and make his fortune in some sort of pastoral enterprise. Sheep, perhaps?
After all, it was a British Army officer, John Macarthur, who had laid the foundations for the country’s wool industry. It was well established by the time Macarthur died in the mid-eighteen-hundreds and George arrived. George had seen over Camden Park, a very handsome Regency-style mansion dreamed of by Macarthur but built by his sons after his death. He, too, had wanted something as substantial.
The homestead, to the Australian squattocracy, occupied much the same position as an Englishman’s castle so George singled out a very fine architect working in South Australia at the time to build him an Outback castle. Never mind it was on the fringe of the great Australian desert. This area, he’d had the vision to see, was destined to become the home of the nation’s cattle kings. George, with all the confidence of a man born to succeed, had already turned his attention to cattle. Becoming a cattle baron—a touch of flamboyancy showed there—suited him much better than farming sheep. Besides, he had become greatly enamoured by the vastness, the extraordinary colourations and the strange and lonely grandeur of the continent’s Interior. Here was where he wanted to put down roots. The Rylances were men of the land. Here, in this extraordinary area of ancient flood plains, criss-crossed by a great maze of water channels, creeks and lagoons, he was going to dig in. Just to be on the safe side, he had invested rather heavily in gold, which soon began returning him healthy profits.
It was just over a mile from the airstrip to the home compound. The drive was lined by gigantic date palms, brought in and planted over a century and a half before by Afghan traders.
Presently, the front elevation of Coorango Homestead came into view. To Zara’s eye, it clearly revealed the architect’s nationality and background, which was Italian. The twostorey building was of grand proportions, but very pleasing. A dynastic home, not a fortress. She particularly loved the pinkishgold sandstone that had been used in its construction. Slender double pillars and wonderfully ornamental white cast iron lace balustrades designed by the architect framed the upper balcony and wrapped around the other three sides of the building. Italian too was the magnificent three-basin stone fountain that featured rearing horses to support the largest bowl.
“It’s playing today in your honour.” Helen smiled with pleasure at her guest. Zara was here. That in itself she considered a coup.
“How lovely!” Zara’s voice lilted. She pointed to the plume of water. “Look, it’s sending rainbow shot spray over the agapanthus.” Masses and masses of the hardy plant, all a deep lavender-blue, encircled the fountain.
Garrick achieved a half wry, half cynical laugh. He knew perfectly well what his mother and father were up to. Matchmaking. Heirs were needed for Coorango. High time he was married. His engagement to Sally had been doomed from the start. But his parents had always been extraordinarily fond of Zara, as they had been of Zara’s mother. Ellie had been truly shocked when he’d finally confessed he hadn’t read any of Zara’s letters.
“But how could you, Garrick?”
He could and he did. His mother hadn’t plumbed the depth of his despair. There had been no slow demise of the relationship. It had been short, sharp and brutally final. Dalton Rylance had ruled Zara’s life. She had let him. Obviously, she had thought she would never find another man as powerful to measure up. Such a shame Hartmann was such a wicked man!
“And how is Daniel today?” Zara asked, hoping to hear it was one of Daniel’s good days.
“So looking forward to seeing you,” Helen said. “He has a male nurse these days, Rolf Hammond. He has been a great help. Daniel really likes him. We’ve sent Rolf off for a short break. You’ll meet him when he returns.”
Garrick drove slowly around the gravelled drive, naturally for Zara’s benefit, bringing the four-wheel drive to a halt at the base of the short flight of stone steps that led to the lower terrace. Its slender columns matched the upper storey but the area had been left open.
Moments later, sunglasses shielding her eyes from the boldest sun imaginable and the bouncing heat, Zara stood out on the drive looking away to left and right. The massive stone walls that bordered the compound and gave it added protection were ablaze with bougainvillea that just had to be the plant for the heat and the dry. She realized that what she was looking at were modern hybrids, not the common magenta. Glorious shades of pink, scarlet, crimson, cerise tumbled riotously to the left, white, orange and bronze to the other. The usual flower beds of a more temperate climate were not in evidence. Too hot! But more dense plantings of the indestructible strelizias, the “Bird of Paradise” their wonderful flower heads rising to easily four feet, decorated the wide beds in front of the lower terrace and along the short flight of stone steps.
Helen linked her arm through Zara’s, pleased with Zara’s unconcealed delight. Zara had always loved Coorango—far more than any city bred girl might have been expected to. Of course Zara painted and extremely well. Her father had ignored her artistic aspirations but she would find plenty of inspiration to paint here. “You’ll love what we’ve done with the gardens at the rear of the house,” Helen said with rising enthusiasm. She was so glad to have a woman’s company. Life could get lonely. Especially of late as Daniel’s cycle of life was coming to an end. “I’ve long since discovered walled gardens work better here. You’ll be amazed at what we’ve managed to achieve.”
“A love of gardens unites people, doesn’t it?” Zara answered with a smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve done, Helen. The avenue of date palms is so spectacular. It imparts a wonderful sense of place.”
“Well, one must work with the environment. It determines the character of the garden, don’t you think?” she asked on a rhetorical note. “So many beautiful flowering plants I’ve always loved—impossible to grow here, as you can imagine. Now, come along. You must come in too, Rick. Don’t race away. Dougal will take care of the luggage.”
“A cup of coffee and a sandwich, then I’ll be off,” Garrick said, reaching into the four-wheel drive for Zara’s suitcases. “No need to bother Dougal. This is nothing. Right, Ellie—” he gave the command “—lead the way. There’s something I have to discuss with Dad before I go. We need to get rid of O’Donnell. I need to do that right away. Give the man a promotion, an outstation to manage and he spends most of his time drunk.”
“You know that for certain, Rick?” Helen frowned. Daniel, not Garrick, had been the one prepared to give O’Donnell the opportunity. It seemed such a shame he had botched it.
“Of course I do,” Garrick said with quiet authority. “I’ll take the chopper to Biri Biri tomorrow. I’d invite you to come with me, Zara, but I don’t want you involved in any unpleasantness. O’Donnell could take dismissal hard.”
“Oh, I hope not!” Helen looked anxious.
“No need to worry, Ellie,” Garrick said briskly. “I can handle it.”
“Sure you can! Garrick can be tougher than anyone in the business when it’s necessary,” Helen boasted to Zara, not without good reason.
“I’m sure you’re right!” Zara gave Garrick a dazzling smile that nevertheless had a bite to it.
“Oh, Zara, it’s just so lovely having you here,” Helen exclaimed, having missed that exchange. “Anyway, I’m sure Rick has any number of exciting things lined up.”
“I’m looking forward to the polo weekend,” Zara said, refusing to meet Garrick’s sardonic gaze. “Still the big party Saturday night?”
