t go well for Briar’s Ridge at the sales. Brother and sister sat together at the Wool Exchange in a tense silence as wool worth millions and millions of dollars was sold off. The market was down. No big surprise. Everyone had anticipated that. But mercifully it kicked up quite a bit when the first of the Wangaree Valley clip came up for sale.
“This is awful—the waiting.” Alana was so anxious she felt sick to her stomach.
“Listen, it’s not that bad.” Kieran, nervous himself, but hiding it extremely well, tried to comfort her, even though he had the gut-wrenching feeling it was going to be. This sale represented twelve months’ growth of wool and a hell of a lot of hard work from him and Alana. They had virtually carried their father, once such a dynamo.
Wangaree’s clip, one of the star attractions of the sale, was recognised as superb. Everyone in the Valley had seen it, marvelling at the quality. Another top producer from the adjoining State of Victoria had called it perfection. Guy’s comment had been, “It’s better than that. It’s damned good!” One didn’t hear him say that all that often. Guy wasn’t one to commit himself, but the Exchange was abuzz with excitement. People in the know were predicting a record price for Wangaree’s clip, and as a spin-off maybe others in the Valley.
If she turned her head she would be able to see him, Alana thought. He was sitting with the top people of the industry. In his group would be her uncle Charles—her mother’s brother, Charles Denby. Uncle Charles was as good as a stranger to her and Kieran, though their resemblance to their Denby mother was most apparent. In fact, Uncle Charles was so remote he mightn’t have been their relative at all. It was no secret he had been deeply shocked when his beautiful sister, Annabel, the apple of everyone’s eye, had married a struggling sheep farmer, an Irishman, “rough diamond” Alan Callaghan. And Denby brother and sister had been near enough estranged since the day of the wedding, which unhappily no Denby had attended. A lasting wound.
The three Denby sisters, Violette, Lilli and Rose, dressed to kill and turning heads, fresh from a splendid lunch at one of Sydney’s top restaurants, had been present at the inspection earlier, but two had since disappeared—most likely to hit the fashion boutiques. Only Violette remained with her father and—need it be said?—Guy. Violette wouldn’t want to miss out on the Denby sales, let alone miss the frenzy of bidding when Wangaree’s clip came up.
“I’m glad Dad’s not here,” Alana sighed, her spirits wilting. Their father had been too nervous to come. Once upon a time he had been right in the thick of it, so proud of having his beautiful wife and family beside him, receiving handshakes and congratulations when his sale prices were good.
An hour later Wangaree’s lot came up. It was sold, as predicted, in the blink of an eye, once again to a leading European fashion house. Italian designers had a wonderful way of mixing wool with silk. Alana loved the top designers, their work cut and tailored by people whose ancestors had been handling the finest fabrics for hundreds of years. She remembered how her untrained mother had cut and woven fabric so it fell into the most beautiful soft folds.
By four o’clock the sale was over, with hundreds of lots having gone under the hammer. Alana and Kieran, though heartsore over Briar’s Ridge’s downspiralling fortunes, remained behind to shake Guy’s hand. All eyes were on him as he stood in the centre of the floor, surrounded by prominent people within the industry, head and shoulders above most of them, clearly The Man. Simon had been spot on when he had found this name for his illustrious cousin.
“Don’t look now, but Uncle Charles and Vindictive Vi are coming our way,” Kieran muttered. “Of course there’s the strong possibility they’ll spot us and shoot off in the opposite direction.”
“And who would care?” Alana asked wearily, fully expecting to be ignored. Charles Denby knew nothing about the milk of human kindness. He was a civilised monster.
“When do you suppose dear old Charles is going to make the transition to a real person?” Kieran asked, with a flash of black humour. “I mean, I’ve never understood a damned thing about the big estrangement. What was so shocking about Mum breaking with family tradition and marrying Dad? The Denbys aren’t Royalty, for goodness’ sake. Even hell bent on wrecking himself, Dad’s still a handsome man. So he was a nobody on the social register? He must have been really something when he was young. Big, handsome, strong. He was hard-working, perfectly respectable. People liked him. He’d even managed to buy himself Briar’s Ridge, though it was mortgaged up to the hilt. He didn’t take Mum to a hovel. And she loved him. Wasn’t that all that mattered?” Kieran broke off angrily, visibly upset.
“One would have thought so!” Alana sighed.
“Oh, no—they haven’t spotted us,” Keiran groaned in dismay.
Charles and Violette were so busy talking, heads together, probably planning a night out on the town with Guy’s party, they all but walked into Alana and Kieran.
“Oh, it’s you two!” Violette reacted with her usual hateful disdain. She looked Alana up and down, her gaze deliberately pitying, as though Alana were dressed by charity shops instead of a smart-casual designer.
