good in bed. He knew she valued their long friendship, but there was something about her he couldn’t really cotton on to. Could it be her lack of feeling for others? God knows he’d had enough of that, though she was always incredibly sweet to him. He was aware Dinah and her family had high hopes that one day he would “pop the question” though he had never led Dinah to believe it was only a matter of time.
Yes, he could picture Dinah organising everything perfectly, compulsively methodical, looking glamorous while she savoured playing Coori’s hostess, circling the guests using all her practised charm, and supreme self-confidence that came with having a rich man for a doting dad. So why had he rejected her? In many ways she had fit the bill. She was strong, with energy to burn. She was Outback born and had lived his way of life. Moreover he needed someone. A woman he could love and live with for the rest of his life. Where the hell was she? If she ever turned up he knew he would recognise her right off.
Some of his more delicious dreams stirred… He kept seeing a pair of dark eyes. A wonderful fall of dark curly hair, glossy as a magpie’s wing. Even thinking about it drew all the blood into his loins. But he didn’t know a single girl with large lustrous dark eyes and a beautiful soft body that drew a man like a magnet. At one point he thought he had actually seen her someplace. Somewhere outside his dreams. Then he decided she was simply a figment of his imagination.
Stacy was waiting for him the moment he set foot in the homestead. Even after all these years she still had the capacity to surprise him. She was sitting cross-legged on the parqueted floor, flanked by the two coal-black Labradors, Juno and Jupiter, tails thumping in an ecstasy of greeting.
“What on earth are you doing down there?” He braced himself as the dogs bounded towards him.
Stacy smiled sweetly and shrugged. “Why not? It’s nice and cool. Besides I’ve never felt comfortable in those chairs.” She nodded at two very imposing and valuable antique carved mahogany hall chairs with sphinx-like figures for arms. At forty Stacy was in great shape. She still looked like a girl, with her fair hair and skin and large cloudy blue eyes. She’d lived a lifetime of constantly trying to please, but somehow she didn’t show the burden of endless stress.
Arrested development, one of the acerbic McCord aunts had observed. No one in the extended family could ever work out why the high-handed, difficult and demanding Clive had married such a consistently shy and ineffectual little thing. Stacy wasn’t considered interesting or exciting at all. Why, she couldn’t be more different to the beautiful, vivid Roxanne whom everyone had adored and greatly mourned.
Now Stacy stood up, swaying a little because she had pins and needles in her left foot, a neat figure in her cotton shirt and jeans, the great crystal waterfall that was the hall chandelier putting highlights into her short cap of fair hair.
“Isobel called,” she announced, as though conducting a conversation with his dynamo of a cousin had left her vaguely distraught.
“Oh?” At this time of year Isobel’s business was running full-tilt, but she had come to his rescue yet again. Isobel, married to a well-known Federal M.P. was particularly sensitive to his plight. Kinder than most of the McCord clan, even Isobel found Stacy’s lack of social and organization skills extremely unfortunate.
“So what did she want?” he prompted as Stacy seemed to have come to the end of her speech.
“Malcolm had a sick turn in the P.M.’s office.” She said it like it was the high point of Malcolm’s career. “He’s going into hospital in the morning so they can run a few tests.”
“Oh, Lord, I’ll have to call her.” He ran a hand through his thick hair, dismayed on two counts. He really liked Malcolm, and this could put paid to the up-coming Coori festivities. “Maybe exhaustion,” he mused, hopefully. “Malcolm works harder than most.”
“I didn’t know any of them really worked,” said Stacy who had no insight into a busy politician’s life at all. “But I’m sorry about Malcolm. He’s one of the few to never be nasty to me. And they’re such a compatible couple.”
“I guess some marriages have to work out,” he offered distractedly, his mind ticking over. Even his rock-solid cousin would be a mess if anything was really wrong with Malcolm, God forbid. And it would put paid to Isobel’s indispensable services. Maybe he would have to turn to Dinah, after all. She’d really love that.
“What if Isobel can’t handle our functions?” Stacy asked thoughtfully, not considering for a minute she should have a go. “You might have to fall back on Dinah. I hope you don’t have to.” She cast him a quick look. “Isobel flusters me, I almost have to run to catch up with her, but Dinah makes me feel an utter fool.”
“Why don’t you tell her off?” he suggested briskly, no longer embarrassed by his stepmother’s inadequacies. “That might give both of you a good shake-up. Eventually, Dinah might even stop.”
“But she’s your friend!” Stacy stared at him incredulously, as if somehow that gave Dinah free rein. “I’m not game to say a word to her,” she confessed, thinking even Dinah’s smile had a sneer in it. “I must be such a disappointment to you, Jake.” Stacy brushed her wispy fringe from her forehead. “I was certainly cut from a different cloth than the likes of Isobel and Dinah.”
Wasn’t that the truth! From his childhood his role had been to be supportive of Stacy. Even now Stacy couldn’t speak his mother’s name, though he had often caught her staring up at Roxanne’s portrait. Roxanne, who even as a young bride had handled the role of mistress of a great historic station with brilliant aplomb.
“From all McCord accounts an imbecile.” From nowhere tears suddenly rolled down Stacy’s cheeks, though he knew from long experience anything could trigger them.
After all these years it didn’t break him up. “Cut it out now,” he braced her automatically, feeling it would be wise to get Gillian started on some course or other. He didn’t want his half sister feeling such confusion about herself and her life. “Organising and running functions isn’t the only thing in the world.” The Lord is my strength and my shield, he thought wryly. He had been relying on Isobel to get them through.
“I’m really, really sorry, Jake.” Stacy’s tears stopped on the instant. It was taking time for her to remember with his father gone there was nothing to fear.
“Don’t worry, we’ll manage,” Jake reassured her.
Stacy sighed with relief. Nothing ever rattles him, she thought gratefully, looking up into her stepson’s dynamic face. Even terrible things. She supposed that was keeping up the McCord tradition, when the McCord tradition had beaten her down. As often happened, she had the sense of looking at his mother. The beautiful young woman her husband had never forgotten. Jake had the same glorious tawny colouring. The thick, thick, wavy hair, amber, streaked with gold. Roxanne, in the portrait, had great coils of it. Jake’s was a lion’s mane. They both had amber eyes to match, which were spectacularly beautiful, full of sparkle and life. The passionate nature of mother and son showed in the vitality of their expressions, the cut of the beautifully defined sensuous mouths. Mouths you couldn’t look away from. Jake was tall, as had been Roxanne. At six-three, even taller than his father, young-man lean, wide shoulders narrowing to a trim waist, long taut flanks. He was superbly fit from his hard outdoor life. Jake was a wonderful-looking young man, exotic in his tawny splendour. His mother, Roxanne, had been incandescent in her beauty. Even dead, she’s more alive than I am, Stacy thought ironically. She was quite quite certain she would never have survived living with Clive McCord if it weren’t for his son.
Malcolm as it turned
