wait and see,” Darcy advised.
“Sorry I couldn’t run to a dress,” Casey said, eyeing the other women. Pretty as a picture, Courtney had on something ultra-feminine in a lovely shade of violet. It floated on the air. Darcy, who was unmistakably a beauty, wore an outfit not unlike her own. A silk shirt over lean designer jeans. Casey loved the way Darcy carried her tall slender body with confident grace. She looked as at home in her body as Casey was in hers. Marian, the mother—probably Courtney would look just like her at the same age—hardly looked old enough to have two grown up daughters. She, too, was a pretty sight, calm and gentle with tender blue eyes. As a type she wasn’t unlike her own mother. A cloud drifted over Casey’s face. Her mother, too, had been a very pretty woman before poverty, unhappiness and the drugs she couldn’t live without had changed all that.
As for the men! Berenger, the Outback aristocrat. Very impressive. Maynard, the lawyer, suave as James Bond. Peter, the second husband, a nice man but beside McIvor in his prime, hardly worth looking at.
It surprised Casey little five-feet-two-and-a-bit Courtney was the cook. And a very good cook as it turned out. They ate well and deliciously. Casey didn’t peck at her food daintily like Marian, who seemed to her a fragile person. She tucked in because she was hungry. She was always hungry since she’d made her escape from The Home. At any time she led a very active life. Her long journey into the Back O’Beyond had been exhausting. They left her alone until the main course of melt-in-the-mouth spiced loin of lamb with pine nuts served over a bed of spinach was taken away and little strawberry jellies with ice cream were brought in. Then the inquisition started just as she expected.
“When did you first find out Jock McIvor was your father?” Maynard asked, his keen dark eyes sweeping over her. “Did your mother tell you?”
“No, she didn’t,” she said briskly.
“You have your birth certificate?”
“I didn’t think I needed one since I’m so obviously here,” she answered facetiously.
“You need your birth certificate for many things, Casey,” Darcy intervened quietly. “Why don’t you tell us your story in your own words.”
Casey finished her strawberry jelly first. It was very refreshing. “It’s not a pretty story,” she said.
Nothing was pretty around our father, Courtney thought.
“You don’t need Peter and me here,” Marian spoke in a wobbly voice, looking uncertainly around the table. This stunning-looking creature might well resent their presence. Casey McGuire had a combative air about her. Marian was much more at home with a sweetness of manner like her beloved Courtney.
“Mumma, please stay.” Courtney put out a staying hand.
“Very well, dear.”
As she spoke Casey could see their faces change. She told them about her early life in far North Queensland. She spoke about her mother with a tightened throat. She could see that upset them. She skimmed over The Home, her voice emotionless. She told them how she’d set about getting an education. Of the courses she had taken, the jobs that included waitressing, cleaning, drawing beer in pubs, unloading trucks, working in nurseries where she’d picked up quite a lot of information about horticulture, finally her career as a singer-songwriter.
“Is this your future? Is this what you want to do?” Courtney asked, sparked by interest. Listening to her speak, there was no doubt Casey McGuire had a voice.
“Maybe.” Casey shrugged. “I’m getting to like the writing more than the singing.”
“So when did you find out Jock was your father if your mother didn’t tell you?” Curt asked, disturbed by her story. Especially what she hadn’t said about the orphanage. That in itself spoke volumes.
“An old friend of my mother’s,” Casey answered. “It seems she’d been suffering from the guilts for years. She knew of my mother’s affair and her leaving home in disgrace. Some time later she saw my mother and Jock McIvor together. A few days after that she saw him again on television, being interviewed about something in the bush. She put two and two together. It must have cost her a big effort because she took years and years before she decided to track down my mother. By then, of course, my mother was dead.”
“As was Jock,” Curt said quietly. “The way you tell it it’s impossible not to believe your story, Casey—a very sad story—but it doesn’t actually prove Jock was your father.”
“Dig him up,” she suggested, her heart slamming. She’d just told them Jock McIvor had destroyed her mother’s life.
Marian looked appalled. “How old are you, Casey?” She swallowed on emotion.
“Twenty-four. A few months younger than Courtney here.”
It fitted, Marian thought dismally. Jock had had no time for her when she was pregnant. Not with Darcy. Not with Courtney. She recalled his numerous city trips at those times.
“I’ve done a lot of research on Jock McIvor,” Casey was saying. “He was a serial adulterer. Sorry if I offend anybody.” She didn’t look sorry. In fact she looked like she’d desperately needed to say it.
“We don’t need the late Mr McIvor to prove paternity,” Adam said, scanning their visitor closely but with discretion. “We can compare your DNA with that of Darcy’s or Courtney’s. What is it you want, Ms McGuire?”
Casey turned her torso towards him. “My due. I’m well aware Jock McIvor was a rich man. I’ve read all about the McIvor heiresses. They can’t spend it all. Jock McIvor made it so hard for my mother to survive, she gave up on life. I’m not about to do the same. I want restitution for the sins of the past.”
“You’re nothing if not honest,” said Adam.
“Isn’t there a saying an honest lawyer is an oxymoron?” Casey shot back.
To his credit Adam laughed. “Touché. First Darcy and Courtney together with Curt and I as trustees would have to discuss the whole situation. Then we would suggest DNA testing. It could be arranged. It would take some time to get results of tests, say blood samples back. Tests would have to be sent to a lab in Brisbane.”
“I’m in no hurry!” Casey answered promptly. “After all I’ve waited all my life.” She looked across the table at Darcy, in some way deferring to her as did Courtney. “This is one magnificent homestead you’ve got here, Darcy. You could turn it into a hotel. I was wondering if I could stay a while before continuing on my way?”
Darcy stared back. This young woman who claimed to be their half sister had McIvor’s riveting sapphire eyes with their bright look of challenge. But Darcy recognised suffering when she saw it. Casey was covering it well, but there was a haunting in their brilliant depths. “Whether you prove to be our half sister or not, Casey, you can stay,” she said gently.
Casey smiled crookedly. “Tell you what, Darcy. You’ve got a heart.”
At Adam’s signal Courtney followed him out into the starry night on the pretext of reading the constellations in the desert sky.
“That’s an extraordinary story Casey had to tell.” Adam took her elbow as they walked down the short flight of steps to the home gardens. The palm of his hand only touched