Alana, well used to her cousin’s intended put-downs, took no notice. What consumed her was the look in her brother’s eyes. Slow to anger, Kieran had been known to go off like a rocket if sufficiently provoked. It was their father’s temper—nearly always under control, but always there. She gave her brother a beseeching look. It would do no good at all for Kieran to lose his temper right here and now.
Ignoring Violette, she addressed her distinguished-looking, ultra-remote uncle. “How are you, Uncle Charles?” she asked politely. “You look well. Congratulations on the Denby prices.”
A tall man, Charles Denby stared down at his niece with the strange intensity he always bestowed on her. “Everything we wanted,” he announced with ice-cold suavity. “You, on the other hand, mustn’t have liked what you heard for the Briar’s Ridge lot? I saw it myself. Not up to scratch, my dear. Or rather it’ll make up darn scratchy.”
Kieran broke in, the heat of anger coming off his powerful, lean body. “Why, sir, do you go out of your way to be so damned cutting?”
Violette’s breath exploded in shocked indignation. “I beg your pardon, Kieran?” she huffed. “You apologise to my father this instant.”
Kieran gave her a sidelong look that blazed with contempt. “Tell me, Vi, you silly, pretentious creature, what is there to apologise for? All our civility, all our polite overtures, get met with freezing dislike. My mother and your father were brother and sister. I could never treat my sister the way your father treated his—no matter what! And my mother did absolutely nothing but marry the man she loved.”
Charles Denby’s only reaction was a narrowing of his glacial blue eyes. “Your mother brought disgrace on herself and the family,” he said finally. “Alan Callaghan was a nothing and a nobody who put my sister in her coffin. Now the whole Valley knows him as a hopeless drunk. Get out of my way, young man. I have better things to do than talk to an upstart like you.”
Upstart? The irony was that Kieran looked more like their uncle than he did their own father. Alana sucked in her breath, fully expecting the rocket to launch.
Only Kieran surprised her. He spoke quietly, but his body language was immensely threatening. “There’s plenty of room for you to walk around me, sir. Another word and I can’t guarantee your safety.”
Alarmed, Alana took hold of Kieran’s hard-muscled arm—but not before Guy, aware of a mounting crisis, moved swiftly to join them.
“It might be an idea to cool it, Kieran.” He came alongside the younger man, keeping his voice low and level. “This is the Wool Exchange, and every eye is on us. You’re my friend, and I don’t want to see you get into trouble.”
Kieran shook his leonine head, as if to clear it. “This man here—” he gritted.
“It might be time, Charles, to walk away.” Guy glanced meaningfully at Charles Denby.
“That’s the trouble with people like you Callaghans,” Violette sneered, hot red colour staining her cheekbones. “You simply don’t know how to behave. Come on, Daddy, they’re not fit to speak to.” She spoke as though Alana and Kieran’s natural habitat was the gutter.
“Yes, run away!” Kieran told her in a furious undertone, looking as if he was about to give her a good shove. “It’s my sister who’s the lady around here. Never you!”
“Kieran, please—if not for our sakes, for Mum’s,” Alana implored. She was excruciatingly aware a number of people were turning to stare. “Wouldn’t she have been horrified to see us make a spectacle of ourselves?”
“Sadistic man!” Kieran rasped, as Charles Denby and his daughter stalked off. He turned his burning blue gaze on Guy. “What have we ever done to them to warrant such treatment?”
Guy’s answer was immediate. And it sounded as if it came from the heart. “Your uncle has never been able to face down his demons, Kieran. Charles Denby is a very bitter and unhappy man. It has to be said there was a time he adored his sister, and he continued to do so though he became warped and bitter. What you have to do is let your anger settle. There’s nothing you can do to change your uncle. His rigid attitude has deprived him of so much happiness in life. You can’t hope to engage his liking or sympathy.” He spread his hands. “Charles hasn’t anything left to give. He’s to be pitied, really.”
“I don’t pity him,” Kieran fumed. “We’re sick to death of being ignored and humiliated, Guy, of having our father spoken about with such contempt. How callous can a man get? If he weren’t an old fogey I’d have socked him.” He stared at his friend, so angry there was a red mist in front of his eyes. “Listen, would Lana be all right with you?” It came out in a plea. “There’s someone I must see.”
“But of course,” Guy answered, as though surprised Kieran would even have to ask.
Alana looked at her brother in consternation. “Who is it? Where are you going?” They hadn’t planned anything but a quiet evening, most likely pondering their losses.
“I feel bad, Lana.” He looked to her for understanding. “But I need to see someone.”
“A woman?” Alana stared at her brother, thinking it quite possible Kieran had a secret life.
“Yes. Of course a woman.” He bent to kiss her cheek. “You’ll go back to the hotel? I really don’t know what time I’ll be in. It could be an hour or hours. But we’ll leave as scheduled—first thing after breakfast.”
Alana kept her head tilted to him. “What’s happening here, Kieran? Who is this mystery woman? She sounds pretty important to you.”
