you do?” she asked with the greatest interest. “You’ve been so famous. All my girlfriends think you’re gorgeous.”
“I work at it.” Christine smiled. “Genes and a good dose of self-discipline. I’ve been thinking I might become a businesswoman.” She slowed the Jeep as they approached the airstrip. “I have a good head on my shoulders. Kyall wants to teach me the business.”
“Oh, that would be great!” Suzanne’s soft grey eyes were huge. “You’d stay home in Australia?”
“Those are my thoughts, sweetie. I like the idea of being around for you too. And there’s Fiona. I just know you two girls are going to hit if off wonderfully.”
Minutes later Suzanne was waving happily from inside the King Air while Kyall took the opportunity to have a few parting words with his sister.
“Well, there’s a change. Suzy actually looks happy. What did you say?”
“I promised her I’m going to be around for her. She needs family badly. She’s still in terrible pain from losing her parents.”
“Of course she is, poor little mite. But how you’re going to be around for her is the burning question, given your career.”
“You’ve offered me options, brother.” She smiled into his eyes, relishing the fact he was taller. “At this point I might be ready to start another career.”
“Anything that keeps you home suits me. What’s more, you have a very good chance of landing our good friend Mitch.”
“My now-or-never chance,” she said wryly.
“Make the most of it,” Kyall urged.
“I will.” She held up her face for his kiss.
“You two were meant for each other.” Kyall’s eyes were serious. “Say hello for me.”
“Will do.”
Mitch arrived looking like the hero of some Western movie. The one who always got the girl. Irrevocably sunny-natured, with that golden shock of hair, changeable sea-coloured eyes, bold and sparkling against the smooth golden tan, and the irresistible flash of beautiful white teeth.
“Hi!” he called, slamming the door of the open Jeep and sauntering jauntily towards the homestead verandah. He’d promised himself he’d do his level best to be friendly, but he knew he’d have to work hard at it.
“Hi, yourself!” Christine had deliberately posed herself against twin white columns, trying for a touch of humour to break down the expected tensions. After all, they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Indeed, it seemed they would never get back onto their old footing. Such was the price of her defection.
“Chris, you break my heart!” he responded pleasantly, sweeping off his cream akubra and holding it on cue to his chest. “You’re so beautiful, so hot, so sexy! Pity I’m not a photographer.” That came out a bit too dryly.
“That’s okay. I did dress up a bit, but not in a huge way. Like the outfit?”
“Love it.” He ambled up onto the verandah as she broke her pose. “Prairie style, is it?” he asked with mock interest.
“Say, that’s knowledgeable.” She stared down at herself. She wore jeans with a very feminine cream cotton and lace blouse, and a fancy turquoise buckled belt around her narrow waist. “How did you know?”
He allowed himself a slight laugh, though the sight of her had sharpened his nerves. “Mum has a magazine with you in it looking like some glorious frontier woman, dressed in long suede skirts and high leather boots, with big wide belts and lots of lace and pretty puffed sleeves. Did they know you can ride like the wind?”
“Didn’t you notice the one of me on the galloping horse?”
“Hell, I must have missed it.” His eyes were sardonic. “I loved the one where you were sitting under a tree strumming a guitar. Nice combination—Victorian blouse, tight sexy jeans and leather boots. But I happen to know you can’t play the guitar.”
“All right, so you can.”
“Multi-talented, that’s me.” He leaned back against a column, still studying her. She was so beautiful. But there was a wall between them he couldn’t get around or over. Nevertheless, he was determined to keep to his promise to be sociable. “Remember that stage I went through of trying to yodel?” he asked.
“I remember the falsetto.” She turned a smiling face to him, her expression soft and dreamy.
“So why did you keep telling me I could have made it big?”
“As a busker.” In fact she’d loved him crooning to her in his smooth melodious voice, her limbs curling up with pleasure. “Mum doesn’t want you to leave until you have morning tea.”
“I hate morning tea.” He mouthed the words.
“Never mind. There are some things a guy’s gotta do. Come inside. It’s all set up in the garden room. It’s abloom at the moment, with some of Mum’s spectacular plants.”
“This I’ve got to see.” He spoke smoothly. It was a good thing she couldn’t hear his pounding heart.
Enid, her fine dark eyes full of bright curiosity, was waiting for them in the double-storeyed light-filled room Ewan McQueen, Christine’s grandfather, had built onto the rear of the main house in the early days of his marriage to Ruth.
It was a striking room, distinguished by such an array of exotic plants one had the feeling of being enclosed in a sub-tropical garden. Palms soared, along with golden canes, banana trees, tree ferns, orchids, bromeliads, all kinds of lilium—white, cream, yellow, orange, shocking pink and purple—waxy, highly scented gardenias, colourful pelargoniums, and every variety of philodendron, some with enormous deeply lobed leaves. Everything was grown in pots, and the temperature of the room was controlled by air-conditioning.
As if that weren’t enough, Mitch thought wryly, a large Victorian wrought-iron central fountain had been installed, presenting the spectacle and sound of abundant water on the desert fringe. The sparkling emerald green surface was the perfect background for a flotilla of luxuriant creamy-white water lilies.
At home with the McQueens! They sure knew how to live. Whether some of them deserved it was another matter. His homestead at Marjimba, though big and pleasing, was no possible match for this. Wunnamurra homestead was regarded as one of the finest in the country, and was a showpiece; its rooms were filled with marvellous antiques, the walls aglow with paintings worth a fortune, Chinese porcelains and jade in cabinets, Oriental screens and rugs. You name it, some collector in the family had acquired it. It had been rumoured at one time that Ruth McQueen had an Egyptian mummy secreted away some place. Ruby Hall, Koomera Crossing’s resident sticky beak, had blabbed it. He believed that as much as he believed pigs could fly.
“Mitchell, dear!” Enid called to him in a cultured voice that always managed to sound patronising to his ears. “It’s so nice of your mother to invite Christine over.”
Poor, problematic Christine, he thought, with ongoing resentment towards Christine’s autocratic mother. His own home had been more of a shelter and a haven to Christine than