“Well, I’m not much use to her,” Kieran said with great bitterness. “Look, I have to get out of here.”
“Then go,” Guy urged him gently. “I’ll look after Alana.”
“I don’t need anyone to look after me.” Alana turned on Guy, her own temper going up a dozen notches. “Anyway, Guy, you must have plans of your own.”
“Which just so happen to include you.” He rested his hand briefly on her shoulder. “Off you go, Kieran. Everything’s okay here. You, however, look like a man who’s in dire need of comfort.”
Kieran’s blue eyes flashed. ‘Thanks, Guy.” He transferred his gaze to his sister. “I’ll make it up to you, Lana.” With that he turned on his heel and stomped away, his tall, powerful body all tightly coiled fury.
They were out on the street, and strong sunlight, even at late afternoon, bounced off the pavement. The sidewalk was busy with people hurrying to and fro; traffic streamed bumper to bumper.
“There’s no need for you to bother about me, Guy,” Alana said, trying to keep her enormous upset down. Who exactly did her uncle think he was? The next Pope? “Your mother brought disgrace on herself and the family!” What did that mean? Some words, once uttered, could never be called back. The man was paranoid about family, and insufferably sanctimonious. “I’m perfectly all right on my own.”
“I don’t think so.” He was finely tuned to her mood, and deeply sympathetic.
“You’ll want to be with your friends,” she persisted doggedly.
“I regard you and Kieran as my friends.”
“Gosh, I don’t know if we’re fit to be your friends,” she muttered bitterly. “What the hell was my uncle on about? You know everything that goes on in the Valley. I adored my mother. She was a beautiful, dignified, gracious woman. How could she have brought disgrace on herself? Forget her awful family. They’re the real disgrace. They act like the enemy—except for Rose. How did Rose miss out on their worst characteristics? My mother marrying my father can’t possibly explain Uncle Charles’s attitude.”
“I told you. Charles is a tortured soul. And his wife and daughters have been affected to a greater or lesser degree. Rose, the youngest, is the most fortunate. Most of it has rubbed off on Violette, for which I pity her. Now, why don’t we go and grab a cup off coffee?”
“I don’t want one,” she said mutinously, unaware that the sparkle in her eyes and the colour in her cheeks made her look extraordinarily beautiful.
“Okay—a stiff drink. Don’t argue. I want one, even if you don’t. You can’t do anything about your mother’s family, Alana. Don’t even try.”
“Why do you just pick up and then drop Violette?” she accused him. “You sound on side with her, yet she’s so horrible. Could it be you’re only interested in her body?”
He glanced down at her rebellious face. “I’ll forget you said that, because you’re so upset. Here—this will do.” He drew her off the pavement into the foyer of one of the city’s leading hotels.
“Why don’t we check in while we’re at it?” she suggested, putting her hand out to catch his arm. “Kieran has a mystery woman. I’m going to get myself a mystery man.”
“Well, that lets me out,” Guy said evenly.” I’ve known you all your life.”
In the handsomely appointed lounge, Alana sank into a comfortable chair. Only a few tables were occupied. Smiles and quiet conversation. It would be another hour before the regulars and the after-work crowd arrived.
“What will it be?” Guy remained standing, his face showing its own brooding tension.
If anything, it only made him look even sexier, she thought, feeling angry, nervy and very, very physical. No one brought it out in her like this man.
“Perhaps it’s time I took to the whisky?” she said.
“Let’s settle for a gin and tonic—or a glass of white wine?”
“It really ought to be champagne. For you, anyway. Congratulations, Guy.” She lifted her hazel eyes to him, angry, unshed tears making them diamond-bright. “Kieran and I were waiting behind to tell you that when my awful, awful, malevolent relatives walked into us. I have to say it was by mistake. I think they were discussing what was happening tonight.”
“It definitely wasn’t happening with me,” Guy said. “Just try to relax. You’ve got enough burdens without taking your relatives on board. I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked away to the bar, with every female eye in the vicinity tracking him. A woman would have to be blind to miss him.
An animal lover, Alana always saw her brother as a golden lion and Guy as a sleek black panther. And where was Kieran going, so completely and utterly furious? It had been blindingly obvious. Of course he had a woman in Sydney. He was a virile young man. Sydney was little over a two hour drive from the Valley. The big hurt was that he hadn’t confided in her. She tried to accept that, but the hurt gnawed deep at her. Why hadn’t he told her about something so important? He told her just about everything else. Was it possible the mystery woman was married? Oh, that was so risky. She would be beautiful, of course. The artist in Kieran would be drawn like a magnet to a beautiful woman. But she couldn’t be more beautiful than Alexandra Radcliffe. Alex was really and truly a classic beauty. Although Alex and Kieran operated on different planes.
Guy returned empty handed. “What about my G&T?” she asked in surprise. “Not even a bowl of nuts or a packet of potato chips?” She tried to fight her edginess with banter.
